20 Chapter 20 - Payback Time (II)

Chapter 20 - Payback Time (II)

In no time, Maxmillan found himself standing before one of their notorious nests—an establishment known as the Heartwood Inn. This inn, a magnet for local ruffians, was a haven where they reveled in ceaseless wining, dining, perpetual gambling, and endless partying. This haven, akin to a clandestine lair, catered exclusively to their desires, a sanctuary meticulously crafted by an individual of considerable resources. Within its walls, the air buzzed with relaxation, echoing laughter, and the animated chatter of those seeking a reprieve from the outside world. The inn served as a rendezvous for intimate encounters, with an abundance of voluptuous and curvaceous women, each possessing a captivating allure that made the Heartwood Inn their clandestine paradise.

As Maxmillan approached the inn, memories flooded back, vividly recalling it as one of the many establishments where he had been subjected to discriminatory and brutal treatment. The mere dislike of his presence in their vicinity had often escalated into vicious reprisals, with the perpetrators occasionally venting their frustrations from lost bets through relentless and inhumane beatings. The grim facade of the inn triggered a surge of resentment within him.

With each step, the haunting echoes of past injustices intensified, fueling Maxmillan's rage. As he stood in the distance before the inn, the stench of stale ale and the acrid scent of worn-out wood assaulted his senses. The creaking signboard overhead groaned in protest against the ceaseless wind, adding an eerie soundtrack to his brewing confrontation.

With a guttural growl, Maxmillan could no longer contain his fury. Bellowing at the top of his lungs, the raw power of his voice reverberated through the inn. "Damned bastards, come out here to your death!" The words hung in the air, charged with the weight of past grievances and the foreboding imminent clash.

The moment Maxmillan's thunderous voice, laden with an icy chill and seething wrath, echoed through the Heartwood Inn, a hush fell over the numerous thugs within. Amidst the brightly lit establishment, where the air reeked of stale ale and the ambiance hummed with the murmur of exchanged punches and the clinking of gambling tokens, a palpable tension gripped the room.

The thugs, engaged in boisterous games and settling minor grudges over unpaid debts, were abruptly stunned into silence. Slowly, expressions of indignation and malice contorted their faces as they processed the audacity of the interruption.

"Who dares to interrupt our pleasurable activities?" roared one of them, his anger manifesting in the tense clenching of fists. With a vehement resolve, he prepared to stride outside, driven by the fury of defending their infamous lair against whoever had the audacity to disrupt their illicit revelries.

"Easy, Garyll. I wager it's the irate father or some vengeful brother of a girl we've pleasantly harassed, stepping into our den to chop us down like unwanted, unsavory weeds in their exotic garden of flowers. Hahaha."

"Alternatively, it might be someone who fancies they've grown formidable enough to take on all of us for the heinous acts of brutality we've gleefully inflicted upon them. Hehe." Another thug within the inn chuckled callously, the bright light accentuating the sinister mirth dancing in his eyes. Unfazed and dismissive, he spoke without even considering the possibility of Maxmillan's presence, having callously victimized numerous individuals and plundered eye-catching possessions that now adorned their ill-gotten collection.

They had callously perpetrated a myriad of atrocities, earning the collective disdain of the populace—what Maxmillan referred to as the common casters. The prevailing sentiment among the people was a fervent desire for their demise or eternal banishment to perilous wildernesses. In these unforgiving terrains, they would reckon with their deeds through a currency of blood and life.

Their unrestrained and audacious assaults on daughters and wives had stirred a simmering fury, making the mere mention of their names a curse on the lips of those they had victimized. The air in the city was charged with a palpable desire for retribution.

These ruthless criminals didn't limit their malevolence to the domestic sphere; their brazen, daylight criminal acts against the city's denizens in various districts further fueled the collective outcry for justice. The streets whispered tales of their fearless boldness, leaving an indelible mark of fear and resentment in every corner.

