Shotaro Mugyiwara woke up with the precision of a soldier and the exhaustion of a man who had spent the last seventeen days keeping an entire village from collapsing under its own stupidity.
His eyes snapped open. His brain instantly went into overdrive. There was no groggy, half-awake state, no slow blinking or sluggish stretching—just immediate awareness, the kind that screamed, You are still in enemy territory. Do not relax.
He groaned. "Okay, okay, okay. This is Mugyiwara Shotaro, Day 17," he muttered, grabbing a tube of toothpaste from his bedside. Instead of applying it to a toothbrush like a normal person, he simply bit down and chewed, lazily squeezing out the minty paste into his mouth like it was some kind of energy gel.
There was no time for toothbrushes. There was no time for weakness.
As he mechanically cleaned his teeth in the most barbaric way possible, he continued his mental log.
"We established a proper irrigation system," he said, stripping off his clothes without hesitation. Completely unbothered by the concept of shame or modesty, he walked outside, butt-naked, and made a beeline for the river.
Without breaking stride, he dove in.
The instant he hit the water, every muscle in his body seized up.
"OH FUCK, THAT'S COLD," he wheezed, breaking the surface like a man who had just been baptized against his will. "Who the hell decided rivers needed to be this freezing? This is some bullshit!"
Ignoring the way his body was actively trying to shut down from the temperature shock, he scrubbed himself down, still mumbling to himself like some kind of lunatic.
"I repeat this stuff to keep me sane, to be honest," he admitted, dunking his head underwater before popping back up, coughing. "What else… Oh, yeah. We established a tribal police force. Now the guards only have to deal with external threats instead of being dragged into every dumb internal dispute."
He paused, glaring at the sky. "And by 'dumb internal dispute,' I mean every single one of these lunatics somehow making their personal drama everyone's problem. Do you know how many cases I had to handle that started with 'he stole my goat' or 'she insulted my grandmother's cooking' and ended with people trying to kill each other? Too many. Too goddamn many."
He exhaled deeply, sinking back into the water.
"At least the cultural exchange is going well," he mused. "I sent some Dark Elven literature, songs, and poems back to Olive Dale for them to publish. Meanwhile, I introduced some Imperial art here."
Shotaro was under no illusions—he knew that both sides would probably spend the first few weeks being passive-aggressive and dismissive about each other's culture. But give it time, and someone was bound to find something they actually liked.
And if they didn't? Well, he'd just force them to sit down and read.
Eventually, he climbed out of the river, water dripping down his still-tanned skin. He shook his head, sending droplets flying everywhere before sighing deeply.
"Woah," Shotaro muttered, staring at the sky like it held the answers to his increasingly ridiculous existence.
With a sigh, he flicked his fingers, using his mantra to evaporate the water clinging to his body. Steam rose around him as if he were some kind of divine warrior stepping out of a hot spring in a legendary epic. In reality, he was just a guy who really didn't feel like air-drying.
As he pulled on his clothes, his eyes drifted to a strange cluster of stones arranged in an almost too-perfect pattern nearby.
His instincts screamed at him.
"Mantra stones?" he muttered, crouching slightly to get a better look. "Yeah, that's a trap."
Shotaro, ever the genius, then proceeded to immediately step directly into an actual trap behind him.
The ground beneath his foot snapped open. Before he could react, a rope yanked his leg upward, flipping him into the air like a confused fish.
For a brief second, his brain completely shut down.
Then the pain hit.
Shotaro grunted as he dangled upside-down, his arms crossed as if this was just another Tuesday. "Nice. Real nice. Outwitted by a fake trap hiding a real one. Good job, me."
A rustling noise caught his attention.
Emerging from the thick jungle was a towering, muscle-bound woman with wild hair, a fierce gaze, and a club that looked like it had personally ended at least several bloodlines.
Before he could say anything, she raised her weapon and swung.
CRACK.
