You're Too Slow

"We need to go faster!"

The voice roared through the communications channel as the high-speed craft tore through the air. Doom and Harlan raced through the canyon on anti-gravity motorcycles.

"Stay behind me! Just keep your eyes on me. Don't worry about the changing terrain!"

Doom twisted the output valve. The anti-gravity motorcycle roared and surged past the sound barrier, rushing to the front while providing Harlan with a reference for his posture.

With reaction speeds surpassing nanoseconds, the rapidly changing scenery around him appeared to move in slow motion.

The supersonic motorcycle beneath him was running at full power, yet to Doom, it felt like riding a snail on a journey.

When they set out, Doom had said he could carry Harlan to make them go faster, but Harlan had flatly refused.

"Beep, beep, beep!"

The anti-gravity motorcycle's scanning equipment issued a warning. A small Ork patrol was stationed at the canyon's exit ahead.

"Don't slow down! Keep going!"

The roar of the anti-gravity motorcycles quickly caught the Orks' attention. They shouted excitedly and rubbed their fists together, ready for a good fight!

Vrrr~~~

The two anti-gravity motorcycles did not slow down, leaving with the distinctive shriek of supersonic speed.

Before the Ork boys could mock the enemy's cowardice, an iron fist enlarged in their vision.

By the time they reacted, they could no longer feel their limbs. Their heads seemed to have been grabbed by a huge human?

At the moment the two sides crossed paths, Doom leaped off his motorcycle and dispatched the ten-Ork patrol barehanded in 0.2 seconds.

With a burst of acceleration, he caught up with the motorcycle that was still traveling at supersonic speed.

He casually crushed an Ork's skull, scooped out its fresh brain matter, and swallowed it in one gulp. The Ork's complete memories appeared in Doom's mind.

After a year of training, Doom had mastered this skill. He had isolated a separate region inside his brain to store acquired memories, ensuring they had no effect whatsoever on his own judgment.

"Follow me!" Doom shouted. "Twelve degrees to the left! There's a valley ten kilometers away, with roughly three thousand Orks gathered there!"

Doom intended to wipe out the small Ork force. It would not take much time, after all.

The motorcycles covered the ten-kilometer distance without slowing down, speeding through the winding canyon.

"I'll go on ahead!"

Harlan activated the motorcycle's defensive force field, then opened his own armor shield. He lit the Nul Crystal beneath the motorcycle's front armor, ejecting a large Cutting Blade shaped like a fish fin.

"You green-skinned scum!"

Before he arrived, his roar reached them faster than the motorcycle's howl. After so long, the Champion Swordsman once again taunted his enemies: "Your grandpa's here!"

The Greenskin Orks had made camp in the woodland when they suddenly heard an enraged roar. The ear-piercing taunt sent their fury surging.

Someone had come to their doorstep looking for a fight? Then fight!

The excited Orks grabbed whatever happened to be at hand—blades, spears, clubs, primitive firearms—and surged out with a cacophony of whistles and cries!

The narrow valley forced the Orks' formation into the shape of a winding green snake, exactly as Harlan had hoped.

The Cutting Cannon mounted at the motorcycle's front fired a large Cutting Ray without a sound. In the confined terrain, its power was unleashed to the fullest.

The high-speed motorcycle was like a bullet, shooting into completely unprotected flesh. The Dimensional Blades and rays reaped through the ranks, and every charge left corpses strewn across the ground.

Before the light blades that tore through dimensions, nothing could stand in their way.

Harlan's motorcycle was like a reaper driving into a wheat field. On both sides and straight ahead, Orks were being split in two.

Scalding blood gushed everywhere. Severed arms still screeched and waved their weapons as they crawled across the ground.

One strike was all it took! Harlan immediately adjusted his altitude and pulled away. Dyed red by blood and plasma, motorcycle and rider fled at high speed like a bloody arrow.

The ancient cavalry tactic was old, but it worked.

The next moment, a man dressed like a gladiator leaped down from above.

Doom wore only straps on his upper body to fasten his shoulder armor to his belt. His chest was almost bare, while the skirt armor around his lower body barely covered the middle of his thighs. His combat boots reached to his calves, leaving his knees and half his thighs exposed.

This wild outfit was not meant to display savagery. It was simply a compromise.

Doom had grown too quickly. None of the master armorers had reliable measurements with which to forge him a suit of power armor.

