My Ultimate Sign-in System Made Me Invincible Chapter 480 A Misunderstanding?

Liam One felt true astonishment at the sharp antagonism emanating from the minotaur and the pointed blame embedded in its speech.

Based on the recollections of the original Liam, this beast was an utter unknown—they had no previous meetings, no clashes, and hadn't even occupied the same territory until this very day.

Bewilderment weighed heavily upon him. The minotaur displayed clear intellect, fluent expression, and the ability for tactical reasoning. It wasn't a dumb animal lashing out at whatever stirred. The attack felt intentional, targeted, fueled by what seemed like real resentment instead of mere territorial drive or basic fury.

That implied a cause. A past. A tale.

Liam One yearned to uncover that tale.

The beast appeared smart enough for questioning, yet it was too intent on ending his life to hold any meaningful talk. That had to shift.

He seized the minotaur's other hand—the one not clutching the swiftly crumbling axe—and compressed it with carefully measured power.

The result came instantly. The beast's bellow of fury turned into a yelp of real suffering as bones rubbed harshly together beneath force that no muscle or skin could withstand.

Its knees gave way, the enormous body dropping to one knee while its mind registered sensations it likely had never felt—the sensation of total inferiority in pure bodily might.

The minotaur's unoccupied hand clawed at Liam One's grasp, attempting frantically to loosen it, but it resembled attempting to split rock with naked hands. The gap in power was far too immense.

Liam One held firm, sustaining the squeeze just shy of the point where bones would snap outright, observing the creature's visage as anger yielded to torment, then torment yielded to terror.

At that point, he detected approaching steps with the identical earth-shaking vibe that had heralded the initial minotaur's coming.

Liam One glanced toward the noise, his hold on the bowed beast unchanging, and observed three additional minotaurs charging from the foliage.

They matched the first in stature and form, each bearing arms that appeared battle-worn—a huge war hammer, a blade that demanded two hands from a human but sat easily in the minotaur's one grasp, and a lance tipped with a edge like a dagger.

And their expressions showed the identical instant enmity, the same familiarity implying they also believed they recognized him.

Liam One furrowed his brow a bit. A single minotaur harboring a private grudge could stem from misrecognition or chance. Four minotaurs all identifying him instantly pointed to something more organized.

The arrivals halted upon surveying the sight—their ally down on one knee, moaning in agony, his axe mangled into warped debris, and a man who appeared utterly at ease despite facing four-to-one odds against beings each massing hundreds of kilos, with even the frailest at five star.

They eyed Liam One, then their downed ally, then back to Liam One. The war hammer bearer's hold on his tool's handle stiffened, his knuckles paling from the intensity.

The massive sword carrier advanced, his tone holding a strained composure that indicated he was deliberately reining in his first impulse. "Let go of Tarok. Now."

Liam One inclined his head a touch, examining the speaker. The minotaur's mastery of human tongue was remarkably solid, superior to the first's fury-twisted words, hinting at learning or substantial dealings with human society.

"No," Liam One replied straightforwardly.

The sword bearer's jaw tightened, his cow-like traits somehow expressing irritation in their alien form. "You fail to grasp your position, human. Free him and we may allow you to leave this woods breathing."

Liam One grinned at that, the look devoid of any kindness. "I grasp the position exactly. Your ally just sought to end me without cause, and now you're menacing me for self-protection. What escapes me is why he struck first."

He adjusted his clasp on Tarok's arm slightly, drawing a moan from the knelt minotaur, and pressed on. "I won't free one who just tried to take my life. I ought to have slain him right away—it was fully justified. He's alive only because I seek explanations. So either furnish those explanations, or I'll cease my leniency toward unsolicited assaults."

The sword bearer's face altered, deliberation supplanting part of the starting antagonism. He could plainly see his fellow's plight, likely judging that forcing Liam One's hold by might wasn't feasible after the human so effortlessly wrecked Tarok's arm.

"Tarok confused you with another," the minotaur stated, selecting words with precision. "A human who harmed our clan. The likeness must have sparked his response."

Liam One weighed this account, checking it against his knowledge. It held water at first glance—wrong identity occurred, and feelings could eclipse logic. Yet the swift acknowledgment from every one of the four, each reacting with matching hostile assurance, indicated the likeness would need to be exceptionally precise for this to ring true.

"Then it's fair for me to counter by error too," Liam One declared, his grin broadening a fraction. "After all, it wouldn't do if I ignore an assassination attempt without some fitting reprisal, right?"

