‘Let go of the hate. Let go of your fear. Let go of your emotions. A sympathy with no borders is self-destruction.’ Those were the words that my brother Meil told me once when he left the Glade. I never took him as a man who values philosophical knowledge, but he was without a doubt a warrior who has shared experiences on the battlefield. Nonetheless, I always find myself in situations where it is hard to uphold the mantra. For many reasons in this season, there’s a pull that keeps me luring off my space into some unknown conjunction. I believe normal people refer to this as the Call of Fate. If I were a normal person, I might agree with that, but I’m not, and I say it’s a bull. At least, I used to call it a bull. This time around, there’s a force working and I can’t help to think that maybe I’m wrong. Maybe there is something that’s conspiring to change the world and I’m being part of it.’ – Alastor

***

Alastor arrived in the alley as soon as he was able to find a dark enclosure, but it was too late. A thug was able to follow him from behind. Everything happened quickly from thereon. When the thug pulled the trigger, the bullet missed the target due to poor visibility. However, the shot became a beacon of attraction to the enemies like a moth to a flame.

Here, in the Northern Sector of Kayon City, east of the Jules Market, some of the surrounding buildings appear to be abandoned and unkempt, but still, others are living in this slump for the reason they do not have enough money to live in the metropolitan area. The silhouettes of people turn off their lights, afraid of the brewing conflict outside.

Alastor moved hastily and jumped from the ladder to the roof. He leaped to another building and dove head first to the ground, his legs shaking spasmodically. It was his poor attempt to confuse the enemy of his whereabouts, but it did not last long. The thug was able to deduce his location and saw him crouched behind a crate. He scolded himself for his mistake.

“There’s nowhere to run, jackass!” one thug shouted, his voice was hoarse due to his earlier yelling.

Despite being outnumbered, Alastor’s confidence remained unshaken. He froze as he heard them yelling and running towards his location. His back pressed against the cold brick wall. His eyes scanned for any escape routes, but with fifty armed enemies closing in, he was overwhelmed by the odds.

“If you give us the device now, we promise a painless death,” the thug declared. Alastor peered and studied the man in front of him, weighing his options. The thug grit his teeth together. “I’ve got over fifty men, all armed. Come out now!”

Alastor saw their silhouettes scurrying around to watch out for any possible escape route.

“Looks like you brought the big guns,” he mused.

“Poor choice of words, kid,” the thug threatened, his eyes flashing with frustration at Alastor’s words. He took it as a refusal.

In the midst of their hub-hub of profane and yelling, Alastor discreetly pulled the pin of a smoke bomb and he stepped off the narrow passage, he threw the bomb, sent it rolling, and exploded, causing a brief explosion of thick smoke that engulfed the alley, making their vision blurry and eyes teary. Despite the obscure vision, Alastor could still make out through their shifting noises and coughs.

“What the hell? Damn you, bastard!”

The once tranquil alley was turned into a battlefield. They fired their guns, aiming blindly into the smoke. The cacophony of gunshots echoed and not too long, he heard magazines clattered. They clumsily reloaded with their teary eyes and some magazines fell while others could push it on the well. Alastor peered and chuckled lightly. He almost felt sorry for them, but that was the big difference between a regular mercenary and someone from the Glade, they have different mindset and training designs that made them formidable foes unlike the thugs who didn’t know better than to learn how to handle a gun.

The smoke swiftly dispersed as a powerful gust of wind swept through. The brush of coldness did not bother him.

Alastor ran to the nearest enemy. The mercenary knocked an enemy with the back of his sword after he saw him gesturing for his comrade to come closer. He leaped, twirled, his blade glinting briefly and swish sharply as he deftly dispatched his foes one by one. They all came out flying onto the street. Wounded and decapitated. Their blood streak broadly on the road. Alastor threw another smoke bomb, releasing smoke that spread from the alley to the narrow road. He was running around in the dark, waiting for the right time to strike.

“He’s using the haze to his advantage,” the leader said in a disgusted tone.

One by one, his men retreated, cowed by their adversary. The leader turned abruptly.

“Don’t even think about fleeing, it’s just one person!” he yelled at his subordinates.

A voice rang out in protest, sounding discouraged, “I’d rather take a beating from the boss than get killed because of some lunatic!”

“Are you idiots?! He’s the one who'll kill you if you don’t do your job!” The leader yelled back.

