Chapter 43: Reverence

A razor-sharp sword aura shot into the sky, its energy far surpassing the threshold that a D-class creature could withstand. The aura sliced effortlessly through the manticore’s flesh, carving a long wound across its back, and with a sickening snap, its deadly stinger was severed!

With its tail cut off, searing pain surged through the manticore’s nerves. It let out a heart-wrenching, furious roar as its wings beat the air, shifting from a dive to a glide before landing on the ground. Fear flickered in its eyes—for a manticore, the importance of its stinger rivaled even its own head. Though the loss was not fatal, it was a devastating blow.

A black, human-shaped phantom raced forth. This apparition closely resembled Han Feng, yet was insubstantial, a shadow wielding a violet phantom sword that slashed at Mitchel Fran.

Phantom Sword!

The phantom’s attacks carried only thirty percent of Han Feng’s own power, but given his extraordinary attributes, it was no longer merely a tactic to distract an opponent. Its strikes now rivaled those of an ordinary D-class martial artist. The phantom struck at Mitchel Fran six times in rapid succession. Mitchel’s slender rapier wove a seamless web of defense—his abilities were D+ class, surpassing most D-class fighters. The six attacks posed little real threat, but succeeded in pinning him down.

Han Feng summoned his strength, breaking free from the magical restraint. At his level, D-class control magic’s duration was drastically reduced by sheer force. The “Binding Winds,” which should have slowed him for ten seconds, only held him for a single heartbeat.

Once free, his speed soared again, transforming him into a streak of black lightning hurtling toward Jordan Pires.

A look of terror appeared on Jordan Pires’s face; as a fragile mage, he was finished if a martial artist got close. Sensing his master’s peril, the wounded manticore disregarded its injuries and lunged at Han Feng from the side.

Han Feng ignored the enraged beast, charging straight for Jordan Pires. He slipped past the manticore’s claws, and instead of striking with his sword, Han Feng brought the edge of his hand down on the back of Jordan’s head—a sparring match did not require bloodshed.

Jordan collapsed, unconscious, instantly out of the fight.

Seeing that Han Feng had not harmed its master, the manticore let out a defiant roar, then retreated to Jordan’s side, withdrawing from the battle as well. Though gravely wounded, the beast would recover in time with the mage’s care; its tail would regrow, and it would not be crippled.

Mitchel Fran had witnessed Han Feng’s devastating strike against the manticore and the swift, clinical defeat of Jordan Pires. He knew they had met their match, but his pride would not let him back down. Should he retreat now, fear would take root in his heart, and his martial path would come to an end.

So he did not falter. With his rapier held at the ready, he launched his final charge.

A flash of admiration crossed Han Feng’s eyes. Mitchel Fran, for all his character flaws, had qualities worthy of respect.

Mitchel gathered every last bit of his spiritual power into his blade; the sword’s radiance flared—the signature move, “Instant Thrust,” now unleashed at full power.

He seemed to vanish, a mere illusion left in his wake from the sheer speed of his approach.

Han Feng raised his hand, unleashing two crossing slashes of sword aura. “Cross Slash!”

When Mitchel Fran reappeared, the tip of his rapier struck the heart of the cross-shaped attack, its blazing energy clashing against Han Feng’s sword aura.

A thunderous crash rang out.

A cascade of spiritual energy scattered like stardust, and a figure was sent flying.

Mitchel Fran’s body was scored with countless fine cuts—after pouring all his strength into dispersing the Cross Slash, the residual sword aura had sliced him, blood seeping through his clothes, staining them crimson.

Han Feng never once used his card abilities. When he accepted the assignment, he’d registered as a martial artist. In the treacherous expanse of the star seas, revealing too much could prove fatal; only those who knew how to conceal themselves could seize the unexpected victory.

“Captain, you’re incredible!” Tifa rushed over, eyes shining. She had witnessed Han Feng’s overwhelming display from start to finish. This hardly seemed a duel—it was more like a one-sided rout. Anyone watching might have thought the opposition were mere amateurs.

Han Feng sheathed his sword, Grisiel, and opened the door of the combat simulation chamber. Those gathered outside parted instinctively, forming a path, their gazes filled with awe.

Such was the way of the cosmos: people revered the strong. Those at the pinnacle could destroy worlds and roam the stars at will.

The members of the Bear Hunter Corps were silent, cowed and dejected. To witness both captain and vice-captain so thoroughly defeated was a crushing blow.

“That was a marvelous fight,” Sun Fei said, applauding as she approached, something strange flickering in her eyes.

Mitchel Fran, a D+ class, and Jordan Pires, D class, together had been utterly outclassed. Was Han Feng truly just D class? Had he already reached C class? Only a C-class combatant could so thoroughly overwhelm Mitchel Fran.

A sudden realization struck her—perhaps the commission she’d offered Han Feng was far too modest. Why would a man of such strength accept their assignment at all?

She resolved that, when the time came, she would raise the payment to match the fee for a C-class operative.

Han Feng smiled and nodded. “That fellow inside might need some medical attention.”

“Rest assured, the medics are already with him,” Sun Fei replied. “In a few hours, we’ll be making the next jump, so please prepare yourself.” Unconsciously, her manner had grown far more respectful.

Han Feng nodded and walked away.

His mood was light. The battle had proved he could easily overwhelm D-class opponents. By the standards of his previous life, his attributes were now at C-class levels.

Still, he could not yet learn C-class martial skills; the skill points he’d invested at this stage were insufficient to unlock them. For now, his strength relied chiefly on the attributes and abilities granted by his card system.

It was time, he thought, to seek out a worthy adversary and test whether he could truly take on a C-class foe. If he could, earning more skill points would become much easier, and he could achieve higher ratings in his main quests.

“Tifa, let’s go have a drink and celebrate.”

“To celebrate the captain’s victory!”

“No, to welcome the glittering shower of star-coins!”