The Time Had Come

Looking down on Quintus wasn't exactly an enjoyable experience.

To Karyl, every corner of the city seemed grotesque and terrifying. He knew every inch of it, and yet

he wasn't used to it. He could never get used to it.

Worse still, the feeling intensified when he looked down from high above. And looking down was an essential part of his work.

It was about as infuriating as making someone afraid of heights fly a plane.

The stench-laden, frigid wind blew against him, and all these things seemed to join forces, their distinct, overwhelming presence roaring at Karyl.

"I see it, yes."

Karyl shook his head and murmured, making his promise once more to the nameless dead. "I won't forget my promise."

Standing atop a grim spire, he began rubbing his fingers along the edges of his two blades.

Wraith wasn't behind him. He had disappeared fifteen minutes ago, vanishing completely into the night.

It had taken him just a day and a half to master a skill Karyl had spent over a decade practicing. Now, Wraith had truly earned his name.

A wraith of midnight.

If he wanted to, probably no one could find him in a night this dark. It was a great help with his work. Besides, Wraith also had terrifying strength and speed.

At the thought, Karyl laughed soundlessly, a plainly complicated smile crossing his face. His gaze dropped to a straggler Wraith had missed, moving below.

He let out a quiet breath, then stood and began rolling his shoulders and arms.

The cracking of his bones was relentless, accompanied by faint twinges of pain. Karyl furrowed his brow, slightly exasperated, but only for a moment. He quickly returned to his usual impassive expression.

He was used to enduring pain.

Besides, it wouldn't last much longer.

The time was near.

With a single leap, Karyl jumped from the grim spire and swept across the dark sky like a ghostly shadow.

The fierce wind that rushed into his face carried countless tiny blades, slashing brutally at his skin. Pain and numbness followed, soon beginning to torment his body, but Ghost remained unmoved.

He landed lightly, his feet touching the filthy ground and splashing muddy water. The hem of his cloak brushed past a grimy corner as he walked. Two blades slid from his sleeves, and he swiftly approached the gang member patrolling ahead, without a sound.

Wraith had missed him, but this time, it didn't matter.

A flash of cold light, and blood gushed forth. The wounded man's eyes widened. He tried to cry out in pain and terror, but no sound came—his throat had already been cut open.

Two slashes, two wounds. Simple arithmetic. Taking a life with a swing of the arm was so simple it was terrifying.

Violence.

Ghost sighed soundlessly.

He withdrew his blades and supported the man, taking him back to the corner. After closing the empty eyes, Karyl tossed the body into a dark corner.

He didn't need to clean up the blood he'd left along the way. Plenty of creatures in the Underhive craved it. Nor did he need to dispose of the body. The beasts prowling in the darkness, hungry and restless, would follow the scent of blood.

An ecosystem constructed by human hands.

Cruel, efficient, and a severe test of humanity's moral limits. Like Nostramo, it was an absurd joke.

Karyl narrowed his eyes. He heard faint footsteps overhead, so he silently took a step to the side. The next moment, a shadow dropped from above.

"Karyl," the shadow called softly. "I'm done."

"Well done, Wraith, but be more careful next time."

Karyl turned and pointed his blade toward the corpse in the darkness. "You need to learn the patrol routes properly, too. The fourth sentry you took out was on his patrol route."

Wraith pressed his lips together, frustrated. He was about to say something, but Karyl spoke first.

"No. Don't apologize."

"But I—"

"Don't apologize, Wraith."

Meeting his gaze, Karyl gently and slowly shook his head.

"You've officially started taking part in the work, and you're gradually getting the hang of it. So don't apologize to me. I'm not responsible for your work."

"Responsible?"

Wraith furrowed his brow in confusion and tilted his head, looking a little dejected.

"But I didn't do my best, Karyl."

"'The best' is an absurd concept, Wraith. Everyone defines it differently. You don't have to do what I think is best. You only need to be able to answer to yourself."

As usual, Wraith didn't understand what he meant. But he memorized every word.

Answer to himself. He turned the strange phrase over in his mind.

Nostraman had no words with a similar meaning. Karyl had used an eight-syllable compound expression to convey his meaning precisely.

Wraith silently repeated it, then suddenly felt a strange shiver run through him.

He couldn't tell where the sensation came from, as if it had come from the void. But Wraith had truly been struck by it. His breathing remained as quiet and cautious as ever, but the dead stillness in his eyes began to churn once more.

Then a hand seized his wrist.

Wraith trembled and lowered his head. Two points of blue light flashed and vanished.