"Everyone, let's head out and unveil the face of the audacious bastard who dares to stir trouble in our haven. And after passing him around among us, drowning his voice in potent liquor that will gush out of our pipes, we shall confine him to a room where Butcher, with his expertise in torment, will subject him to merciless agony. Once his tortured existence concludes, we'll discard his gruesomely slashed and heavily pierced corpse into the Blackstone Wilderness, a territory teeming with Astra beasts eager to feast on his remains." One of them declared with chilling harshness, a sinister gleam emanating from his clouded eyes. The others, upon hearing this macabre plan, cackled in anticipation of the malevolent deeds they envisioned. Meanwhile, outside, Maxmillan patiently awaited their emergence, unaware of the impending horrors they plotted against him.

One by one, the thugs emerged into the open, eager to lay eyes on the face of their audacious challenger—a figure who had dared to disrupt their haven. However, their expressions shifted from arrogance to astonishment as they beheld the imposing presence of Maxmillan, concealed beneath a formidable mask.

His rare physique exuded strength, displaying an unparalleled toughness and might that left the onlookers genuinely surprised. A distinctive aura of dominant prowess enveloped him, making it clear that he was no ordinary adversary. As they observed him, their eyes gleamed with a mix of disbelief and grudging admiration.

Maxmillan's eyes, fierce and fiery, emitted a light of unequaled battle preparedness. Each gaze seemed to carry the weight of a seasoned warrior, ready to confront the world single-handedly. His entire presence radiated a sense of indomitable will and a readiness to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

"What an imposing and formidable presence. But when did we incur the wrath of such an individual? Did any of you engage in reckless deeds against someone's wife or daughter out there? Hahaha!" One of them queried, breaking into a cackling laughter that resonated in a rather amusing manner, echoed by the others who joined in the hilarity.

"Since you've graced us with your presence, consider surrendering and perhaps your meager life will be spared. Otherwise, you'll meet a regrettable, miserable demise," the speaker declared, his eyes radiating a cold, harsh light while he began to emanate a churning purplish aura of Astra Mystralis. The ethereal glow partially enshrouded his figure, adding an otherworldly aspect to the ominous challenge he presented.

Maxmillan who impatiently listened to the vexatious utterances that left their glib mouths, suddenly dashed towards one of them with a burning indignant aura furiously exuding from his figure.

Bang!

With a thunderous impact, he delivered a powerful uppercut that sent the unfortunate soul soaring more than twelve feet into the air. As gravity reclaimed its hold, the person descended with a deafening crash, the bare brown earth greeting him with an eruption of dust that underscored the force of the impact.

Upon landing, the once defiant figure now lay lifeless, a shattered jaw oozing blood like a ruptured pipe, the gruesome aftermath of Maxmillan's unbridled fury.

Maxmillan had packed a lot of crushing power in that punch!

Witnessing Maxmillan's brutally decisive actions, the thugs swiftly found themselves entangled in a chaotic and bloody skirmish. The commotion immediately drew the attention of numerous common casters in the vicinity.

Startled and fearing for their safety, the onlookers hastily retreated, their hurried footsteps echoing in the air as they sought refuge from the impending turmoil. Fear and terror gripped them as they scrambled away, mindful of the potential danger posed by stray magical discharges that could unleash lethal consequences in an instant. The atmosphere crackled with tension, punctuated by the distant sounds of clashes and magical bursts, creating an environment of palpable danger.

The thugs, once formidable members of highly trained Astra Spellcraft Commanders' groups, showcased their prowess as average to high-level casters of Astra Mystralis. Having engaged in battles against nefarious criminal masterminds, they were seasoned warriors, honed through countless conflicts and strategic encounters.

Exiled from their posts due to corruption, avarice, and malice, these skilled individuals were dozens of times more adept in both battle and spellcasting than the mere carriage drivers Maxmillan had encountered before. The clash unfolded as a complex dance of magical energies and martial skills, each move calculated and executed with a precision that spoke of their battle-hardened experience.

Maxmillan found himself in the midst of a formidable opposition, realizing the true challenge of the mission rated at a shocking 7/10. Despite the bestowed rewarded weapons and peak-state body upgrades, the skill and resilience of his adversaries proved to be a daunting obstacle, a testament to the difficulty of the task at hand.

The thugs, akin to Maxmillan in their background as trained soldiers, distinguished themselves with an array of magical abilities ranging from average to high levels. Their proficiency in spellcasting was formidable, weaving enchantments and Astra Mystralis energy into a lethal tapestry of offense. What set them apart, however, was not just individual skill but their sheer numbers, elevating their collective offensive prowess to an insurmountable tier.

