Pulled Punches, Broken Egos

The thick canopy of trees finally parted behind them, and the scent of pine gave way to the crisp bite of mountain air. With a slow breath, the MC stepped out onto the jagged cliff's edge, Tsuki perched quietly on his shoulder. Before them lay the world—and it was breathtaking.

The morning sun bled gold across a vast ocean of clouds, their tops glowing like waves frozen mid-storm. From this height, the sky seemed impossibly large, a dome of endless blue that curved over the horizon. Wind danced around them, tugging gently at the MC's clothes and Tsuki's fur, carrying the fresh scent of dew, earth, and far-off salt from the sea.

Far below, like a secret whispered between mountain ridges, the city of Ardenwave shimmered in the distance. Ships bobbed lazily in its sprawling harbor, sails catching the light like scattered petals. The city stretched wide—stone buildings with colorful rooftops clustered together, broken only by tall watchtowers and winding alleyways that snaked like veins through a living, breathing beast. Smoke curled from chimneys. Flags flapped in the breeze. Even from here, the buzz of life could almost be heard.

But Ardenwave wasn't just beautiful. It called to him—like a siren promising glory or ruin. A place of merchants and misfits, whispered deals, and bloody contracts. Pirates, monster bounty boards, black markets and gold-gilded guildhalls. Danger... and opportunity.

The MC exhaled, his body aching, but his spirit stirred. "That's our next stop, Tsuki," he said, voice low with a tired smile. Tsuki tilted his head, tail flicking in thought, but said nothing. As always.

A long road lay ahead—down twisting cliffs, through fog-slick trails, and across lands unknown. But for the first time in a while, the horizon didn't look like an escape. It looked like a beginning.

The MC adjusted the strap of his bag, muscles still sore from the days of battle and... other intense activities. With one last look at the sunlit city far below, he nodded to himself. "Time to move."

The path winding down from the cliff was narrow and uneven, carved crudely into the mountainside by travelers long gone. Jagged stones jutted from the dirt, and roots snaked across the trail like nature's traps. Tsuki clung tightly to his shoulder, ears twitching at every rustle of leaves and flap of distant wings.

The further they descended, the thicker the mist clung to the ground, curling around their feet like living smoke. The air grew warmer, tinged with salt and the scent of sea breeze blowing in from the unseen coast. Birdsong gave way to distant shouting.

Then, voices—harsh, slurred, aggressive.

The MC halted, his eyes narrowing. Below, where the mountain path widened into a small clearing between jagged boulders, a scene unfolded. Three rugged men—tattooed, wild-haired, and armed with rusted cutlasses—stood surrounding a hunched old merchant. His cart had been overturned, goods scattered across the dirt. One pirate kicked over a basket of dried herbs, laughing. Another held the old man's collar in one fist, waving a dagger near his face.

"Where's the coin, geezer? Or do we start peeling you like a fruit?"

The old man trembled, clutching his coin pouch to his chest like it was his last breath.

Tsuki hissed softly, fur bristling.

The MC cracked his knuckles.

"Pirates this far up the mountain?" he muttered, stepping forward. "Looks like Ardenwave's chaos is already climbing."

He let his shadow stretch ahead of him—slow, deliberate steps on the gravel—and called out, voice calm but sharp.

"Hey."

The pirates turned.

"Pick on someone who can actually hit back."

The pirates froze, heads snapping toward the intruder on the path. One of them squinted, then scoffed. "What's this? Some lost mountain climber lookin' to be a hero?"

The old merchant, still on the ground, looked up—eyes wide with a mix of hope and fear.

The MC stepped closer, boots crunching over loose gravel. His posture was relaxed, but every muscle was ready. Tsuki remained perched on his shoulder, stone silent, ears twitching like tiny radar dishes.

The pirate with the dagger chuckled and stepped forward. "Listen, lad. This here ain't your business. Keep walking, and maybe we won't use your ribs to stir our stew tonight."

The MC tilted his head. "Is that supposed to scare me? Because I've seen squirrels with more threatening auras than you."

Another pirate laughed, the one with a missing front tooth. "Heh, got jokes! Maybe we carve that tongue out first."

The MC smirked, unbothered. "Oh? You think you're the main character just 'cause you've got face tattoos and no dental plan?"

The first pirate growled, stepping closer, cutlass raised. "You've got guts, brat. Gonna spill 'em all over this dirt."

"I've already had a long week," the MC said, cracking his neck. "I wrestled a boar, built a house out of sticks, and sparred a muscle bunny into a new religion. Trust me—you guys are just Tuesday."

The merchant let out a confused noise. The pirates looked at each other.

"What… bunny?"

Before they could get an answer, the MC's foot shifted subtly, stance dropping.

"Here's the deal," he said, voice cooling. "You let the old man go, and maybe you limp away with your pride. Stay? Well…"

His eyes sharpened.

"…I hope someone packed you a nice last meal."

The pirate lunged forward, blade gleaming under the sunlight—wild and cocky.

Bad move.

The MC shifted his weight and stepped into it—low and fast. WHAM.

A thunderous, full-force roundhouse kick slammed into the pirate's thigh. The sound cracked through the air like a gunshot, and the man howled—his leg instantly buckling as he staggered.

"You feel that?" the MC said coolly. "That's your ego leaving your body."

The pirate tried to stay upright, wincing, snarling. "You little—!"

Too late.

The MC surged in close and snapped his arms around the pirate's neck, locking him into a brutal clinch. With one sharp yank, he dragged the pirate's face down—BAM!—a brutal knee drove into his nose. The impact echoed like a war drum. Blood sprayed. The pirate went limp, dropping his blade, eyes spinning like broken marbles.

