As he stepped forward toward the fools, Jin smirked and said mockingly:
> "Disasters never come alone. And since I adore disasters… I want them all. Come to me, you foolish children."
Yora von Nereti laughed with derision.
> "Hahaha! A dimwit like you believes in legends? How pitifully naïve."
Jin replied coldly:
> "Be it truth or myth, who needs whom here? Also, drop the lies and fear. You're too scared to leave the capital, afraid the Undead Legion would defile your womb. While we… we were just two. And we annihilated them. So, who's truly weak?"
Yora's aura flared—clearly, she was a witch.
The man beside her, Yarn Font Yarnem, chimed in:
> "Hahaha! What nonsense! You expect us to believe that you defeated the Undead Legion? Haven't you heard the rumors? You're from a foreign land!"
But Jin kept speaking to the girl, not even glancing his way. Clark burst into roaring laughter:
> "Hahaha! He ignored you, you idiot! He won't even look at you—you're not even worth the dirt on his boots!"
Yarn's face turned red with fury. Jin added mockingly:
> "Aww, what's wrong, princess? PMS hitting hard today? Or did the sight of me get your hormones boiling? Hahaha!"
Yarn snarled:
> "You bastard! You're ignoring me? What's your damn problem?!"
Clark laughed so hard tears streamed down his cheeks:
> "Hahaha! Are you mad a man is screwing your mother? Calm down! If it's a fight you want, I'm right here, standing tall!"
Enraged, Yarn drew his sword:
> "Face me if you're a man!"
A faint aura rose from Yarn—too weak.
Clark laughed again:
> "Your stance is wrong. Your form is exposed. Do you really think you can fight?"
Yarn lunged forward, but Clark blocked him mid-swing with ease. With scorn, he growled:
> "Afraid? Is that what the minister did to you? A man's blade shouldn't return to its sheath without tasting blood! You say you'll fight me but fear the consequences? What if a man stronger than you came to rape your family—would you cower because he holds power?! Where is your honor?!"
Clark raised his right hand; Yarn instinctively followed it with his eyes—only to be struck from the other side. A punch. A kick. A violent headbutt. Then a flurry of fists turned Yarn's face into a bloodied canvas.
Yora screamed:
> "How dare you?! Do you know who he is?!"
Clark casually flicked blood off his hands:
> "And why should I care?"
Yora shrieked:
> "He's the emperor's son, you bastard!!"
Clark froze.
His eyes widened. He spun around, searching for Jin—gone. Disappeared into the crowd.
And suddenly, he realized… he had committed a grave sin.
---
Yarn collapsed to the ground, his face mangled and unrecognizable. His breath came in ragged gasps, eyes half-lidded, lost in the void.
Then—
An earth-shattering silence fell.
A single cry erupted:
> "He struck the emperor's son!"
Panic spread like wildfire. Screams. Chaos. Hooves pounding in the distance. Soldiers rushing in. Spears pointing at Clark's chest.
One of the guards barked:
> "Drop your weapon! You are under arrest for assaulting a member of the imperial family!"
But Clark smiled, flicking blood from his hands. There was no fear in his eyes—only mockery. He turned slowly, as if admiring the chaos like a painting, and said:
> "If the emperor's son can't take a punch… does he deserve the throne?"
The guards closed in, spears inches from his skin. Clark raised his hands lightly—like a child playing a game. His eyes searched for Jin… but Jin had vanished completely.
Clark whispered:
> "Damn you, Jin... You ran and left me in the storm."
He smirked bitterly and muttered with venom:
> "You disappoint me, Lord Minister. First time in the real world? A shame... there's no one here to pat your backside and tell you you're a good boy. Now that you're locked in here with me… I'll make a man out of you—whether you like it or not."
The minister's face trembled, eyes wide with dread. But before he could speak, Clark growled:
> "Ah yes… Time to begin the punishment."
He stepped forward with ruthless poise.
> "Stand, Lord Minister. Face the wall. You and I are going to play a little game."
With a mocking smile, Clark tore a strip from his garment and blindfolded the minister. Then, in theatrical cruelty, he blindfolded himself as well.
His laughter echoed like madness itself.
> "What do you think, Lord Minister? Hahaha… Neither of us knows where the knife will land. Isn't this fun?"
Before him on a table: ten gleaming knives, polished to perfection under the dim torchlight.
