Bloodstar System: Infinite Evolution Through Beast Slaughter

Chapter 10: This Is Not Where You Belong

In the corner, Brann sucked in a breath. The cigarette pack in his hand was crushed flat.

That was presence.

A ruthless person who had truly seen blood and taken lives did not need to move at all. One look was enough to scare weaklings out of their souls.

Joren withdrew his gaze as if he had merely chased away two annoying flies.

Then he looked back at Dace, who was shaking in front of him.

The sharp edge of the blade pressed against Dace’s cheek and cut through the skin. A string of blood beads seeped out.

"Was that question hard to answer?"

Joren’s voice was soft, yet it entered Dace’s ears with perfect clarity.

"Were you not going to cripple me? Come on. I am standing right here."

Dace had no temper left.

The pain and terror had torn through him completely.

"No... I would not dare..."

"I was wrong... I really was wrong... Do not kill me..."

Dace slammed his forehead against the ground again and again. Even when his skin split open, he did not dare stop.

He only wanted to live.

Joren looked down at the broken backed dog begging at his feet, his eyes unmoved.

So this was the so called school tyrant?

This was the so called Greater Mortal?

"Was that the hand you reached out with just now?"

Joren suddenly spoke.

Dace froze, unable to understand what he meant.

The slaughtering blade in Joren’s hand flipped over. The back of the blade smashed down hard.

Crack.

This time, it was the left hand.

"Ahhh!"

Dace’s scream rang through the slaughterhouse again.

His body curled up like a shrimp from the pain, and he rolled wildly in the bloody water.

"If this hand does not know how to behave either, then there is no need to keep it."

Joren’s tone was flat.

"Get out."

One simple word.

To Dace, it was like being granted a pardon.

The two lackeys who had wet themselves no longer cared about the mess in their pants. They scrambled over, half crawling and half stumbling, hauled up the barely conscious Dace, and fled outside.

They were afraid that if they were even a second slower, they would become another corpse in the slaughterhouse.

Brann swallowed. His throat felt dry.

Too ruthless.

This kid was definitely going to become someone important.

Joren ignored Brann’s gaze and spoke toward Rowan in the distance.

"Next batch."

By the time the sun rose to its highest point, the air had grown hot and heavy with the stink of blood and beasts.

Clang.

Joren casually tossed the slaughtering blade with its rolled edge into an iron bucket.

Blood splashed onto the concrete floor.

"That is all?"

Joren frowned slightly.

Rowan pointed at the mountain of corpses behind him.

"The forty Brutebulls delivered this morning are all here."

All slaughtered.

A skilled worker could normally kill five or six in a morning at most.

And that was with several people helping.

Joren had done it alone.

One morning.

Forty Brutebulls.

Every single one had died in one strike, his technique so clean that it made people’s scalps prickle.

This was not slaughter anymore.

It was almost art.

Most of the Brutebulls had not even had time to let out a proper scream before they died.

Joren glanced at the system panel.

[Bloodstars: 40]

A satisfied look appeared on his face.

For the entire morning, he had been immersed in killing, almost forgetting the time and the count.

"Fine."

Joren walked to the faucet.

He turned it on. Cold water washed the blood from his hands, and red water spiraled into the drain.

He took off the apron soaked with blood and casually hung it on the wall.

"Lunch."

Brann reminded him at just the right time.

As he watched Joren leave, respect filled his eyes.

The strong received special treatment no matter where they went.

The cafeteria was packed with voices.

The moment Joren walked in, the noisy entrance quieted for a brief instant.

Several workers carrying trays toward the exit instinctively stepped aside to make way.

Joren took a tray piled full of food and sat by the window.

He ate in large mouthfuls.

Voidbeast meat entered his stomach and turned into rolling waves of heat, nourishing his drained meridians.

The feeling was incredible.

With every bite, he could feel his strength growing.

"Joren."

A burly figure blocked the light.

Brann sat down across from him with his own tray.

He took an unopened pack of cigarettes from his pocket and pushed it across the table. The motion was light, carrying a trace of testing and flattery.

Joren did not raise his head.

He kept picking up pieces of meat and putting them into his mouth at speed.

"I do not smoke."

Brann did not feel awkward.

He chuckled, took the cigarettes back, and lit one for himself.

After a deep drag, smoke curled around his face.

The rough flesh on Brann’s face carried a rare seriousness.

"That kid today probably has a strong background. You crippled his hands, so this grudge is settled deep."

As Brann spoke, he watched Joren’s expression.

But Joren’s face showed nothing except focus on the food.

"I know."

Joren was still chewing. His words came out a little muffled, and there was a careless edge to them.

Brann stared at that calm face.

Before he noticed, a long section of ash had burned down and fallen onto his greasy pants.

Joren put the last piece of beef into his mouth.

Even the sauce on the plate was wiped clean with mashed potatoes.

Clang.

The empty tray landed on the table.

"Say what you want to say."

Joren picked up a napkin and slowly wiped the corner of his mouth.

Brann gave two dry laughs, pressed the cigarette out against his tray, then leaned forward and lowered his voice.

"This slaughterhouse is just a place to earn a mouthful of food. It is for people with no real ability."

"Do not think I am speaking out of turn."

"This is not where you belong."