Mike landed among them like a descending blade.
The moment his boots touched the cracked street, several masked fanatics turned—too late.
Slash.
Slash.
Two heads fell before alarms could even be raised.
The awakened fighters stared for a split second, then recognition flashed across their faces.
"It's him—!"
"Don't stop! Push forward!"
Mike moved ahead of them, Emerald Heart humming as it cut through corrupted mana and flesh alike. Compared to what he had already faced, this was only a Rank 3 zone. There were no true elites here—just fanatics drunk on borrowed power.
They didn't stand a chance.
A fanatic lunged at him, veins glowing red.
Mike didn't even slow.
One clean strike split the man from shoulder to waist.
Another tried to regenerate—
Black flame flared.
The body collapsed into ash before it could scream.