Three throws only. That was his promise to himself. But would he keep it?
He picked up the first blade and flung it toward the wall. It missed. A harsh metallic clang rang out.
Clark howled with glee:
> "Hahaha! Luck's on your side tonight, Lord Minister!"
The guards watched in tense confusion.
One mumbled:
> "What an idiot… just trying to scare him."
Another chuckled:
> "Look how he trembles with every clang… Clark has his soul by the throat."
Second knife—missed.
Third—missed again.
One of the guards snorted:
> "What a joke. Three misses!"
But the minister… he was in another realm. Trembling. Hands twitching on the wall. Face pale as ash, every clang of steel slicing into his mind like a phantom dagger.
Clark smiled wickedly:
> "Three blades left… Now, keep your hands on the wall. For me."
He threw the fourth.
Direct hit—through the minister's right hand!
A muffled scream followed.
The fifth—straight through the left!
Clark cackled:
> "Remember the wager, Lord Minister? I said I could hit anywhere I want. Which means… I could kill you. Right now. Just like that."
The minister's knees buckled. He nearly wet himself from sheer terror.
A guard shouted:
> "Stop! You maniac!"
Clark turned with a mad gleam in his eyes:
> "I struck the emperor's own son. Do you think I'll spare this rat? Come now, Lord Minister… Say your farewells."
He raised the final blade and aimed it at the center of the minister's skull.
The minister stood frozen, face drained of all life. His wrinkles deepened like he'd aged twenty years in seconds.
But—
Before Clark could end the game, a flood of soldiers stormed into the cell!
With the grace of a killer, Clark dodged their strikes, spinning with blades like a mad jester in a death ballet, laughing maniacally as if the world burned beneath his feet.
His hysterical laughter was like doomsday drums, echoing through the cell:
> "HAHAHAHA! I am Clark the Magnificent! Emperor among jackals! I slip from crime like a hair from dough!"
A trembling guard whispered:
> "Damn… he really did slip out like a hair from dough… What is he?"
The chief guard yelled:
> "Call the royal guards now! This man is not normal!"
But the blades were faster than their cries. Clark's knives danced like a storm, pristine and untouched by blood—like a legend reborn.
Every inch of his body spelled it clearly: Professional. Slaughterer. A mad mind in a dancer's frame.
One of the guards whispered in awe:
> "He's clean… after all this. As if the blood refuses to touch him… Is it magic, or mastery?"
The ringing of steel cut through the thoughts again, as Clark roared:
> "What's this?! Has your nation run out of men?! Bring me someone worthy of stopping my blade!"
He wasn't just fighting—he was breaking them. Draining their courage like light from a room.
And through the chaos… the High Minister finally arrived. His eyes swept the scene, absorbing the carnage that had erupted in his brief absence.
> "STOP!"
His voice was thunder in a desolate valley, echoing through the prison walls like a royal decree.
> "You dare raise arms against the savior of this nation?! How dare you! Do you not see the blazing sun before you?!"
Everyone froze. Even the echoes obeyed.
Clark turned toward the minister with a weary grin, bloodless yet exhausted.
He muttered with dry sarcasm:
> "How ironic… the blazing sun, covered in mud."
And before he could utter another word—
He collapsed.
His body hit the floor with the heavy silence of a beast finally choosing rest.
Clark had been taken for medical treatment.
Elsewhere, Jin was fighting a very different kind of battle — with a girl.
> "I assume they asked you to show me the palace, not stalk me all day."
He spoke as he cast a weary glance at the girl walking beside him.
That girl was Alyssa Font Van Brach — with rose-pink hair and a beauty like that of an angel who had torn off her wings just to walk across the royal marble.
Alyssa shot him a charmingly furious glare.
> "And what's bothering you? Am I that unbearable?"
Her anger wasn't frightening… it was captivating.
So Jin decided to provoke her further, with a cold smirk:
> "Honestly? Yes. Your eyes pierce through me like I'm standing here naked.
And to top it all off… I haven't had breakfast."
Alyssa exhaled — a sigh so graceful even the air in the hallway paused to admire it.
Then she turned with icy composure and said:
> "There's a restaurant that serves a decent drink and spaghetti… Let's go."
Jin chuckled and replied without hesitation:
> "Lead the way, beautiful little stalker."
To be continued…
---