In their highly organized assault, they moved with a synchronized precision that bordered on perfection, each thug complementing the other in a symphony of magical attacks. The onslaught was relentless, putting Maxmillan, devoid of magical powers, in an exceedingly tight and annihilatory predicament. The air crackled with the unleashed magic, creating an atmosphere charged with the horrifying, ruinative clash between overwhelming magical forces and Maxmillan's resilient determination.

'Are these guys skilled deployable warriors? The hell are they so good in battle? Ugh!' Maxmillan asked within himself as he struggled to stand to his feet from the dozens of feet that he was knocked to by a furious fire-bound magical attack that was decisively launched at him by one of the thugs, which impacted him with a large amount of force in the chest and sent him flying for many feet.

In the current moment, Maxmillan bore the brunt of numerous injuries that relentlessly assaulted his senses and entire body. Despite the serious aching, burning, and stinging pains that permeated every inch of his being, he pressed on.

His great threshold for pain, one of his strongest attributes, now further heightened by the anatomy-altering Bionites, allowed him to overlook the torment. Maxmillan, tall and powerfully muscular, fought with an aura of incomparable savagery, unmatched brutality, and unequaled viciousness. Each movement he made was fueled by a tenacious willpower that eclipsed the physical toll exacted upon him. The air crackled with their clashes, and the dust of the ongoing battle served as a testament to Maxmillan's resilience amid the relentless assault.

In an instant, space itself contorted around Maxmillan's outstretched hands, and as the spatial warping effect subsided a second later, a formidable long-range flamethrower materialized within his grasp.

With a baleful glow of ruthlessness flashing in his penetrative cold eyes, Maxmillan unleashed a terrifying torrent of searing-hot flame at some of the thugs who had executed magically-enhanced high jumps in the air to pelt and impale him all over with razor-sharp, sword, scimitar and spear-shaped, solid-energy constructs that were swiftly formed out of their harmonious connections with Astra Mystralis energy.

With skillful finesse, Maxmillan deftly dodged the annihilative projectiles hurtling towards him, executing a slick aerial maneuverability skill. The lethal constructs meant to impale him were left trailing behind as he navigated the air with agile grace. Once he landed from his fancy but effective, evasive rotatory flip, he immediately dowsed the thugs preparing to attack him with continuous bursts of steel-melting flames.

The flames, once unleashed by Maxmillan's fiery assault, faced an immediate rebuttal from his adversaries. Their colleagues skillfully attracted the flames to their hands, harnessing their magic-based elemental control ability. With precise manipulation, they transformed the flames into furiously revolving, tremendously-hot fireballs.These fireballs, rapidly growing in size through the infusion of Astra Mystralis, became formidable projectiles. Abruptly sent hurtling through the air, they carried a lot of crushing impact force.

Whoosh!

Whoosh!

Whoosh!...

The large, raging balls of solidly-condensed fire hurtled towards Maxmillan like blazing gigantic cannonballs, their searing heat palpable even from a distance. In a split-second reaction, Maxmillan's movements were a symphony of agility and instinct.

With swift precision, he immediately slid on the ground, his body low and nimble as he evaded the impending onslaught. The air crackled with the intense heat of the approaching fireballs, and the ground beneath him trembled slightly as the fiery projectiles surged forward.

Then with space warping around his hands as he evasively slid on the ground to dodge the incoming, large heavy balls of blazing fire, an advanced, pump-action shotgun instantly appeared in them which he used to unexpectedly unleash powerful shots that released shockwave-emitting bursts of extreme-supersonic speed shrapnels.

Skillfully and unerringly aiming at the heads of the thugs one after the other, their heads and necks violently scattered off from their shoulders, leaving behind fountains of bright red blood that shot towards the distant cloudy horizon.

The shotgun immediately vanished and was instantly replaced by a .45 magnum pistol that Maxmillan used to make see-through holes in the heads of the thugs who were overwhelmingly stunned by the frightening weapon that he earlier conjured to his hands, and so, couldn't dodge on time but be struck by the fast-speeding bullets rapidly fired off from the tech-advanced, penetration-enhanced magnum pistol that shot twelve-inches titanium piercer bullets.

