Skill: Blade Quenching

"That idiot practically wanted to lick the floor clean, so I brought the box over first."

--It wasn't a lie.

They really were being dealt with now. They were just being dealt with along with the box.

Horn silently added that quip in his heart, tugged at his hood, and tried his best to hide his face in its hanging shadow.

Aside from the woman he had seen at the beginning, who had clearly undergone deep mutation, the other Scarlet-infected might have stronger constitutions than ordinary people, but not by much. At the very least, with a pitch-black gun barrel pressed to their foreheads, they feared death just like anyone else.

Thus, they told him everything they knew.

After briefly interrogating the Hound Gang member and learning quite a bit of useful information, Horn gratefully flipped his wrist and smashed the gunstock into the back of Gary's head. During Gary's brief dizziness, he summoned [Flame of Destiny] and burned away the scarlet spirituality spreading through his body.

Burning the spirituality within someone unconscious and someone conscious were entirely different in difficulty. To conserve his spiritual reserves, Horn repeated the process, giving Jamie—who had just begun to stir and had not yet opened his eyes—a heavy blow. Amid peaceful silence, he harmlessly dealt with both of them.

"Mm..."

Horn stared thoughtfully at the flames dancing over his fingertips.

Although Jamie's understanding of the supernatural was limited to "the boss is really good at fighting" and "Crimson Nectar tastes great," he knew quite a lot about the Hound Gang's personnel structure. For instance, they drew lots every time to decide who would carry the "grapes."

With disgust, he kicked the box the Hound Gang called "grapes," which was filled with blood and mangled animal organs, waiting to be poured into the Blood Pool for brewing. Feeling the abundant spirituality inside, Horn—who had originally planned to sneak through and kill every witness—suddenly had an idea.

--Hey, I've got an idea!

And so, relying on this black robe, Horn had made it here without encountering any obstacles.

The cold barrel at his waist had been warmed by his rising body temperature. He bent low, reaching one hand downward. As he waited for a response from the Hound Gang leader emerging from within, Jim Belloc, the "Bloodhound," Horn's heartbeat gradually quickened.

"Heh, what an idiot. You're too slow."

Though the man looked somewhat unfamiliar, the Hound Gang had recently recruited quite a few new members. Seeing the standard Hound Gang hood and the red eyes beneath it, Belloc let down his guard.

His eyes were red. How could he not be one of them?

As though looking at a man about to die, Belloc even showed a little extra patience and pity toward the overly young-looking figure before him. He pointed toward the Blood Pool inside and ordered:

"Fine, since you're here, pour the 'grapes' in. I'll go upstairs and call the others. We'll be busy in a bit."

Having muddled through with disguise and a bit of luck, Horn let out a breath of relief. Following Belloc's instructions, he picked up the box he had just set down and slowly, slowly approached the Blood Pool—

"Whoosh!"

Without warning, a vicious gust came from behind. Never having lowered his guard, Horn instinctively dodged left, narrowly avoiding the blade's straight thrust. Even so, a vicious bloody gash was carved across his side.

Beneath his torn clothes, blood flowed freely.

He instinctively turned to draw his gun, and Horn stared at Belloc in shock, finding the same astonishment reflected in the other man's eyes.

The Hound Gang boss was attacking one of his own?!

How did this porter notice?!

Fortunately, as a certain famous scholar of Chinese classics had once said, beyond seven steps, the gun was faster.

Within seven steps, the gun was both accurate and fast!

"Bang!"

Belloc had only withdrawn his blade halfway when the Browning M1900 semi-automatic pistol let out its roar.

Of all martial arts, this was American-style Iaijutsu!

"Who are you?!"

Belloc demanded in a furious roar. Shot in the shoulder, he was like a wounded beast. Rather than retreating, his ferocity surged.

Beyond the gun smoke obscuring his vision, a blade pierced through the haze and charged straight at Horn!

Still not dead?

Were all these monsters cockroaches?

Rolling away in disarray, Horn once again avoided the blade slashing for his throat. A section of his black cloak was severed, and the torn flap flew high.

His second attack having missed as well, Belloc instead calmed down slightly and took a faint breath. His free right hand pulled a vial of even more concentrated scarlet reagent from his pocket, and he drank it in one gulp.

Before the naked eye, the exposed flesh around the gruesome wound near Belloc's shoulder writhed like worms, slowly forcing out the bullet embedded within.

Rapid regeneration!

Taking advantage of Belloc taking medicine, Horn sidestepped to widen the distance. Both hands clenched around the grip, his eyes locked firmly onto Belloc's position as he silently aimed.

Although this was Horn's first time using a firearm, he reloaded it with practiced ease. Like its creator, he made it submit and silently fulfill the duty it had been born for.

Meticulous.

Colorless flames flickered faintly over the knurling of the barrel.

Calibrating the trajectory, eliminating recoil, shaping the sights...

[Flame of Destiny] seeped deep into the semi-automatic pistol as an extension of Horn's senses. From the firing pin and primer to the rifling, every detail was broken apart and reconstructed, faithfully appearing in Horn's mind with perfect clarity.

Suppressing recoil and ensuring every bullet went exactly where it was meant to go, utterly disregarding the semi-automatic classification of the gun in his hands, a satisfying five-shot burst echoed through the entire warehouse.

Of all martial arts, this was Emptying the Magazine!

Facing the raised muzzle, Belloc's arm veins bulged as he advanced instead of retreating. He raised his blade high, using its body to shield his head. At the same time, both feet kicked fiercely against the ground, and his body shot straight toward Horn like an arrow released after being drawn to its limit.

After surviving for so many years in the Lower District and earning the nickname "Bloodhound" through real blades and real guns, Jim Belloc had never relied solely on the physical prowess and fighting instincts granted by [Thug]. He also possessed a skill learned from blood and tempered through pain, one that could be called "supernatural."

Compared to firearms, a knife could inflict far greater destruction in his hands.

Wrapped in a layer of sharp cold light, the blade tilted slightly and met the incoming bullets.

Skill: [Blade Quenching]!

[Blade Quenching: The Spear-Wielding Snake Guards use this method to temper their own bodies until they reach flawlessness. Wise mortals, however, apply the techniques they developed to blades instead, sparing their overly fragile flesh from destruction.]

"Bzzzt—"

The steel blade trembled violently. Even with the cold light reinforcing it, it warped severely. The metal let out a pained wail as cracks spread across it.

It blocked three bullets screaming toward his head, but the other two—whose trajectories Horn adjusted in time—fulfilled their duty, striking Belloc's unprotected torso accurately and spraying blood.

A hit!

Unfortunately, it wasn't enough.

Belloc gritted his teeth and let out a muffled groan. The sharp yellow light in his eyes rapidly dimmed, but the brief distance Horn had just opened was closed again. The edge was right before him. The cold glint thrust forward and condensed to a single point, and merely approaching it made Horn's chest turn cold.

With his back against the Blood Pool, there was nowhere left to retreat.

So Horn leaned backward.

And fell into the blood.