I Siphon the Dead to Become the Strongest

”60 Chapters. That’s... (calculates quickly) ...way too many words for one person to write without a nap. Thank you all for the incredible support and for not abandoning me in the trenches!

Remember: A potato that dreams of being a french fry is simply a potato with an ambition problem.

Hold onto your seats, things are about to get weird. Let’s dive in!”

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The burly man stepped forward, gripping his warhammer with both hands, clamping it tight against his chest like he was preparing to shoulder-charge a fortress. His face was set in a mask of grim determination.

”Let’s get serious, brother!” he bellowed, the air around them starting to vibrate. ”Let’s hit this arrogant brat with everything we’ve got!”

In unison, the brothers activated their unique ability: Rapid Rise. There was no dramatic explosion of light, just a sudden, sharp envelope of cerulean energy that clung to their bodies like a second skin. It was a pure, raw buff—a surge of adrenaline and mana that turned their muscles into coiled springs.

The lean man didn’t hesitate. He leaned forward, his center of gravity shifting, and then he launched.

To a normal observer, he would have been a blur. He closed the distance between himself and Hifumi in a heartbeat, his twin axes carving twin ribbons of wildfire into the emerald grass behind him. Feeling the sudden rush of speed, the lean man felt a surge of confidence. He was finally faster than this pretentious foreigner.

”Not so smug now, are you?” he sneered, his voice trailing in the wind. ”I bet those tiny eyes of yours can’t even track me! Maybe in your country, you’re a big fish, but here, you’re just a—”

”If you are going to mock someone’s features or their heritage,” Hifumi interrupted, his voice sounding as though he were discussing the quality of a subpar tea, ”I would implore you to at least put some effort into the insult. Your lack of creativity is almost as offensive as your breath.”

The lean man roared in frustration and unleashed a pair of savage, vertical slices. Swoosh! Swoosh! The flames hissed, cutting through the air, but Hifumi swayed his torso with a fluid, rhythmic grace, the blades passing him by a fraction of an inch.

Desperate to connect, the lean man pivoted into a violent 360-degree spin, bringing the axes around in a horizontal whirlwind of fire.

Hifumi didn’t even bother to step back. Instead, he leaned casually against a nearby boulder, and as the blades swept toward him, he used the rock’s surface to propel himself. With a sudden, acrobatic flick, he launched his body backward, arching his spine until he was momentarily floating in the air, looking for all the world like he was trying to take a nap mid-battle.

CRASH!

The axes slammed into the boulder instead, shattering the stone into a thousand jagged pieces.

”Whoa! He’s quick!” the lean man yelled, barely recovering his balance. ”Just stay put for one second!”

He leaped high into the air, his entire body twisting. He brought both blazing axes down with the force of a falling comet. ”Take this! FIRE FANG!”

A massive, roaring maw of flame erupted from the blades, a predatory wave of fire that surged forward to swallow Hifumi whole. At that exact moment, the burly brother arrived from the flank, slamming his warhammer down with a thunderous roar that shook the very ground.

It was a perfect pincer attack. Fire from the front, crushing steel from the side.

Hifumi didn’t move. He didn’t even raise his hands. He simply looked at the descending hammer and the roaring flame, and a small, thin smile played on his lips.

The attacks hit. Or rather, they tried to.

There was a sudden, violent shimmer in the air. The ”Fire Fang” didn’t consume him; it simply splashed against an invisible wall, the flames folding back on themselves like water hitting a glass pane. The warhammer, designed to pulverize mountains, stopped dead in its tracks, suspended in mid-air by a force that refused to budge even a single micron.

The brothers stared in absolute horror. They were pushing with everything they had—their muscles screaming, their mana draining—but it was as if they were trying to move the entire planet with their bare hands. Hifumi stood in the center of the chaos, untouched, unbothered, and looking utterly bored.

Hifumi sighed, his shoulders dropping as if the sheer weight of the brothers’ incompetence was starting to give him a migraine. He stepped back, finally removing his hands from his pockets with a slow, deliberate motion.

”My turn, then,” he murmured, his voice echoing with a chilling lack of emotion.

Before the brothers could even blink, the world shifted.

Hifumi didn’t just move; he vanished from their field of vision. He became a blur of motion, leaping off the ground and rebounding off the nearby rock walls with a speed that defied the laws of physics.

”He... he was holding back this much speed?” the lean man gasped, his eyes darting frantically.

