[: 3rd POV :]

Arcturus—the Guild Master—tilted his head back and let out a jagged laugh, one that scraped against the stone chamber like broken glass.

His eyes, still burning with that maddened gleam, narrowed on Daniel as the boy stepped to the very front.

"Ho?" his voice dripped with mockery, though there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth, a crack in the mask of control.

"Quite cheeky of a brat like you to walk all the way here"

"Tell me..." his laughter came again, sharp and venomous, "—is this fearlessness? Or just plain recklessness?"

His words slithered across the chamber, sinking into the ears of the mercenaries and guild members.

Many of them flinched, their hearts tightening at the audacity of Daniel's approach.

To stand unflinching before the Guild Master, before the man who had just orchestrated a ritual of death, was unthinkable.

"No," he said simply, his tone carrying neither shout nor growl.

"This isn't fearlessness. And it isn't recklessness."

He took one step closer, closing the last gap until his presence pressed against Arcturus like a blade at his throat.

His gaze bore into him, not wild, not manic, but steady, absolute.

The kind of stare that made lesser men feel their souls laid bare.

"It's called confidence," Daniel declared, his words cutting through the chamber like thunder rolling over a battlefield.

"The confidence of taking you down...without even breaking a sweat."

His lips curved ever so slightly, not into arrogance, but into a certainty so profound it chilled the air itself.

The weight of his reply struck everyone differently.

The mercenaries felt their knees weaken. Some had seen arrogance before, reckless bravado from those doomed to die, but this wasn't it.

This wasn't boastful pride.

Daniel spoke with the calm assurance of someone who had already seen the outcome.

Walter's chest tightened.

His fingers clenched around his sword hilt, not from fear of Daniel—but from awe.

He could feel it now more than ever.

'He's not bluffing...'

The silver-haired elf lowered her bow entirely, her trembling lips parting as if to whisper a prayer.

She wasn't sure to whom she prayed—for Daniel, or for mercy on the Guild Master.

Even Arcturus, who had mocked and jeered, found his laughter faltering.

His smile twitched, and for the briefest second, unease flickered in his eyes.

"Presumptuous!"

Arcturus's voice thundered, his composure finally snapping, his mocking grin contorting into a mask of fury.

Daniel's calm certainty was like a blade pressed against his pride.

The Guild Master, who had betrayed hundreds, who had bent knee to the Apocalypse King, could not tolerate such insolence from one so young.

With a violent motion, he extended his arm, and in an instant, the chamber was drowned in crimson light.

[: Crimson Scythe: Tears of Blood :]

The weapon materialized in his grasp—an unholy scythe, its haft black as midnight steel, its curved blade weeping scarlet liquid that dripped to the floor like fresh gore.

Every drop sizzled against the stone, releasing a hiss like dying screams.

The very air seemed to recoil from it, thickening with the stench of iron and decay.

Gasps tore from the mercenaries.

"That's… his Soul Weapon!"

"I've only heard rumors of it—!"

The scythe radiated hunger, its edge shimmering faintly as though reality itself dared not touch it.

And when Arcturus swung it into ready position, the ground cracked beneath his stance, veins of crimson light spiderwebbing outward from where he stood.

His eyes glowed with the same madness that had driven him to betrayal, but beneath it lingered something sharper, something more deliberate.

This was no longer theater. This was intent to kill.

Without hesitation, Arcturus roared and launched forward.

His crimson scythe carved a vicious arc through the air, the sound of its swing like a shriek tearing through bone.

At the same time, a bloody radiance pulsed along the blade, activating its dreadful curse.

*If he could land even a single strike—if the scythe so much as nicked flesh, the wound would not heal"

"Instead, it would gnaw away at the victim's very life force, draining them second by second until nothing remained.*

Walter's eyes widened, his heart slamming against his ribs.

"That skill, if it touches him, he's finished!"

"Daniel! Move!" the silver-haired elf screamed, panic cracking her voice.

But Daniel did not move.

He stood there, calm and unflinching, as the crimson blade sang toward him with death's promise.

For the survivors watching, time seemed to splinter.

The sight of that monstrous weapon closing in brought back the despair of moments ago, the inevitability of slaughter, the certainty of doom.

They clenched their teeth, braced themselves for the spray of blood, for Daniel's fall.

But Daniel's gaze never wavered.

In his eyes was no panic, no hesitation, only that same chilling confidence that had silenced the chamber before.

The swing came down.

The Crimson Scythe tore through the chamber with a sound that was less like metal and more like a scream.

When it connected, the impact was deafening.

*BOOOOOOM!*

The walls shuddered violently, ancient stone cracking as the shockwave thundered outward.

Dust burst from the ceiling, raining down in heavy clouds that swallowed the battlefield in choking gray.

The torches lining the walls flickered wildly, some snuffed out completely as if terrified of the power unleashed.

The ground itself split where Daniel had stood, deep fissures glowing faintly with the lingering crimson aura of the scythe.

