Victory

The blade swept through.

As Lorry exerted himself, he felt something slippery beneath his blade.

For an instant, he could not help feeling that he was facing not a man, but a slippery loach.

If not for the exceptional steadiness granted by Agile Hands, his blade would probably have slipped aside the moment he struck, costing him this opportunity.

"Die!"

In the darkness, Lorry's exceptional eyesight caught the terror on Glowa's face. Hatred flared in his eyes as he deftly turned his wrist.

Keeping a firm grip on the Half-Moon Scimitar, he flicked it upward with a forceful twist of his wrist.

A great spray of blood erupted, splashing across Lorry's face and body.

Glowa's towering body went rigid. A rasping sound came from him like an old bellows, and bloody froth kept gushing out with every breath.

He raised his gauntleted left hand and struggled to press it against his throat.

Lorry struck again, severing his left hand as well.

Glowa stared at Lorry with wide eyes filled with defiance, bewilderment, and other tangled emotions. Above all, though, there was his desperate attachment to life.

He had probably never imagined that he would die on this assignment.

After all, his target was merely a lowly pickpocket. Even if some strange things had happened to the boy, he had been confident he could subdue him.

"Why?"

Glowa spat bloody froth as he forced out the word in broken gasps.

Lorry watched him expressionlessly until his breathing stopped, the light left his eyes, and his body hit the floor with a heavy thud.

"Your death was sealed the moment you entered this storeroom."

"This... is my home ground."

He toyed with the Half-Moon Scimitar in his hand, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

Glowa had indeed been difficult to deal with.

But in this fight, he had made use of every advantage he had.

His decisive gunshot had not achieved the ideal result of killing his opponent outright, but it had still played a significant role.

Once injured, Glowa's fighting ability had naturally declined.

That had given him the initiative.

Lorry had thoroughly cleaned the storeroom just three days earlier, so he knew where everything in this battlefield was placed.

The Half-Moon Scimitar in his hand, for instance.

It was only half the size of his palm, yet exceptionally sharp.

Lorry had tried handling it for a while back then and found it very comfortable to use. That was why he had headed straight for it without hesitation after running out of bullets.

He could not possibly fight the nearly two-meter-tall Glowa barehanded.

Of course, there had been another important reason Lorry had chosen the storeroom: its cramped confines suited his fighting style better.

The outcome before him proved it.

Glowa was dead, while he was still very much alive.

"It seems a Marauder-no, half a Marauder-isn't entirely helpless in a fight, provided he uses his head, doesn't charge in blindly, and makes full use of his pathway's strengths."

Lorry was certain that if he had returned to the more spacious bedroom and fought Glowa with a dagger or hatchet, he would have been the one lying on the floor now.

He slowly forced out a breath, then turned and headed toward the kitchen.

Glowa had destroyed the kitchen door earlier. Lorry only needed to cross the threshold to see the entire room clearly in the crimson moonlight.

Yet he stood outside in the scarlet blood, unable to bring himself to take that step.

After several seconds of silence, Lorry gritted his teeth and stepped inside.

The old man lay on the cold floor, all signs of life long gone.

He was completely naked, his body covered in dark bruises and twisted unnaturally. Traces of blood still marked his mouth and nose.

His eyes, framed by wrinkles, were wide open in pain.

Lorry stood frozen at the kitchen entrance for a long time.

He pressed his lips together and clenched his teeth. His entire body trembled uncontrollably, and warmth began to gather in his eyes.

"I... I..."

Lorry breathed hard, trying to control his emotions.

But he found that he simply could not!

Scenes from the past few days with the old man flashed before his eyes unbidden. He almost seemed to hear that strong, full voice again.

"You're thanking me too soon."

"If you don't want it to go off, you'd better not think about lying."

"Praise the Goddess. You actually survived after soaking in sewage for an entire day."

"If you have nowhere to go, you can spend the night there."

"Going astray for a time is nothing."

"As long as we sincerely turn toward goodness, the Goddess will forgive us."

"I can try contacting my former colleagues to get you some legal identification, but you'll have to find work yourself."

"I'll cover the initial expenses, and you can pay me back in installments."

And then there were the words from that morning:

"Boy, my former colleague has sorted out your identification. You now owe me a full thirty pounds, not counting interest."

"Unless something unexpected happens, you can return to Backlund tomorrow."

"But I'll inspect the fields tomorrow morning. If I find even one weed, you'll owe every last penny of interest on those thirty pounds."

Those had been the last three things the old man said to Lorry.

"I'm sorry. I came too late."

Lorry spoke shakily, his eyes red.

Then he covered his face with both hands, unable to hold back his tears any longer.

"The three animals who killed you are already in hell."

"But they were only the gun."

Once his emotions had settled a little, Lorry went over and closed the old man's eyes, promising quietly, "I won't spare a single person who gave the orders, either!"

His original plan had been to avoid the Wanderers Mutual Aid Association.

But now Lorry had changed his mind!

Even if the Wanderers Mutual Aid Association was willing to let the matter rest, he would not!

"Believe me. I won't keep you waiting long."

With that, Lorry bowed deeply, fetched a towel from the bedroom, and cleaned the old man's body before carrying him to his son's bed.

He had no intention of taking the old man's body away for a secret burial

at all.

Although this place was remote, the gunshots must have drawn the other villagers' attention. They might fear for their own safety and not dare come over rashly.

But that would not stop them from notifying the police.

It would be better to leave this matter to the villagers and the police.

Perhaps... the police were already on their way. If he did not hurry and leave, he would never be able to explain himself.

At that thought, Lorry stopped hesitating.

He hurried over to the two thugs in the bedroom and took their money pouches without ceremony, then quickly returned to the storeroom to collect the last of his spoils.

Lorry carefully examined Glowa's body and discovered a sturdy layer of hardened leather armor beneath his outer clothing, with several small holes over the heart.

He immediately understood why his earlier shot had failed to kill Glowa outright-the hardened leather armor had absorbed most of the damage for its wearer.

With that minor question answered, Lorry continued searching and soon found a money pouch. It was heavy, weighing more than either of the first two.

There was also the Bird-Beak Mask. According to Lorry's spiritual intuition, it was the most valuable thing any of the three had carried, and was most likely a Beyonder item.

He picked up the Half-Moon Scimitar from the floor and wiped the blood off on Glowa's clothes.

Just as he was about to turn and leave, Lorry's spirituality suddenly stirred. Following his intuition, he found a translucent, sac-like object at Glowa's chest.

It gave off faint fluctuations of spirituality.

It was dark green all over, with rings of spiraling patterns across its surface.