My Taming System Makes Me Overpowered

Chapter 35: Triggered

Vince stepped away from the silver-leaf herb stall, his body effortlessly melting into the heavy shadows of the narrow alleyway. The bustling noise of the border market acted as a perfect auditory shield as he closed the distance toward the three silver-armored Council Guards.

"Stop," Vince said simply, his voice a low, flat baritone that carried no anger, only an eerie, absolute lack of emotion. "Leave the kid and move on."

The guard who was currently holding the iron-weighted baton paused mid-swing, turning his helmeted head toward the cloaked silhouette blocking the alley exit. He let out a harsh, mocking chuckle. "Mind your own business, you cloaked rat. Scram before you end up in the dirt right next to him."

Vince didn’t move. He stood perfectly still under his hood, his violet eyes locking onto the small, bleeding elven child trembling in the muck.

Suddenly, the ambient sounds of the bustling market began to warp. The mocking voice of the guard grew muffled, the distant chatter of the merchants fading away into an absolute, suffocating silence.

The ancient elven forest vanished from his mind.

Vince was violently dragged backward through time, the cold cobblestones of the alley morphing into the polished, pristine marble floors of Oakhaven Academy. He was kneeling, a dirty cleaning rag clutched in his raw, calloused hands, his back aching from hours of unpaid, mandatory labor. Suddenly, a group of noble-born students stepped directly onto the wet, freshly scrubbed marble, deliberately smearing thick streaks of mud across his hard work.

They had looked down at him with disgusting superiority, waiting for him to beg, cry, or scream. But Vince hadn’t given them an expression. His face had remained a dead, unbothered mask—and that emotional void had vexed them to the point of absolute fury. "Look at this magic less trash. Who do you think you are?" Then came the boots. The heavy, relentless kicks to his ribs, the savage punches to his face, and the agonizing, helpless humiliation of a boy who possessed no power to fight back against the academy’s nobles.

Thud.

The sound of the guard’s boot striking the elven kid’s ribs snapped the memory like a dry twig.

The psychological dam inside Vince’s mind violently shattered, unleashing a wave of long-repressed, jagged rage. Every ounce of his calculative logic evaporated in a single frame of time, replaced by a pure, unadulterated psychotic break.

The guard raised the iron baton, preparing to bring it down hard on the child’s skull.

He never got the chance.

Vince blurred forward. His powerful, calloused hand shot out of his dark cloak, catching the guard’s wrist in a iron-clad grip mid-air. The metal plate armor creaked under the sudden, terrifying pressure of his fingers.

The guard’s eyes widened beneath his visor. "What the—"

"I said stop," Vince whispered, his eyes gleaming like dead, freezing ice beneath his hood.

Before the guard could process the words, Vince drove a brutal, localized body punch straight into the man’s armored flank. The sheer physical stat disparity exploded forward. The heavy steel plate imploded inward with a horrific, metallic crunch. The kinetic force shattered the guard’s spine instantly, rupturing his internal organs and sending him crashing into the stone wall like a broken ragdoll, spitting up dark blue blood.

The remaining two guards froze, their cultural pride instantly replaced by a wave of primal terror. Realizing they were dealing with a physical monster, they dropped their batons and scrambled to run back toward the safety of the main thoroughfare.

Vince didn’t let them take a second step.

System. Vector Drive.

```

[Kinetic Vector Drive — Engaged.]

``` ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

BOOM.

The dirt beneath Vince’s boots violently imploned. He turned into a blurry, distorted streak of dark fabric, flash-stepping instantly to the front of the second guard. Before the man could even scream, Vince delivered a savage, open-handed slap across his helmet.

SNAP.

The feedback was so immense it cleanly snapped the man’s neck sideways, sending his lifeless body skidding across the cobblestones.

The final guard fell backward, scrambling in the dirt as Vince stepped over him. Vince reached down, his powerful fingers locking around the man’s throat like a hydraulic press, slamming his back heavily against the ground.

The calculating operative was completely gone. Vince straddled the man’s chest, raised his bare, blood-stained fists, and let out a raw, terrifying scream that echoed off the high stone walls.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

He began pummeling the guard’s face with relentless, savage speed. He didn’t use a weapon. He didn’t use a system skill. He just used the raw, brutal physics of his fists, fracturing the silver helmet until it cracked open, and then continuing to strike the flesh beneath. He kept going long after the man stopped moving, his knuckles tearing open as he beat the skull into a completely unrecognizable mush of bone and blue blood.

Finally, Vince stopped.

His breathing was ragged, heavy gasps of air shaking his broad chest as the adrenaline slowly began to recede from his veins. He stood up, the dark cloak splattered in blue gore.

He looked down at the corner of the alley. The little elven kid was sitting up, but he wasn’t looking at Vince with gratitude. His small frame was shaking violently, his dilated emerald eyes filled with a horrific, paralyzing terror as he stared at the monster covered in blood. With a panicked sob, the child scrambled to his feet and made a desperate run for it, disappearing into the crowded market lanes. fгeewebnovёl.com

Vince watched him go, his expression instantly reverting back to its dead, unbothered baseline. He felt no remorse. No satisfaction. Nothing.

He walked over to a heavy wooden water barrel sitting near the alley wall. Raising his fist, he casually punched a small hole through the thick timber. A steady, pressurized stream of clean water rushed out. Vince held his hands beneath the stream, methodically washing the thick, clotting blue blood from his torn knuckles, letting the stained water drain into the cobblestone cracks.

He pulled his deep hood lower over his face, ready to slip back into the crowd—when his breath suddenly hitched.

The purple interface in his vision didn’t flare, but his Perception violently triggered, a massive spike of danger vibrating directly against his nerves. From the main thoroughfare just thirty paces away, the heavy, synchronized, and rapid march of steel-toed boots was echo-locating straight toward his coordinate.

An elite vanguard squad of border troops had already picked up the disturbance, and they were heading his way fast.