The Transcendent Godslayer
Chapter 61: Blood

Chapter 61: Blood

There was a concept in philosophy known as flow—a state where one became so immersed in an activity that they zoned out, as if ascending beyond their own mental realm.

A state of hyperfocus, as psychology described it.

Kallen had sunk into that state. His thoughts drifting in and out of clarity as he sank deeper into that state, trying as hard as he could, to shut his brain up, or come to peace with himself.

So deeply that he hadn’t noticed the teenage Orc standing over him, nor had he heard the repeated calls, nor the irritated growls.

The teenager’s patience had run dry. His forehead vein bulging in anger.

"I am talking to you, runt!"

A hard smack landed across Kallen’s face, snapping his head to the side.

That did it.

The shock of the blow wrenched him from his trance, forcing him to acknowledge the presence of the gruff, scowling teenager looming above him.

Before he could react, a rough hand grabbed his collar and yanked him off the ground.

Kallen’s feet dangled in the air.

The height difference was almost comical if not for the sheer danger of the situation.

Orcs were naturally larger, stronger, and more physically imposing than humans... Well, Kallen was not entirely human, but just physically, he might as well have been, as he had no physical traits of other races.

The sixteen-year-old Orc stood at an impressive 6’1", his physique built for battle, for war, for bloodshed. The kind of strength that could crush bones.

Compared to him, nine-year-old Kallen looked like a scrawny street rat.

And though this Orc wasn’t exactly a genius, he was leagues above Kallen in strength.

A First Ascension ascendant.

"Answer me," he growled, lifting Kallen’s face to meet his eyes.

Kallen, his head still hung low, glanced at the blade pressed against his neck, snug in the orc’s grip. A few drops of blood had already seeped from the small cut, made by its sharp edge.

After a brief pause, he raised his head, his crimson eyes locking onto the teenager’s.

Rarely, if ever, did Kallen lose control and act without careful thought. But in his current mental state, it was useless hoping for any rational decisions.

Besides, he needed to vent at least a fraction of the fury burning inside him.

So when Menelaus opened the door and stepped inside, he was met with a sight he never expected—one that was bound to shatter his entire worldview.

What first hit him was the thick, metallic scent of fresh blood—it almost made him faint in fear. His first instinct was that the teenager had actually killed Kallen.

And if that was true, he was already a dead man walking. Zephyrus would make sure his death was the most painful and pathetic imaginable.

Next came the suffocating wave of killing intent, so heavy it felt like it branded itself onto his very soul.

Yet, strangely, his soul... relaxed. And then recoiled in shock.

The young orc couldn’t possibly produce such intense killing intent. That left only one conclusion: the human child. Or maybe something else was at play.

He quickly dismissed the thought. If this were a robbery, there was no way the teenager could pressure a thief into releasing such murderous intent. It had to be the child.

’Very smart kid,’ he praised inwardly, realization dawning.

The teenager understood that he hadn’t truly meant for him to kill the human boy when he gave the order.

But how was this possible? How could a mere child, barely nine or ten, radiate such vile, oppressive killing intent?

What kind of life had this unawakened human child lived to develop such murderous presence? How many had he killed?

But it made no sense. How could he have slain so many and still remain unawakened? Unless—he had deliberately rejected his awakening in pursuit of a better core.

The thought was laughable. Disgraceful. Pathetic.

If he had been an orc, he would have been culled as useless—a potential curse, a liability to their military strength when the time came.

So why had Zephyrus kept him? Was he special? Perhaps that was why Zephyrus favored him. But if that were the case, why not keep him closer; as a servant, a personal thrall, a human slave?

Or maybe Zephyrus wasn’t even aware of the child’s potential. But if that were true, what else could explain his fascination with the human?

Something wasn’t adding up.

’Whatever. He’s done well not to kill him. None of this is my concern. My only job is to follow orders.’

Menelaus had processed all these thoughts before he had even fully opened the door.

The moment he created the smallest gap, everything from the scent of blood, the weight of killing intent in the air, the rush of his deductions, had flowed seamlessly in his mind, one after the other.

With his level of strength, his speed of thought and perception were far beyond what normal beings could comprehend.

A bonafide Second Ascension Ascendant.

But no amount of foresight could have prepared him for what he actually saw when the door swung open.

Blood. Everywhere.

The show-room was a slaughterhouse, a chaotic mess of carnage. Their forged weapons were strewn allover, with blood on their blades, signifying the teenage orc’s use of his metal mancy skill.

And standing at a corner, by the wall, drenched in crimson, were the two figures.

The orc was slumped and pressed to the wall, his body riddled with gaping wounds, and breathing laboured. His eyes or what remained of them, had been punctured, utterly destroyed.

And then there was Kallen, bloodied but composed, bearing his own share of blade cuts.

The young orc held a blade, its edge pressed against Kallen’s bleeding arm. And in that same arm Kallen held a blade which pressed against the teenager’s throat.

As the door swung open, Kallen turned his head, locking eyes with Menelaus—as if he had been expecting him all along.

His crimson eyes held an eerie, demonic shade that Menelaus had never seen before. Yet, they remained as calm as a still lake.

Then, without breaking eye contact, Kallen moved his hand, not caring about the blade that was pressed against it, nor the tearing of his flesh as he moved that arm.

Menelaus barely had time to process what was happening before the young orc’s throat was slit open, blood gushing out of it in pulses and drenching Kallen with it.

The young orc shook violently for a second, then the light in his eyes flickered and vanished.

Menelaus could only watch in stunned silence as Kallen pulled his arm away from the teenager’s chest, no longer pinning him to the wall with his weight.

The orc slumped down slowly, leaving a crimson trail as his body slid to the floor.

And then he raised his gaze to meet Kallen still watching him, his gaze utterly indifferent, as though he had done nothing at all.

Menelaus saw red.