There was no other choice. This simple armor could not be fitted with a power source and was driven entirely by Doom's savage strength.

Knuckle spikes were embedded in the armor on his left hand. With a Dimensional Light Sword in his right, the man leaped straight into the mass of Orks.

There was no roar or shout. Doom's silent slaughter began!

In that instant, his figure vanished from the Orks' retinas. The Greenskins' physical faculties could not capture his speed.

He lightly punched the Ork in front of him, reducing its head to powder. He kicked a stone through several Orks, while the azure Dimensional Light Sword swept in a circle around him.

The Dimensional Blade passed through the Orks without the slightest resistance, leaving wounds smooth as mirrors.

Before the first drop of blood had even sprayed out, before the Orks could feel their lives slipping away, Doom had already completed the harvest.

8!

When Doom killed his eighth enemy, his fluid movements did not stop. Yet within his keenest senses, he noticed that some strange gaze seemed to have focused on him.

His sword continued to swing. The newly appointed Warlord vented a deep restlessness.

His worry for his father and his guesses about the situation were all swept into the blade's radiance and vented in their entirety.

88!

He was invisible, impossible to track; he was visible, and wherever the blue light passed, only fragments of Ork corpses remained.

Harlan stopped his mount atop a high hill. He did not join the ensuing attack, instead leaning against the motorcycle to ease the fatigue of the journey.

He knew about the restlessness in Doom's heart. The young man was anxious, desperate to help his father as soon as possible.

Looking down at the valley, which had become a slaughterhouse, Harlan continued to marvel at Doom's strength. His already lofty expectations kept rising.

Blood covered the valley, and broken corpses flew everywhere. Harlan could not catch sight of Doom, seeing only the azure sword light's lingering particles in the air, afterimages, and a river of blood left in its wake.

Harlan sensed an abstract beauty. Amid the blooming sea of crimson flowers, a blue butterfly beat its wings, causing the crimson to bloom even more intensely wherever it passed.

The readings inside his helmet began issuing alarms. The normally sensitive tracker could not scan Doom, and the targeting assistance system could not keep up with his movements.

"If I wanted to shoot him, how would I aim? How could I predict his position?"

Almost subconsciously, or perhaps without intending to, this thought suddenly surfaced in Harlan's mind.

A chill rose from his spine, jolting him. He hurriedly drove the absurd thought from his mind.

888!

Within a few breaths, thousands of Orks lay in pools of blood. They had not even understood what had happened, confusion frozen in eyes that had lost their light.

Doom could feel the gaze in the void growing excited, trembling with anticipation of slaughter.

He did not pay much attention to it. Doom could more or less guess what it was—most likely the being that called itself the "God of Warriors."

If you like watching, then watch. Doom was not particularly resistant to it. He could do nothing about it, and it was merely watching without causing any harm.

"Gork and Mork are..."

The Ork's hurried howl abruptly stopped. Its lower jaw and tongue were swept away by a sword, and its proud head slowly slid off.

"You know your Gork and Mork are here!"

Doom's slaughter could not be shaken. While his heart remained calm, he teased the Orks about their faith in Gork and Mork.

After eating an Ork's brain tissue, he naturally learned about the two gods the Orks worshiped.

Gork and Mork! Gork was cunning and brutal, while Mork was brutal and cunning!

There were no gods in this world! Wait...

An inspiration suddenly flashed through Doom's mind, bringing up a familiar question he had never considered carefully.

Amid the blood-spattered battlefield, Doom's extraordinary brain began thinking at high speed, searching through the information in his mind again.

Isaac collapsing in the blood and mud, weeping bitterly, gradually became clearer. The broken words he had spoken slowly connected.

Doom's expression grew colder and colder, while the slaughter by his hands grew faster and faster.

He carefully analyzed Isaac, connected him to the City of Truth, then to faith, until finally...

God! It seemed to be an inescapable point!

"So that's how it is!" Doom muttered to himself. He kicked an Ork into pieces, reaching a preliminary conclusion.

One minute. The first Ork's spilled blood had not yet lost its warmth, and there was no living Ork left in the camp. All three thousand Orks had been executed.

Doom stood amid the mountain of corpses and sea of blood, his blade pointing toward the ground. His breathing was not the slightest bit labored. Blood covered his body, and the Orks' filthy blood flowed down along the lines of his muscles.

Harlan descended from the heights and shouted toward the white figures appearing outside the valley, "You're too slow!"