The club smashed into his torso with enough force to turn lesser men into paste. Shotaro let out a wheeze as his body swung backward like a pendulum.
Another hit.
Then another.
Then—yep, another.
The woman was relentless, her strikes landing with the kind of force that suggested she wasn't just trying to hurt him—she was trying to turn him into pre-digested meat.
Shotaro, to his credit, was a stubborn bone.
"Hey, hey, hey," he choked out between swings, his body jerking like a ragdoll. "This is—ow—uh—really—ow—giving me—ow—one hell of a—"
Another club swing.
"—headache."
The joke was so horrifically bad that the wild woman actually stopped mid-swing.
A long silence stretched between them.
The club hovered just inches away from his already-abused ribs. The woman's face scrunched up, her battle-ready expression flickering with visible discomfort.
Shotaro, still swinging upside-down like an unfortunate fish caught in a very stupid net, grinned despite the pounding headache forming from all the blood rushing to his head.
"Yeah. I AM ACTUALLY A TOUGH SKULL TO GO THROUGH."
The barbarian woman blinked at him, her grip tightening around the absurdly large war club she had just used to attempt manslaughter.
This was Valkhara the Ironbreast—a name that sent shivers down the spines of warriors and made kings consider early retirement. She was a Zhorkhani, a member of the infamous northern tribe that most so-called "civilized" nations simply referred to as barbarians.
And to be fair, they weren't wrong.
Valkhara was massive—easily over two meters tall, her frame built like a siege weapon sculpted by the gods specifically for violence. Every inch of her body was layered in muscle, hardened by a lifetime of surviving in the unforgiving wilds. Her hair was a golden mane—not just long, but thick and wild, like the untamed fur of a beast that had decided to walk upright one day and never looked back. Stray braids were decorated with bones, iron rings, and what suspiciously looked like a finger from an unlucky opponent. Her piercing yellow eyes glowed with feral intelligence, scanning Shotaro like a wolf considering whether or not the thing in its jaws was worth swallowing whole.
She wore minimal armor, mostly because who the hell would dare stab her? A single pauldron, likely torn from the corpse of a fallen warlord, rested on her left shoulder. A fur cloak, thick and heavy, was thrown over her back—probably the pelt of a beast she had personally strangled into submission. Her torso was wrapped in tight cloth, emphasizing both her absurd physique and the reason behind her Ironbreast title. A thick leather belt with a ridiculous amount of weapons hung around her waist—daggers, axes, and something that looked suspiciously like a human jawbone. Her lower half was covered by a skirt of reinforced leather strips, and her boots… well, if they were boots, they were made out of whatever unfortunate creature she had last hunted.
She was huge. Terrifying. And most importantly—currently staring at him like he was a prize cow at a barbarian meat market.
"...Why are you looking at me like that?" Shotaro asked, finally noticing the very hungry expression on her face.
Valkhara licked her lips. "You're a big one. Lots of meat. Strong muscles. Could feed my whole warband for a week if cooked right."
Shotaro blinked.
"Hold on. Pause. Did you just—are you seriously looking at me like dinner right now?"
"Aye," she said, nodding. "Zhorkhani eats the strong. Makes us stronger."
Shotaro's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"...I have so many questions."
"Ask fast," Valkhara said, cracking her knuckles. "I haven't had manflesh in a while."
"Why are you trying to eat me?!"
"Told you. You're big. Good muscle. Good meat. Hard to find strong prey these days—most folks are made of' bones and' cowardice." She narrowed her eyes. "But you? Aye, ye be a fine meal."
Shotaro groaned, still dangling upside-down, his arms crossed like he was having the most annoying Monday of his life. "Oh, for—okay, hypothetically speaking, what happens if I win this encounter? Do I become food?"
Valkhara, still looking at him with the same intensity someone might give a particularly well-marbled steak, smirked. Her sharp canines glinted under the sunlight. "Mmm. Maybe. If ye be strong enough to survive, means ye be strong enough to be Zhorkhani." She crossed her absurdly muscular arms, biceps flexing like they had their own personal war stories. "Could take ye back to breed strong offspring with the Zhorkhani virgins."
