Lucas, with eyes sharp and alert, swiftly scanned the surroundings. The recent attack was no laughing matter; his adversary was formidably terrifying. Opposite him stood a man donning a rat mask, his movements quick and agile, eyes ablaze with a ferocious intensity. The air around them vibrated, charged with the impending clash, a tension born from the mere convergence of their powerful energies.Determined not to be outdone, Lucas knew hesitation meant certain defeat. Without waiting for his opponent to strike, he unleashed his opening move, a roar tearing through the air as he initiated the attack.With a deft gesture, Lucas conjured a thick mist from his palm, announcing, "Mist Technique." But this was no ordinary mist; it was a searing, scalding vapor, akin to a cloud of fire, poised to incinerate anything in its path. The intense heat was so overwhelming that nearby leaves began to smolder and catch fire, a testament to the mist's blazing potency."Damn!" the masked man cursed, c

In the middle of a vast meadow near the valley, Coil stood alone, his presence solitary against the expansive landscape. The long-haired man, a newcomer to the scene, was intently examining the corpse of Night Swift, a renowned hunter whose death was shrouded in mystery."This is gikla," Coil remarked gravely, his eyes fixed on the large figure of Night Swift lying motionless on the ground.The crisp morning air, once refreshing, had turned cold and oppressive, as if it were laden with the heavy weight of the unsolved mystery.Before Coil was the lifeless body of Night Swift. The hunter, famed for his prowess, had evidently lost his life in a fight that was anything but fair. The scene spoke volumes of the brutality and imbalance of the struggle.From Night Swift's mouth, a fine mist continually seeped out, adding a layer of mystery and eeriness to the already somber atmosphere.Surveying the battlefield, Coil noted the traces of a fierce skirmish not far from where he stood. The evid

Lucas sat up, his back leaning against the cold, rough wall, absorbing the exhaustion that had seeped into every fiber of his body. The fatigue wasn't just physical; it pervaded his very soul, as if every bone was screaming for rest."Ugh, this is really a terrible fight," he muttered wearily.Ever since Lucas had been reincarnated into this world, this was the first time he had faced such an intense battle. It was what they called a life and death battle, a struggle where lives were precariously balanced on the edge.Beside him, Aline appeared outwardly calm, but Lucas knew that this was merely a facade, barely concealing the tumult of emotions she was experiencing. Her usually cheerful face was now composed, mirroring the semblance of peace she had managed to muster after enduring days of unimaginable terror.Lucas sighed, his gaze drifting to the ceiling of the dimly lit room. "We're safe, Aline," he whispered, his voice a blend of reassurance and hope, directed as much to himself

Lucas strides unsteadily, his feet barely making a sound on the cold tiles of his in-laws' house, where he had just returned from a long journey. He was in search of a rumored artifact, a quest undertaken not only by him but by others as well. However, like those before him, Lucas came back empty-handed.As Lucas entered the spacious living room, the echo of his steps announced his presence.His father-in-law was already there."How was it?" he asked."Father-in-law, I failed. There are no artifacts there," Lucas replied."I see," his father-in-law said, not with disappointment, but with a hint of regret. This had been Lucas's chance to make a name for himself in the cultivation world.Lucas had long been considered unworthy, and this journey was supposed to refute those rumors and restore some honor to the Stromwind family, tarnished by having a son-in-law deemed as 'trash'.Just then, a beautiful woman with flawless white skin entered the room. It was Luna, Lucas' wife, her presence

At the edge of the city, where the wind carried a refreshingly distinctive scent, there was a residence that stood out from the rest. It was the home of the Ironfist family, a grand mansion that stood proudly, defying both time and weather with its walls built from unique boulders. Each stone was intricately carved with symbols that narrated the family's storied history—emblems of the strength and resilience that had coursed through their bloodline for generations.Inside this imposing house, in a spacious room filled with meticulously selected furniture and walls adorned with paintings of ancestral figures, Lorrick Ironfist, the young master of the family, was deep in contemplation. "My technique stops here," he whispered to himself. Despite his many attempts, he had yet to advance to the next realm of martial arts.The room was softly illuminated by the glow of scented candles, aiding Lorrick's meditation. With his eyes closed and his brow furrowed, he seemed to be grappling with a