Rise of the Rejected Deity from Chaos-Chapter 93 - 92: Blind Fang’s Turf [3]

Seiya walked calmly toward the large one among them—a towering figure with broad, muscular build, and stopped in front of him. The young man, tall and bald with a shiny scalp, titled his gaze downward to look at Seiya. Slowly, Seiya raised his hand, fingers splayed and palm outstretched as they moved toward the man’s face in deliberate slow motion. He purposely took his time, eyes locked on the man, studying every flicker of his reaction as his hand ascended with careful slowness.

Everyone, including the man himself, stood frozen—confused yet eager to see just what the young child who had casually waltzed in was about to do.

Slowly, Seiya’s hand drifted behind the man’s head, fingers resting lightly against his smooth scalp. He let it linger there for a moment, savoring the man’s bewildered expression before—without warning—he wrenched him downward, slamming his face into the hard cemented ground. The impact was so brutal that the man crumpled face-first instantly, unconscious.

A chorus of gasps erupted from the others watching, their expressions twisting into shock and horror. At first, their minds struggled to grasp what had just unfolded before them. Then, as the initial shock began to wear off, their eyes widened even further, realization dawning with mounting dread.

Their eyes remained locked on Seiya with dread. A young kid, one so frail with no presence—carrying out such brutal actions.

Seiya pressed his foot down on the man’s head, poised to crush it—but for some reason, he halted mid-motion. After a brief pause, he withdrew his foot and instead lowered the tip of his staff onto the man’s back.

With a steady grip, he pressed the staff firmly against him, leaning in close before whispering, "Ruin."

The young man’s back immediately caved in, exploding in the next moment and leaving behind a gaping hole.

Pure dread filled the eyes of the others who had been mere onlookers, stiffened in place. Only now that Seiya had taken down one of their own with such ruthlessness, did they all shift into a secure fighting stance—tensed and alarmed.

All together they were like 21. That’s how many Seiya’s eyes could see and how many pulsating hearts he could hear.

Stepping forward with urgency, one of the members shouted. "He’s the one!" His voice was loud and rough as he pointed at Seiya. It was the boy who had grabbed Seiya by his clothes back at the convenience store.

"He’s the one with the Kasamagi Mark!" He announced desperately.

Another ripple of gasps filled the air from the group, murmurs following.

"What? The Kasamagi?"

"The Mark boss has been looking for?"

"How come?"

Amid the confusion, a tall, slender lady draped in a sleek black gown that hugged her figure stepped forward—a whip in hand. The gleaming black gown had a slit on one side, revealing her smooth leg nearly to the hip. With a sleek red bob that curled at the ends, she carried herself with grace—her heels clicking softly against the dirt-packed ground.

"If he bears the Kasamagi clan’s mark—the very one we’ve been searching for—then there’s nothing more to discuss other than taking him to the boss," she stated with an air of confidence.

Turning to Seiya, her expression softened ever so slightly. "I’m sorry, boy. Do not hold this against me— I have no choice, after all," she said, her tone almost gentle. With a practiced flick of her wrist, she snapped the whip to her side, effortlessly loosening its coils. She showed no sign of concern over the man—their member who had just been killed.

Surrounded by all 21 individuals, the only feeling Seiya could muster was frustration—a deep annoyance that his eyes would inevitably register and absorb any skills used against him.

Each time he faced Awakeners, a familiar cringe washed over him. He knew that whatever attack or ability they unleashed on him would be automatically absorbed by his eyes, rendering their efforts pointless in his view. He saw no value in their skills or abilities and found this constant cycle tiresome—longing for a way to prevent his eyes from performing this automatic reaction.

As the lady advanced, Seiya suddenly thrust his palm forward, halting her mid-step. Everyone’s eyes remained glued to him waiting to hear what he would say.

"I’m sorry but.." Seiya began in a casual tone. "I don’t have time, so I’ll just deal with all of you at once," he declared only to tilt his head in question the next second. Was it more appropriate to respect them and fight them one by one? Seiya couldn’t quite understand the right thing to do and whether or not his statement of handling them all at once was too disrespectful when a fight like this was about to break out.

They all watched Seiya with gaze flared in anger, eyes brimming with rage as he debated within him. As much as he would like to mull over things since it didn’t matter to him how the fight ensued, he knew time wasn’t on his side. They had after all, left the house without informing the others back home and by now, he knew Hayne would be sweating buckets with rising blood pressure from their absence—thinking they had yet again come out to make trouble.

All at once then, Seiya concluded in his mind.

Raising his gaze, Seiya met the gang’s eyes flared wide with clear rage.

"Hah?!" One among them let out, veins pulsing steadily along his forehead—brows drawn tightly together in anger.

Seiya’s casual words about handling them all at once, as if they amounted to nothing, had enraged them.

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Among them, a broad-looking man, seemingly in his mid-thirties, stepped forward. His wavy hair fell over his forehead, with the back lengthening down the nape of his neck. His beard and brows were thick, his figure surrounded by a dark, pungent energy.

"I’m sorry, boy," he growled, his voice thick and husky. "We had planned to be careful, to avoid damaging you too much, since you’re a valuable asset, but…" He paused, lifting his already elevated head to gaze down at Seiya with even more intensity. His bloodshot eyes narrowed, brows furrowing in a scowl of malice and contempt. "For a scrawny boy like you, you’ve got quite the mouth on you," he spat harshly.

"That is why," the man cracked his knuckles as he advanced. "You’re going to suffer the punishment of it."