The Invincible Young Master

The towering barbarian leader stood amidst the carnage, his broad chest heaving with exertion, though his expression betrayed no fear—only a twisted amusement. His lips curled into a mocking grin, exposing jagged teeth stained with the remnants of his past battles.

He scanned the scene before him, taking in the severed arms of his comrades and the blood-soaked earth as though it were some grand spectacle put on for his entertainment.

"You've got some fight in you, I'll give you that," he rumbled, his voice thick with condescension. His eyes gleamed with savage delight, their depths reflecting the lust for battle that burned within him.

Reynold's gaze remained cold, his grip tightened on the hilt of his blade, the air around him crackling with tension.

"Retreat now," he warned, "or you'll all die here."

He had intentionally spared their lives by severing arms instead of heads—a deliberate warning that he could end them at any moment. But these barbarians, with their thick-headed arrogance, didn't seem to grasp the message.

The barbarian leader's amusement only seemed to deepen at the warning. His laughter erupted in a deep, booming roar that sent a ripple of unease through the surrounding forest. Trees shook, and even the animals in the distance grew still, sensing the raw power in the sound. He stepped forward, his massive boots sinking into the soft earth.

"You dare speak of death, human?" he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Do you even know whose land you tread upon? This is Grimhold—the realm of the strong, where the weak are crushed like insects beneath our feet!"

With a sudden, fluid motion, the barbarian leader brandished his massive mace, its thick iron head gleaming menacingly in the fading light. He slammed it into the ground with bone-shaking force, the impact sending tremors through the earth.

"I see," Reynold said, narrowing his eyes, "none of you cherish your lives."

Without another word, Reynold began to advance toward the towering brute. His sword, now pulsing with barely contained energy, hummed in the air, the silver edge glowing faintly in the twilight.

The barbarian leader, sensing the challenge, let out a furious bellow and lifted his mace high above his head, muscles bulging with effort as he prepared to bring the enormous weapon crashing down with all the force of a mountain.
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The giant mace descended, cleaving the air with a whistling scream. Yet Reynold did not flinch, nor did he make any attempt to dodge. Instead, he raised his sword, his grip firm and unwavering, and with a single, fluid motion, executed a perfect vertical slash.

For a brief moment, the area fell into stunned silence as the two weapons met. By sheer size and brute force alone, the mace should have easily overpowered the slender blade. But to everyone's surprise, Reynold's silver sword cleaved through the mace as if it were no more than soft butter, splitting the massive weapon cleanly in two.

The barbarian leader's confident grin faltered, his eyes widening in disbelief.

But the sword didn't stop there.

The same unstoppable force that had cleaved the mace continued downward, slicing through the barbarian leader's thick armor, skin, and bone as though they were no more than paper.

The blade drove through his chest with ruthless precision, cutting him in half from head to waist in a single, terrifying strike. Blood sprayed in a violent arc, painting the forest floor a deep crimson.

For a moment, the barbarian leader's body stood frozen, his eyes wide in shock and confusion. Then, as though in slow motion, his two halves separated, collapsing to the ground in a grotesque heap of flesh and bone.

The remaining barbarians stared in horror, their leader—their unshakable mountain of strength—reduced to nothing more than a lifeless corpse. For a fleeting moment, fear took hold in their eyes. They hesitated, the weight of Reynold's power settling over them like a suffocating fog. They knew now, without a doubt, that they faced a force beyond their reckoning.

Despite the horrifying display of power, the barbarians did not falter long. In fact, the sight of their leader's severed corpse seemed to ignite a fire in their eyes. They began to advance once more, their steps slow and methodical, tightening the circle around the group.

Reynold sighed deeply, a hint of weariness crossing his face. He knew this well—the unyielding spirit of the barbarians.

Barbarians were relentless, driven by an almost primal code of honor that compelled them to fight until their last breath. No matter how many fell, there would always be more—an endless tide of brute strength that could not be reasoned with.

It was precisely for this reason that Reynold had hoped to avoid confrontation. Killing them was not the challenge; the challenge was in the endless waves of them. He knew that no matter how many he cut down, more would take their place, driven by their insatiable thirst for battle and honor.

As the barbarians closed in, tightening their circle like predators stalking prey, Reynold's patience wore out. Time was running short. He could not afford to waste any more of it here, entangled in an unending battle.

[Domain]

Reynold muttered, his voice a soft incantation that rippled through the air with quiet power.

In an instant, the air around him shifted, charged with raw energy. A pulse of pure force erupted from Reynold's body, sweeping outward like a shockwave. The barbarians, caught in its path, barely had time to react. Their bodies disintegrated into a fine crimson mist, their flesh and bone obliterated in the blink of an eye.

The ground became a dark, sodden mess, soaked in blood and the remains of what had once been a savage, advancing horde.

For a moment, there was only silence. The forest itself seemed to hold its breath, the trees creaking softly as they bent to the force that had just been unleashed. The sharp smell of iron lingered, thickening the air.

Reynold's eyes narrowed, scanning the distance. Despite the eerie quiet, he sensed it—multiple strong presences heading toward them like a predator sensing blood in the water.

"We need to leave, more of them are coming."