Shotaro's eye twitched. "Those are my options?!"
"Aye." She cracked her neck, her lion-like mane of golden hair shifting with the movement. "Be food, be Zhorkhani, or be a breeding bull."
Shotaro sighed and rubbed his temples despite still being upside-down. "Okay. Follow-up question."
"Aye?"
"...How well done do you eat your meat?"
Valkhara tilted her head, as if actually taking the question seriously. "Medium-rare. Keep the strength in the flesh."
Shotaro exhaled slowly, closing his eyes as if he were making peace with every life choice that had led him to this moment.
"...Alright. Bet."
Shotaro groaned, still dangling upside-down, his arms crossed like he was having the most annoying Monday of his life. "Oh, for—okay, hypothetically speaking, what happens if I win this encounter? Do I become food?"
Valkhara, still looking at him with the same intensity someone might give a particularly well-marbled steak, smirked. Her sharp canines glinted under the sunlight. "Mmm. Maybe. If ye be strong enough to survive, means ye be strong enough to be Zhorkhani." She crossed her absurdly muscular arms, biceps flexing like they had their own personal war stories. "Could take ye back to breed strong offspring with the Zhorkhani virgins."
Shotaro's eye twitched. "Those are my options?!"
"Aye." She cracked her neck, her lion-like mane of golden hair shifting with the movement. "Be food, be Zhorkhani, or be a breeding bull."
Shotaro sighed and rubbed his temples despite still being upside-down. "Okay. Follow-up question."
"Aye?"
"...How well done do you eat your meat?"
Valkhara tilted her head, as if actually taking the question seriously. "Medium-rare. Keep the strength in the flesh."
Shotaro exhaled slowly, closing his eyes as if he were making peace with every life choice that had led him to this moment.
"...Alright. Bet."
But before Valkhara could turn him into either lunch or Zhorkhani baby factory number one, the air whistled with terrifying speed.
crack.
A black blur shot through the air like a damn missile and slammed into Valkhara's temple from below. The sheer force of the impact made her skull whip backward like she had just gotten clocked by the hand of god himself.
Which, technically, wasn't too far from the truth.
A heartbeat later, Alakshmi, Shotaro's very aggressive and very possessive sentient katana, spun midair, her smoky, formless body flickering in and out of sight before her handle delivered a second brutal strike—this time right to Valkhara's jaw. The sound it made was so loud that nearby birds evacuated the area immediately.
Valkhara was launched sideways like an overgrown ragdoll, her massive body colliding with a boulder so hard that deep cracks splintered through the stone like a spiderweb. The sheer force of the impact sent a tremor through the ground, shaking the trees and sending birds fleeing into the sky. It was as if the planet itself recoiled in sympathy for whatever poor bastard had just gotten their skull rearranged.
Shotaro barely had time to process what had just happened before Alakshmi, still spinning midair like a sentient buzzsaw of death, let out a sharp, hungry hiss and unsheathed herself in a single, blinding motion. Her blade flashed in the morning light as it carved effortlessly through the vine that had kept Shotaro hanging.
He plummeted face-first toward the dirt.
thud.
For a long moment, he just lay there, completely still, staring unblinking into the distance as if questioning every single life decision that had led to this exact moment.
Then, exhaling through his nose, he pushed himself up with a grunt, dusted himself off, and reached up to snatch Alakshmi from the air. His crimson eyes, still drowsy from whatever brain damage he had just sustained, lazily locked onto the barbarian woman, who was groaning as she pried herself out of the shattered remains of the rock she had just forcibly become acquainted with.
Shotaro stretched his neck, rolled his shoulders, and started making his way over to her with a slow, deliberate gait. He swung Alakshmi over his shoulder, completely ignoring the faint vibration of disapproval from his sentient blade.
