Chương 147: 147：Hardened Skin

Krag's coiled muscles finally exploded with power! He violently vaulted his upper body out from behind the granite slab. With a face twisted in a vicious, sadistic snarl, he mercilessly squeezed the trigger of the heavy siege crossbow.

"Go to hell, human bug!" BOOM! A heavy armor-piercing steel bolt—thicker than a grown man's thumb—tore through the air. Across the hundred-meter distance, it was nothing but a blur, accompanied by an ear-piercing screech that sounded like howling ghosts. The precision was absolutely unbelievable. Thump! The steel bolt, capable of punching through a rhinoceros's thick hide, struck dead-center! A flawless, lethal impact directly over Soren's heart on his left chest!

"Got him!" Witnessing this, Krag practically wanted to throw his head back and roar in triumph. He slowly stood up, a wildly arrogant, victorious sneer spreading across his face. He wanted to breathe in the bloody, muddy air of the swamp while admiring the beautiful sight of this powerful, mysterious human screaming in agony as he collapsed. This kill would add yet another glorious stroke to his legendary assassination record. However. The very next scene caused the sneer on Krag's lips to instantly freeze solid.

The sight unfolding before his eyes was something this war-hardened elite—a veteran who had commanded the Orcish Sharpshooter Corps for decades—simply could not comprehend. There was no exploding heart. There was no shower of blood and gore. Soren hadn't even taken a step back. Not even half a step! The exact instant the heavy steel bolt struck Soren's [Black Iron Heavy Armor] at terminal velocity... CLANG! A dull, deafening impact echoed.

The bolt violently scraped against the heavy metal plating, letting out an ear-grating screech of grinding steel. The black iron armor absorbed more than half of the bolt's terrifying penetrative power. But even the residual kinetic force should have been more than enough to completely shatter the internal organs of a normal human, or even an average orc. But then! As that weakened shockwave transferred into Soren's body... Soren's Talent, [Hardened Skin], activated! Immune to 70% of conventional physical damage!

What would be an absolutely guaranteed, chest-bursting lethal strike against anyone else... to Soren, in this exact moment, felt like nothing more than getting punched through a thick winter quilt. He tanked it head-on! Under the utterly horrified, disbelieving gazes of everyone present, Soren seized the exact microsecond the enemy dropped his guard to celebrate. Reach. Nock. Draw! It was all too late.

By the time Krag realized this human hadn't taken a single scratch—and had actually used the sniper's own reload window to lock in his killing stance—a paralyzing, suffocating terror gripped the orc's throat. Run! Hide! Dodge! These thoughts had barely managed to spark in his brain. Soren's killing intent flared. The veins on the back of his bow hand bulged like writhing snakes.

"Die." THWANG! SCREECH! The black iron arrow, completely enveloped in spiraling wind-elemental magic, tore through the fog! Accompanied by a sonic boom like rolling thunder, it punched straight through Krag's wide, terrified right eye, shattering his skull and driving straight into his brain! Driven by an unstoppable, spiraling kinetic force, the arrow didn't just stop there.

It carried Krag's massive body backward, pinning his skull directly into the ancient tree behind him, the broadhead burying itself inches deep into the wood! THUD! The apex sniper, revered and worshipped by the entire Orcish Horde, violently collapsed backward onto the cold, rotting earth. Amidst the chilling, fog-shrouded night, the only sound left was the distant, low growl of a two-headed swamp crocodile. The woods returned to a terrifying, deathly silence. Krag's lifeless corpse hung limp.

His eyes remained bulged out in sheer shock and terror. Even in death, this sniper, who had been fiercely proud his entire life, simply could not understand. Why? How could his heavy steel bolt—a weapon capable of blowing a hole through a giant bear—strike a young human directly over the heart, only for the human to shrug it off and launch a counterattack like he was taking a leisurely stroll? The night wind of the Misty Swamp howled through the dead woods.

The towering corpse of the Orc Sharpshooter lay in the putrid mud, his eyes unblinking, his prized heavy siege crossbow discarded beside him, covered in rotting leaves. Only after confirming there were absolutely no survivors left in the vicinity did Soren finally sling the cyan-glowing [Windwhisper Bow] back over his shoulder.

"My Lord! Are you hurt?!" Meyer stumbled out from his hiding spot in the rear. Seeing the horrifying gouge across the black iron plating on Soren's chest—a strike that had literally sheared a layer of solid metal away—the intelligence officer broke out in a cold sweat. Soren simply waved him off. His [Hardened Skin] had thoroughly proven its worth. He didn't linger. Taking long strides through the muck, he walked straight toward the blood-drenched deadwood.