So, out of forty thugs that emerged from the inn, nineteen of them had been killed off by Maxmillan through impeccable headshots alone. Then coupled with the one that Maxmillan broke off his jaw with a powerful roof-collapsing uppercut, he had killed twenty of them in number.

Seeing that the weapons switching in Maxmillan's hand were both formidable and dreadful, as they didn't give them time to either block or dodge before having their heads go off into countless pieces that were immediately accompanied by violent, mist-like eruptions of blood, they immediately switched from offensive modes to defensive modes, exactly where Maxmillan wanted them to be.

Confronted with Maxmillan's fearsome attacks, the thugs swiftly reacted by manifesting thick, solid walls of magical energy around their bodies. These protective barriers shimmered with ethereal resilience, forming an arcane shield against the impending onslaught.

However, far from deterred, Maxmillan, upon observing the manifestation of these defensive barriers, broke into a cruel, vicious smile. Recognizing their attempt to shield themselves, he casually switched from the .45 magnum pistol in his hand to the long-range flamethrower once again.

This time, with an ominous shift, he increased its flame discharge output from Low Power Mode to Max Power Mode. The air crackled with the intensified energy as he seamlessly transitioned from Diverging Spray-Mode to Focused Spray-Mode, narrowing the fiery onslaught to a concentrated, lethal stream. The atmosphere shifted, charged with the anticipation of a more potent and focused wave of destruction about to be unleashed.

Whoooshhh!!

Abruptly, a line-focused stream of exceedingly-hot flame that was only 5 inches wide and carried with it an astonishing amount of penetrative force due to the efficient flame-compression and pyrokinetic amplification technology within the flamethrower, immediately expelled from its projector muzzle and heavily impacted one of them that was fully encased in a densely compacted shield of magical energy.

Directing the pyrokinetically accelerated, concentrated stream of searing-hot, steel-vaporizing flame at the shield, Maxmillan persisted for some time. The intense flame voraciously consumed the protective magical barrier, causing it to rapidly thin out. Like a thin structural mold of wet paper mixed with starch, the shield became fragile under the relentless assault.

With the magical defense rendered feeble, Maxmillan swiftly produced his .45 magnum gun once again. His movements were calculated and purposeful as he aimed the weapon at the head of the terrified thug, the barrel of the gun aligning with ruthless precision.

Bang!

The rapidly-thinned fragile shield immediately shattered to countless pieces and reverted to numerous wisps of Astra Mystralis that quickly dispersed in the atmosphere. While the thug that was previously encased in a shield of Astra Mystralis energy, fell with his back to the ground with a hole that reached all the way to the back of his head, such that one could see what was behind him through the hole. Also, blood began to furiously spurt out of the bullet hole where it formed into a thick reddish pool around his corpse.

Having dealt with the thug, Maxmillan pivoted, directing the compacted stream of hot flame emitting from the projector muzzle of the flamethrower toward another adversary. The intensely focused flame painted a path of searing heat as it surged forward, the air crackling with its relentless intensity.

The targeted thug, in response, immediately developed a ghastly, terrified expression on his face. The approaching torrent of flame created a vivid contrast with the fear-stricken features of the adversary, heightening the tension in the unfolding confrontation. The battleground resonated with the crackling energy of the fiery assault, creating a scene of impending calamity.

"Everyone, fall back! Let's retreat. We can't beat this person. He is tough and well-equipped with potent otherworldly weapons," the person shouted in horror. Slowly, he staggered towards the inn, desperate to escape Maxmillan's wicked onslaught. With every step, he tried his utmost best to endure the seemingly unceasing, energy-devouring flame.

The air resonated with the crackling heat as Maxmillan continued his relentless assault. The frantic retreat of the person mirrored the intensity of the fiery onslaught, creating a scene of chaotic desperation. The acrid scent of burning magic lingered in the air, mingling with the palpable fear emanating from the retreating figures. The battleground, once a stage for aggression, now transformed into a theater of escape, each step away from the relentless flames punctuating the urgency of survival.