Odyssey Of Survival-Chapter 120 One Slash

The huntress’s voice rang through the air, laced with urgency.

"Hey, watch out!"

Nate barely had time to react before he caught the glint of metal rushing toward his throat.

The big man—the same one whose jaw he had shattered, whose arm he had broken, whose body he had slammed into the ground—was now somehow on his feet, wielding a sword and swinging it straight at his neck with murderous intent.

Nate’s mind barely had time to process the impossibility of it. Where did he get the sword? How was he even moving? It didn’t matter.

His body acted instinctively.

He bent backward, his spine arching at an impossible angle, narrowly dodging the blade by mere inches. He felt the sharp edge slice through the air just above his nose, the rush of wind from its swing brushing his face. The force of the dodge, however, was too much for his balance—he was already falling backward.

For a brief moment, Nate thought he might crash into the ground, leaving himself vulnerable. But before he could hit the dirt, a firm hand caught him from behind.

The huntress.

She had reacted just in time, gripping his side and steadying him before he could collapse.

Nate exhaled sharply as he found his footing again. He turned his head slightly, giving her a quick nod and a smirk of appreciation before shifting his focus back to his opponent.

And when his cold eyes landed on the big man again, a sudden wave of unease spread through the crowd.

The air changed.

Even though the midday sun still shined above, a chill swept through the gathered spectators as if the temperature had suddenly dropped. The huntress stiffened behind Nate, feeling an inexplicable weight pressing down on her body, locking her in place.

It wasn’t just her.

Everyone present felt it.

A suppression so heavy, so overwhelming, that even breathing felt difficult.

Nate’s expression was void of warmth.

His gaze bore into the big man like a predator eyeing its prey, his voice carrying an unnatural stillness, each word landing like a sharp blade.

"The first time... I let you live."

A pause.

"But now you want to kill me?"

His words slithered through the silence like a death sentence.

The big man’s face twisted, his body trembling—not from fear, but from sheer rage.

"Petty boy," the man spat, his voice laced with venom. "Who do you think you are? You’ve bitten off more than you can chew."

Despite the suffocating tension in the air, he suddenly let out a loud, guttural laugh, throwing his head back as if Nate’s words were the funniest thing he had ever heard.

Then, without another word, he charged forward, sword raised high.

The moment his foot slammed into the ground, a gust of wind kicked up dust, and before anyone could react, the sword was already descending toward Nate’s head.

And this time—

Nate didn’t move.

The crowd gasped.

Some clutched their mouths in horror, others turned away, unwilling to witness what they assumed would be a bloody execution.

The huntress’s eyes widened in disbelief. Why wasn’t he dodging?

The big man grinned savagely, convinced that this time, Nate wouldn’t escape.

The blade came crashing down—

And Nate walked straight into it.

A collective gasp rippled through the air.

Was he insane? A sword wasn’t a fist. A sword could cut. A sword could kill.

The sharp edge came within inches of Nate’s face—

And in that very moment, his hand moved.

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Not to dodge.

Not to block.

But to do something far more reckless.

The entire world seemed to slow down as Nate moved.

In front of dozens of stunned eyes, he did something no one—not a single person in the crowd—could have predicted.

He didn’t dodge.

He didn’t retreat.

Instead, he raised his hand—his bare, flesh-and-blood hand—and caught the sword.

The crowd gasped in absolute horror, some recoiling as if they had just witnessed a lunatic seal his own fate.

The sharp blade sank deep into his palm, slicing through flesh and muscle, but Nate’s expression didn’t change.

Not even a flinch.

Blood began dripping from his hand, staining the steel red, pooling down his fingers, yet his grip never wavered. It was as if pain didn’t exist for him.

The big man’s face drained of color, his confidence shattering in an instant as he watched Nate stand there, calm, unwavering, and completely unaffected.

"H-How…?" he muttered, his voice barely audible.

How could a boy like this—one who looked so young, so normal—stop a sword with his bare hand?

Panic flashed in the big man’s eyes. He tried to pull the sword away, using every ounce of strength he had left—but the blade wouldn’t budge.

It was trapped, locked in place by Nate’s blood-soaked fingers.

The huntress, standing behind Nate, felt her knees go weak.

She almost fainted from sheer shock.

Her lips trembled as she whispered, "Who… who is this demon…?"

The weight of what they were witnessing crushed the crowd into silence. Even those who had mocked Nate earlier, those who had called him weak, who had laughed and offered him a place in their homes instead of on the battlefield—they could only stare in disbelief.

If only they knew.

If only they understood what Nate had endured—

His body had been tempered countless times, torn apart and rebuilt by lightning itself. His flesh had been broken down to its very core and reconstructed stronger, harder, and more resilient than any normal human’s. He wasn’t like them. He wasn’t bound by their limitations.

And now, as he stood there, holding the blade hostage with nothing but his grip, it was clear that he wasn’t one of them.

He was something else entirely.

Then, in the next instant—Nate snapped his hand forward.

The sword ripped out of the big man’s grasp, spinning high into the air, twisting in circles as it reflected the sun’s light.

For a moment, all eyes followed its path—

Then, just as it began to fall, he stretched his hand and caught it.

Then he moved.

He was a blur.

A streak of speed so fast that most people didn’t even see it.

One second, he was standing in front of the big man.

The next—

He had already passed him.

His blood still dripped from his fingers, staining the leather, but he paid it no mind.

And then—

He dropped it.

The blade clattered against the ground, the sound echoing eerily in the stunned silence that followed.

The crowd froze.

Confusion filled the air.

What just happened?

Why did he drop the sword?

Some thought he had surrendered, that perhaps the fight was over.

But then—

The next moment changed everything.

A grotesque, sickening sound filled the air.

A thud.

Followed by a rolling noise.

All eyes turned back to the big man—

And what they saw made their blood run cold.

His head had separated from his shoulders.

Detached, lifeless, it tumbled across the dirt, rolling until it came to a stop right at Nate’s feet.

For a moment, even in death, his expression was frozen in disbelief.

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His body remained upright, standing for just a second longer—

Then, like a crumbling statue, it collapsed.

Dust exploded into the air as his corpse hit the ground.

The world stood still.

It took a moment for reality to sink in—

Then, chaos erupted.

The crowd burst into an uproar, voices overlapping in a storm of excitement, shock, and disbelief.

"He killed him!"

"Did you see that?! What happened?! I didn’t even see him move!"

"He cut his head off with one strike—how?! It was too fast!"

Many couldn’t even process what they had just witnessed. Some were still staring at the fallen body, waiting for it to move, to confirm it was real.

But it was real.

Nate looked down at the severed head, his expression unreadable, his eyes empty.

Then—

He kicked it away.

The head rolled further into the dirt, as if it disgusted him to even be near it.

Silence fell over the onlookers again, but this time, it was different.

This wasn’t the silence of confusion.

This was the silence of awe.

They weren’t just looking at Nate anymore.

They were watching him.

Fearfully. Respectfully. Completely and utterly mesmerized.

Then, as if drawn by an unseen force, Nate lifted his head and locked eyes with the huntress.

She was still staring at him, still stunned—

But then, a slow, wide smile spread across her lips.

For the first time since they met, she looked at him with something new in her eyes.

Approval.

And then—

She stepped forward.

Stretching out her hand.

Nate’s eyes flickered down to it for only a second before he reached out and took it.

Their hands met, blood staining her fingers, but she didn’t care.

Her voice was firm, clear, proud.

"Welcome."

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