The MC let him fall.

"One down," he muttered, brushing dust off his sleeve. "Try pillaging that, jackass."

The old merchant blinked in awe. Tsuki clapped—silently, with tiny paws—and gave a judgmental side-eye to the unconscious body.

The two pirates advanced, their swords glinting menacingly under the fading sun. They moved in sync, one from the left and one from the right—ready to carve the MC into pieces. Their blades whistled through the air, and it seemed like there was no escape.

But the MC didn't even flinch.

With a calmness that could freeze the air itself, he assessed the situation. His eyes tracked the arc of the blades, the shift in their stances, the subtle tell of their movements. They were confident, thinking they had him cornered, but he wasn't some novice.

In one fluid motion, he stepped back, his body almost impossible to follow. The first pirate's blade slashed through the space he had just occupied, missing by a breath. The MC didn't even need to look—his senses were sharp enough to feel the wind from the steel's edge.

He pivoted on his heel, his torso twisting with the grace of a dancer. The second pirate's sword grazed past him, too fast for most, but not for the MC. He ducked low, spinning underneath the strike with an acrobatic twist, barely avoiding the sharp tip of the blade that cut the air above his back.

The pirates' faces twisted in confusion, their strikes too slow, too obvious. They swung again—this time with more force—but the MC was already on the move. His body flowed like water, dodging, weaving, sidestepping, and moving with such speed that it was as if he was part of the wind itself.

One blade swooped down toward his shoulder, but he leaned into the motion, his body bending backward with an impossible amount of flexibility. The sword missed him by mere inches, and he used the momentum to flip backward, landing in a crouch on the balls of his feet.

The pirates paused, bewildered. They couldn't land a single hit. The MC didn't break a sweat.

With a smirk, he straightened up, running his hand through his hair. "You know," he said casually, eyes glinting, "I was hoping for more of a challenge."

The pirates snarled, clearly frustrated. They weren't expecting this level of agility, this kind of skill. But the MC wasn't done playing with them just yet. He was still warming up.

The second pirate, seeing his opportunity, lunged at the MC, swinging his sword in a vicious diagonal arc. The blade cut through the air with deadly precision, aiming to strike the MC across his chest. But the MC was already one step ahead.

With a fluid, almost unnatural movement, the MC bent backward, his body bending in a way that seemed to defy physics. The sword swiped past him, grazing the air just inches away as he arched, narrowly avoiding the slash. In that split second, the MC's body coiled like a spring, every muscle tensing with anticipation.

He struck with brutal precision. His left fist rocketed forward, crashing into the pirate's ribs with a sickening crack—a force that pushed the air out of the pirate's lungs in an instant. The blow was relentless, a bone-crushing impact that knocked the wind out of him, leaving him gasping for air.

Before the pirate could even register the pain, the MC was already spinning. His body whipped around, his right leg following the momentum of the movement like a loaded cannonball. A sharp, whip-like motion delivered the roundhouse kick directly to the pirate's liver. The force of the impact sent shockwaves through the pirate's body, and his knees buckled under him. His face contorted in agony as his body went into shock from the liver shot, and he dropped to his knees, gasping desperately for air.

The pirate could do nothing but clutch his midsection, fighting to stay conscious as the intense pain radiated throughout his body, his muscles locking up from the brutal strikes. The MC stood tall, watching with cold eyes as the pirate struggled to stay upright.

The MC's gaze locked onto him, and without an ounce of sympathy, he casually wiped his knuckles on his pants before speaking, his tone dripping with mockery.

"Don't worry," he said with a dry chuckle, his voice laced with sarcasm. "I'm doing my best to pull my punches."

The pirate's eyes flickered with a mix of disbelief and pain as he slumped further, the weight of the MC's words cutting deeper than any of the strikes.

The MC's eyes locked onto the last pirate standing, and without hesitation, he dashed forward with an inhuman speed that blurred his form. The pirate barely had time to react before the MC was upon him. In a flash, the MC grabbed the pirate's arm, yanking him forward with a savage pull. The next instant, the MC's knee shot upward, slamming directly into the pirate's sternum. The impact was so brutal, it felt like the very air was crushed from his lungs, his body folding in half as the force left him gasping for breath, eyes wide in shock.

Before the pirate could even recover, the MC was already on him, his forearm snaking around to seize the pirate's head in a clinch. Without mercy, the MC unleashed a piston-like elbow, smashing it directly into the pirate's jaw. The bone cracked under the force, and the pirate's face contorted in agony, his body rocking back from the sheer power of the blow. Blood spattered the ground as the pirate stumbled, struggling to stay conscious.

The final moment came swiftly. With a brutal, mechanical precision, the MC pushed off the pirate's knee with one foot, using the momentum to launch himself upward. In one fluid motion, he delivered a flying roundhouse kick that connected with the pirate's head, the crack of impact ringing in the air like a gunshot. The pirate's body collapsed instantly, crumpling like a ragdoll, his eyes blank and lifeless as he hit the ground.

The MC landed lightly, a calm presence in the chaos of the battlefield, surveying his work. The last pirate was out of commission.

After the last pirate dropped like dead weight, the MC exhaled slowly, the air hissing between his teeth. He rolled his shoulders, then let loose a flurry of punches into the air—each one sharp, fast, and precise. The last punch cracked through the wind like thunder, followed by a powerful roundhouse kick that cut the air clean.

He stood there, breath steady, eyes calm, then muttered with a smirk:

"If this is me pulling punches… imagine when I stop holding back."

The breeze carried his words as the unconscious pirates lay sprawled on the dirt, their lesson carved into broken bones.