Battle

Heka strode briskly down a street piled high with clutter on both sides. Clothes strung together by thin cords hung overhead, and cold droplets occasionally fell, striking broken bricks and tiles.

Or the shoulders of passersby.

Dim, unreadable eyes watched from the windows on either side, while children flickered in and out of sight at distant street corners.

Though he had deliberately avoided the most crowded streets, he could not avoid all those watching eyes.

Heka looked up at the little brat in the distance hanging a red triangular flag from a chimney.

The moment the other party realized he had been spotted, he ducked out of sight. Heka quickened his pace. His destination lay ahead.

But as he crossed another street, the oppressive feeling he had sensed finally condensed into a venomous snake with a flickering red tongue.

It lay hidden in the shadows, waiting for its chance to strike.

Sweat beaded at his temples, gathered into larger drops along his cheeks, and finally dampened his slightly raised collar.

After turning left ahead was the sewer entrance he had prepared.

Heka raised his hand crossbow. One arm of it slightly pushed up the edge of his robe, while an arrow gleaming with a frightening luster poked its head out from beneath the lifted hem.

Just as Heka had expected, four grown beggars were guarding the place, and there was another little brat on the roof above.

What Heka had not expected was that the manhole was no longer covered by the simple wooden boards he remembered from not long ago.

In their place was a heavy stone slab, secured on both sides with iron plates.

Heka paused for a moment. The gangsters truly wanted to catch him. No one had bothered to cover this opening for three or four years after its cover had been stolen.

The wooden boards that had been there before had only been added by passing merchants so carts could get through during busy hours.

Yet barely over a month after he had gone down there, the gangsters—or someone else—had covered it with a stone slab.

Did this count as making his own modest contribution to municipal construction?

Heka glanced behind him. A child was peeking out from there. He was certain he had been marked. Now, he could only force his way through.

He should have killed that old man back then.

The taut bow arm pulled at the string and shoved the arrow from its shallow groove. It crossed the short distance and buried itself in the chest of the only one among the four with a machete resting beside him.

The man first lowered his head in confusion to look at his chest, then raised it again just as blankly to stare at the small figure in the distance calmly loading a second bolt.

They were beggars, after all. Even with gangsters backing them, they were still just beggars.

No matter how brutal the fights in their world became, they involved cracking people's heads open with clubs. Before fighting, people usually exchanged threats first. In times like these, getting injured meant death.

This sudden sneak attack with an arrow left them completely unable to react.

The second arrow was for the strongest one. As it turned out, excessive exercise was bad for one's health.

The arrow lodged in his abdomen.

Heka had originally aimed for the man's chest, but he had been afraid that these crude crossbows he had made himself would completely break down after only a few uses.

So he had not dared to practice much. He had not even unlocked the crossbow skill.

Heka's poor marksmanship sent the shot off target. Fortunately, the man's front was broad enough to catch it well, and the lower abdomen was still a lethal area.

Heka continued forward while loading the third bolt. The remaining two men, who had originally wanted to rush him and show off their ferocity, had their courage completely drained away.

They turned and ran into the distance. Heka did not pursue them. He needed to move the manhole cover first.

Just as Heka set his hand crossbow on the cover and pushed hard enough to expose a small gap—

A stone came whistling through the air and smashed Heka's head open.

Heka immediately grabbed the crossbow from the cover, then rolled beneath the eaves on the side from which the stone had been thrown.

"Boss, he's here! That guy's here!!"

The shrill child's voice from the roof made Heka's pupils contract instantly. He had glanced at the rooftop just now and seen no sign of that child. He had thought the brat had already left.

He could not wait any longer. Otherwise, once he was attacked from both sides, giving himself a quick death would be the best option.

Heka rolled up his cloak and flung it outside. Sure enough, a stone immediately fell impatiently, pinning the cloak against the wall on the other side.

Heka leaped out from the opposite side at once.

Before the child's horrified expression had fully formed, Heka had already steadied himself and raised his hand crossbow.

He aimed and pulled the trigger. The arrow flew.

The arrow pierced the boy's shoulder. Crying out in pain and terror, the boy fell from the roof, his body slamming into the ground like a fish fillet dropped into boiling oil.

Heka could see that the boy's neck had broken, but he would not make the same mistake twice.

Though the pursuers were not far away, Heka still patiently fired another arrow into the boy's heart. The boy looked only slightly older than Heka.

One inch, two inches.

The stench of rot and rust from the sewers already filled his nostrils. The shoulder bracing the stone was probably red and swollen by now. He would likely need to rest for quite some time afterward.

If this panel could assign points, Heka would definitely put them into strength first.

At last, the opening was wide enough for Heka to pass through. He immediately got up and ran toward the cloak pinned in the corner. That thing was expensive, and he did not have another one.

Heka had already scanned both street corners from the corner of his eye.

The pursuers had not arrived yet. Important assets had to be recovered, especially since he had not traded for any copper coins this time and probably would not be able to trade for any afterward.

He had not bought fuel, clothes, or bedding. If he lost this cloak too, he probably would not survive the coming winter.

The cloak lay in the shadows along one side of the street, but the instant Heka charged toward it, he discovered in horror that the shadow had moved ahead of time.

Then came a fierce gust pressing down on him. Heka instinctively rolled to one side, narrowly avoiding having his waist crushed beneath someone's foot.

He wondered whether claiming that children had no waists would exempt him from that injury.

Before Heka could get back on his feet, an immense force struck his hand, and the unloaded hand crossbow was kicked away.

The fragile crossbow frame instantly tore apart, scattering fragments everywhere.

As Heka looked up, another tremendous force struck his abdomen, pinning his entire body to the wall.

The boy immediately curled up like a boiled shrimp, bent deeply over.

Then, before he could react, a dagger pierced Heka's right palm and nailed it to the wall behind him.

The height forced Heka to stand on tiptoe to keep his palm from being sliced in half by the sharp dagger.

Only then did Heka clearly see the person before him.

It was a man carrying the sea breeze of Seapeak Port, a breeze that never dispersed.

A brown leather belt was tied around his gray clothes. Where it extended past the short gray cape, it bore the distinctive sheen of metal.

Two brass buttons reflected Heka's bedraggled appearance where the shoulder cape overlapped.

Beneath the cape were a pair of hands whose outlines could not be seen.

Only after confirming that the boy before him had completely lost the ability to resist did the man slowly take a step back, unable to hide the delight in his eyes.