Imagination Paralysis

This was the cruel civilization that now reigned in the Kingdom of Luzia. Every ten years, Queen Catarine II would lose consciousness. During that time, her body would move on its own—she would mount a majestic white horse and ride toward a remote, filthy slum on the outskirts of the kingdom. There, the massacre would begin. The queen would soar high above, as if savoring the cries and agonized screams of those being slaughtered.

The royal family had their justification for this mass killing. The kingdom only wanted a strong population—if you're weak, then you deserve to die. And who were the weak? Of course, the outcasts like Booza and Karel are people who had no access to education or combat training. They were left to wait for death in resignation.

"I don't want to give up... but maybe this is my time to die," said Karel, still in Booza's embrace. His words snapped Booza out of his admiration for Queen Catarine II.

"I won't let you die."

Suddenly, a man with a massive sword came rushing at them from the front, aiming to strike. His grin was savage, as if he were addicted to killing. Perhaps the blood of his victims thrilled him.

"Let me go!" Karel shouted, breaking free from Booza's arms upon seeing the silver-haired knight drawing closer.

"Magical powers come from ideals—or from what you've mastered in life before turning eighteen."

Karel pressed both his palms to the ground. Locking eyes with the knight, he unleashed his power. Instantly, the ground around him turned clear and slippery, making it impossible for the attacker to stand correctly.

"Why is it so slippery?!"

"Why's the ground covered in soap water?!"

Karel smiled with satisfaction as he watched the young knight struggle to keep his balance.

"Booza, I used to work as a dishwasher and floor cleaner. That's why my power turned out like this," he whispered.

"We just have to survive a few more minutes."

Slowly, the dust around Booza and Karel cleared. It became apparent that many others from the slums had also hidden underground, just like them. But their bunkers had been destroyed, forced open by a mysterious figure wielding terrifying power.

Booza kept scanning the area, looking for the one truly responsible for this catastrophe. But finding that person was nearly impossible—everyone was too busy fighting. Corpses littered the ground, blood was everywhere, and the metallic stench filled the air. A truly grotesque sight.

Then Booza spotted a suspicious man beneath Queen Catarine II. He had his hand on the ground, eyes closed, as if detecting something.

Sure enough, moments later, two more bunkers were forcefully pulled from underground. It kept happening—until no more civilians were hiding from the slaughter.

Seeing them treated like animals made Booza furious. He suddenly had the urge to fight. Sure, he still didn't know how to use his powers, but at least he'd read books on hand-to-hand combat.

That's when a young man, about Booza's age, appeared. But this one was already powerful, muscular, and confident. In his hands, he held a magnificent black double axe, its lower edge shaped like a dragon's head.

"Is that all you've got, old lady?"

Karel was already drained—maintaining her magic took a toll on her age. But the threat was real, and there was no time for complaints.

Realizing this, Booza stepped forward to shield Karel.

"Leave him to me. We're the same age—maybe I stand a chance."

The axe-wielding man charged, slicing through the slick ground. He created cracks in the earth and used them as footholds, sprinting toward Booza without slipping. In seconds, they were nearly face to face.

"Five meters—still nothing!"

"Three meters—still can't read his thoughts! How close do I have to be?" Booza panicked as the enemy closed in.

He planned to read the guy's mind, to anticipate and dodge every attack. Maybe even land a counterstrike.

"Two meters—still nothing!"

Now Booza was bracing for impact, unsure if he'd dodge or punch back. His opponent raised the axe.

"Die!" the man roared.

Booza was frantic. He still couldn't read his mind.

"One meter!"

Then, finally—he could.

He saw it. A double attack: an axe swing aiming for his neck, followed by a spin-kick to the chest.

"So that's your plan? Fine!"

Now they were close—too close. The man swung his axe straight for Booza's neck. But Booza had read him perfectly. He dodged right, grabbed the man's wrist, and slammed his fist toward his jaw.

It missed.

Instead of the jaw, Booza's punch hit his neck. Not perfect, but enough to hurt.

*Cough*

*Cough*

"Ow… So this is what it feels like to punch someone," Booza grunted, gritting his teeth through the pain.

The man staggered, but before he could fall, Booza grabbed his shirt. He had to keep the fight close if he wanted to keep reading his enemy's mind. That was his only shot at winning.

He gripped the man's wrist tighter—and twisted. The man howled in pain, dropping his axe.

"Left-foot kick? Alright!"

Booza had already seen it in his mind. The man planned to kick with his left foot. But Booza was faster—he snatched the dropped axe and swung it upward in a wide arc, slashing across his enemy's chest.

"ARRGH!"

The scream echoed. Blood gushed from his chest, splattering Booza's body and face. That only fueled Booza's rage. He yanked the man's shirt again and kicked hard at his left knee.

The blow knocked the man off balance—he collapsed to his knees, like a sinner awaiting judgment.

Booza didn't hesitate. He raised the axe and brought it down on the man's neck.

And just like that—he was dead.

Booza had won.

He was elated. But his stamina was gone. His breath was ragged, his chest felt ready to explode, and his limbs throbbed in pain.

Now he sat, kneeling before his fallen foe. But the fight wasn't over. More enemies lurked.

Everyone was stunned. A slum rat like Booza had killed a nobleman in battle. Cheers erupted, but they were short-lived—many in the crowd were eager to challenge him next.

Five more attackers appeared—young and old men, plus three young women—all heading straight for Booza.

Unfortunately, three of them specialized in long-range attacks. One had a whip, another wielded a bow, and the last could manipulate dust.

Now, hundreds of dust arrows hovered in the air, aimed at Booza.

He panicked.

Long-range attacks were his greatest weakness.

"Ah, crap!"