Kalan's Gentleness
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!
The mountain wind reeked of blood and rotting flesh, now mixed with the stench of spoiled food. Every so often, the sound of someone retching echoed beside them. The young adventurers—most of whom had never seen a battlefield and had barely experienced a few fights—were all sprawled on the ground.
Their bodies trembled, their faces were deathly pale, and their eyes were filled with endless fear and terror. A few were so frightened that their bodies went limp, leaving them collapsed on the ground and smeared with vomit from head to toe.
"Hmph! You rookies, get up!"
At that moment, a man nearly three meters tall approached, carrying a greatsword as large as a door. He looked at the rookies sprawled on the ground and snorted coldly before kicking a vomiting girl in front of him away. Then he raised his greatsword and roared at them. The killing intent honed through countless battles and massacres, mixed with magic power, pressed down on them.
"Rookies, this is the real battlefield. If you want to survive, give up those ridiculous fantasies of yours."
As he spoke, the man mercilessly planted his foot on the head of a young adventurer in front of him. Caught off guard, the man plunged headfirst into the vomit. The sudden turn of events made the already terrified young adventurer scream and struggle. Much of what he had vomited was swallowed again, but his frail body was like a chick before the nearly three-meter-tall man, utterly powerless to resist.
"I know most of you came here for this mission because of the generous rewards offered by the Kingdom of Ister. But with the cowardly way you're acting, you'd better go home and suckle at your mothers' breasts! Don't go throwing your lives away!"