Dance in the Rainy Night (1)

There were thirty-six outposts in total.

Karyl gazed at the night view below, calmly rubbing the blades of his daggers, which were held vertically along his wrists and palms, with his index fingers.

The faint scraping sound did not escape Wraith's ears. He lowered his head, glanced at Karyl's hands tucked within his cloak, and nodded thoughtfully.

A whistling cold wind swept across the rooftops. Tonight was different from usual; it seemed to be colder.

Below, many pointed roofs were stacked eerily together. Not far away stood an apartment that looked abandoned. It was dilapidated now, but Karyl could still glimpse its former glory from a few details.

On the main body of the apartment, a few surviving fragments of windows reflected the dazzling brilliance of the neon lights, casting an unpleasant, shattered glow. A few shadowy figures flickered past in the background.

The old district was like this, more somber than the new district, and without the GG signs from the factories. In fact, nearly half of the old district lacked electricity.

"Should we wait, Karyl?" Wraith asked softly, his voice hissing.

Karyl remained silent, breathing calmly, but the speed at which his fingers rubbed the blades quickened.

Wraith glanced at him with concern. In his opinion, Karyl had become somewhat strange after their conversation about the "countdown."

He didn't know if this change was good or bad, but he instinctively disliked it.

"...No, we won't wait, Wraith," Karyl said after a long pause. "However, our plan needs to change."

Wraith nodded quietly, ready to listen.

"Along the border between the old and new districts, this scum of the Glory Warlords has set up thirty-six outposts. They've even mounted heavy machine guns, set up dispersed patrol teams, and there are checkpoints on the roads."

Karyl grinned, a smile that was not quite a smile. "Such a grand welcoming ceremony. Do you know what this means, Wraith?"

"I don't know," Wraith replied. "But what do you need me to do, Karyl?"

His words made Karyl turn his head. The Wraith's expression now seemed somewhat complex. After a moment, he spoke slowly.

"It means the people from the Skolevok Family are arriving tonight."

"There's only one road connecting Quintus's new district and the old district. The Glory Warlords can't block it for too long. Other gangs backed by nobles also need this road for their business."

"So, it's tonight, Wraith."

"What do you need me to do?" Wraith asked again. "I'm ready, Karyl."

"No, don't ask me what you should do, Wraith."

Karyl shook his head. "Everyone has their own opinions, their own ideas. You don't need to constantly rely on my plans. This is just a job; you and I are partners. We have an equal relationship."

Wraith looked at him blankly.

"Therefore, tonight, I want you to improvise."

Karyl smiled slightly. "Thirty-six outposts, all yours. The method doesn't matter, Wraith. I'll cover the sound for you. As for the Skolevok family... I'll handle them."

He chuckled, his voice dissipating in Nostramo's cold night wind, like broken words or a monster's growl.

Then, with a blue light in his eyes, he leaped down, disappearing into the night beyond Wraith's sight.

Act alone.

Second time.

Improvise.

First time.

Wraith blinked, his heart pounding. He quickly realized this and, mimicking Karyl, took several deep breaths.

The cold, foul-smelling air entered his lungs, but when he exhaled, there was no scent. It even turned into warm mist that dissipated in the air.

Wraith didn't know what this meant yet, but he found it interesting and effective.

But thirty-six outposts...

What should I do?

Wraith crouched down and stroked the gargoyle's head. He hadn't named this gargoyle, not because he disliked its corroded, pitted ugliness, but because of its incompleteness.

It was missing a horn.

For some reason, Wraith didn't want to name it, not at all. He didn't want a codename to replace the gargoyle's image in his mind.

He slowly stroked the pitted gargoyle at his feet until its bronze head was completely warmed by his palm. Then, Wraith spoke, bidding it farewell.

"Goodbye, Mr. Gargoyle with the broken horn."

Wraith politely bowed and whispered in the gargoyle's ear, "I'm going to clear out thirty-six outposts. Can you wish me luck?"

The gargoyle did not reply.

It continued to stare grimly below, its fangs bared from its bronze lips, its claws scraping the heavy stone base beneath its feet. Wraith acted as if he were listening intently, though the gargoyle said nothing.

After a moment, he blinked and suddenly laughed.

Wraith patted the gargoyle's head affectionately, then stood up and leaped down in the same posture as Karyl.