The rattling gunshots were music to Alastor’s ears. Aware of the enemy’s numbers, he remained concealed in the darkness. He had seven smoke bombs left. The alleyways of this part of the city created a network, offering ideal hiding spots for Alastor, but analyzing his current position provided a limited advantage. Deciding to look for the best opportunity, he climbed to the ladder and sprang to the top of a nearby building. The enemy remained oblivious of his presence, which worked for him. Alastor cracked his stiff neck, moaned, and swiftly grabbed his handgun just as bullets pelted his previous position. He reacted instinctively, leaping from the building. His legs absorbed the impact of the landing, pain erupting through his bones. Despite the pain, he pushed forward, not allowing himself to rest. After all, the enemies aren’t going to wait for him to recover. He looked at the handgun he stole, served as a backup and put it back to the holster. When his phone vibrated, he pressed the button of his earplug. A loud static noise erupted before he could properly hear the person’s voice.

“Linda, where are you now?” Alastor asked.

“We slipped into the metropolitan area, thanks to you. I’m so sorry, Al. The police are on the move. You have to escape on your own; we have no choice but to return to headquarters,” Linda said.

“Don’t sweat it. I’m already used to it. Is Ken alright?” Alastor said.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Don’t worry about me, man. Ugh,” Ken’s voice came from the other side. “Help me. My wounds…”

“You’ll live,” Linda replied to him.

“Bitch,” Ken gasped. “I’m dying.”

“Just stay put, okay? Anyway, you need to hurry. The police are on their way, and stay out of their sight.” Linda paused for a second, her breathing was shallow and her voice was brittle. “I’m sorry if we couldn’t help you.”

“Hey. Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of these guys. Then, after this, I’ll be back. Just make sure the items are safe. I’ll handle these guys; yeah… that’s – that’s a simple task.”

“Thanks. I promise, somehow, I will make it up to you.” Linda’s last reply.

Alastor returned the phone to his pocket.

They finally noticed that he already moved around and he heard their footsteps echoing with loud thuds toward his direction. Alastor was about to hide behind the concrete wall, but the enemy caught him out of the corner in his eyes. Before he could shoot, Alastor already initiated a fire. The bullet pierced through his skull. Alastor took cover as the thugs returned to shoot at him. The mercenary dragged his right feet behind, but a bullet rang one inch away from his eyes. His eyes felt the sharp heat, winced, and shook his head. Alastor hesitated to swing his sword because there was no room. He doesn’t want to further blunt his sword. So, he threw another smoke bomb as soon as the smoke dissipated which gave him enough time to find a better cover.

Suddenly, there were few raindrops that fell followed by drizzle, and the weight of the gloomy clouds endured fell onto the earth in heavy torrential sheets that pelted over the soiled land. The rain dampened his cloak. His raven hair was plastered against his face. The boots were damp, and every thump of it, there was a dull sound of a splash. The water seeped through his socks, numbing and distressing his movements. Alastor breathed heavily and could feel the coldness of the evening rain penetrating through his wet clothes to his skin. The lightning sliced the sky. He wiped up a strand of his hair, allowing his eyes to have sight even though the rain was pelting over his face.

As he heard the thugs were closing in, he threw the smoke bomb in front of them and then charged forward. For a second, the smoke blinded them and they couldn’t see a thing, but that didn’t last long enough for him to properly consider other options. Alastor ran to the closest enemy, he kicked the thug’s hand and his gun flew, thudding against the stone-paved street. The thug was flabbergasted to not even respond accordingly due to being blindsided. Then, Alastor gripped his arm with his brute strength, seizing it. There was a loud crunch when the mercenary twisted the arm. The thug howled and wailed, kneeling. Alastor stole the gun, pointing it at the hooligan. The loud bang resounded in their ears. The blood splashed onto his face down to his dark coat and streamed down along with the rain. He cast his eyes around, the smoke was being pushed away by a powerful gust of wind. He was well aware what he did was a gamble, and a risky one. He was underwhelmed by the pressure for a brief moment. He was left with no choice, but to put his trust in the thick smoke to buy himself enough time to at least take down some more thugs.

They were startled and began to approach the source in this hazy place with caution but were hesitant to even lift their guns to avoid friendly fire. Upon breaching through, Alastor emerged and charged using the hooligan as a meat shield. They began to fire as soon as they saw the nose of the gun pointing at them. The guns rain on the dead body. Alastor returned with random shots at them, hoping that it would hit someone.

