Robbery

At the mouth of a narrow alley less than half a block from where the public carriages were parked, Cyril and Owen, who had taken a shortcut from Backlund University, were cornered by several burly Highlanders.

"Well, well~ Are you two little guys from Intis? Coming into an alley in broad daylight—you're certainly open-minded~"

"Heh heh, I know all about that. Those Intisians sure know how to have fun."

"Don't you know this is Blood Axe Gang territory? We're not like you open-minded Intisians. You've polluted the pure air around here. So tell us, how are you going to compensate us?"

Owen's face paled slightly, and he instinctively took two steps back. Highlanders didn't have a good reputation in Backlund. Most of those who roamed the city were either thugs or hooligans.

He didn't know why they insisted on calling them Intisians, but they were definitely trying to rob them.

Cyril looked just as grim. There were three of them, and only two on his side, so they were outnumbered. On top of that, Highlanders were naturally more muscular than ordinary people. As students who had never done physical labor, he and Owen probably couldn't take on even one of them, let alone all three.

Damn it, was Backlund's public safety really this bad? Or had the East District already expanded to cover half the city? You couldn't even step outside without getting robbed.

The three Highlanders kept urging them on. "Don't stand there dithering like a girl. Hurry up and tell us how you're going to compensate us for the damage to our air!"

"And for the emotional distress!"

"And for the wages we lost while you wasted our time!"

Owen glared at them. "You're robbing us!"

The Highlander in the middle looked at him like he was an idiot. "You only just figured that out?"

"..."

Owen fell silent, unwillingly. He was indignant, but when it came to physical strength, the other guy could teach him a lesson with one hand.

Cyril reached into his pocket and fumbled around for a moment before taking out two banknotes and handing them over.

"Two pence? You think we're beggars?"

Though he spoke with contempt, the Highlander in front of him still reached out and took the two-pence note.

"You can't expect two students who haven't even started working to have much money, can you? This is what I would've spent on breakfast today."

Cyril replied calmly, then reached into his pocket again, his eyes quickly sweeping over the three men opposite him.

As he focused his attention, the pale Spirituality around the three men grew clearer and more distinct. He could see that it was unevenly distributed and didn't flow smoothly, like an old, faulty machine. It might look like it was running normally on the surface, but the moment one weak point was pushed past its limit, it would grind to a halt.

Could this be... I can see their weak points?

After a moment, he inconspicuously glanced at Owen beside him, comparing the Spirituality around him with that of the three men opposite.

In terms of its intensity, Owen's Spirituality was even stronger than that of the three brawny Highlanders, but it had a hint of black in it, as if it were being affected by some kind of interference.

As for the three Highlanders, they seemed a little more bark than bite. They'd been injured recently, which was probably why they'd come here to rob students who liked taking shortcuts.

"What are you feeling around in there for? You're taking too long. Don't want to pay up?"

Cyril's continued rummaging in his pocket had annoyed the Highlander opposite him. The one who'd just taken his two pence stepped forward, put a hand on his shoulder, and reached toward his pocket with the other.

"You..."

The words died on his lips. His eyes widened in disbelief as he looked down.

Cyril had his other hand pressed against the man's lower abdomen, gripping a silver dagger. Its other end had sunk into the man's body, and he'd twisted it once.

A deep red stain spread rapidly. The sudden pain and loss of blood made the man's head spin and his strength ebb away. His body slumped uncontrollably toward Cyril.

"Shorty, what are you doing? Since when were you into this kind of thing? Now's not the time to enjoy yourself, though."

His companion's voice came from behind him. The Highlander in front of Cyril wasn't short at all. He opened his mouth.

"Huh~"

Bang!

Cyril didn't give him a chance to speak. He pulled out the dagger and drove a knee into the man, kicking him away.

The other two Highlanders reacted quickly. One caught their companion, while the other clenched his fist and charged at Cyril. Without changing expression, Cyril raised his dagger and swung it toward the man's weak point.

Thud!

"Ugh..."

Before the dagger could reach his opponent, Cyril was sent flying by a punch. He slammed into the wall behind him with a heavy grunt.

Damn, I overestimated myself. Seeing their weak points is useless if I can't hit them. Even injured, a Highlander's physical strength still blows a frail student like me out of the water.

"Kid, you've got some nerve. You even tried to ambush us."

The Highlander Cyril had just struck with his fist charged at him again, his bandaged fist cutting through the air with a sharp whistle.

Thud!

Cyril ducked just in time. The man's fist slammed into the wall with a dull thump, sending up a cloud of dust.

Judging by its force, he had no doubt that if the punch had landed on him, he would've died on the spot.

"Paralysis!"

A strange word suddenly rang out. It wasn't a language commonly used on either the Northern Continent or the Southern Continent, yet Cyril somehow understood what it meant.

The voice came from Owen, who was holding a square, dark greenish-black talisman.

At the incantation, the talisman instantly crumbled to ash in his hand. A strange, visible ripple burst from where it had vanished and swept rapidly over the surroundings. The three Highlanders froze on the spot.

"Move! The talisman won't hold them for long!"

At Owen's words, Cyril didn't hesitate. He went around the Highlander in front of him, grabbed Owen, and ran out of the alley and onto the street.

There was no way he was going to kill anyone—not because he was afraid to, but because he didn't want to get caught and sent to a police station cell or a church basement. He might be able to post bail after the former, but the latter could end with the God of Steam and Machinery personally sending him on his way.

Well, all right. He was at least a little afraid of killing someone.

At 32 Weldi Street in the South Bridge District, in Owen Garcia's home.

Cyril sat on the living room sofa, tightly gripping a teacup in his right hand. Owen was beside him, applying ointment to his injured shoulder.

After taking that punch from the leader of the Highlanders, Cyril felt as if his entire left shoulder blade had cracked. The pain was excruciating.

"Ahh~" He turned to look at Owen, who was still applying the ointment, and asked hesitantly, "Are you sure this stuff works? Maybe I should go to the hospital instead?"

The injured spot had only hurt before, but after Owen applied the ointment, it was not only painful but itchy, too.

Feeling slighted, Owen replied, "This is a Beyonder potion! I spent ten pounds on this one bottle. Ten pounds!"

"Fine..."

Cyril nodded slightly, reluctantly deciding to trust him.

Once he'd finished applying the ointment, Owen sat down at the other end of the sofa and asked curiously, "Why did you pull me away just now? We'd already subdued those Highlanders. Shouldn't we have turned around and taught them a lesson?"

Cyril looked up at the young man, who clearly still wasn't satisfied, and said in exasperation, "Would you rather be locked up in a police station cell or in a church basement?"

"They may be gangsters, but if we killed someone in the street, we'd definitely get dragged into it. Besides, if two ordinary students killed three Highlander gangsters, even an idiot would know something was wrong."

Owen belatedly realized the problem, then said worriedly, "They'll definitely try to get revenge on us."

Cyril nodded and continued, "But they won't be able to find us. At most, they'll keep watch near Backlund University. We've taken leave, so we don't need to go back to school for a while."

Owen asked, "What if they keep waiting for us near the school?"

Cyril said, "If they keep waiting for us, how will they make money to buy food?"

"Uh... You're right."

Owen nodded blankly. He'd never thought of it that way before, but he had to admit it made sense. Gangsters needed to make money to eat, too.

When the conversation ended, the two fell silent. Neither knew how to start a new topic.

They were classmates and members of the same club, but Cyril wasn't the same person he'd been before. His fragmentary memories held no details about his time with Owen.

Owen, meanwhile, had grown distant from his classmates and clubmates after his parents died. After spending so much time alone, he wasn't used to being around other people anymore.