Then, with all the confidence of a man who had just decided he was going to be annoying on purpose, he tilted his head and asked,
"So… you know why they call you Ironbreast?"
Valkhara spat out a chunk of rock, rubbing her jaw. "Aye?"
Shotaro smirked. "What, do you lactate iron or something?"
For a brief moment, silence fell upon the clearing. Even the wind had the good sense to stop moving.
Then, in a single instant, Valkhara was gone.
Shotaro barely had time to register her movement before a giant, scarred fist suddenly materialized directly in front of his face.
boom.
The world blurred.
One second, Shotaro was standing. The next, he was airborne, flipping ass-over-teakettle at speeds that should not have been physically possible for a human body. His vision turned into a dizzying mess of sky, trees, sky, trees, ground—
thud.
He hit the dirt like a meteorite, carving out a crater upon impact. Dust and debris shot up into the air, and for the second time in under a minute, Shotaro found himself lying completely still, processing the series of decisions that had resulted in this very preventable turn of events.
Valkhara stood tall, shoulders squared like a mountain given form, her powerful frame barely shifting as she lowered her fist. Her veins, thick as ropes, pulsed with raw strength, and her muscles—so battle-worn and sculpted they could probably deflect arrows—twitched with the kind of unconscious aggression that came from a lifetime of cracking skulls.
With a slow, deliberate motion, she cracked her knuckles, the sound like breaking tree branches in the eerie silence of the jungle. Her expression remained utterly unbothered, as if she hadn't just sent a man flying at Mach speed with a single punch.
She exhaled through her nose, looking down at Shotaro, who was still half-buried in a crater of his own making.
"I have battle-hardened torso muscles," she declared, her voice rich with barbarian pride.
Shotaro, lying on his back, groaned in profound regret. "Okay, yeah, that makes way more sense."
He winced as he sat up, spitting out a mix of dirt and blood. Wiping the bile off his lips, he squinted up at the towering woman before him.
"So you're Zhorkhani or whatever, huh?" He wiped his mouth again, glancing at her with mild exasperation. "A barbarian cannibal?"
Valkhara grinned, baring teeth that were just a little too sharp to be normal. "Aye," she said without hesitation. "Strong prey feed the strong."
Shotaro blinked. "...Okay, first of all, I don't like how fast you answered that."
She shrugged, completely unconcerned. "Why delay truth?"
"Because it's horrifying?"
Valkhara tilted her head, her mane of wild, golden-brown hair—a tangled mess of braids and loose strands, thick like a lion's—cascading over her broad shoulders as she studied Shotaro like a particularly interesting cut of meat. Her entire aura radiated unshakable barbarian confidence, the kind of primal certainty only possessed by someone who had never lost a battle and had absolutely no intention of starting today.
She wore what could technically be called clothing if one squinted hard enough: a ragged, fur-lined top that barely managed to contain her overwhelming physique, held together by crude leather straps and reinforced with metal plates that looked like they had been torn off fallen warriors—because they had been. Her lower half was covered by a skirt of layered pelts and thick hides, fastened by a massive, jagged belt made of bone and iron. Around her wrists, she wore thick bracers decorated with the fangs of creatures she had personally slain, each one a silent testament to her lethal efficiency.
She was, in every way, the walking embodiment of a barbarian war goddess.
And then, without warning, she casually lifted the hem of her lion-hide attire, just enough to make the situation deeply concerning.
"If ye best me in battle, then I shall let ye rut me raw." Her voice was sultry, but her expression was dead serious.
Shotaro's brain short-circuited.
For several long, painful seconds, he simply stood there, staring at her like a man who had just been hit by a spiritual crisis at full speed. His entire body screamed at him to not process what had just been said, to simply reject reality and walk away.
But unfortunately, his mouth had a mind of its own.
"Yeah, no thanks," Shotaro said immediately, making a face like he had just smelled something foul. "You'll probably give me AIDS."
