Lord of the realm

All sorts of questions stirred in his mind, but they all had to wait as he focused on Jaenor.

Jaenor landed gracefully, his feet touching the ground as lightly as a cat's despite the enormous power he had just unleashed. The crimson energy continued to flow around him like a living aura, and his eyes blazed with the fires of creation itself.

The crimson wings fluttered behind his back, like they were a manifestation of his fury, burning brightly with Origin energy.

The troll struggled to its feet, shaking its massive head to clear the confusion. It had fought dragons, bears, and entire armies of men, but nothing had ever hit it with such devastating force. Blood ran from its mouth and nose, and several of its yellowed fangs lay scattered on the ground where they had been knocked loose by Jaenor's punch.

But the creature was far from defeated.

If anything, the pain seemed to enrage it further.

ARDDGGGRRRRR!!!!

It let out another ground-shaking roar and reached for its fallen weapon, the massive wooden club that had served it faithfully for decades of violence.

Jaenor, however, had other plans.

Moving with that same effortless speed, he reached the fallen club before the troll could grasp it.

He held the club with both hands and pressed them together; his arms digging further into the club, the hardened wood groaned under his pressure.

His hands, still wreathed in crimson fire, closed around the weapon that was easily as thick as a man's torso and twice as long as he was tall.

To the amazement of everyone watching, he lifted it as if it weighed no more than a simple walking stick.

The troll's eyes widened in what might have been the first true fear it had felt in its long, violent existence. Seeing this human wielding its own weapon with such casual ease was like watching the natural order of the world turn upside down.

"This is for threatening my friend," Jaenor said, his voice carrying clearly despite the distance between him and the onlookers.

Jaenor watched how the troll had injured Baren, and he seemed to be helpless against the troll, and it enraged Jaenor the moment he realized the dragon was Baren himself.

He raised the massive club above his head, his muscles seeming to glow with inner fire as Origin power flowed through every fiber of his being.

The ground where he stood upon cracked, creating a massive spiderweb.

Jaenor groaned as he held the club in his hands.

The weapon itself began to resonate with his energy, the wood taking on a reddish hue as it absorbed the Origin forces coursing through his body.

The troll tried to dodge, tried to bring up its arms to block the coming blow, but it was too slow, too stunned by the power it was facing.

Jaenor brought the club down with all the force his enhanced strength could muster with a loud roar.

The impact when the weapon connected with the troll's skull was like a thunderclap that could be heard for miles.

BOOOMM!!!!!

The massive creature's head simply ceased to exist, crushed so completely that nothing remained but a crater in the ground where it had been kneeling.

The troll's body stood for a moment longer, as if its primitive nervous system hadn't yet realized that its brain was gone.

Then it toppled backward like a felled tree, hitting the ground with a crash that sent tremors through the surface and caused several of the watching travelers to lose their footing.

Silence fell over the devastated battlefield.

Jaenor stood over the corpse of his enemy, still holding the bloodied club, his body wreathed in slowly fading crimson energy. His chest rose and fell with deep, steady breaths, but he showed no other signs of exertion despite having just killed a creature that could have torn apart a dozen armed men.

His wings slowly closed themselves on his back. His tunic had been torn when the wings came out, so he was now standing bare-chested.

His muscles had become redefined and taut with power—coiled like tempered steel beneath his skin. Veins bulged along his forearms and at the back of his palm, pulsing with raw force as his origin energy surged through him—alive, flexing, barely contained beneath the surface.

From the sidelines, Odessa watched with the pride of a mother.

She had seen her beloved disciple's power growing, but this display was beyond anything she had witnessed before. The ease with which he had destroyed such a formidable opponent spoke of abilities that were still developing, still reaching toward their ultimate potential.

She could see how he had adapted to using the Origin energy and made it part of his being.

Baren stared in open amazement, his mouth hanging wide open as he tried to process what he had just witnessed.

The last time he had seen Jaenor, his friend had been a capable swordsman but still very much human.

Now he stood before him, transformed into something that could battle legends and emerge victorious.

The other travelers whispered among themselves, some making religious gestures to ward off evil, others simply staring in awe at the young man who had just accomplished what an army might have struggled to achieve.

Slowly, Jaenor let the massive club fall from his hands.

It hit the ground with a dull thud, no longer needed now that its original owner was dead. The crimson energy around him began to fade, settling back into the depths of his being like embers returning to a banked fire.

He turned toward his friend, and despite the incredible power he had just displayed, his expression was warm and genuinely happy. He walked towards the place where Baren and Odessa stood. The travellers who watched the entire spectacle, stared Jaenor, as if he wasn't human. Those ethereal wings, large and wide three of pair of wings, disappered on his back.

"Baren," he said, as if he hadn't just single-handedly slain a monster from the old legends.

"Long time no see."