The second Arthur cleared the brush, it was like someone hit the 2x speed button on the entire world.
The green bonfires flickered wildly in his vision. The twisted mud idol loomed over the clearing, surrounded by thirty-plus lizardmen. The air was a mess of hissing, heavy breathing, and the dry scrape of scales on rock. Arthur's werewolf senses were dialed to eleven—his brain was basically processing the scene like a high-res HUD, tagging targets and mapping out the "battlefield" in real-time.
There was no "Alpha" in charge.
That realization made Arthur breathe a sigh of relief. If there had been a Claw-Lord or a veteran warrior leading them, this mob would've been way more organized.
"Alright, we can actually win this," he thought.
He caught a glimpse of the blue-scaled lizard with the headband lying dead nearby. Turns out, he'd already sniped the only guy with a double-digit IQ in the whole group.
Easy mode: Activated.
Arthur slid into the shadow of a boulder, dropping his pack in one fluid motion. This wasn't his first rodeo. He reached back, and with a metallic click-clack, his primary weapon unfolded. Cut-glass limbs, high-tension strings, and machined cams that caught the firelight in cold, sharp lines.
In a world of magic and rusted iron, Arthur was rocking a high-spec compound bow.
No mana. No spells. Just pure, mechanical lethality.
Serena Vael had been mid-prayer, but the second she saw the bow, her chanting just… stopped. She stared at the pulleys and the complex string system for a solid five seconds. It wasn't fear—it was pure, unfiltered "What the hell is that?" energy. She'd never seen anything like it. It didn't look holy, it didn't look magical; it just looked like a very expensive way to kill things.
Arthur felt her staring and let a tiny smirk play on his lips.
"Watch the show first," he whispered. "Questions later."
Serena blinked, then gave a slow, mesmerized nod.
Arthur drew back. Target: a lizardman crouched by the idol, busy smearing mud on a ritual stone. Distance, windage, drop—his modern-world instincts took over.
The release was barely a whisper. Thwip.
The arrow didn't just hit; it deleted the lizard's head. No struggle, no twitching—just a sudden explosion of green brain matter and bone. The body stayed in its squatting position for a heartbeat before tipping over like a sack of potatoes.
The entire camp went dead silent for exactly one second.
Arthur heard Serena's breath hitch. She hadn't felt a single ripple of magic. The "mana signature" of that attack was basically zero, yet the result was more brutal than any low-tier spell she'd ever seen.
"…That wasn't magic," she breathed.
Then, the camp exploded into chaos.
The lizardmen let out a collective, shrill shriek, scattering like roaches. Arthur didn't give them a chance to regroup. He vaulted over the boulder and charged.
"Alright, boys! Let's wrap this up!"
One lizard tried to get cute and lunged at him with a spear. Arthur's werewolf blood surged, and he caught the creature with a full-power Spartan kick to the spine.
CRACK.
The lizard folded like a lawn chair and went flying into the idol.
The hissing turned into high-pitched wails. Three more lizards charged with stone axes. Arthur grabbed the half-dead guy he'd just kicked by the leg, pivoted on his heel, and went full "Hulk Smash."
BAM. THUD. CRUNCH.
He used the lizard as a living flail, clearing the immediate area in a wide, bloody circle. He tossed the "weapon" aside once it stopped twitching, knocking over another lizard in the process.
"Too light," Arthur grumbled.
"Arthur!" Serena's voice rang out from behind him.
He didn't need to look back. He signaled with a hand and dove for the dirt.
Next second, the nun went full Avatar.
She lobbed the oil jar at the idol—the glass shattered, soaking the structure. Then, Serena's voice went from "soft librarian" to "Vengeful God" in half a second.
"FIRE DESCEND! PURGE THE UNCLEAN!"
A ball of concentrated orange heat roared past Arthur's head.
BOOM.
The idol went up like a Roman candle. The green fires were swallowed by a massive pillar of holy flame. The heat was intense, singing Arthur's eyebrows. He squinted through the glare, saw the flag pole starting to char, and made his move. He slashed the banner down with a quick knife strike and rolled back into the shadows.
At this point, the lizardmen had lost their minds. Their god was on fire. Their leaders were dead. They stopped retreating and just started throwing themselves at Arthur in a blind rage.
Arthur stood his ground and actually laughed. "Objectively speaking? You guys are screwed."
He met the charge head-on. Kick, slash, thrust—every move was a lesson in efficiency. This wasn't a dark cave; there was nowhere for them to hide. It was an open-field slaughter. Arthur let out all the frustration of being a "low-tier" loser, carving through the mob like a hot knife through butter.
When the last lizard finally hit the ground, Arthur stepped on its head to make sure it was done and let out a long, shaky breath.
"Field cleared."
"Mr. Arthur, I'm finished on this side as well."
Arthur turned around and actually froze.
Serena was standing amidst a literal pile of lizards—maybe ten or twelve of them. Every single one of them had a crushed skull. It was clean, surgical, and absolutely terrifying.
"…I take it back," Arthur said, genuinely impressed. "Sister, you should open a slaughterhouse. Your overhead would be zero."
Serena gave a tiny, modest smile. "The Flame provides."
As they started the post-battle cleanup, Arthur noticed his hand was bleeding. He'd caught a stray scratch earlier, and it was stinging pretty bad.
"Don't move," she said. Her voice was back to that soft, soothing tone. She took his hand in hers.
"Flame of Life, wash away the rot."
A warm, gentle light enveloped his hand. The pain vanished instantly, and he watched the skin knit back together in seconds. But Arthur wasn't looking at the magic; he was looking at her hands. They were soft, cool, and incredibly steady.
"Damn, Sister," he said with an exaggerated grin. "I'm starting to think your church just does this to save money on bandages."
Serena blinked, then actually let out a genuine laugh.
Once they'd gathered the loot and the banner, they took a breather. Serena's eyes immediately locked onto the compound bow again. She wasn't hiding her curiosity this time.
"Mr. Arthur," she began, "that weapon… it has no soul, no magic, yet it performs like a high-tier relic. How?"
Arthur leaned the bow against a rock, acting casual.
"It's not about magic, it's about physics," he said, miming the action. "The bow doesn't just give you more power; it 'manages' the power. The pulley system—those round things on the ends—reduces the weight you have to hold so you can keep it at full draw with almost no effort while keeping the tension high."
She tilted her head. "So… you are borrowing strength from the machine?"
"Exactly," Arthur nodded. "Work smarter, not harder. That's the human way. Well, the werewolf way too, I guess."
Serena was silent for a few seconds, looking at him with a whole new level of interest. It wasn't just "you're a useful meat-shield" anymore.
"You are… quite unique," she whispered.
Arthur just smiled and didn't push it.
The sun was finally disappearing. They packed up the flag and the relics, turning their backs on the smoking remains of the camp.
Behind them, there was only ash and the silence of a job well done.