Chapter 186: I’m Human. I Don’t Need a Reason to Help My Own

Words : 1250 Updated : Sep 25th, 2025

Most people were still frozen, caught mid-breath, when the mysterious figure in gray armor casually strolled onto the battlefield. Yes—strolled, as if taking a scenic walk through a garden rather than stepping into a warzone. Each time the figure lazily swung his weapon, the gray dwarves in his path were sliced apart like soggy parchment. No clash of steel, no dramatic resistance—just clean, efficient devastation. Yaral flinched instinctively. She had seen power before. But this? This was terrifying in a way that couldn't be explained. That casual swing of the sword... it reminded her of the terrifying aura her grandfather used to emit when angry. Only this was worse. Much worse. In her vision, the gray-armored man seemed to radiate an aura of dread—like death incarnate had decided to wear armor and take a stroll. So strong... Even standing at full strength in front of him, Yaral doubted she would last longer than the dwarves. Probably not even a second. "I'll kill you!" roared the gray dwarf general, his eyes bloodshot as he charged in rage, seeing his men die like cattle. "Meteor Smash!" he bellowed, swinging a massive flail crackling with mana. CRASH! The moment the weapon neared, the figure raised his greatsword and casually sliced through the flail. The heavy spiked head flew apart mid-air, crashing uselessly into the sand. Only then did the man lift his head, as if the general had finally earned his attention. "You... split it?" The dwarf general blinked in disbelief, staring at his ruined weapon. A shadow fell over him. And then the sword came down. Thunk. Yaral watched, wide-eyed, as the once-fearsome general was bisected from head to toe. Just like the rest. The rune armor that had once resisted her strongest strikes might as well have been paper. "Monster!" "Monster!!" The cry swept through the remaining dwarves like wildfire. Panic consumed them. All formation was lost as they dropped weapons and bolted in every direction. Yaral, who had remained calm even in the face of despair earlier, now felt her silver eyes widen in genuine horror. She turned and rushed back to the injured human soldiers behind her. They had to flee. But the next second, she stopped cold. Because the gray-armored figure had vanished. No sound. No wind. Just vanished. The next time he appeared, it was among the fleeing dwarves. His form blurred like a mirage, flashing through the enemy ranks. Only screams remained on the battlefield. "There's no escaping him..." Yaral clenched her fists and turned to her people. They were too wounded. None of them could run, not really. "Go, Yaral!" someone shouted. "Wha—?" "We'll hold him off!" Three bloodied soldiers staggered forward, faces pale with fear but eyes steady. Yaral looked at them, then at the rest—young faces, desperate faces. She forced a smile. It didn't fit her. She wasn't good at smiling. "Then let's all die together," she said with a strange calm. But she quickly realized something strange. The figure wasn't attacking them. Only the dwarves. One by one, the fleeing dwarves fell under his blade. Limbs, torsos, heads. The sand turned crimson, and silence soon returned. Only one remained standing. The gray figure, with a hawk—no, a majestic bird of prey—landing gently on his armored shoulder. The man turned. His gaze fell upon Yaral and the last of the human survivors. The world seemed to freeze. The air felt thick. Too thick to breathe. The sand was soaked red, littered with twitching limbs, broken armor, and entrails. The stench of blood hung like a curse. Even Yaral, who had seen more than her share of war, felt her stomach churn. The difference in power was simply... insurmountable. "Who are you?" Yaral called out, her voice hoarse, lips cracked. "Why did you help us?" The gray figure stepped forward, dragging a massive bloodstained sword behind him. Everyone tensed. Then a strange vibration rippled through the air. The armor that had seemed fused to his very soul shimmered, then crumbled into smoke, flowing back into his body like mist drawn into a bottle. In its place stood a young man with soft black hair, calm eyes, and clothes unlike anything they had ever seen. Clean, sharp, and elegant—too refined for this hellish wasteland. "I'm human," he said quietly. "Helping my own kind doesn't need a reason." The survivors stared. Yaral gawked, stunned. Her silver pupils trembled. This man... looked no older than her. But his power? Impossible. The others were equally shaken, but quickly fell silent again. The tension was broken by Yaral herself, who planted her spear in the sand, raised her arms across her chest, and bowed deeply. "Honored warrior," she said solemnly. "Thank you for your aid. In this cursed valley, our people are few. Your joke is our blessing." This was a cruel world. A place ruled by monsters and tyrants. Humans were little more than prey here. If not for her grandfather once achieving the fabled rank of Hero and seizing one of the three remaining oases, their people would've been wiped out long ago. That this man claimed to be human was... hard to believe. Lyle blinked. That... was not the reaction he'd expected. "You really think a non-human would bother pretending to be one of you?" he asked with a light chuckle. The hawk on his shoulder let out a sharp screech. That wasn't just a bird—it was his companion, the barghest, currently disguised for this terrain. Given how little he knew about this cursed region, Lyle had decided to appear as a warrior, not a mage. People trusted blades more than they trusted spells in places like this. Yaral blinked. That... made sense. What prideful high-race would ever stoop to pretending to be a weak human? "You're really... human?" she asked, voice cracking slightly. Lyle nodded. "Of course. I'm a traveler. Some unknown spell threw me into this place. I've been trying to figure out what the abyss is going on ever since." "Traveler?" she echoed. "Spell?" someone else muttered. The humans looked confused. They clearly didn't know what either word meant. Only Yaral seemed to have some idea. She remembered her grandfather mentioning stories about places beyond this valley—vast lands, wondrous magic. Back then, she hadn't paid it much attention. Those tales had sounded like nonsense. Fantasy. But now? She looked at Lyle and took a step forward, eyes red with unshed tears. "Can you... save us?" "Yes," Lyle replied without hesitation. "But I need to know what exactly I've walked into." A few minutes later, Lyle had a clearer picture of the situation. It matched most of what he'd already learned using his racial charm ability. Yaral hadn't lied. Lyle glanced past her at the fifty or so survivors, every one of them wounded in some way. "Do you have water?" he asked. "Y-yes," said a young man in his twenties, shrinking back nervously. Lyle gave a slight nod. With a thought, five crystalline alchemy flasks appeared at his feet, glinting under the sunlight. "Mix these into your water flasks. Drink half. Pour the rest onto your wounds." He then pulled out another, smaller bottle and handed it to Yaral. "Drink this." Everyone stared at the glittering potions like they were sacred relics. "What are you all standing around for?" Yaral barked. "Do what the man says!" They scrambled into action.

Chapter 186: I’m Human. I Don’t Need a Reason to Help My Own

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