For a long moment, the world was nothing but echoes of destruction and the hiss of stone collapsing.

Through the haze of dust, Arcturus's silhouette loomed, his scythe raised high.

His chest heaved with exertion, his face twisted into a mad grin.

He could already feel the afterglow of victory, the thrill of ending what dared to challenge him.

"HAHAHAHA!"

His laughter rolled like thunder, raw and triumphant.

His voice dripped with mockery, reverberating through the choking haze.

"Confidence?!" he roared, his laughter twisting into a sneer.

"That wasn't confidence, that was just stupidity!"

He tilted his head back, grinning wider, the red glow of his scythe reflecting in his crazed eyes.

Behind him, the mercenaries and guild members stood frozen, their hearts sinking under the weight of the scene.

Though many despised him, a cruel truth seeped into their thoughts, Arcturus was right.

The sound of that strike, the sheer force behind it, was beyond anything a mortal could endure.

The silver-haired elf lowered her bow, her shoulders trembling.

Her lips quivered as words slipped out like a prayer for the dead.

"H-he… he didn't stand a chance…"

The dwarf grit his teeth, slamming his axe into the floor in frustration.

His voice cracked as he muttered, "Damn it, lad… reckless to the end…"

Even Walter, bleeding and defiant only moments ago, lowered his blade.

His eyes stung with the bitterness of helplessness.

"Daniel… you…"

His throat tightened, unable to finish the sentence.

To them, it was over.

The boy who had stood like a sovereign before them, the one who had silenced their fear with nothing but his presence, had been swallowed by the curse of the Crimson Scythe.

The dust swirled heavily, veiling the spot where the strike had landed, hiding all traces of what lay beneath.

And in that silence, in that grief-stricken lull, the Guild Master's grin widened even further, his laughter breaking into hysterical echoes.

"I told you!" Arcturus bellowed, raising his weapon in celebration.

"All your hopes, snuffed out in a single stroke! This is the fate of lambs who stand before the wolf!"

His laughter clawed into the hearts of those present, smothering what little hope they had clung to.

But then…

A shift.

Subtle and small.

Yet enough to still the laughter in his throat.

The dust… wasn't clearing naturally.

Instead, it swirled, caught in a strange current, as though bending to something within.

The air itself seemed to pulse, an invisible force pressing outward from the very point of impact.

And with every second, the survivors' despair was pierced by a new, fragile thought.

'What if…?'

The dust cleared.

For a heartbeat, silence reigned.

Everyone's eyes locked onto the settling haze, waiting, praying, to see nothing but a broken body lying beneath.

But when the air stilled, the figure that emerged was not broken.

Not even scratched.

Daniel stood there.

Unmoving.

Untouched.

His clothes were unruffled, his stance unshaken.

The faint glow of the scythe's cursed aura slid harmlessly off him, dissipating like smoke meeting a storm.

His expression wasn't one of struggle, nor relief.

It was disappointment.

"That's it…?" Daniel's voice cut through the silence like a blade, calm yet sharp with disdain.

His brows furrowed, his eyes narrowing as if the attack had insulted him.

"That's all you had?"

The weight of his words crushed the room more than the scythe's strike ever could.

"What…?" The Guild Master's voice cracked, his grin shattering into disbelief.

He staggered half a step back, his crimson eyes widening.

His scythe trembled faintly in his grip.

The mercenaries froze, their jaws slack.

Walter's pupils shrank, his hand unconsciously tightening on his blade, as if anchoring himself to reality.

There wasn't a hint of injury.

No blood, no cuts, no burns.

Daniel stood exactly where he had when the strike landed, as though the Guild Master's attack had been nothing more than a gust of wind brushing his shoulders.

"I was hoping for more," Daniel continued, his tone heavier now, disappointment dripping into contempt.

His gaze sharpened like daggers as he looked at Arcturus.

"But if that's all you've got… then…"

He tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth curling into the faintest, cruelest smirk.

"…you're just nothing."

The words struck deeper than any weapon, echoing in the hearts of everyone present.

"You—!" The Guild Master's composure shattered.

Rage and confusion collided in his voice.

"That was just a fluke! Do you hear me? A fluke!"

But even as he shouted, his mind was reeling.

'How?'

His eyes darted, searching desperately for answers.

Daniel hadn't moved, he hadn't dodged, hadn't deflected, hadn't even summoned a skill.

No shattering light.

No divine shields.

No passive invincibility skill manifesting.

Just pure, unshakable defense.

Numbers upon numbers, layers upon layers, so absurd they defied reason.

It wasn't resistance.

It wasn't evasion.

It was absolute defence.

The Guild Master clenched his jaw, sweat dripping down his temple.

His scythe pulsed in his hands, whispering for more blood, yet for the first time, his grip felt… weak.

And Daniel?

He simply took a single step forward.

The floor cracked under his foot—not from power, but from the weight of his presence.

The survivors held their breath.

For them, one terrifying truth sank in like a knife to the gut:

'This boy wasn't surviving by luck'

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.