The air froze, and the farmer gazed at Magnus with eyes filled with horror. This defiance of logic left him unable to think.
Why would the heavy lumber axe fly on its own? Why did this German seem like he intended to kill him? How could a loser have such guts?
He thought of many things. His weed-like beard almost froze to the axe, and the cold touch brought him back to reality.
The blond young man was looking at him coldly, as if looking at a corpse: "I only want the reward I deserve."
"I... I'll pay, all my money, please, don't kill me."
Magnus lowered his hand; he was only using his power to claim what he deserved. He didn't like killing; he had seen too much death.
"No need, I just take what's mine. That is justice, I have no intention to harm."
Magnus reached into the farmer's pocket, took out a bundle of loose change, counted out what he was owed, and then grabbed the floating axe, taking it down from the air.
The sky was getting late; he had to hurry to town to buy food. The village only had corn and potatoes; he couldn't let his daughter eat these all the time.
He needed to buy some cheese and sausage-like items because in winter, with the terrible road conditions, he could only walk over on his own two legs.
This would take quite some time.
He left the farmhouse, went home for a bit, told his wife where he was going, and then kissed his sleeping daughter.
The road was hard to walk. The Ukrainian winter was a nightmare for any traveler. Not to mention the snow seeping into his shoes; just the cold wind alone would freeze a person into a popsicle.
The planned economy naturally had its flaws, being that without 'distribution quota,' even with rubles, buying what you wanted often required going through someone 'extraordinarily resourceful,' needing even more rubles.
Those without official status had no distribution quota, which is why he needed to collect his full reward. He needed more money to buy fewer goods.
After spending more time, Magnus finally reached his goal, buying cheese and sausages for his daughter and a purple-red headscarf for Magda; winter required it.
There was also a bag of wheat; getting this bag of grain took him much effort. His Russian wasn't very good, and the people here, as he had said, were somewhat 'conservative'...
But when everything was ready, he felt his efforts were worth it; his home was safe again. With a stove and food, they could hold out a long time until winter was over.
The sky was completely dark, making everything around seem colder. He couldn't even afford a flashlight, so he had to rely on moonlight, trudging along the uneven path.
He carried a sack while struggling on the way home, but before he got far, climbing a hill, he saw a shocking scene.
His small house, his home, was on fire.
He dropped the grain and ran frantically toward his house, and as he got closer, he saw many people crowding around his home.
But these people weren't there to extinguish the fire; on the contrary, they held torches, sickles, and grass forks.
Adults, children, the elderly, encircled the burning house, with smiles on their faces, as if attending some festival.
"Magda! No!" He slipped and fell to his knees. It wasn't just that he hadn't eaten dinner; it seemed everything drained his strength, yet he still crawled toward the burning house.
The villagers noticed him, their expressions theatrically vivid, but after the vibrant display faded, they all wore malicious smiles.
"How is it still alive?"
"Wicked creature!"
"Give me your knife, Ivan."
"Must be a wizard; if we don't cut off his head and burn it, he'll haunt the entire village!"
The villagers swarmed in, pinning Magnus to the ground, restraining his limbs as if preparing to slaughter him like a pig, tilting his head back.
"Here, this spot, Ivan, slit its throat here."
"Here I come, killing a German wizard, maybe we can trade his body for a medal."
Seeing the bear-like brute approaching him, Magnus gradually recovered from the fear of losing his family, replaced by endless fury and killing intent.
In the concentration camps, he had lost his parents, watching them be pushed into incinerators, and today's flames only reminded him of the cold reality.
He wasn't focusing on the knife in front of him, the one nearing his throat. Instead, his gaze remained on the small house not far off.
Utopia does not exist; evasion is never a solution. He had one path left: to fight for his justice!
Magnus was intelligent; he just hadn't had many opportunities to learn. Anyone escaping from a concentration camp would find it hard to seem clever.
Claustrophobia, agoraphobia, persecution paranoia, rickets, hallucinations, and delusions would all occur in prisoners.
But he had learned the knowledge he needed, stuff the twisted NAZI doctors muttered as they experimented on him.
He mastered his ability and learned how to kill, which was easier than he imagined.
As the brute with the knife got closer, Magnus spoke, it wasn't a plea or prayer, nor did he call out his wife's name again. Instead, with an unusually calm tone, he said:
"The human body contains about three to four grams of iron, these trace metals work incessantly, enabling oxygen transfer throughout the body."
"Huh? What's that? Some incantation?" The brute with the knife laughed and asked the people around him, and they all responded with laughter.
But those holding Magnus released their grips, as they could no longer restrain him.
The ground shook violently, and a massive trench appeared, tearing through the ashy snow and revealing the black earth beneath.
Innumerable black particles gathered, forming a small disk, lifting Magnus effortlessly.
Magnus spread his arms like a god descending, stood in the air, slightly curled his fingers, and extracted all the iron elements from their bodies entirely.
"No iron, no oxygen."
Everyone present seemed grabbed by an invisible hand, their faces instantly turning blue and purple. Depriving red blood cells of oxygen's ability, this method of killing was faster than mechanical asphyxiation.
People immediately began to vomit, then bled from every orifice, curling like insects in the snow, regardless of gender or age.
Magnus merely floated quietly, watching them die swiftly and silently.
He alone could easily wipe out all the guards in a concentration camp, as effortlessly as crushing a few ants. They were fully armed warriors, and these mobs were nothing compared to ants now.
This is a world where not killing means being killed.
Humans are fragile and foolish, but it's no one's fault; the world itself is wrong, and he must fix it to prevent his tragedy from replaying.
He slowly descended to the ground and looked at the house burned to the ground, standing in silence for a moment.
"There is no more Magnus."
He said to himself, black metal powder gathered beside the corpse, forming a small saucer, carrying some ashes from the room to him, and he pinched a bit to put in his pocket, letting the rest scatter with the wind.
"Only the Magnetic King."