“What’s going on here!?” A burly man, all muscle and fury, strode forward, his voice booming through the camp.

  “Respected Lord Mad Lion, this man just attacked our comrades,” a mercenary explained deferentially.

  The man known as Mad Lion widened his eyes and turned sharply toward Glenn. Shoving aside his men, he marched straight up until their faces were almost touching, his breath foul and hot.

  “You little wretch—looking for trouble, are you?”

  The reek hit Glenn square in the face. He frowned, then abruptly drove his forehead forward. The headbutt landed with a crack. Caught off guard—and a head taller—the man stumbled back, blood spurting from his nose as he fell flat on his back.

  “Your breath stinks and you still had to lean in? What’s wrong with you?” Glenn muttered in disgust, fanning the air before his nose.

  No one had expected the lone traveler, surrounded on all sides, to strike first. A ripple of shock passed through the mercenaries, quickly rising toward chaos.

  Mad Lion pushed himself up, swiping at his bleeding nose. The veins on his forehead bulged with rage. “I’ll make you pay dearly for that!” he roared, snatching a weapon from a nearby soldier and lunging forward.

  But before he could reach Glenn, a commanding voice rang out from within the camp.

  “What’s all this racket!?”

  The commotion faltered.

  Three figures emerged—two women and one man, dressed in the familiar garb of seasoned mercenaries. The speaker was the man in the middle: long-haired, with sharply carved features and a faint scar by his eye.

  The two women beside him carried the raw strength of barbarians—thick with muscle, yet their builds were graceful, power woven into symmetry.

  “Norman! This brat attacked our men! He even hit me! Look at my nose!” Mad Lion bellowed, pointing at his swollen face.

  The two female warriors exchanged a glance—and burst out laughing, clutching their stomachs.

  “Hahaha… Mad Lion, that look suits you perfectly! You should be thanking this gentleman for improving your image!” one of them jeered between fits of laughter.

  “You filthy lizard-whore! Laugh again and I’ll challenge you to a duel!” Mad Lion shouted, pointing a trembling finger.

  “Enough!” Norman’s voice cracked like a whip.

  The women bit back their laughter, though their shoulders still shook.

  Norman turned to Glenn—only to find him idly checking his pocket watch, utterly unbothered by their presence.

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  “Why did you attack my men?” Norman asked, his tone cool but edged.

  Glenn smiled faintly. “Then why don’t you first tell me why they tried to stop my carriage?” He gestured toward the two mercenaries who had been hauled back, bruised and pale.

  Norman already had a fair guess—he knew all too well the temperament of his subordinates. Still, this concerned the reputation of the entire company; even if they were at fault, he had to maintain authority.

  “Perhaps they acted rashly,” he said evenly. “But your response was excessive. Offer some compensation and an apology, and we’ll let this matter end here.”

  “Norman! You can’t just let him walk away like that!” Mad Lion growled, outraged.

  Before Norman could answer, Glenn said simply, “No.”

  Every gaze hardened, filled with disdain. To them, he was just another fool—too arrogant to recognize danger.

  “You heard him, Norman! This weakling wants a beating!” Mad Lion snarled, jabbing a finger toward Glenn.

  “Why waste words? He struck our men—let’s take him down!” one of the women said, swinging a massive sword off her back.

  Norman hesitated. He still couldn’t gauge Glenn’s true strength. The man’s calmness spoke of confidence, perhaps power—and if they angered the wrong person, it could doom them all.

  But the mercenary band was not entirely under his command. The two women and Mad Lion were muscle-headed brutes who respected only dominance. If he backed down now, he’d lose what little authority he had left.

  Glenn noticed his hesitation, reading him easily. So you’re the only one here with a brain, he thought. The rest are just noise.

  Then he said aloud, his tone laced with mockery, “What’s wrong? Afraid? If you’re scared, move aside and stop wasting my time.”

  It was like striking a match to powder. The two women and Mad Lion charged at once, weapons raised.

  Glenn flicked the reins, and the deer lurched aside in a quick sidestep.

  Mad Lion struck first, bellowing as he lunged with a spear, his power bursting forth—a solid Second-Rank warrior.

  Glenn turned slightly, palm brushing the spear aside, then drove his fist forward— The blow landed cleanly on Mad Lion’s left eye.

  With a cry, the brute was sent flying sideways, crashing into a heap of his own men.

  The first female warrior raised her greatsword for an upward slash—but Glenn stepped in, swept his leg lightly— She lost her balance, falling hard to the ground. Before she could recover, his hand seized her ankle.

  With a casual flick, he swung her overhead twice like a flail, then let go. She soared through the air, landing in a tangle of limbs and curses.

  The last woman leapt high, her sword descending with a roar.

  Glenn merely raised his hand in a scissors motion. The blade struck between his fingers—and stopped.

  No matter how the warrior strained, the weapon refused to budge.

  With a slow twist of his wrist, the sword bent aside. He smiled at her strained, reddened face—and pinched.

  A sharp crack split the air. A fracture appeared along the sword’s spine, running deep.

  “This… impossible…” she whispered, wide-eyed.

  The sword shattered between his fingers. She fell back, landing hard on the ground.

  The two who had been flung aside moments ago froze where they stood, suddenly very aware of the danger they were in.

  Glenn rested a hand lightly on the fallen woman’s shoulder. Her body stiffened. With a single motion, he lifted her upright as though she weighed nothing.

  “Still want to fight?” he asked quietly.

  She stared, blank—her mind numb with fear.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Glenn said softly, closing his hand around her throat and lifting her off the ground.

  Her legs kicked helplessly, face flushed red as air fled her lungs.

  “We yield!” Norman shouted urgently.

  Glenn released his grip. The woman collapsed, coughing violently, the terror of death still frozen in her eyes.

  The camp fell silent. The arrogance that had filled the air moments ago had vanished, replaced by heavy dread.

  Glenn turned to Mad Lion. “Do you still want to fight?”

  Mad Lion swallowed hard, unable to speak. His pride warred with fear—but Glenn was already moving.

  In the blink of an eye, he stood before the man again, fingers clamped over his mouth and nose— lifting him effortlessly into the air, just as he had the others.

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