Silence.
Absolute. Fucking. Silence.
The entire jungle seemed to pause in disbelief.
A bird somewhere in the distance stopped mid-flight and just dropped.
Valkhara's expression twitched. Not in anger, not in shock, but in pure, unfiltered offense. The kind of offense that made barbarians start wars that lasted generations.
"The fuck is AIDS?" she asked, her tone carrying a dangerous edge.
Shotaro hesitated. He had seen this look before. It was the same look someone gave when they were about to flip a table and commit a murder over a minor insult.
He cleared his throat and slowly raised his hands. "Something I'd rather not have."
Valkhara squinted at him, her entire being radiating the exact kind of energy that said, Explain yourself before I rearrange your skeleton.
Shotaro coughed into his fist. "Uh. It's… a really bad sickness," he said diplomatically.
Valkhara snorted. "Hah! A sickness cannot claim a Zhorkhani!"
Shotaro stared. "That's not how diseases work."
"Bah!" She waved a dismissive hand. "I have eaten raw meat, drank blood from my enemies, and survived the curses of a dying shaman. What sickness could best me?"
"Every single one of those things is how you get diseases," Shotaro deadpanned.
Valkhara took a step forward, cracking her knuckles. "Are ye saying I am unclean?" she growled.
Shotaro's survival instincts screamed at him.
"I mean," he said, taking a careful step back, "I am saying I don't want to take the risk of my dick finding out."
Valkhara's eye twitched. "Coward!"
"I call it self-preservation!"
"A weakling's excuse!"
Shotaro sighed, massaging his temples. "Look, lady, I just don't want to die like a bad PSA commercial, alright?"
Valkhara squinted harder. "What is a 'PSA commercial?'"
Shotaro exhaled heavily. "A terrible omen of suffering and regret."
Valkhara smirked, baring her sharp teeth. "Like losing a battle?"
"More like realizing your entire life has been a mistake right before the final game over screen."
Valkhara raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Truly, this sounds like a fate worse than death."
Shotaro pointed. "Exactly!"
She crossed her arms, seeming to think it over. Then she shrugged. "Bah! I shall consider your words… after I crush you!"
Shotaro groaned. "I knew you were gonna say that."
Valkhara smirked, her muscles flexing as she got into a combat stance. "Fear not, little man. If ye survive, then perhaps—"
Shotaro barely had time to process the insanity of his current reality before Valkhara came barreling toward him like a runaway mountain. There was no time to think, no time to plan—only pure, primal instinct.
And that instinct screamed: MEAT WALL INCOMING.
Shotaro lunged to meet her head-on, his muscles tensing, prepared for impact.
What followed was absolute madness.
Their first collision wasn't just a fight—it was violence in its purest form, like two unstoppable forces slamming into each other with the force of a localized apocalypse. The sheer impact sent a shockwave through the jungle, leaves ripping from their branches, wildlife scattering in terror, and one very unlucky tree simply deciding to give up on life and falling over.
Then—because fate had long since decided that dignity was no longer an option—their clothes promptly exploded off their bodies.
Just. Gone.
Ripped apart. Obliterated. Reduced to atoms.
And so, with all pretense of civilization thoroughly annihilated, these two absolute lunatics were now engaged in an all-out, butt-naked wrestling match by the river.
Shotaro, despite every instinct telling him to just go with it at this point, still had the mental energy to scream internally.
HOW DID IT COME TO THIS?!
But before he could begin questioning his life choices, Valkhara tackled him with the fury of a rampaging beast.
And that's when he realized.
She wasn't just strong—she was built different.
At 7'2, Valkhara was already a towering monster of a woman, but it was her technique that truly made her terrifying. This wasn't just some wild brawling; this was primal, animalistic wrestling, honed through years of battling actual bears and actual gorillas. She fought like she had spent her childhood suplexing rhinos for fun.
