The Poet's System
Chapter 63: Formidable

Chapter 63: Formidable

The guardhouse echoed with laughter and humor, tinged with a bit of sympathy for Catel after his failed attempt to break the guard’s arm.

Daylan joined in the laughter as he watched the guards drag Catel out of his cell.

Catel’s attempt to do as Daylan had was enough to show him that his ability was working quite well.

Though not perfect, it was exactly what he needed—and he believed it might even do far greater things with time and evolution.

He didn’t have any goal left, but having enough time to deal with why he was still imprisoned—and getting out that night to find victims to take the fall for the Fools—was his main priority.

Daylan spent the rest of his day training. By now, his bones and muscles had fully recovered, and he could handle even more torture and burnout than he used to before the incident with his mother.

Throughout the week, his relentless workouts—especially his shadowboxing, marked by heavy panting and the swift, sharp sounds of his jabs—had been bothering not just the guards but the prisoners as well.

Yet he kept going. They had no choice but to endure the unique form of torture he put them through.

The day passed before he knew it, most of it spent training and napping. Meanwhile, Catel was released on bail, as they believed that with his hands broken, he was no longer capable of assaulting children.

As night fell, Daylan began to feel uneasy. Countless questions flooded his mind as he second-guessed his ability and wondered if there would even be any wealthy victims.

Still, as he paced back and forth in his cell, he tried to reassure himself that everything would be fine.

Before long, the silence was broken only by the sound of the guard on watch snoring—fast asleep, as usual.

Daylan braced himself, slapped his cheeks to focus, readied himself, and teleported to a spot nearly a mile from their house, landing on the quiet street.

He looked like crap. He hadn’t bathed in a week, and with his smoky body and clothes, he just wanted to freshen up and get a new set of clothes—at least for the mission.

However, he had to assume the worst—that there might be spies or even chivalries in the house—so teleporting there right away didn’t seem like a good idea.

He lurked in the shadows, moving with a steady pace and careful steps as he made his way toward the house.

Not even his footsteps echoed in the distance—he was that careful. It was almost as if he wasn’t there at all.

As he neared the house, he gave it a careful, observant look. The lanterns inside were off, and it was eerily quiet—nothing like what he had expected to see.

Even so, its calm demeanor wasn’t enough to put Daylan at ease—he remained careful.

He needed a safe place to teleport to, but going straight into his room would put him in a tight spot if someone was inside.

With that in mind, he teleported just outside the door, and slowly pushed it open—and his heart settled peacefully the moment he saw that no one was there.

But before he could even finish the thought, a noise came from the living room. His heartbeat spiked as he quickly turned in its direction.

Just as he feared, the moment he reached the living room, someone was there. Though he couldn’t get a clear look because of the person’s posture on the sofa, he immediately recognized the uniform—it was a guard.

And not just any guard, but one he had encountered at the guardhouse.

The sight alone was enough to tell him that the authorities were onto him.

Someone had snitched—but who? Astara? Medora? He doubted it, but it was worth considering. Still, the person his rage leaned toward most was Astara.

His body trembled with anger, his fists clenched, and his teeth gritted—yet beneath it all, there was a strange sense of serenity.

He knew that getting caught in the house would only make things worse.

Without the guard noticing his presence, he abandoned the reason he had come to the house in the first place and teleported out.

A part of him didn’t want to jump to conclusions—but he was the Poet, the most formidable of the three in his eyes.

Whether he had to fight with his sword or his words, he would come out victorious. It didn’t matter if it was the gods themselves or even his ability coming after him.

He had won the hearts of many with just his pen before, and he would do it again—even if that was what everyone seemed to be pushing him toward.

Daylan stood tall in the darkness, without even a hint of moonlight or a single streetlamp casting its glow on him. All his earlier doubts about victory—and the anxiety that came with them—had vanished.

The only thing on his mind at that moment was finishing everything before daybreak—and once he was released, hunting down the traitor.

However, something was off about Daylan. He was taking this more seriously than he should—like his emotions were on drugs. His heartbeat quickened, his temperature rose—it wasn’t normal.

Dark Spiral was activated as he emerged from the darkness. The fury within fueled the darkness inside him, and at that moment, he was like the orb embedded in his body—chaotic and consuming.

Like an ink poured onto a plain white shirt, his presence spread. It was as if the entire northern district had been compressed into a single room. He was everywhere, within every shadow—searching for the perfect vessel.

He had initially planned to adopt a phantom, but at that moment, he didn’t care.

Anyone suitable to represent the Fools was enough for him.

In barely a minute, he spotted a group of bandits attempting to break into a firm in the industrial area.

There were four of them—one using his ability to unlock the gate while the other three kept watch.

In an instant—before they could even blink—the bandits on guard vanished. The remaining one turned in their direction, confusion etched across his face.

He called out to them for a while, but the moment he realized they were gone, he bolted away in terror.

Daylan hadn’t touched the bandits or even tried to ink them. Just a glance was enough to teleport them from their positions.

It was something he never knew he could do—but he was too enraged to even think about it.

The bandits were taken to a dark alley near Spine Street. Terrified, they pleaded like scolded children into the nothingness—not because they’d been teleported, but because of the shadowy figure before them, flickering and formless.

"Silent!" He ordered. His voice was more sinister than it had ever been.

His tone wasn’t a request, nor was it something to be bargained with. As it rang in the bandits’ ears, they instinctively stared into his eyes. Even though they couldn’t truly see them, his eyes spoke commands of their own.

This was even before he activated Spiral Mind and Form Form. Seizing the moment, he unleashed them, and their eyes began to spiral—tears streaming uncontrollably down their cheeks as if their darkest fears had come to life.

Then, in an instant, a soft smile and a sense of relief flickered in their eyes. Daylan didn’t say a word—just sent a thought, and it was as if he had telepathically altered their minds to believe they were the Fools.

Attack the church. Kill anyone who stands in your way. Take everything that belongs to it—and kill the priest if you must.

In an instant, he conjured masks identical to theirs, bearing the same marks, and tossed them to the bandits.

You deserve this—for everything the church has ever taken from you. Your hard-earned money, the mandatory taxes forced upon your people, and your fellows slaughtered in the name of the church for being labeled sinners. Everything that belongs to the church is yours now. Go and take it all.

They stared into their daze for nearly a minute before shaking themselves free.

Then they stood up and put on their masks, wearing enthusiastic smiles—nothing like the hesitation Daylan and the others had shown when they first claimed their titles.

For these bandits, it was as if this was what they had been waiting for, something they were born to do.

Their appearances were nothing like Daylan and the others—they looked ragged, like drunkards—but that didn’t concern him.

What mattered was whether they could pull off the same feat. Once that was done, the authorities wouldn’t need much convincing to believe they were indeed the Fools.

Over a dozen guards patrolled Spine Street, and the moment the bandits reached it, the guards spotted their masks and immediately broke off to pursue them.

Daylan stayed hidden in the darkness, watching as the bandits charged forward.

Their combat skills were decent—enough to outmatch many adventurers—but taking on over fifteen guards wasn’t something they could manage alone. Seizing the moment,

Daylan slaughtered the guards in an instant.

Somehow, the bandits believed they had done it themselves and began marching proudly toward the church, their steps bold on the open street.

However, Daylan believed he had done enough. And with the fake Fools now on the loose, it was likely the guard on watch would soon be checking on him. Without a moment’s hesitation, he teleported back into his cell.

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