Criminal

June 8, 1346, night.

Nearly three days had passed since the last banquet, and Count Altair's "Factory Plan" was still in preparation.

Now he had come to the East District, ready to complete another assassination. As before, based on the intelligence gathered, he lay in ambush along the "target's" only route, waiting for the target to appear before shooting them dead.

The dimly lit path before him was that very route.

Altair lay idly on the rooftop, staring at the Crimson Moon in the sky, obscured by the thick clouds from Bexland's factory emissions. This city's night was even worse than the urban nightscape of his own era.

When he heard sounds from the street corner, he turned his head and saw five drunkards staggering along, supporting each other.

As time passed, the distance shrank. Once Altair confirmed these were his targets, he sat up halfway for a better sniping position.

The "Lever Rifle" was stylish, sure, but lying down made reloading awkward.

After emptying the rifle's magazine and packing up to leave, he instinctively glanced at the bodies below.

One, two... four, four! One missing!

He immediately jumped down from the building and approached to confirm.

Four corpses. One had fled. Looking at the trail of blood, he thought, "You're not getting away."

Following the bloodstains, Altair tracked him tightly. When he reached a corner in the alley, a dagger suddenly slashed toward his face.

Altair instinctively bent backward, executing a difficult backbend to dodge the attack.

As the dagger swept past where his head had just been, he twisted sideways and kicked it out of the assailant's hand.

With the dagger clattering to the ground, Altair eyed the man warily.

He thought, "Hit square in the chest by a .45-70 Round Nose Bullet and still alive, with enough strength to run and counterattack—is this guy even normal?"

Seeing that Altair hadn't attacked immediately, the enemy blurted out anxiously, "Who sent you? Don't kill me! I'll give you money—I have lots and lots of money..."

"I still have a house in Bexland's West District, I have..."

When he realized Altair wasn't swayed by the offer of cash, he quickly added, "Do you know about Beyonders? I can give you the Potion Recipe—you can brew the potion and become a Beyonder!"

The moment he heard "Beyonder," Altair understood why the man hadn't died from the shot—he was one.

Still, he was curious which Pathway could withstand a bullet that blew a hole through the chest. So he asked, "Which Pathway's Potion Recipe do you have? What's it called?"

Hearing the assassin ask about his Potion Recipe, the man knew he still had a chance to live. "After all, who can resist becoming a Beyonder?"

He let out a breath and said, "'Criminal.' Don't misunderstand, don't misunderstand—the Potion Recipe's name is 'Criminal.' I'm a Beyonder of this Pathway myself, and I can guarantee the recipe is correct. And look—you shot me with a powerful High Pressure Steam Rifle, and I'm still moving. That proves this Pathway is strong. It'll definitely satisfy you..."

Hearing this, Altair lost interest. The "Abyss Pathway"? Only someone with a screw loose would choose that.

Seizing the moment while the man was still relaxed, Altair dashed behind him, stomped on his knee joint, grabbed his head with both hands, and with a crack, the target went limp.

When it was over, Altair let go, and the lifeless body crumpled to the ground.

Looking around, he noticed that the commotion had prompted someone to light a Gas Lamp in their house, but fear kept them from stepping out to stop him.

Altair shook his head with a self-deprecating smirk. What just happened was probably common in the East District—its public safety was only marginally better than the Dock District's.

Not wanting to stir up trouble, he had no choice but to drag the corpse deeper into the alley.

Seeing the black-red gel oozing from the chest wound, Altair scooped it into a cigarette case he'd prepared earlier, pocketed it, and left the scene.

He didn't have a cheat like the "Source Fortress." Keeping Extraordinary Traits in a cigarette case for long wasn't feasible—this was just a temporary fix. The real solution was to get back to the Manor and use materials to build a "Spirit Wall" to seal and preserve it.

As for where the cigarette case came from, Altair could only offer a silent "apology": "Using your own case to hold your Extraordinary Trait—at least I didn't shortchange you."

After leaving the area, Altair took the backstreets home. To kill time, he walked and danced, moving with elegant steps.

If anyone had seen him, they'd have taken him for a poor soul driven mad by fear—what sane person, covered in bloodstained clothes, would prance around so wildly?

When he got home, he entered through the door Hahn had left unlocked. Finding Hahn still sitting by the entrance, now asleep, Altair gently patted his shoulder. "Hahn, wake up. I'm back. Don't sleep here—go to bed."

As Hahn slowly opened his eyes, he saw Altair's clothes stained with large patches of blood. Pointing anxiously, he asked, "Count Altair, your clothes..."

Seeing Hahn's reaction, Altair glanced at his own attire and admitted it looked bad. "It's not mine. I got it from an enemy during today's 'hunt.'"

Hearing this, Hahn lowered his hand with relief, shook his head with a sigh, and asked helplessly, "Count Altair, it seems today's outing didn't go smoothly. Should we pause for a while?"

Altair shook his head at Hahn's concerned words. "It's fine, Hahn. I just happened to run into a Beyonder. Ordinary people are no match for me, don't worry."

He then pulled out the night's trophy and handed it to Hahn. "This is what I got—an Extraordinary Trait from a 'Criminal.' Help me seal it with the materials."

"I'm going to take a bath first. Now that you mention it, I do smell pretty bad all over."

After giving his instructions, Altair returned to his room, stripped off the bloodied clothes in the washroom, tossed them aside for tomorrow, and sank into a warm bath.

But his mind was elsewhere. "Killing Beyonders is definitely better than killing ordinary people. Under normal circumstances, I'd need at least three months to complete the 'Acting.' But with this intense stretch of Acting, plus tonight's Beyonder, I have a feeling I can prepare for advancement in a month."

Based on the Extraordinary Materials his household had gathered, he wouldn't lack materials up to Sequence Six. But Sequence Five and beyond were "restricted items" in the major churches, nations, and organizations.

He'd have to rely on "Mr. World" to buy them on his behalf.