"You have to learn to refuse them, Wraith," Karyl said in a low voice. "This instinct, gift, or curse that lets you briefly glimpse the future depends on you to exist. You're its master."

He released Wraith's wrist and spoke calmly. "Take control of it, all right?"

Wraith nodded blankly, even forgetting to ask how Karyl knew he had this ability.

Silence fell. The cold wind swept through the empty alley, where not a soul remained. In the filthy corner, a mass of shadows crawled over one another. A moment later, faint chewing sounds rose from the darkness.

Back atop the gargoyle, looking down at the plaza, Karyl couldn't help frowning.

Their work in the first half of the night hadn't been in this obvious spot for making speeches. Attacking it now would be no different from alerting the enemy.

Using a few gangs far across the city as practice before the main event began was a very good choice.

After all, with the Great Purge approaching, the gangs had all independently imposed curfews in their territories, setting up sentries and patrol routes.

"Their numbers don't add up."

Karyl spoke quietly. There was no need for him to explain his thought process. He knew it inside and out.

But someone needed to learn how to think from the shadows.

That someone was crouched behind the gargoyle, listening quietly.

"This firepower has nothing to do with security for a speech, Wraith. They're obviously here for something else."

Karyl paused, shifting his gaze to the center of the plaza. At some point, an elegant metal podium had appeared there, the Skolevok Family crest gleaming prominently on its front.

Even their crest had to be made to sparkle. How gaudy. But to have set up so many men in advance...

Had they already caught on?

Karyl narrowed his eyes and silently heightened his vigilance. He carefully scanned the rooms with their tightly shut windows again, then the empty plaza and every gloomy lane around it.

But he found no other evidence.

Aside from the obviously disproportionate numbers, nothing else supported his terrible suspicion.

"Karyl?"

At that moment, Wraith spoke softly.

"What is it?"

"I feel..." Wraith hesitated. "Like something's wrong."

Karyl's brow furrowed sharply.

He naturally didn't take Wraith's feeling that something was wrong as a conclusion about the situation below. Wraith hadn't yet learned how to distinguish the malice hidden in those small details.

But that didn't mean he should ignore Wraith's words.

"Is it happening again?"

Karyl turned to him and asked seriously, "Twice in such a short time? Has that ever happened before, Wraith? How do you feel right now?"

Before he had even finished speaking, blue light was already shining in his eyes.

"No, no!" Wraith hurried to stop him. "That's not it. I just feel like someone's—"

He didn't get to finish.

Karyl saw Wraith's expression suddenly twist into a grimace. The next moment, his perception of time slowed, and a single second shattered strangely around them.

Karyl could have left at once. Yet for some reason, he chose to stay where he was.

Wraith gave a low growl, shot out his right hand to seize Karyl's, then leaped up at tremendous speed.

Then the shattered time fused back together.

Bang!

A muffled gunshot broke the silence of the latter half of the night. The gangs, however, showed no reaction.

A massive bullet screamed toward them, turning the gargoyle they had just been crouching on into shattered fragments that scattered through the air.

Wraith carried him away in a few swift leaps. Karyl soundlessly turned his head, just in time to see a black barrel retract beneath the podium.

Interesting.

He smiled without a sound.

Half a minute later, they stopped atop a church several hundred meters from the plaza. Wraith set him down and looked at him with concern, panting heavily, his heartbeat clearly audible.

He said nothing, but his face showed his question plainly.

And Karyl knew Wraith's stamina was more than enough to handle those few leaps without getting tired.

"I'm fine," Karyl replied softly. "But the head of the Skolevok Family doesn't seem like a very patient person, Wraith."

Wraith nodded silently. He didn't understand what Karyl was implying. His expression was plainly twisted with anger, which was slowly washing over his face.

"Calm down." Karyl smiled faintly. "Do you remember what I taught you, Wraith?"

After a long silence, Wraith finally answered.

"...Calmness is the deadliest weapon after a blade."

"Yes." Karyl raised his head and spoke softly. "Calmness is the deadliest weapon after a blade. But there's another half to that saying."

"The other half?"

"That's right."

Ghost bared his teeth and answered Wraith with a smile he had forced onto his face. "Sometimes, anger is even more terrifying—if you know how to use it."

He turned his head. His blades had already slid from his sleeves.

The time was near?

No. The time had come.

Standing at the edge of the church, Karyl took a deep breath of the stench-filled air. Wraith stood behind him, silent. The former was ready, prepared for what was to come, while the latter knew nothing of it.

The night was still long, long enough for many things to happen.