Shotaro, despite being even bigger at 7'11 and outweighing her at 1000 kg to her 700, was not prepared.
In one swift motion, Valkhara wrapped her arms around his torso, her grip like a goddamn hydraulic press, and launched him into the ground with a seismic suplex.
BOOM.
The earth cracked beneath Shotaro's impact, dust exploding into the air as his massive frame slammed into the jungle floor.
Somewhere in the distance, a tree collapsed dramatically.
Shotaro lay there for a moment, staring up at the sky, his brain catching up with what had just happened.
"Alright," he wheezed. "That was unnecessary."
Valkhara towered over him, her chest rising and falling with excitement, her golden mane of wild hair damp with sweat, her muscles gleaming under the sunlight. The sheer presence of her—raw, untamed, feral—made something deep in Shotaro's instincts stir in a way that had nothing to do with survival.
She grinned, sharp teeth flashing as she rolled her shoulders, cracking her neck.
"Bah! Ye fight like a pampered prince!" she boomed, eyes burning with challenge. "Where is the beast within ye, warrior?!"
Shotaro exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp, silver hair, still catching his breath.
"You do realize," he muttered, "that we're both completely naked right now."
Valkhara blinked, glancing down at herself. Then back at him.
And then, to his utter horror—she smirked.
"Aye," she purred, leaning slightly closer, her voice dropping an octave, her muscles flexing as she tilted her head. "And yet ye are still beneath me."
Shotaro's brain short-circuited.
For just a fraction of a second, he forgot how to breathe.
Because the way she said that. The way she said that.
His face twitched.
Valkhara noticed.
And she grinned.
"Oh?" she mused, her voice dangerously amused. "Ye look… flustered, warrior."
"I AM NOT," Shotaro said way too fast.
Valkhara chuckled, running a slow, deliberate hand through her golden mane, eyes gleaming like she had just discovered something new to torment him with.
"I see now," she said, lips curling in satisfaction. "Ye have the strength of a god—but ye have never fought a woman like me."
Shotaro clenched his jaw, willing himself to focus, but this woman was making it incredibly difficult.
So, instead of dignifying her with a response, he lunged.
Valkhara barely had time to react before he flipped their positions, slamming her onto the ground this time, pinning her arms beneath his grip. The impact shook the earth once again, sending another ripple through the jungle.
Shotaro loomed over her, red eyes blazing, his breath hot against her face.
Shotaro's entire vision went white.
A loud, deafening CRACK echoed through the jungle as Valkhara's skull made direct, unholy contact with his face. For a brief, horrifying moment, his entire world was pain and static, his brain scrambling to remember what oxygen was.
Then something inside him snapped.
The next second, his hand shot out like a vice, grabbing Valkhara's face mid-smirk before she could even think about throwing another headbutt.
Her eyes widened.
Shotaro roared, muscles coiling like steel cables, and drove his elbow into her skull.
BOOM.
The shockwave blasted through the jungle, sending another unfortunate tree into early retirement.
Valkhara's entire barbarian existence rattled for a split second, her brain doing a full system reboot as her head snapped back. But Shotaro wasn't done.
No, no, this woman had crossed the line.
And now?
She was going to regret it.
With a battle cry that shook the heavens themselves, Shotaro unleashed an onslaught of devastating, machine-gun punches, each one landing with bone-crushing force.
BAM.
BAM.
BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM—
Fists moved faster than the eye could follow, Star Platinum mode activated, turning Valkhara's entire barbarian existence into a punching bag simulation.
Each impact sent shockwaves rippling through the air, the sheer force of his blows compressing the atmosphere itself, distorting the light around them as if reality itself was wincing.
"ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA—!"
Valkhara, despite her barbarian pride, was now experiencing what true suffering felt like in 4K Ultra HD.
Her face twisted, her wild mane of golden-brown hair whipping back and forth under the relentless barrage. Her skull was made of iron, her body was a fortress of hardened muscle—but even fortresses fall under artillery fire.
