The Wrath of Zane

Zane looked at the rope with a curious expression.

"Anyway, I can't understand the seeds of the religious sect. Why would you even create a device that limits power?"

In fact, they could feel the white mana inside Zane mana hole burning away. Looking at Zane, who seemed uninterested in him, Melverick threw the ball he was holding with all his might.

"When people talk, listen to them, kid!"

The ball flew at a rapid pace.

Shhh-!

The ball hit Zane squarely in the head.

Puck-!

The members of the Pitch Black Fangs, who were watching the scene, soon began to giggle and chatter.

"Hey, Why did you hit him first? You should leave some for me too."

"Zane, shall we take off your trousers and hang them on the front door today?"

"Take it easy. The baby will cry."

Melverick chuckled as he watched Raze standing still.

"So, I wish you had listened carefully when I spoke...?"

At that moment, Melverick, who was about to approach Zane, stopped in his tracks in surprise. Something felt strange. It was a completely different kind of discomfort than he had ever felt seeing Zane before.

Raze had a faint smile on his lips.

'It's been a while. This feeling.'

A bracelet that limits divine power.

And it just flew off clean in one hit.

White mana bubbled inside his body.

Bubbling, bubbling, bubbling...!

He could feel the black mana inside his body running wild. Old memories came flooding back to him. Memories from before he became a warlock, back when he didn't have a single bit of mana.

The lives of war orphans, who fought and dug through pits of rotting corpses.

…And in between, there were memories of his childhood, when he was called 'monopoly.'

Somehow, he survived in a place ravaged by war. They were like rats, crows, flies, and orphans.

Rats, crows, and flies could go anywhere freely, but orphans could not. They were ultimately left in the middle of hell, forced to continue living. There was only one thing orphans could do. The only way to survive was to search through rotting corpses and sell the stolen goods on the black market.

Zane was an orphan who was born on the battlefield and grew up following it.

Those who waged war always said, 'This is a holy war,' but when the war was over, there wasn't a trace of the divinity they had claimed.

A life of stealing from corpses, killing to take what you had stolen, and killing first to avoid having it taken from you.

Theft was manners, assault was etiquette, and murder was common sense. It was a series of situations where you could kill someone at any time or be killed by someone else.

That's how Zane lived during his childhood. By the time famine and violence had robbed him of the use of his left arm and right eye, Zane had become one of the most dangerous men in the crucible of hell.

***

Bam.

Zane woke up from his reverie because one of the Pitch Black Fangs was hitting his forehead.

"Hey, what are you sitting there blankly for? How many times do you want to get hit?"

A large second-year cadet stood in front of Zane, his shoulders relaxed. The members of Pitch Black Fang, seeing this, whistled and made various jokes.

"Wow, look at the size difference."

"Take it easy. Leave some for me too."

"Don't hit him in the face. Tomorrow, that bastard's class president will give me a hard time."

"Hey! Zane Cromwell! So, how many times do you want to take it?"

But Zane didn't react. He simply extended his fingers forward and made a V shape.

"...?"

The big guy tilted his head at Raze's gesture, then burst into laughter.

"Ha, this kid. You think I'll hit you once, but if I hit you three times, you'll die, so you're saying you'll take two? Hahaha…"

But the triumphant laughter hadn't yet ended because—

Pack!

Zane fingers dug right into the big guy's two eye sockets.

"Argh!?"

But it didn't end there. Zane knee struck the big man in the groin.

Woodduck.

A cracking sound made everyone doubt their ears. This time, not even a scream was heard.

Thud!

The big guy fell over, foaming at the mouth. There were only two attacks.

"...?"

It took quite a while for the members of the Pitch Black Fangs to understand what had just happened. Meanwhile, Zane stepped on the back of the fallen man and started walking slowly.

"...Next."

The guys who came to their senses at those words started rushing toward him.

"You bastard!"

"Who does Raze think he is?"

"Kill him!"

Zane stared at them blankly, thinking for a moment.

Kurururuk...!

The black mana inside his body sensed their hostility and burned fiercely. The anger and murderous intent of the others became firewood and oil for the flames inside his mana hole.

But...

'There's no need to use magic against these fools.'

If he used magic, it would be harder to keep someone alive than to kill them. It would be like trying to catch a fly with a flyswatter while keeping it intact.

Slap.

Zane dodged a flying fist, moving diagonally downward. Using the momentum, he lightly raised his opponent's elbow and hit it.

Bam!

The person's arm bent in the opposite direction, at an angle the joint was never meant to allow.

"Ahhh! My, my arm…!"

A scream of fear and pain erupted. Of course, that didn't mean the next move was slow.

Zane dodged another man's fist and grabbed him by the hair. Then, putting his weight into it, he slammed the guy down onto the floor.

Boom! Crunch!

The man who had been rushing toward Zane shouted in frustration.

"You coward! Pulling hair like that! Why don't you fight like a man?"

"...I see. Then I'll fight like a man."

Zane stopped trying to pull his hair and instead raised his elbow, shoving it into the man's mouth.

Ppagagak!

The lower jaw dislocated as blood, teeth, and gums tangled together, pouring out.

"Next, who's the manly one?"

"..."

No one dared respond to Zane's question as he wiped the blood from his hands.