The pair of minotaurs silent until now both scowled, their stances moving to hostile alertness. The war hammer holder edged half a pace ahead, and his voice, when it came, held a icy bite foretelling brutality. "You wouldn't dare."

Liam One's grin stayed steady. He merely clenched his fist, intensifying the pressure on Tarok's sturdy wrist with exact command.

The snap of shattering bone rang out in the hushed woods like a thunderclap.

Tarok's cry erupted right away and raw, a wail of sheer torment that scattered birds from close branches and caused the trio of upright minotaurs to recoil. The bowed beast tried wrenching free, panic eclipsing dignity, but Liam One's clasp remained unyielding.

The sword bearer's features twisted in rage, his restrained poise crumbling. "HOW DARE YOU!"

Liam One let go of Tarok's now-fractured wrist indifferently, allowing the wounded minotaur to slump completely down while nursing his ruined limb. He regarded the three erect beasts with a look of faint contentment.

"Now we're square," he stated plainly. "Your ally aimed to slay me from false recognition. I've harmed him from that identical error. Fair trade."

The three minotaurs seemed poised to strike, arms lifting, sinews coiling for the rush that would conclude with Liam One's demise or their own.

The strain in the glade grew tangible, yet right then, Liam One's aura, which had exerted steady oppressive force on the minotaurs since he arrived, abruptly changed in essence. The overall heft of his essence persisted, but a fresh layer overlaid it—a keenness that made the atmosphere feel razor-sharp.

It resembled facing a sword. Not merely beside one, but squarely in its trajectory, sensing the vow of division emanating from his every facet. The minotaurs perceived it on instinct, as hunted creatures detect hunters—this man had evolved from just menacing to truly perilous on a plane surpassing mere bodily force.

Liam One grinned, true amiability entering his look for the first instance since the clash started. "Thank you, Two."

The phrase held no sense for the minotaurs. His duplicate in the cultivation realm had accomplished a major feat, acquired some fresh skill or revelation, and via their linked awareness, that progress had spread to all his forms at once.

The sword intent Clone Two had grasped from the eternal legacy now was Liam One's too.

He bent and clutched Tarok by the nape of his burly neck, hoisting the hundreds-of-kilos beast in one hand as lightly as one might raise a pet feline. The hurt minotaur uttered a choked complaint but was too absorbed in his mangled wrist to offer real opposition.

Liam One started striding ahead, hauling Tarok like luggage, heading straight for the three upright minotaurs with leisurely assurance.

Each retreated a step, then another. The sword bearer's arm trembled a bit, doubt infiltrating his belligerent stance. The war hammer holder's knuckles blanched from clenching his arm, yet his steps kept retreating instead of surging. The spear holder's gaze flicked between Liam One's countenance and the surrounding void, as if awaiting unseen edges to emerge from thin air.

For that's the sensation of nearing him now. The sword intent flowing from his essence produced a feeling of impending slash, of boundaries that dwelled in idea rather than matter but seemed equally tangible in their abstract state.

They knew beyond doubt that drawing near this man would mean being cleaved asunder. Not possibly. Inevitably. The certainty sank into their gut feelings like chilled liquid, basic and irrefutable.

Liam One pressed on, forcing them back until they pressed against the vast boles of two adjacent ancient trees, their escape halted by tons of aged timber.

He halted about two meters distant, near enough for them to bear the complete burden of his altered aura yet distant enough to avoid shoving them into outright alarm.

Then he cocked his head a smidge, his face turning to what could pass for affable on one not presently exuding the aura of an unsheathed sword, and grinned. The look was subtle, chill, and bore a subtle warning of consequences for ongoing defiance.

"Now then," Liam One declared, his tone impeccably cordial amid the scenario. "Are you at last prepared to converse? Or shall I keep showing why assailing me was a terrible choice?"

The three minotaurs remained rigid against the tree barks, arms still clutched but drooped, their prior belligerence vanished before a peril their instincts deemed leagues beyond their capacity to face.

The sword bearer gulped audibly, his neck bobbing, and gave a rigid dip of his head.

"Good," Liam One replied, his grin expanding a touch. "Let's begin with why you all act like you recognize me. And kindly, be detailed. I'm truly intrigued by this evident likeness to one who injured your clan."

He adjusted his hold on Tarok a bit, eliciting a groan from the wounded minotaur, and appended nearly casually, "And strive for truthfulness. I possess a sharp nose for deceit, and regrettably, my tolerance for further antagonism has all but vanished."

The woods encircling them stayed deathly quiet, every beast within hearing range having fled long ago, deeming any other spot far superior to observing whatever drama was set to play out in this secluded spot.