And Shotaro was the artillery.
Finally, after what felt like an entire minute of pure, unfiltered violence, Valkhara's massive frame toppled backward, her battle-hardened body failing her for the first time in her life.
Shotaro stood over her, breathing hard, steam practically rising from his rage-forged muscles. His silver hair was a disheveled mess, his crimson eyes burning with righteous fury.
"I TOLD YOU," he snarled, "I'M DONE PLAYING AROU—"
CHOMP.
Shotaro's entire world froze.
Because Valkhara, the lunatic barbarian bitch from hell, had bitten into his goddamn forearm.
Not just a little bite.
Not just a friendly nibble.
No.
SHE. BIT. DOWN. LIKE A STARVING HYENA.
Shotaro howled, the searing pain shooting through his body as Valkhara, eyes burning with battle-lust, ripped out a massive chunk of his flesh.
Blood sprayed through the air like a Quentin Tarantino movie, drenching the jungle floor in a horrifying display of carnage.
Valkhara, still chewing, smirked.
"Hah!" she spat, blood running down her lips. "Now that's more like it!"
Shotaro, staring at the gaping hole in his own goddamn arm, twitched.
His eye twitched.
His jaw twitched.
His soul twitched.
This was no longer a fight.
This was WAR.
Shotaro stared at his bleeding forearm, then at Valkhara, who was still casually chewing on a chunk of his goddamn flesh like it was a prime steak.
Her smirk, stained red, only widened.
Something inside him snapped.
"ALRIGHT, YOU PRIMAL FREAK, YOU WANNA GO CAVEMAN MODE?! LET'S GO CAVEMAN MODE!!"
With zero hesitation, Shotaro clasped his massive hands together, his fingers interlocking, creating a living warhammer out of his own goddamn arms.
Valkhara, still mid-chew, barely had time to raise a questioning brow before—
BAM.
Her skull rocked backward from the first impact, her golden-brown mane whipping behind her like a lion's as the sheer force made her whole body jolt.
BAM.
The second strike followed immediately after, her massive frame staggering, her knees bending from the sheer blunt force trauma blessing her barbarian brain.
BAM.
BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM—
Like a gorilla in full rage mode, Shotaro did not stop.
His meat mallets came down on Valkhara's skull like an enraged blacksmith forging a weapon of pure violence, hammering her again and again and again.
Valkhara, for the first time in her life, had no rebuttal.
Her body twitched.
Her barbarian brain, trained through years of combat against beasts, monsters, and rival warriors, was suddenly experiencing the world's hardest reset.
Somewhere in her DNA, her ancestors—who had once wrestled saber-toothed tigers for breakfast—winced.
Her eyes rolled.
Her barbarian instincts screamed "DO SOMETHING!!"
But her brain, currently sloshing around like soup, could not comply.
BAM.
One final earth-shattering blow sent Valkhara flying back like a freshly swatted mosquito, her massive frame crashing into the dirt, leaving behind a full body-shaped crater.
Dust billowed into the sky.
Silence.
Nothing moved.
Even the jungle creatures, who had spent their entire lives witnessing some of the most brutal animal fights in nature, collectively agreed:
"Yeah, nah, this is some next-level shit."
Shotaro stood over her, panting, his hands still locked together, his arms aching from the repeated attempted murder.
Valkhara, deep in her crater, groaned.
"Urrgh..."
Her one visible eye peeked open.
Shotaro saw that.
Shotaro WAS NOT HAVING THAT.
BAM.
He jumped and DROPPED both hands onto her face one last time, the impact flattening her deeper into the dirt like a cartoon character who just lost a fight with a frying pan.
Silence.
A lone leaf drifted down from a nearby tree, landing gently on her motionless body.
Shotaro, standing over her, cracked his knuckles.
"STAY. DOWN."
Somewhere in the distance, another tree fell over, as if even nature itself had conceded defeat.