[AFYC] Chapter 69

Oscar unleashed all his malice, hostility, and intent to kill without holding back. His lean, muscular frame moved with incredible agility and unleashed explosive power. As he dodged the charging mercenary, he grabbed the man’s head with a crushing grip, slamming it into the wall with overwhelming force.

Thud. Thud. Thudthudthud.

He continued until the mercenary’s skull was nothing but a shattered mess. When Oscar finally released the lifeless body and turned his head, the other mercenaries who had gathered around him recoiled in fear. But as another fool rushed at him, Oscar swiftly grabbed the attacker’s head with one hand. The surge of magical energy concentrated in his palm before it exploded, shattering the skull. 

The mercenaries who witnessed the brutal display went pale with horror. Oscar, however, continued his steady advance, killing anyone who dared to stand in his way. He showed no mercy, no hesitation. The stage of slaughter revolved around him as he calmly and methodically crushed and destroyed everything in his path. 

When the combat team and the search team finally regrouped after clearing their respective zones, the slaughter escalated into a massacre. The elite forces of the mercenary group, once considered formidable, were no match and fell one after another. The opulent corridors, which rivalled those of any grand mansion, quickly turned into a graveyard. 

Oscar’s steps came to a halt at the end of the corridor, in front of a reinforced iron door. He took a deep, slow breath before pulling out a cigarette. As he exhaled a series of short and long breaths, a pungent silence settled around him. He tossed the cigarette into a puddle of blood just as the search team opened the door for him. 

Beyond the door was not a room but a slaughterhouse, with walls and ceiling made entirely of steel. 

Oscar’s gaze fell on a wolf strapped to a chair. While Simon and the combat team dealt with the remaining personnel in the slaughterhouse, Oscar calmly walked through the pools of putrid pus and blood. 

This wasn’t just a matter of being beyond recovery; the person strapped to the chair was barely human anymore. He lifted the chin of the still-breathing victim. The right eye was missing, and the left was encrusted with dried blood. As their gazes met—or at least, it felt like they did—the life in the person’s remaining eye faded away. 

“Sir, Combat Team 2 has captured the deputy commander of the mercenary group.” 

Oscar released the lifeless head and pulled out another cigarette. His icy blue eyes, partially obscured by the smoke, held a metallic coldness. He gave a curt, frigid command. 

“Bring him in.” 

After witnessing the death of the mercenary leader, the snake-tattooed man had led his subordinates into battle. Fear had gripped him when he realised no one had been able to prevent the leader’s death, but seeing the sheer number of his allies had momentarily driven that fear away. He even began to entertain thoughts of taking over the leader’s position once the battle was won. However, that hope crumbled like a sandcastle in the tide. 

The men in black suits were eerily silent. The magical power they unleashed was like a bomb, obliterating the mercenaries in their path. Where they passed, only piles of corpses remained. 

There was no mercy. 

It became clear that no one would leave this mansion alive tonight. 

By the time he regained his senses, he was desperately fleeing, only to be cornered like a rat and captured by the wolves. A rag was stuffed roughly into his mouth as his heart raced, on the verge of exploding. 

He was dragged along the blood-soaked corridors, nearly crawling. 

“Mmph! Mmph!” 

They were taking him to the slaughterhouse. 

“Mm! Mmmph!” 

His instincts screamed in terror. He knew that being dragged there was a death sentence and that it would be better to have his throat cut right there and then. 

His frantic struggles ceased the moment they reached the slaughterhouse. 

In the centre of the room stood a man. 

Four hunting dogs, the same ones who had feasted on wolves, lay submissively at the man’s feet, whimpering for his attention. With his hands casually in his pockets, the man nudged the dogs’ necks with his shoe, occasionally pressing down hard enough to make them twist in pain.