The brothers looked up, and for a split second, they saw it: five distinct, shimmering afterimages of Hifumi suspended in the air simultaneously. It was a ghostly pantomime of movement, a visual echo of a man who had far surpassed the limits of human reaction.

The burly man didn’t even have time to raise his hammer. One of the afterimages solidified instantly. Hifumi’s hand snapped forward like a piston, his palm burying itself deep into the burly man’s stomach with a precise, devastating strike.

”OOF!”

The sound was a wet, strangled grunt as the air was forcibly evicted from the man’s lungs. He was launched upward, suspended in the air by the sheer force of the blow.

Without even glancing in the direction of the lean man, Hifumi pivoted. He launched himself forward, his body cutting through the air like a razored blade. In one fluid, explosive motion, he delivered a straight kick that connected squarely with the lean man’s chest.

”GAK!”

The impact sounded like a clap of thunder. The lean man was sent hurtling backward, his body skipping across the grass before his back slammed into a boulder with a bone-jarring thud.

But Hifumi wasn’t finished. He returned to the burly man, who was still floating in the air, unable to recover his balance. Hifumi slid beneath him, his movements a graceful, lethal dance. He unleashed a rapid-fire chain of jabs—left, right, left, right—each strike landing with a sharp pop against the man’s torso, overloading his senses with pain.

To finish the performance, Hifumi leaped into a final, tight spin. His leg whipped around in a devastating arc, catching the burly man in the ribs and sending him spinning through the air like a discarded toy.

The burly man sailed through the sky in a clumsy spiral before landing with a heavy thump right next to his unconscious brother.

Hifumi landed softly, his white sneakers barely making a sound on the grass. He didn’t look winded. He didn’t even look sweaty. He simply reached into his pocket and produced a small, pristine handkerchief, carefully wiping a speck of dust from his sleeve.

”Truly,” he sighed, looking at the two defeated rankers with an expression of profound disgust. ”Calling you ’pillows’ would be an insult to the bedding industry.”

Hifumi began to walk toward the two broken men, his pace slow and measured. He looked down at them not with pity, but with the kind of clinical detachment one might use to examine a particularly unsightly stain on a rug.

He paused, glancing up at the idyllic sky, a distant look of nostalgia crossing his features.

”You know,” he began, his voice a smooth, noble drawl, ”back home in Japan, we have these creatures... the macaques. Snow monkeys. They are numerous, loud, and endlessly chaotic. They swarm in great numbers, convinced that their sheer quantity is a substitute for actual strength.”

He looked back down at the brothers, his lip curling in a flicker of disdain. ”But history remembers the one who triumphs over the swarm. It is a fundamental truth that numbers do not determine victory. In the realm of true power, quantity is a consolation prize for the mediocre. It is quality that defines the victor.”

He leaned over slightly, though the men remained motionless, their eyes glazed and distant. A small, cold smile touched his lips.

”I realize you cannot hear me,” he murmured, almost kindly. ”But in a way, that is a mercy. It is far better that you remain oblivious.”

Hifumi straightened his posture and turned his back to them, his expression returning to one of sheer boredom. ”Because if you were awake, you would actually feel the pain of what comes next.”

As he took a single step away, the air behind him didn’t just ripple—it fractured.

A sharp, violent crack echoed through the meadow, as if the very fabric of reality were a sheet of glass being shattered by an invisible hammer. Jagged, obsidian fissures tore open in the space surrounding the two unconscious rankers. Before the brothers could even slide across the grass, a powerful, vacuum-like force seized them, sucking their limp bodies into the void with a sudden, terrifying snap.

Just as quickly as it had appeared, the fractures fused back together. The space sealed itself with a silent, seamless precision, leaving the meadow exactly as it had been.

There was no sign of a struggle. No blood. No bodies.

The only thing remaining on the lush green grass was a single, pristine white handkerchief, fluttering softly in the gentle breeze.

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”And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you treat a ’pincer attack’—with a nap and a handkerchief. Hifumi is officially the most arrogant man in this zip code, and I am here for every single second of it. 💅

But I want to know where you all stand on our favorite narcissist. How would you rate Hifumi’s behavior in this chapter?

😇 Pure Elegance (He’s just stating facts!)

😏 Savage King (The insults were the best part)

🤬 Absolute Menace (Someone please punch him in the face)

😱 Actually Terrifying (The reality fracture gave me chills)