Eamon, while holding Felis, Damien carrying Orzen, and Roneth carrying the corpse of his fallen guild member, stood in front of the guards stationed outside the prison gates. Cold steel spears crossed in front of them as the guards blocked their path.
One of the guards stepped forward, his face twisted in anger.
"Who the hell are you? Drop those prisoners and surrender!"
The tension thickened instantly.
Eamon gently shifted Felis into Damien's arms.
"Hold her. And also Orzen," Eamon said.
Damien looked uneasy. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah," Eamon replied calmly. A faint grin touched his lips. "Besides… I wanted to test this new strength of mine."
Roneth snorted. "Well, he is a Rank 2 adventurer. He can handle these insects."
Eamon pulled out his sword with a smooth motion, the blade catching the dim light. Then, without hesitation, he charged forward.
There were around forty guards in total, most of them still confused by the sudden attack. They barely had time to raise their shields when Eamon reached the first line.
He moved like a blur.
His first strike cut through a guard's shield and armor as if they were paper. The second guard beside him didn't even get to scream—Eamon's blade sliced across his chest in a single clean arc.
The guards shouted in panic.
"Form a line! Stop him!"
But Eamon was already behind them.
He moved faster than their eyes could follow, weaving between spears and shields, turning every opening into a fatal strike. His boots kicked up dust as he slid under a spear thrust, then rose with an upward slash that sent a guard flying backward. Another guard tried to grab him from behind, but Eamon twisted, grabbed the man's wrist, and slammed him into the ground with brutal force.
Damien watched wide-eyed.
"He's… he's much faster than before."
Roneth nodded slowly, awe filling his voice. "And stronger too… look at him."
Eamon cut down the tenth guard within seconds, barely even breathing hard. Blood splattered across the stone floor, forming dark streaks at his feet. The remaining guards hesitated now, backing away in fear.
He didn't give them a chance.
With quick steps, he darted between them, disarming one, knocking another unconscious, slicing through armor with monstrous strength. Fifteen more fell one after another. Some tried to run, but Eamon caught them easily.
His sword flashed like silver lightning.
In less than a minute, almost all of them were on the ground—groaning, defeated, or dead.
Soon, only one man remained.
The warden.
A huge figure, tall as a wall, built like a beast. A thick scar ran down his cheek, and his armor was heavier than that of the others. He carried a massive sword that needed two hands just to lift.
The warden stepped forward, fury burning in his eyes.
"You killed my men," he growled.
Eamon pointed his blood-stained sword at him. "And you're next."
The warden roared and swung his massive weapon downward. The ground cracked under the force of the swing. Eamon stepped in, raising his own sword to block.
The clash rang through the entire prison yard.
Metal screeched. Sparks flew.
Both men pushed, muscles straining, their feet scraping across the stone floor. The warden was strong—much stronger than any of the guards. His strength pressed down like a falling boulder.
Eamon gritted his teeth, digging his boots in.
The warden suddenly twisted his body and delivered a sideways kick, slamming his heavy boot into Eamon's ribs.
The impact launched Eamon several feet away.
He skid across the ground, but before he could fall completely, he stabbed his sword into the floor, dragging it to slow his momentum. The blade carved a long line of sparks behind him until he finally stopped.
Eamon coughed once, then wiped blood off his lip.
"Okay," he muttered. "That actually hurt."
The warden charged again, swinging his sword horizontally. Eamon ducked, then jumped back as the blade cut a deep line into the stone wall behind him.
The warden didn't pause. He lifted his sword again, trying to crush Eamon with an overhead strike.
Eamon leaped sideways, pushing off the ground. He planted one foot on the near wall and used it to spring upward. Dust burst from the wall as he launched himself high.
The warden raised his sword to block—but Eamon twisted mid-air and flipped over the strike. As he came down, he swung his sword toward the warden's shoulder.
The warden blocked, sparks flying.
Eamon landed behind him, but the warden spun quickly and thrust the hilt of his sword at Eamon's chest, trying to knock the wind out of him.
Eamon jumped back, then rushed forward again, delivering a quick slice toward the warden's arm. The warden stepped back and countered with a powerful thrust.
Eamon narrowly dodged, feeling the wind of the giant blade brushing his cheek.
Both men traded blows in rapid succession—Eamon's swift strikes against the warden's heavy, crushing swings. One mistake would mean death.
The warden suddenly pushed forward, trying to overpower Eamon with raw force. Their swords clashed again, this time the warden leaning in with all his strength. Eamon's feet slid backward on the stone.
Then, Eamon's eyes sharpened.
He let go of the contest and jumped sideways, letting the warden stumble forward slightly from the sudden loss of resistance.
Using that opening, Eamon placed one foot on the side wall and sprang toward the warden.
The warden raised his sword to block, and he did—but Eamon didn't attack with his blade.
He turned mid-air and smashed his heel directly into the warden's face.
The warden grunted, his head snapping back. He bent forward from the impact.
Eamon didn't stop.
He landed, spun, and kicked the man again—this time with full force. The warden's massive body flew backward and slammed into the stone wall hard enough to crack it.
His sword fell from his hands with a loud clang.
Eamon dropped his own sword.
He stepped forward, grabbed the warden by the collar, and punched him straight in the face.
Then again.
And again.
Blood splattered across Eamon's knuckles. The warden struggled weakly, but Eamon's fists were relentless. His eyes looked almost feral, filled with something growing darker—something he wasn't used to feeling.
He kept punching.
The warden's face was soon covered in blood, swollen and crushed. His body slumped, no longer resisting, but Eamon still didn't stop.
Damien shouted, panic rising in his voice.
"Eamon, stop! He's defeated! Let go!"
Eamon froze mid-punch.
His breathing slowed.
The haze in his eyes faded.
He slowly released the warden and stepped back, staring at his blood-covered hands with a disturbed expression.
"I… I'm sorry," he whispered. "I just… I just couldn't control myself."
Damien shook his head gently. "It's okay. But we need to move. Now."
Eamon took a deep breath and nodded.
"Yeah… let's get the hell out of this place."
All of them then left to the place where they had left Korran and Skarn.