Atticus's Odyssey: Reincarnated Into A Playground novel Chapter 644

Chapter 644 Erion

A few minutes ago

The hall that Atticus had observed earlier through the roof was brimming with energy and bustling with intense activity. It was completely incomparable to the other areas he had infiltrated.

This expansive space was large enough to accommodate hundreds of people easily and was filled with a cacophony of voices. The clash of fists and the thud of bodies hitting the ground permeated the space.

The air was thick with the scent of sweat and blood, mingled with the acrid smoke from various bloodlines being activated.

The main fighting force of the Obsidian Order was engaged in combat, sparring with one another in vicious brawls, each hit more brutal than the last.

This was the inner section of the group, housing the most powerful and dangerous members of the entire settlement. The weakest of them were at the master- rank, and even they had years of battle experience under their belts.

Two men grappled near the center, their movements fierce and unrestrained. One of them, a burly fighter with a shaved head, threw a powerful punch that sent his opponent reeling backward.

"Come on, is that all you got?" he sneered, wiping the blood from his split lip. "You hit like my grandma, and she's been dead for years!"

Nearby, another fight was brewing. A tall, lanky man taunted his opponent, ducking and weaving around him with a grin plastered on his face.

"What's the matter, Gregor? Can't keep up? Maybe you should go back to the kitchens with the rest of the weaklings!"

Gregor, a muscular brute with a face twisted in rage, swung wildly, but the lanky man dodged effortlessly, laughing all the while. "You're too slow, old man! Maybe those five years of peace made you soft!"

The room was filled with similar scenes of violence and banter, each fight more intense than the last.

Unlike the scouts or hunters that Atticus had observed before, these men were entirely different. They were brimming with life, energy, and a thirst for combat that hadn't waned despite years of inactivity.

They were the main fighting force—warriors who lived only for the thrill of battle. For them, fighting wasn't just a necessity; it was an addiction. They fought for hours nonstop each day, and the only time they ever paused was when they were knocked out or were unable to continue.

Amidst all the commotion, a particularly brutal fight was unfolding near the far side of the hall.

Two men, both well-built and covered in scars, were going head-to-head. The first man, a hulking figure with a thick neck and fists like hammers, swung a massive punch at his opponent.

The second man, leaner but quicker, dodged the blow and countered with a swift uppercut that connected with a sickening crunch.

The crowd around them cheered, urging them on with shouts and jeers.

The hulking man staggered back, blood dripping from his nose, but he was far from done.

With a shout, he charged forward, tackling his opponent to the ground. They rolled across the floor, each grappling for control, but the leaner man managed to get the upper hand.

In one fluid motion, he pinned his opponent down and delivered multiple devastating punches to the face, knocking him out cold.

The hall fell into brief silence as the victor rose to his feet, wiping the sweat from his brow. He glanced around at the other fighters, a triumphant grin spreading across his face.

"Did you see that? I'm the strongest here! No one can fucking beat me!"

A ripple of murmurs spread through the hall as the others immediately reacted, some muttering challenges under their breath, while others yelled insults.

"You got lucky, bastard!" one shouted. "Anyone can win once!"

"Let's see you try that against me!" another called out, rising from his seat, fists clenched.

For people who lived for the thrill of battle and had battled their whole lives, being openly challenged like this was not something they would take sitting down.

But before any further challenges could be issued, the hall suddenly fell into an eerie silence. They had all felt a familiar coldness, a feeling none of them could ever forget.

All eyes turned to the entrance as a man walked in, flanked by four others. The atmosphere shifted instantly, from chaotic and lively to tense and apprehensive.

The man who had declared himself the strongest moments earlier froze, his grin faltering as he realized who had just entered. Had he really just said that in the presence of this man?

The man walking ahead was calm and composed, his expression cold and unreadable. His very presence commanded the attention of everyone present, and the crowd instinctively parted as he and his crew made their way toward the center of the hall.

Whispers began to spread like wildfire among the gathered men.

"Isn't that Erion, Grandmaster Alvis's disciple?" one voice whispered.

"What's he doing here? Shouldn't he be in his private training area, enjoying all the best facilities?" another muttered, earning a few chuckles from those nearby.

"Maybe he got bored of having it easy," someone else joked, but the humor was filled with tension.

Alvis, the leader of the Obsidian Order's Sector 3 branch, was a man who believed in passing the mantle to the next generation, leaving a legacy.

This was why he wanted a disciple. Atticus had killed his first disciple back at the Raven camp, but Alvis had quickly found another. He was known for always searching for someone with incredible talent and a unique bloodline. And Erion fit all of these criteria.

Erion stopped a few paces away from the man who had declared himself the strongest. The man, now visibly shaken, gulped as he met Erion's cold gaze.

The room had grown deathly quiet, the only sound being the occasional cough.

Erion's voice was low and even, carrying a weight of authority that made everyone listen. "I would like to challenge you," he said, his tone leaving no room for refusal.