Their conversation ended, and they continued walking through the streets.
By the time they reached a rather secluded spot, Ronan suddenly came to a stop.
The bustle around them gradually faded into the distance, replaced by an eerie stillness, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves stirred by the breeze.
He turned to face a narrow alley at the end of the road, his gaze sharp and steady, and called out with easy confidence: “Come on out.
No use hiding—I’ve already seen you.” “Are you all part of the same group?” He activated X-Ray Vision.
“Three men.
Two women.” He nodded lightly.
“Not bad.
You’ve got some nerve—you’re not locals, are you?” “Following us—is it about money?” Hearing this, Frieren’s fine brows knit together slightly.
She followed Ronan’s gaze, her eyes wary, though she stayed silent.
In truth, she’d already sensed the enemy’s presence a moment ago and had been about to act, but Ronan had stopped her with nothing more than a subtle look.
That look seemed to say something like—too many people around, hard to hold back once a fight breaks out.
Right at that moment…
“Heh heh.” Before the thought fully settled in Frieren’s mind, a cold chuckle suddenly rang out from the end of the street.
A hulking, muscular man stepped unhurriedly out of the alley.
His upper body was bare, his solid muscles gleaming bronze under the sunlight, crisscrossed with old scars.
Just one glance was enough to make Frieren’s chest tighten.
—A frighteningly strong human!
“A warrior?” Ronan arched an eyebrow, the question slipping out as if he were simply asking for the man’s occupation.
“No.” The man shook his head slightly, the corner of his mouth curling into a disdainful smirk: “A brawler.” With that.
He raised a hand and clenched his fist tightly.
Creak—!
The metal knuckle-duster on his hand flashed with a blinding glint under the sunlight.
He paused for a moment, refocusing his gaze, fixing it firmly on Ronan and Frieren, his tone dripping with provocation: “Don’t lump me together with those sword-swingers.
Fist meeting flesh—that’s a real man’s romance.” “You’ve got sharp senses, kid, spotting our whole lineup from this far away.” “Too bad none of that matters in the face of real strength.” “You’re a mage, aren’t you?
And so is that elf beside you.” “Heh heh.” He crossed his arms, seemingly recalling something from the past, grinning smugly, “There’s nothing I fear less than mages.
Back at the ruins just now, I already took down more than three of them myself.” “Now then, why don’t you hand over your money, and that batch of magic tools too.” “To think you’d have the nerve to snatch up something our Savage Beast Adventuring Party had already staked a claim on.” “Gotta hand it to you, you’ve got some serious guts.” “…” Ronan fell silent, an inward sigh of exasperation rising in him.
What did he mean, “staked a claim on”?
A robbery was a robbery—no need to dress it up so grandly.
He rubbed his forehead lightly, looking rather helpless, then raised his eyes: “I think I understand now.
This so-called Savage Beast Adventuring Party is really just a band of bandits.” “And you, the brawler, must be their leader.” “May I ask, what exactly gave you the confidence to think you could rob us?” “You already know how much money we’re carrying—aren’t you worried about what might come after, once word gets out?” “After all, you just went and announced your party’s name yourself.” At these words.
The man froze for a moment.
Huh…
that was true, wasn’t it?
Why had he even said that out loud?
Wait, no…
he was getting sidetracked.
The reason he dared do this in the first place was because he wasn’t afraid of retaliation—he’d simply kill everyone involved afterward and leave no witnesses.
That was exactly why he’d brought his whole crew along for this.
Snapping out of it, his gaze turned cold, fixed on Ronan, his voice dripping with menace: “You sure talk a lot.
Don’t worry, you won’t be getting any chances after this.
I’ve changed my mind.” “Not just you—that elf woman beside you isn’t getting away from here either.
I want the money, and I want her too.” As he spoke, he took a step forward, a greedy grin spreading across his face, “I’ve never had a taste of elf before.” The moment his words fell, a barrier spell suddenly unfurled behind him, a colorless film of light sweeping over the entire area, sealing it off completely.
Thud, thud—amid a chaotic patter of footsteps, four more men and women, dressed in various styles, emerged from behind the hulking man.
Their faces all carried the same look of vicious greed, their eyes gleaming with the certainty of prey already caught.
The fight was about to break out.
Ronan sighed.
“You could’ve just said that from the start.” That was all he needed to hear.
Because as long as the man was properly provoked, Ronan could afford to go a little harder on him without anyone questioning it.
After all, with Frieren right beside him, he still had to be mindful of the impression he left.
“Frieren, leave the rest to me.
By the way, what exactly is a brawler, anyway?” The instant the words left his mouth, the brawler had already closed the distance, right in front of Ronan.
Hearing Ronan’s remark, his expression twisted even uglier, and he swung with everything he had!
Whoosh!
The air exploded with a deafening crack, as though space itself had split apart.
He’d once used this exact move to effortlessly slay a full-grown dragon—that was precisely the source of his confidence.
They were both outsiders anyway; killing them wouldn’t matter much.
A few thousand gold coins would set him up comfortably for over a decade—this would be his last job before retiring for good.
Behind him, several of the brawler’s companions wore expressions that all but screamed “this one’s in the bag.” Because, in their long-held understanding, mages were nothing but frail, delicate types with barely any physical strength to speak of.
At this close a range, even casting a defensive spell wouldn’t be fast enough.
They could practically already picture Ronan’s head bursting apart, their eyes lit up with excitement.
But the next second.
Boom!
A powerful punch, carrying the weight of a thousand pounds of force, struck Ronan’s forehead squarely, like a cannonball finding its mark.
A visible shockwave of air burst outward around them.
But Ronan merely gave his head a light shake, as though brushing off an itch.
Then, without a trace of concern, he casually brushed away the man’s fist—as large as a sandbag—as though flicking off a few insignificant specks of dust.
Right after, Ronan’s gaze slowly shifted away from Frieren, meeting the brawler’s utterly stunned, disbelieving stare, and he remarked offhandedly: “Hey, you do know it’s incredibly rude to interrupt someone while they’re talking, right?” “Are you done attacking?” “Hm…
pretty underwhelming.
Did you skip breakfast or something?” “You…” The brawler was about to snap back, but suddenly froze in place.
By all rights, after hearing this, he should have flown into a rage and unleashed a frenzy of attacks.
And yet, in this moment.
Once it finally registered, he looked as though he’d seen a ghost.
—What was going on?
His full-power punch hadn’t so much as ruffled a single hair on this man?!
Was this guy even human?!
Even with some kind of legendary armor, there was no way to completely negate that much impact force!
An illusion—it had to be an illusion!
He punched again.
Then again.
And again.
Every strike felt like hitting solid steel.
His signature move, the very punch that had once killed a full-grown dragon, felt like nothing more than a light tickle against Ronan—utterly useless.
In an instant, realization dawned on him.
He’d run into some kind of hidden master, someone playing the fool to lure in prey.
In that single instant, panic completely consumed his mind.
“You…
you…
you…” His words came out in broken stutters, as though he’d lost the ability to speak entirely.
“What about me?” Ronan sighed.
“Looks like you’re done.” He raised one hand.
Smack.
The brawler vanished into the distance like a cannonball, sent flying dozens of meters away in an instant.
Only then did he turn his attention to the four remaining figures behind the brawler.
Beside him, Frieren froze at the sight, utterly stunned.
Her right hand, halfway through summoning her staff, hung frozen in midair, her face full of shock.
—Wait, what just happened?
—How had their opponent lost, just like that?
The fight had ended before she’d even realized it had begun.