Close-Combat King Returns: Blood for Blood

Moonlight streamed onto the stone walls of the Black Oak Tavern, and the empty eye sockets of the deer head specimen gazed down upon the drunkards in the hall. The firelight flickered in the fireplace, but the shadow before me at the corner table was deeper than the lamplight.

Eighteen empty bottles were neatly arranged. Only two bottles of deep red Dragon's Breath liquor remained—I had intended to drink twenty. Twenty bottles, to commemorate twenty years. But I stopped after the eighteenth. If I drank any more, I wouldn't be able to go home tonight.

I picked up the bottle, tilted my head back, and downed it in one gulp. The liquid slid down my throat like lava, a burning sensation instantly spreading throughout my body. The magical energy from the mixture of dragon scale powder, magic crystal essence, and strong malt liquor surged wildly through my veins. This was a recipe I'd devised myself in the forest—using bodily resonance with elements, this liquor could help me withstand the pain of high-level forbidden spells. The guild forbade it because it was undeniably dangerous. Three bottles would be enough to keep an ordinary person bedridden for three days. I drank eighteen bottles and could still stand upright, simply because I was used to it.

"Kane!" Tavern owner Ron Ironhammer rushed over, his voice low. "Are you crazy? That stuff can kill people if you drink too much!"

“I know,” I said in a low, hoarse voice.

"You've already drunk eighteen bottles!"

"I was planning to drink twenty bottles." I put down the empty bottle and looked at him. "Twenty years, twenty bottles. But if I drink any more, I won't be able to go home." I stood up and threw a bag of gold coins on the table.

Ron looked at the bag of gold coins, then at me, and finally sighed. "Your brother would be so happy to know you're back. He came to ask me last year if I'd heard anything from you."

“I can’t write letters. There’s no postman in the forest, so I can’t send letters.” I paused. “Is he… alright?”

"He seemed to be in good spirits when I saw him last year, but he'd lost a lot of weight. The work at the docks is too strenuous. Go check on him, don't keep him waiting."

In a corner, several men dressed in mage robes were whispering among themselves.

"I heard he's been gone for twenty years..."

"Twenty years? You probably haven't even mastered the basics of elemental resonance, have you?"

"Poor fellow, his brother Adrian worked as a laborer at the docks for twenty years to support his training..."

I ignored them. I looked down at my hands—my calloused fists. When I was six, Adrian sent me to the ancient ruins of the Dark Forest to train. Others resonated with the elements using their minds; I couldn't. Fire didn't respond to my calls, frost ignored my pleas, and lightning was unresponsive to my touch. Until one day in the sixth year, I stood up in frustration and vented my anger by throwing a series of punches. Sparks flew from my fist as it was thrown.

Fists are like staffs, movements are like spells. Two thousand punches a day, ten years without interruption, and the muscles can directly compress elements. This isn't talent; it's something you train for.

Pushing open the wooden door, a night breeze rushed in.

The image of Adrian flashed through my mind. My brother, who was like a father to me, raised me alone after our parents died. I remember him packing my bags before every trip, stuffing the gold coins he'd saved for half a year into my hand. "Kane, go train," he would always say with a smile, "You are the hope of the Ashford family."

Strange noises came from the edge of the forest.

A deep roar echoed from the depths of the forest, causing the ground to tremble slightly. A colossal figure emerged from the darkness—three meters tall, its skin covered in moss that gleamed with an eerie green light in the moonlight. A forest troll. Its regenerative abilities rendered all conventional attacks ineffective; it would take at least a dozen adventurers working together to hold it off. Last week, a group of mercenaries attempted to cross this forest, but only one returned.

Its scarlet eyes locked onto me.

I didn't retreat. The dragon's breath magic within me was still burning; the alcohol blurred my vision, but my muscle memory remained unaffected.

The troll roared as it charged, its massive fist slamming towards my head. I dodged the blow, pulled my right fist back, muscles taut—and unleashed a powerful punch. The fist scraped against the air, erupting in a blinding burst of flame. The flaming fist struck the troll's chest, flesh ripping apart. It was blasted back three steps, a charred hole appearing in its chest. Flesh buds grew wildly, and the wound healed within three seconds.

“Regenerative ability,” I whispered.

The troll was enraged. It slammed its arms into the ground, the shockwaves kicking up dirt and rubble, then charged. I didn't dodge. My left fist charged, condensing frost element—the moment the fist struck, a burst of cold air erupted. Crack—its left arm froze, shattering into ice shards. My right fist followed closely, a fiery explosion turning its right arm to charcoal. It roared, trying to regenerate, but I was already in front of it. Both fists charged simultaneously, flames and lightning intertwining—a thunderous blast pierced its chest. Its three-meter-tall body crashed to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

The entire battle lasted less than thirty seconds.

The troll's blood seeped into my body through the wound on my arm. The warm liquid met the raging dragon breath and demonic energy within me, and a reaction erupted instantly—my blood boiled, my muscles remodeled. The wound on my arm healed at a visible speed, leaving no scar.

I clenched my fist, feeling an unprecedented power. Twenty years of training had laid the foundation; the troll blood had only opened up the final hurdle. Low- to mid-level magic was now completely ineffective against me. High-level forbidden spells—my body could withstand them, but the pain was unbearable. Each blow felt like being skinned alive. I was only able to endure it through sheer willpower.

Ten minutes later, the familiar silhouette of the wooden house came into view. But there were no lights inside. My brother wasn't in the yard. There was only deathly silence. I stopped in my tracks, a sense of foreboding washing over me. I rushed to the door and pushed it open—

There was no one there. The food on the table was moldy, the fireplace had long since gone out, and cobwebs covered the corners of the walls.

“Adrian?” My voice echoed in the empty room.

There was no response. Only the mournful sound of the wind blowing through the window.

I stood in the center of the room, my clenched fists trembling. The power within me that could pierce through trolls was meaningless at this moment.