?Tycondrius lifted the human up by the neck. The man wed at Tycon''s grip with his good arm and he kicked at his feet, unable to reach the ground.


    The response was good... but it was... wrong.


    An annoyed frown etched into Tycon''s face. He was looking for a specific response: Repentance.


    Why was no one repenting? He had specifically requested it.


    Perhaps the man hadn''t heard him? Arge amount of adrenaline should be coursing through the gentleman''s veins-- after all, his useless arm was a sliver of bone away from falling off of his body.


    Tycon hated repeating himself, but circumstance seemed to demand it. He was used to shouting in hecticbat situations, but he wished the notion hadn''t annoyed him so.


    "REPENT!!!" Tycon screamed into the man''s face, "--or your LIVES ARE FORFEIT!!!"


    He changed his halberd grip, moving it up to just below the de, "?Legionbreaker.?"


    With the sharpened mana sheathing his weapon''s edge, he released the man''s neck with his offhand. For the briefest of moments, relief washed over the ruffian''s expression... Then Tycon struck the top of the de with his fist, fully severing the man''s arm from his body.


    Blood spilled onto the ground in a gruesome fashion, spurting the fellow''s life force energetically along with his heartbeat.


    Tycon grabbed the man''s neck once more, mming him into the fencing surrounding the Vanzano estate.


    All the fellow had to do was repent. From Tycon''s memories, it didn''t seem so difficult. Was Tycon doing something wrong? Was he not being taken seriously?


    ...Well, the fellow in his grasp was going to bleed to death. At least that one could be an example to the others for not doing as they were told.


    Tycon stabbed his weapon into the pinned man''s abdomen then into his chest. Then, he tossed the useless corpse onto the floor.


    He would have been nicer, had the fellow repented properly.


    ncing back to Zenon for assurance, the tall Librarian was watching in silence, an unmoving, ever-judging observer.


    He nced back to the thugs surrounding him. They were no markings of allegiance, not to the city of Silva, nor to any particr adventurer''s guild. They were unnamed trash.


    Yet they had not yet knelt and begged for forgiveness?


    It was odd. Had these people not experienced the tyranny of the Church of the Eternal me? In Tycon''s memories, it wouldn''t be an exaggeration to say it was amon urrence.


    Perhaps they were in shock? Tycon decided to continue on. He had only killed one man. Before he changed his tactics, he''d kill a second, just to be certain this approach was ineffective.


    The same rule applied to long-range marksmanship. Shoot twice before adjusting your aim for other factors, like the wind, and misaligned crossbow sights.


    Tycon regripped his halberd and swung it in a wide arc around his head, chopping into another man''s right side-- severing his arm at the elbow. There was more screaming-- not from that fellow, that fellow was dead. The man''spanions were screaming, drawing their weapons, their eyes rightfully shining with fear.


    It took them so long to react, though... Were they not often embroiled in suchbat situations? They looked like a ragged bunch of thieves. Were they stunned by Tycon''s handsomeness? Pah. This was why he often wore a hood or helmet.<novelnext></novelnext>


    "Wait!! Stop this madness!!" A woman yelled-- the sharp-eyed one.


    Still, it wasn''t what Tycon was looking for.


    He''d continue on.


    Tycon swung his halberd, nging against a thug''s sword and forcing their arm back. With the opening, he then shoved his halberd''s point into the man''s throat.


    Tearing the weapon to the left, Tycon stuck the de''s edge into the side of a woman''s neck-- deep into the jugr vein. She released the sword in her hand and copsed to the floor, convulsing from the blood loss.


    Switching grips once more, Tycon kept his offhand on his halberd and reached for the dagger on his lower back.


    ? Dynamic Weapon. Second-Circle Magical Short Sword. Weapon''s form can be changed to a ded weapon of the wielder''s choice. Soulbound to host. ?


    It was a lovely, multi-faceted weapon.


    Tycon had a favorite weapon, which he used often, adventuring in the Kingdom. It was a whip, one with sharpened razor des at its ends. It was particrly dangerous and peculiar in that it needed many bells of practice to be proficient in its use. He found it aesthetically pleasing.


    Against stronger opponents, it was more useful as a whip, binding limbs or providing a painful distraction. Against Bronze-Rankers and below... it was quite cruel.


    Tycon gripped the dagger''s hilt, charging it with mana. Glowing a radiant white, the weapon segmented, the metal stretched, and its pieces nged together, rebuilt magically as a short sword.


    With a forward-flick of his wrist, the de''s segments loosened once more. A pliable ''rope'' of mana kept each section of edged-metal shrapnel together. Functionally, the Dynamic Weapon was his familiar whip, except unnecessarily stylish.


    The segmented sword had wrapped around a human''s neck. Tycon pulled. The des wrought havoc on the gentleman''s flesh, ripping into it... tearing, exposing the man''s windpipe to open air and spilling more fresh blood onto the street.


    The woman-- the smart one, finally rushed forward, kneeling down at Tycon''s feet, "Please!! I''ll tell you everything!!"


    Everything? No, that wouldn''t be good enough.


    Tycon snapped his wrist to the side, his weapon reforming into its original short sword form. He pressed the short sword''s tip against the side of the brte''s neck. He''d make it quick.


    "Optio," Zenon''s metallic voice resounded in his helmet.


    Tycon froze his movements. No... Haha... His face still moved. He wasn''t aware of just when-- but he found that he was grinning.


    Tycon steadily increased the pressure on his weapon. A rivulet of blood dripped down from underneath her short brown hair, running down her neck.


    "Optio, that''s enough," Zenon repeated himself. A boom of power thrummed from where the Centurion stood, tossing up dust and forcing the remaining humans to stagger a step back.


    The woman quietly sobbed, the stones beneath her, wet with her cowardice.


    Tycon tilted her head up with the t of his de, "Do you repent?"