Man With Super Medical Skill (Matthew) novel Chapter 3563

A light breeze stirred across the open sea, brushing away the tension that had been building moments before. Even the stiffest shoulders on the deck began to ease.

Aboard the Medusa Gang's warship, Matthew stood quietly, one hand casually resting on the hilt of his sword, Bloodreaper. His face revealed nothing; it remained serene and inscrutable, much like a bottomless ancient well.

Nearby, the man in the loud floral shorts felt a sudden jolt of unease. A cold sweat trickled down his back. Something in him screamed, If that sword comes out, we are all done for.

"Fire!" he shouted without hesitation, snatching a pistol from the table beside him. His finger squeezed the trigger.

Bang!

The gunshot rang out across the deck. His face lit up with excitement. That's it—I made my choice, and he should be dead now.

Yet, before the echo faded, a sharp metallic ring cut through the noise.

Clang!

A blinding flash of sword energy sliced through the bullet mid-air, splitting it cleanly in two. The energy didn't stop. It shot forward, fast as lightning, and pierced the man's neck in a single, fluid motion.

The deadly force continued, weaving through the rows of soldiers behind him. Each one had their weapon raised, but none got the chance to fire. The blade had already cut through them.

Confused, the man in floral shorts patted his body, searching for any wounds. His mouth curled into a smug grin.

He spoke mockingly, "Guess you're more of a showman than a fighter. I thought that light meant you were someone serious..."

His voice trailed off.

Eyes wide with panic, he reached for his neck. Warm blood trickled between his fingers. The realization hit him—his head was already separated from his body.

"Even if I die, I'll..." He never finished his sentence.

His body dropped to the deck with a heavy thud. Moments later, the rest of the soldiers collapsed, their throats split just the same. Blood pooled beneath them, spreading like a dark tide.

Matthew looked down at the mess, his expression cold with disgust. "Filthy souls. Even your blood stinks."

"We're free!"

"He saved us!"

"We're not going back!"

Tears rolled down cheeks that hadn't smiled in months. Some were men in tattered clothes, others were scarred teens, and there were children too young to grasp what had happened. None of that mattered. At that moment, they all celebrated like they'd just been given their lives back.

Among them stood those barely able to stay on their feet. Their bodies were frail, eyes hollow from suffering. Even so, gratitude lit up their faces.

They knew in their hearts that if that mysterious swordsman hadn't shown up, they'd be heading back into that nightmare—a place where people vanished daily, never to be seen again.

Someone whispered, "I don't know his name, but I'll remember him forever."

"Yeah. He saved our lives. That's enough," another agreed.