Chapter 21: Fighting the Ape Remond’s eyes had a look of despair. Everyone in this battlefield was down—except for one person. They were surrounded by hundreds of monsters. In front of them, not far away, was the five-meter-tall Flame Ape. Its eyes were burning with fire. Its whole body radiated heat. It was the emperor of this monster horde. The monsters were waiting for its order. The ape was looking at the martial artists like it was looking at some ants. Suddenly, Lukas said, "Captain, before we die, I want you to know you were the best captain someone could ever want. If there is an afterlife, let’s meet there again. I’ll go first. I can’t see you guys die in front of me." Lukas’s eyes were firm this time. He wanted to die like a fighter. Even if he died, he would take a monster or two with him at least. Hearing Lukas’s words, Remond’s eyes turned red. He felt his throat was choking. He then laughed out loudly, "Brothers, what you said is absolutely correct. You can’t find a captain as awesome as me." This time Remond didn’t hold back even a little; he was bragging with all his might. Lukas stopped, his eyes were also red. Remond then said, "Let’s fight. Let’s show this monkey what the Twin Sword Team is made of, hahaha!" Everyone was now ignited with fighting spirit. Even though they were sure they would die today, there was not a trace of fear in their eyes anymore. Hearing them talking, the other teams were also boiling with blood. Eric roared, "You heard that? Would you let those Twin Sword bastards take all the glory? Let’s show them what the Venom Fang Team is made of!" Even the other two captains acted like they were pumped with chicken blood. They were also roaring at their team members like they would take the glory first. Ethan, however, was speechless. What a dramatic bunch. But he was still impressed by the courage these martial artists were showing now. Looks like he really needed to take action. Then he looked at the monsters that surrounded them. Dozens—no, hundreds—of monsters were present there, like they were waiting for a grand feast. Boarbeasts with cracked tusks, flame-scaled lizards, saber-toothed metal tigers, horned wolves, blood-eyed spiders, and many more. Ethan stepped forward. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t even move much. Instead, he slowly opened his backpack and ten pitch-black flying knives shot into the air with a sharp metallic hum and mixed with the evening. No one noticed a thing. A slight breeze brushed past, lifting the dust off the ground. Then the massacre began. Like streaks of silver lightning, the knives vanished—then reappeared inside monster skulls. One. Two. Five. Twelve. Each knife moved like it had a mind of its own, dancing through the battlefield, slicing necks, piercing eyes, tearing through flesh and armor like paper. The trapped martial artists, who were burning with fighting passion, were all stunned. One girl gasped. "W-What’s happening?" Her friend shouted, "Look! They’re falling! The monsters are dying!" One by one, the beasts screamed, thrashed, and dropped. Their bodies hit the ground hard—some split in half, others with clean holes drilled through their heads. They looked around in disbelief, unable to find the source of their deaths. Even the Flame Ape was startled and confused, its glowing red eyes scanning the surroundings. It beat its chest and roared, trying to find the enemy. But there was nothing. No wind. No scent. Just a silent death raining from nowhere. The martial artists couldn’t believe what they were seeing. "Who’s doing this?!" "Are we being rescued?" "There’s someone out there... someone strong! Someone fast!" "We’re saved... whoever you are—thank you!" Some of them even started crying, overwhelmed by the sudden hope that had replaced their terror. Ethan stood still there like Mount Everest, hands in his pockets, watching silently. He wasn’t here for applause. He wasn’t doing this to earn respect. He just wanted to do this—and did. Within moments, the battlefield was empty. Every low-tier monster lay in pools of their own blood, unmoving. Even the level 9 warrior-grade monsters shared the same fate. The knives slowly returned to him and went back in his backpack. But the fight wasn’t over. The Flame Ape howled, furious. Its burning eyes locked onto the martial artists in front of it. It wanted to toy with these ants a little bit before crushing them, but a variable occurred. The ape couldn’t find the enemy—but there were some readymade enemies here for it. At the same time, those twenty martial artists finally regained their courage. They saw the lone beast left and their spirits soared. "Let’s kill it while it’s alone!" one of them yelled. They charged toward the monster, blades glowing, battle cries filling the sky. They fought with everything they had. Sword strikes, hammer strikes, gunfire, sniper shots. The Flame Ape was blasted again and again. Smoke curled from its fur. Blood leaked from its arms. But still—it didn’t fall. It was strong. Too strong. One man was sent flying, his ribs shattered. Another had his sword arm bitten off. Two more collapsed from the heat pouring off the beast’s molten skin. They gave it their all, but they were still being crushed. Ethan sighed in his heart. Looks like he needed to step in. "Enough," he said softly. He reached out with his spirit power, soft as a whisper, and within seconds, every fighter in the field dropped unconscious where they stood. Like leaves caught in a breeze, they were laid down gently, safely—no harm done. Ethan looked at the ape, which was five meters tall and glaring at him angrily. He placed his hand on his sword. Frostmourne hummed. Its blade slowly slid from the sheath, gleaming coldly in the firelight. The Flame Ape turned toward him. It roared. Flames surged. And the real battle began. Ethan vanished. He reappeared in front of the beast, blade already swinging. Clang! Sparks flew as the sword met the ape’s burning fist. The shockwave blew the windows out of nearby buildings. The earth cracked. They clashed again and again—steel against fire, fist against fist. The Flame Ape swung with raw rage, trying to crush Ethan under its fists. But Ethan only used the strength of a level 1 Grandmaster—exactly like the ape. No more. No less. He dodged narrowly, parried perfectly. His movements were tight, disciplined, cold as a winter wind. Every strike from Frostmourne left deep wounds that sizzled and steamed. The ape roared in pain and slammed its fists, sending waves of fire. Ethan slid backward, his boots dragging hot trails in the dirt. Then he struck again. Slash! A line of blood sprayed from the ape’s shoulder. Bang! Ethan kicked the monster in the chest, sending it flying through a crumbling wall. The Flame Ape stumbled to its feet, dazed, blood pouring from its mouth. It charged again. Ethan met it head-on. Their fists collided midair. Fist met fist, muscle met muscle. A massive explosion shook the ground, and for a brief moment, all went still. Then the ape dropped to its knees—its eyes wide, confused. Ethan stood behind it, sword lowered. A single cut ran from the ape’s shoulder to its waist. The beast took one last breath and fell. Dead. The silence that followed was heavy. Ethan was floating in front of the corpse of the monster. Frostmourne was under his feet. His hands were behind his back. Under the moonlit night, Ethan was radiating unbound majesty. The smoke curled around Ethan’s boots as he turned and looked at the sleeping martial artists. Then, without a word, he sheathed Frostmourne and also lay down on the ground. Ten minutes later, the fighters woke up. "W-What happened?" "Where’s the Flame Ape?" "It’s... it’s dead..." They looked around. The ground was scorched and cracked. Monster corpses littered the town like a graveyard. Someone whispered, "Did that hidden expert save us... again?" "Who is he?" "An angel? A ghost? A god?" They didn’t know.