The Ultimate Weapon of Magic and Science

A voice, lazily nonchalant and tinged with a touch of flippancy, abruptly echoed in the place where only he, Tyr, and Thor should be. His heart, pounding so hard it felt ready to explode, suddenly clenched at the sound of that soothing voice. A cold touch began to creep throughout his body, spreading with his blood circulation.

Before he could be taken aback, the fingers pulling on the bowstring let go. The alert arrow, powered by the counterforce, shot towards the sky and towards the black cloud that revealed a gleam from its scales.

The speed of the arrow, unleashed by a combination of top archery skills and a strong bow, was so fast that it was almost impossible to trace. His lake-green eyes, filled with confidence, tried to follow the radiant feathery tail of the arrow but the image reflected on the retina was a sharp white light.

"You should listen when others speak."

The afterimage of the arrow completely disappeared from view; the sharp whistle of the alert failed to resonate in the eardrum. All he's left with is that unhurried voice playing in his ears.

He gritted his teeth and glanced in the direction of the voice. With a swift motion like lightning, his right hand drew a hunting knife from his back. He pivoted on the spot while assuming a crouched position. His bent legs gathered strength, ready to spring forward at any moment.

The sight that froze before his eyes made Tyr momentarily halt all actions. He maintained his offensive posture, staring intently ahead.

"Superb archery skills, and a great arrow too."

Against the reflective backdrop of accumulated snow, dense, peculiar black hair stood out – a sight one wouldn't easily forget after seeing it once. The facial features and skin color were vastly different from all the ill-favored humanoid spies encountered so far. Below the lively eyelids lay a pair of languorous red eyes.

Tyr, too, possessed an elegant appearance and most of his kind were of a good aspect. But a striking face alone was not enough to thwart his action.

It was the combination of the alert arrow the left hand fiddled with, the hunting knife pinched between the index and middle fingers of the right hand, and Thor, who held the knife with no room to advance or retreat — this assemblage compelled Tyr to halt and assess the situation and then plan his next move.

"The archer is excellent too."

The gentle smile radiated a kind of pressure that made one want to bow their head down in acknowledgment. Yet, the individual being praised remained silent, neither responding nor advancing, only standing quietly.

Tyr met the audacious smile with an unwavering gaze, a corner of his eyes deeply observing the seemingly flexible waist and abdomen of his adversary.

"No need to tense up, I mean no harm here. It'd be troubling for both of us if someone lost their life over simple greetings, wouldn't you agree?"

"Go to hell!!!"

The persuasive speech had no effect on Thor. With a roar like thunder, his fist, capable of easily pulverizing boulders, swung down at the strange young man.

Unlike the usual fights where the crushing blow against the prey would produce a muffled sound, the punch did make contact with something, but the feeling was entirely different from hitting the flesh or a hard object.

The fist did not meet the peculiar smile of the black-haired boy but a thin layer that hadn't been in its path before.

Thin threads, as fine as black hairs, hung from behind the boy, interweaving into a net-shaped film. The edges radiated numerous force-bearing lines that could absorb and relieve the impact, plunging into the frozen ground, wrapping around stones and tree roots. The strength of Thor's all-out punch was transferred to the ground, rendering it an ineffective attack.

His punch exerted with all his strength didn't even touch the opponent's garment. The extraordinary situation left Thor in shock, mouth agape. Tyr, who had nothing in his hand, also had a grim look on his face. The hunting knife he initially held was tangled in the thread and fixed in mid-air, its tip pointed right at the young man's right abdomen.

As Thor shouted and swung his fist, Tyr immediately threw his hunting knife, not to kill the enemy, but to aid Thor.

He wasn't clear about how his opponent could snatch the already fired alert arrow, but it was apparent that the adversary's response speed was quicker than the arrow's flight. It was reckless of Thor to launch a frontal attack. Throwing the hunting knife might not be enough to threaten the invader's life, but it could distract him from evading an attack from the side, which would give Thor an opportunity. This was Tyr's battle strategy — a perfect combination of tacit coordination and an accurate grasp of the winning chance, clever yet daring.

If they knew more about their opponent, this seemingly perfect plan wouldn't have come into play. If it were anyone else, they would have succeeded.

No matter how they planned their strategy, the moment they judged their opponent by common sense - the very basics - any strategy was doomed to lose.

In the face of this being, an existence that surpassed all understanding and perception limits of all intelligent species in Welt's world, common sense was worth no more than a paperweight.

The way he casually fended off their almost stealth-like attacks, dismissing them as non-existent, surpassed the terms "ease" or "confidence".

The gap in power was too apparent, so clear that it required no thought to determine who was superior.

"Apologies for my rudeness, I don't like pointless conflicts. I may have gone a bit too far unintentionally."

His right hand swung elegantly in the air, setting the threads ablaze. In no time, it was as if they had never appeared, leaving no trace behind. The hunting knife, suspended mid-air, was released by the threads and spun around, tracing the path of a dart before being caught back by its original master.