Pinned securely to the trunk was the wandering mercenary, Lyra, with her short silver hair. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The heavy armor-piercing steel bolt had completely skewered her right shoulder, mangling the flesh and muscle just below her collarbone. Crimson blood flowed out in a steady stream, soaking the mud beneath her boots. Between the world-ending agony and catastrophic blood loss, her lips had turned a sickly purplish-blue.

Her gaze was locked onto Soren as he approached. Mixed with her overwhelming weakness was absolute, unadulterated disbelief. This man... he actually tanked Krag's lethal shot head-on, and perfectly counter-killed him!

"Bite down hard. Do not struggle, unless you want the barbs on this bolt to completely shatter your scapula." Soren's cold, calm voice sounded near her ear. He reached out, his left hand pressing firmly against her trembling left shoulder to stabilize her body, while his right hand locked onto the tail of the steel bolt driven into the trunk.

"Mmph..." Lyra instinctively tensed every muscle in her body. SQUELCH! A geyser of blood erupted outward. Channeling the monstrous physical strength granted by his [Faint Blood of the Son of Titan], Soren forcefully yanked the deeply embedded steel bolt straight out of the deadwood! The moment she lost the tree's support, Lyra went completely limp. Moving with lightning speed, Soren caught her with one arm, gently lowering her flat onto a relatively dry patch of moss.

Immediately, he pulled a small glass vial from his tactical pouch. It was a [Field First-Aid Potion] he had captured earlier. Popping the cork off with his thumb, Soren poured half the vial directly onto the mangled entry wound. Hiss! The second the alchemical liquid touched her raw flesh, a thick puff of white smoke rose, accompanied by the harsh stench of searing meat. The intense, burning agony caused Lyra to violently arch her slender neck, letting out a desperately suppressed groan.

Stimulated by the potion, her torn muscle tissues began to rapidly contract and writhe, miraculously stopping the torrential bleeding. Soren pressed the remaining half of the vial to her lips.

"Drink. It will stabilize your rapidly depleting vitality." Trembling, Lyra leaned into his hand and swallowed the liquid. A scalding heat immediately flowed down her esophagus and into her stomach, rapidly driving away the freezing stiffness permeating her limbs. Gasping heavily for air, a sliver of clarity finally returned to her mind. She strained her neck to look at Soren, who was currently wrapping her shoulder with a clean linen bandage under the pale moonlight. Her eyes were filled with profound awe.

"My Lord... just who are you? Across the entire border, even among the Royal Griffon Knights, I have never heard of archery this tyrannical."

"From this day forward, Lyra's life belongs to you." Soren expertly tied off the bandage with a tactical knot before finally looking up.

"I am Soren, the Lord and administrator of Greywater Village." He stood up and extended his right hand.

"The stench of blood here is too heavy. It will attract swarms of two-headed swamp crocodiles very soon."

"Your shoulder bone is severely damaged; you will not survive the night in this swamp. Come with me. We return to Greywater Village to heal your wounds." Without a single second of hesitation, Lyra reached out her left hand and gripped Soren's tightly. By midday, the heavy mist overhead finally thinned a fraction, allowing a rare sliver of pale sunlight to pierce through the canopy. The northern entrance leading into Greywater Village territory.

Soren and Meyer rode their warhorses, with Lyra sharing a saddle with Soren. They navigated safely through the deadly, interlocking web of traps meticulously set by Luger, finally arriving at the sloped plateau sitting just above the dormant volcanic crater. In that moment, an unprecedented level of sheer shock flooded Lyra's exhausted eyes. She had assumed that any human "territory" out here in the swamp would be nothing more than a pathetic refugee camp built from rotting wood and mud.

But what unfolded before her was a heavily fortified, highly disciplined, and booming military stronghold! Up on wooden watchtowers soaring dozens of feet into the air, soldiers equipped with longbows kept vigilant watch over the perimeter. In the distance, inside the geothermal blast-furnace forge, hundreds of diminutive goblins were swinging heavy hammers, the deafening ring of striking iron echoing through the valley.

The air was thick with the scent of sulfur, burning charcoal, and the mouth-watering aroma of boiled Swamp Tubers. The women, children, and elderly bustling about the clearings may have been dressed in worn, ragged clothes, but every single one of their eyes burned with a rare, undeniable light of hope.

"The Lord has returned to camp!" Accompanying the shout from the watchtowers, every single soldier stationed around the perimeter of Greywater Village instantly stopped what they were doing. Moving with terrifying, flawless synchronization, they raised their right fists and slammed them heavily against their breastplates. A thunderous, unified roar shattered the sky:"SALUTE THE LORD!" Witnessing this fanatical, iron-blooded military soul caused a violent tremor to shake Lyra's very core.

As a wandering mercenary who had seen nothing but betrayal, backstabbing, and petty schemes her entire life... she understood exactly what this level of absolute devotion meant.