I'm a Immortal Tavernkeeper, But My S-Rank Daughter Doesn't Know That!

Fifteen minutes passed.

Silence reigned in the warehouse, broken only by the occasional *crunch* that the structure of the place was made.

The place was completely destroyed, both the first and second floors.

It was as if there had been an earthquake.

Some of the walls had collapsed, as had part of the ceiling, and the entire second floor had been turned into an almost open courtyard.

Broken crates were scattered everywhere, and thick smoke hung in the air, obscuring the view.

Through the haze of destruction, the guards and mercenaries who had rushed in from the battle began to enter the warehouse, moving cautiously, their faces etched with tension and fear. They had seen up close all the destruction and sounds of the battle that had destroyed this warehouse. Still, they couldn’t let this opportunity pass them by. The reward Garret Darksoul had offered for Victor’s head was enormous, and greed could overcome fear.

They moved slowly forward, swords in hand, their eyes scanning their surroundings for any sign of movement.

"Who the hell is capable of all this?"

"Hunters."

"Can they be so much stronger just because they kill monsters?"

"They are not strong because they kill monsters. They kill monsters because they are strong."

"No, not all hunters are capable of that, guys. Fletcher used to be a rank B, and the others were close to it."

"Shh! Don’t forget where we are."

"I think I saw someone."

"Do you really think there’s anyone alive here?"

"Over there!" One guard pointed.

Indeed, there was a figure standing amidst the smoke and devastation.

One of the four guards who had been in the group that had found this figure raised his voice, trying to dispel the uncertainty.

"Fletcher, is that you?"

The figure stepped forward, emerging from the smoke. Victor, his gaze hard and cold, replied with only one word:

"No."

The guards instinctively backed away, fear on their faces.

Victor’s presence was so overwhelming that it seemed to dominate the room. He had an aura of power that these guards had never experienced in their lives. He walked slowly toward the group, each step echoing in the oppressive silence.

The men were ready to run with shit in their pants when Victor put both hands behind his back and said:

"I hate you for working directly for a man as rotten as Garret Darksoul, but I’m going to ask you to do your job."

The men looked at each other in a mixture of surprise and disbelief. "What do you mean? Are you challenging us?"

Victor shook his head. "It’s not a challenge, just do your job, which is to kill me. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?"

The guards swallowed. They couldn’t tell if this was a test or not.

Victor approached slowly, this time with his arms open. "Come on, I’m not asking you to fight me. I’m asking for something simple... I could do it myself, simply by running a sword through my belly, but first it would be too painful to do it to myself and secondly, I want to test a theory of mine. So here’s a second request: use as much violence as possible to cause pain before you kill me."

A murmur of discomfort went through the group. They were used to dealing with easy targets, like thieves trying to break into warehouses and pirates, but Victor was different.

"Is this some kind of game?" One mercenary asked, still not quite understanding the situation. "Or a test?"

Victor nodded. "No, I’m just going to die for you."

Once again, the men exchanged nervous glances as they realized the seriousness of Victor’s words. He wasn’t joking; he was challenging them to inflict pain effectively.

"Why on earth would we do that?" An older man who looked like the temporary leader of the group asked, reluctantly accepting the challenge. "It would be inhumane and dishonorable."

Victor stepped forward and stood a few feet away. "Four against one wouldn’t be honorable either if you started fighting me, but if you want a reason so badly, I’ll tell you: I want to test a characteristic of one of my abilities that involves pain, and you’ll be my instrument. But don’t worry, I’m going to die, and you’ll probably get paid for my head as usual."

Victor Shieldman’s request was too strange, but on the other hand, the reward offered by Garret Darksoul was too tempting to ignore. If they didn’t accept Victor’s offer, other guards or mercenaries would.

"All right, let’s do it, boys." The leader of the group finally spoke. "But don’t think we’re doing this for you. It’s for the money."

"I know, I know." Victor said, closing his eyes and spreading his arms even wider.

The guards approached slowly, weapons in hand, their eyes fixed on Victor. They were very hesitant, but soon the first cut came and then another.

If Victor was right, if he died from too many wounds and too much pain, there was a chance that he would look a little younger when he resurrected, just as he had when he first died in the cave in Agocester. The same effect never happened on any other occasion, not even when Victor died other times, so it wasn’t necessarily related to death, but to Victor’s suffering before he died, probably how much pain he could take. Was it a reward, perhaps? Victor had to find out.

The guards were initially sluggish, their movements lacking energy and coordination. However, Victor remained completely still, not even flinching when they launched their attack. Surprisingly, as they engaged with him, their hesitation and timidity began to fade away.

Victor bravely endured swords, stabs, punches, cuts, and kicks, and when he was on his knees, the leader said with an expression that was anything but satisfied, proud, or happy:

"I think we’ve fulfilled his wish, whatever the reason for this crazy request. Let’s put this man out of his misery right now." The leader then plunged his sword through Victor’s head.