Luckily, some of them fell and while others lay injured. His meat shield on the other hand finally lost its purpose and he tossed aside. Their guns finally ran dry. They unlocked the chamber. Some were clumsy when they put their magazines on the well, it slid again. Their clumsiness made Alastor chuckle a little. He decided to switch to his handgun and shot back at them before they could finish reloading. It was evident that the enemies, especially the leader, were in awe of his aggressive, nonchalant approach, with their longed faces watching him leap nimbly out of their weapons range.

Alastor pointed it directly to the thug’s face and shot point blank. The chunks of flesh spread on the cold pavement. He showed no urge of repugnance nor did he fear the odds of facing them. They rattled and clumsily reloaded.

The leader seemed to be agitated about Alastor’s change of tactics. He pointed his gun at Alastor and then shot. They hesitated to shoot as it would likely turn into some friendly fire within the narrow and tight spot of the alley.

“Just shoot! Kill that bastard!”

“But sir -” One of his men hesitated.

“No more buts! Kill that fucking asshole!”

The leader discharged his weapon at Alastor, who was recklessly darting and sliding around, ignoring his subordinates. He ignored their doubtful expressions and objections. In spite of this, a few men displayed enthusiasm to carry on, whereas others obeyed reluctantly.

Dodging the gunshots, Alastor closed his hands and began muttering a spell. “Cinque parete invisibile,” he whispered. Instantly, five radiant walls materialized, shielding him and fending off the gunfire. The shells bounced off and rang when it made contact on a concrete road. Another smoke bomb followed.

The goons stopped when they thought their gunfire was in vain, but the leader persisted. “Keep shooting! Eventually, it will tear down!” he cried out.

Hesitation flickered among them, but they obeyed their leader.

“They’re so persistent,” Alastor muttered. Spotting a pathway to his left, he entered it while the other party continued to fire to the walls. The smoke was gradually clearing, but slowly enough for Alastor to think of a new plan.

The rain was so heavy that it felt like needles hitting them, making it almost impossible for him to see. He wiped them away and maintained his assault on Alastor’s barriers. The enemy leader couldn’t see Alastor, and realization dawned upon him—the walls Alastor summoned weren’t tall enough. Spotting a metallic staircase at the end of a wider alley, he climbed with haste, reaching the top. One of his subordinates approached and handed him a grenade launcher. Alastor, who was already running around them, smiled grimly.

He pulled the trigger, and the explosion consumed its target. Silence followed the blast.

“Did you blow up into pieces? That’s too bad.”

There were no response.

The gentle breeze rustled the leaves and cleared the air of any lingering dust and smoke. The rain poured down in a steady rhythm, pattering against the earth. The bodies of his men lay across the street, drenched in red liquid, yet he caught no glimpse of the perpetrator’s body.

“That’s not possible. An explosion like that would turn his body into chunks.”

His confidence returned as he pondered this, but his cheerful thoughts were disrupted when his ears caught a thumping noise. He spun at once and saw Alastor swiftly moving like a shadow from behind, wielding a sword that dispatched half of his men with precise and fatal strikes. They were cut down with splendid maneuvers.

“What the –” Fear licked down his spine, his stomach sinking with icy dread. His mouth hung wide in awe, resembling a fish, as his eyes locked onto the figure of the man who aimed the double-edge sword at him.

The men that were standing near him were now cut in half. The blood that smeared the silver sword was now being washed away along with the rain. A strong push of the wind made a rhythm on the torrent.

“Did you think that would kill me?”

Being able to wield magic and obscure combat skills surprised the thug. Not all the adventurers and hunters there in Kayon City could fight like that, ever since the country imposed a law that restricted the use of magic within the walls of every major city within the country.

“Y-You’re a mercenary, aren’t you?”

Alastor paused for a moment, as though he were ignoring the question. The thugs were closing in. He pressed the tip of his sword against the leader’s neck.

“You shoot, he dies,” Alastor threatened, his voice resonating with confidence.

“Not if we kill you first.”

Fear overcame the leader’s confidence as his men spoke out with aggressive boldness, their lack of common sense was evident in their actions. However, the mercenary didn’t budge. Not an inch.

“You’ve already seen how fast I am. A single move would be enough to kill your leader. The choice is yours.”

The leader grunted, “What do you want?”

Alastor took his moment, closing his eyes. His ears caught the wailing sirens of approaching police vehicles echoed in the distance. His eyes popped open as his attention returned.

“Waste your time.”

Alastor abruptly leaped from the building and sprinted toward the clustered structures. Thunder cracked and lightning flashed. He vanished from their sight.