Boring

Another village, nestled in a sheltered mountain valley, was eerily quiet at this moment.

There were no towering flames, no acrid smoke, only a deathly, cold silence.

The rising sun cast its golden rays upon the village, a time when smoke should be rising from chimneys and the sounds of chickens and dogs should be heard, but instead, only an eerie brilliance remained.

Macht walked through the village, his feet treading on human corpses.

Her long, purplish-red hair was still perfectly styled, her dark green dress was spotless, and her gold sash and shawl remained motionless in the still air.

The broad, golden blade in his hand had vanished, transforming back into the magnificent coat, casually yet dignifiedly draped over his left shoulder.

His footsteps were exceptionally clear in the deathly silence.

"I can't feel anything," Macht said, his voice steady. "Indeed, I can't understand human emotions."

He continued walking.

He didn't stop walking.

He didn't turn his head completely, but only slightly turned it to the side.

"Who is it?" His voice remained calm, yet carried a chilling, insightful edge. "If you're waiting for me to slip up, you're in for a disappointment."

A figure slowly walked out.

He was dressed in knight's attire, with a magnificent longbow slung across his back, and neatly fletched arrows peeking out of his quiver.

His face was expressionless, his eyes were languid, but they were fixed on Macht.

"I didn't mean to hide it," the man said, his voice steady and seasoned with experience. "I've only just arrived." He paused, then introduced himself, "My name is Walhart, one of the three great knights awarded by the Alliance of Northern Countries."

"The Three Great Knights?" Macht finally turned around completely, looking directly at the uninvited guest. His handsome face remained completely expressionless. "I see. It seems I've wasted a little more time here than I expected."

His tone was ambiguous, neither revealing regret nor indifference, "Among humans, there are always many reckless fools like you emerging."

He waved his hand. "How about this? Just pretend you didn't see me. Anyway, I was planning to leave anyway."

His answer was a piercing shriek that tore through the air.

"Whoosh--!"

The arrow was as fast as lightning, aimed straight for Macht's face.

However, without even moving a Macht, the magnificent coat draped over his left shoulder unfolded and transformed as if it had a life of its own, instantly reforming in front of him into the shape of a broad, golden blade.

"Clang!"

The arrowhead struck the golden blade precisely, producing a crisp sound, before bouncing weakly away and falling to the ground.

Walhart's face remained expressionless, as if missing the target was entirely expected. His movements were fluid; his fingers, like butterflies flitting among flowers, drew five arrows from his quiver, nocked the bow, and drew the string—all in one smooth motion!

"Swish!"

Five arrows shot in, blocking Macht's space to dodge left and right! However, Macht slightly moved his wrist, and his golden broadsword drew a faint golden arc in front of him, like an impenetrable wall.

"Clang clang!"

Five arrows rang out in succession, all of which were deflected and deflected, preventing him from even taking a single step back.

Walhart's arrows continued relentlessly, one after another, like a whirlwind, attempting to overwhelm his opponent with a relentless barrage, searching for any possible, fleeting opening.

His tactical thinking was clear and correct—when facing a powerful mage, one must never give them the opportunity to cast spells at their leisure.

The knight fired steadily while analyzing the situation in a calm tone, trying to exert pressure through words, as if confirming his judgment. "It seems you haven't turned this village into gold either."

Macht casually deflected the arrows and retorted, "So what?"

"So far, of the villages you attacked, some have been turned into gold, while others have remained unchanged."

Walhart's gaze remained languid, but he kept a close eye on Macht's every subtle movement. "It seems that this is because your terrifying magic, which Goldification, requires certain preconditions to be met before it can be activated."

Another volley of arrows was blocked.

The knight's voice rose a few decibels, filled with certainty. "I will not give you the slightest chance to gather your magic power and fulfill the requirements!"

His theory is undoubtedly correct for human magicians.

As a renowned powerhouse in the Northern Frontier, Walhart's unparalleled archery skills meant that even skilled First-Class Mages would inevitably perish against a human opponent.

However, the corners of Macht's mouth twitched upwards very slightly, forming an almost silent arc filled with deep sarcasm.

That was a sneer.

The knight noticed the expression, his hand pausing slightly as he nocked the arrow, his brow furrowing slightly. "... What's so funny?"

"Conditions?" Macht maintained his sneer, repeating the word as if he had heard some absurd joke. "Do you humans all use magic while thinking about such troublesome things?"

Walhart remained expressionless, but a faint hint of doubt flickered in his eyes, his bowstring still taut. "... What did you say?"

"I'm asking," Macht took a step forward, his steps calm, as if he were facing not deadly arrows but a gentle breeze, "When you move your hands and feet, do you first think about how you need to bend your knees, lift your legs, how your body will exert force, and what 'conditions' need to be met to move?"

As he took another step forward, Walhart attempted to attack, but he discovered that his body... was immobilized!

His fingers, which wanted to strum the strings, were paralyzed; his legs, which wanted to take a step, felt rooted to the spot. He could only watch helplessly as Macht approached step by step, his eyes revealing disbelief and horror for the first time.

He strained to turn his eyes and look down—only to see that his body had somehow transformed into a dazzling yet deadly gold, and that gold was spreading rapidly upwards at a speed visible to the naked eye.

"Let me tell you," Macht's voice remained calm, "This was just a whim of mine."

He walked up to Walhart had been completely transformed into a golden sculpture, yet still maintained the posture of drawing his bow and arrow.

The shock and lingering doubt on the knight's face were forever frozen on that golden face.

Macht reached out and gently patted the golden statue's shoulder, producing a dull "thump" sound.

"My magic is free from any of the 'conditions' you imagine." He walked behind the statue, his tone as calm as if discussing the weather. "If I were even slightly serious, our battle would have been over the very first moment."

He stopped and looked at the knight statue, which shimmered dazzlingly in the morning sun, as if admiring a newly completed work.

"You want to ask why I didn't turn you into gold from the start?" Macht asked himself, answering his own question with the cruelest of reasons, "The reason is simple."

"Because it's too boring."

He tilted his head slightly, examining the statue's frozen posture.

"All the skills and martial arts you've painstakingly honed until now, your archery prowess that made you famous, all your combat wisdom... are meaningless before my magic."

He was silent for a moment, as if he were thinking or feeling something.

Finally, he asked softly, as if talking to himself:

Can this be called a battle?

He asked the golden statue.

Naturally, no one answered him.

Answer me.

His whispers vanished in the wind, unheard by anyone.

"At least, I can't enjoy any pleasure in this kind of 'battle'."

Macht didn't linger. He turned around, strode forward, and continued walking out of the village.

The golden broadsword transformed back into that luxurious coat, which he draped over his left shoulder.