His tattered robe flapped noisily in the strong wind, and the forced condensation of cold mist hit his face, but he didn't even blink.

Soon, he landed. More precisely, he landed on the roof of a house. Then he began to run, this time his steps were silent and soundless, a kind of stretching power blooming within his body.

Jump—climb—stop and observe. During a three-minute sprint, Wraith quietly reached the top of a spire.

Before this, Karyl had passed all the sentries with him silently, and Wraith had silently noted down all their positions and anything else that might be useful.

Karyl had said to be cautious.

Faint voices drifted up from below; two people were talking. Wraith listened patiently for a moment, hoping to glean some useful information, but found none.

He didn't want to know how to please men and women separately; it would be of no help to what he was about to do.

So he continued his actions.

Wraith's movements were extremely cautious and careful, his fingernails not digging into the gaps between bricks and tiles, but merely lightly piercing them. Before each descent, he would even repeatedly confirm whether the foothold could truly bear his weight.

And he was fortunate; the building material of this spire was also sturdy.

Soon, he silently climbed above a window on the spire. The window was open, a long, black gun barrel protruding from it, with smoke swirling and gushing out from within the window, scattering.

"Just as I said, Bango, you're really not cut out for this."

A hoarse female voice said, full of disappointment.

"Quintus is full of academies. Even if you don't want to pay, you can just find a few people in the lower districts to take care of it, and then sell them to the butcher shops to make money. Why are you chasing after that woman from the shantytown? She's as skinny as a damn rib!"

"She, she's different, Norse, she's different."

Bango stammered in reply. "I think she's special, really, her eyes are beautiful."

"Everyone's eyes are black, damn it! What can you tell? Don't play dumb here, Bango. By the way, didn't you go give her something a few days ago?"

"."

"Answer me, Bango!"

"Yes, I gave her a smoked thigh."

"Whose goods?"

"Gerturis's."

"Damn it, you idiot, you took Gerturis's smoked goods to give to a commoner from the shantytown. The other gangs will die laughing at us. I can't stand it anymore. After this job is done, I'll take you to find that woman."

"No, no, don't! Don't, Norse, don't—"

"—Don't what? You're not that green kid anymore! You're with the Glory Warlords now, I'm telling you, Bango, you have no choice!"

Hearing this, Wraith frowned.

He couldn't fully understand what these two people were talking about, but he keenly heard a dismissiveness from the woman named Norse that he found unbearable.

She did not regard the workers and commoners in the shantytown as human beings.

This made Wraith very unhappy.

He didn't like this.

Wraith released his left hand, his body rotating freely with gravity. The sharp and hard nails of his right hand left deep marks on the spire's bricks and stones, and with his rotation, it even formed a deep circle.

Then, he leaped, entering the room through the window. Wraith had no intention of hiding his arrival, but he still overestimated the two's reaction speed. Or rather, he underestimated what he himself could do.

In the first second of entering the room, Wraith had already gripped the head of the woman named Norse with his long right hand. With a gentle pull, blood splattered.

As for the man named Bango...

In Wraith's sight, his expression had subtly changed. It was shifting from worry and embarrassment to deep fear. His mouth was opening and closing, seemingly still stuck in the stage of trying to persuade Norse not to cause trouble for others.

"Goodbye, Bango."

Wraith nodded at him. "Karyl said some of you aren't born bad, but joined gangs out of necessity. But things changed after that, and we can't forgive you on behalf of the dead."

Wraith waved his left hand, ending Bango's life.

He knew many ways to kill, but he chose to give Bango the quickest and almost painless sleep.

Thirty-five more.

Dropping Norse's head, he wiped the blood with his robe. Wraith walked to the spire's window. He glanced at the long-barreled black firearm, reached out, and with his fingernails, forcibly cut off the gun barrel.

He turned, sat on the windowsill, and began to alternately use the index and middle fingers of his right hand to sharpen the front end of the gun barrel. Half a minute later, it had transformed from a heavy gun barrel into a sharp, black spike.

Wraith grasped it and, imitating Karyl, swung it once. The sharp whistling sound of air being cut flashed and vanished. Its length wasn't quite what Wraith required; Karyl's knife could leave a long blade section while fitting snugly against the wrist and palm.

But this was enough.

Wraith smiled with satisfaction, then leaped down, disappearing into the night.

The night was still long, with thirty-five more sentry posts awaiting his visit.