"Frieren, I'll handle this. By the way, what's a pugilist?"

  Ronan's voice was calm, almost indifferent, but there was a sharp edge beneath the words. As he spoke, the pugilist's expression twisted into a sneer. Without another word, he lunged forward with all the fury of a wild animal. His muscles tensed, every fiber in his body coiling with power as he hurled a devastating blow.

  Woooosh!

  The air itself seemed to split under the force of the punch, a powerful gust tearing through the surroundings. A sharp crack followed immediately, so loud that it reverberated through the street, causing the nearby trees to shiver. The wind swept across the alley, bending the leaves and sending a chill through the air. It was as though the very earth trembled beneath the pugilist's strike. This was no mere blow—it was a statement. A testament to his strength, one that had felled dragons in the past. He felt invincible, unstoppable. This was a fight he knew he could win.

  His confidence surged as he thought about his team waiting in the shadows, poised and ready for anything. They had underestimated him before, but now they would see the power of the Savage Beasts. These outsiders were nothing—weak prey ripe for the taking. He had nothing to lose; this would be their st job. The thought of the gold they'd earn, a fortune that would keep them comfortable for years, filled him with a greedy satisfaction. With a few thousand coins in hand, he would be set for life.

  At the same time, his team remained unfazed. The presence of the mage and the elf hadn't deterred them. Mages were weaklings, mere illusions of power. Even if Ronan attempted to cast some defensive spell, the pugilist's blow was too powerful. No spell could withstand this. They expected nothing less than to see Ronan's head explode, his body crumpling under the sheer force of the attack. But then, something happened. Something they did not expect.

  Bang!

  The punch connected with Ronan's forehead in a thunderous impact. The force of the strike sent a shockwave rippling through the air, momentarily distorting the surroundings. The ground beneath their feet seemed to shift with the force. But, as the dust settled, Ronan didn't falter. He didn't even flinch.

  He simply shook his head, his expression completely unchanged, as though he had just swatted away an annoying insect. The punch, meant to shatter bone and crush flesh, had barely fazed him. Ronan casually brushed the fist aside, as if dismissing it like dirt on his shoulder. He turned toward Frieren, his voice taking on a teasing tone.

  "Do you know interrupting is rude? Are you finished? That was… weak. Didn't you eat?"

  The pugilist froze in his tracks, his jaw dropping slightly as he tried to process what had just occurred. His full-powered strike, the one that had felled creatures stronger than men, hadn't even left a mark on Ronan. His fists clenched in disbelief as the weight of the situation began to sink in.

  —What?! His attack hadn't even made a dent. Not even a scratch!

  This was impossible. No one could withstand such a blow, not even with legendary armor, yet Ronan had done so with seemingly no effort. The pugilist's mind raced, his eyes flickering with doubt. It had to be an illusion—there was no other expnation. There was no way a man could be so resilient. He swung his fist again, the air whistling as it cut through the space between them, each punch filled with raw, overwhelming force.

  Crack!

  Again and again, the pugilist's fists collided with Ronan, each punch meeting unyielding resistance. The power of his dragon-sying strike felt like nothing more than a tickle. The sensation was strange, unsettling, like he was punching a wall of stone. He was a seasoned fighter, but this wasn't just strength—this was something more. This was mastery. This was a master in disguise.

  Panic surged in the pugilist's chest. His breath came faster now, his confidence unraveling with every failed strike. He could feel his control slipping. What was this? What was he facing?

  He pulled back and looked at Ronan in horror, his mind scrambling to make sense of the situation. There was no doubt now: he was out of his league. A cold sweat began to form on his brow.

  "Y-y-you…" he stammered, the words faltering as his hands shook. His bravado had melted away in the face of this unfathomable power.

  Ronan's response was simple, his voice calm, almost bored. "You what?"

  The pugilist's eyes widened in terror as Ronan moved with lightning speed. Before he could react, Ronan backhanded him with effortless precision. The impact sent him flying through the air like a ragdoll, his body twisting uncontrolbly as he smmed into the far wall, the force of the blow leaving a deep indentation in the stone. The sound of the collision echoed through the alley, a sickening crunch filling the space.

  The pugilist crumpled to the ground, groaning, unable to get up. His body was battered, bruised, and completely outmatched. He was defeated—nothing more than a child pying at war.

  Ronan turned away from the fallen man, his expression unreadable. He didn't even spare a gnce for his opponent as he shifted his focus to the rest of the group. The remaining members of the Savage Beasts, who had been watching from the sidelines, now shifted uncomfortably. They had been waiting for their moment, but now, the uncertainty was palpable. Their leader had been taken down in a single move, with no effort at all. What chance did they have?

  Frieren was frozen, her hand halfway to summoning her staff, her face filled with shock.

  —What just happened? How did he lose? She hadn't even blinked!

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