Blood trickled down the side of Reed's head, the sharp sting of the bullet wound only a fraction of the pain he felt. Aria's gasp pierced through the haze clouding his mind.

"By the gods, you're shot... in the head!" Her voice trembled, her eyes wide with panic.

Reed's mind didn’t register her words. His vision blurred, head throbbing from the impact of the bullet that ricocheted off his skull. Everything felt sluggish as stared at Aria’s mesmerising face with a vacant look. In that brief moment, devoid of any thoughts, he brought his bloodied lips to hers.

Aria struggled beneath him, kicking, forced to taste the rough, metallic taste of his blood and his lips. She shoved him hard, pulling away, her face flushed with shock and anger. The redness that came over her cheeks almost matched her fiery red hair.

"H-Hey, you bastard! What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Aria spat, wiping her mouth, fury flashing in her eyes.

Reed didn’t answer, but his core pulsed violently, mana flooding his veins. Even his eyes glowed with golden light, it was as if a switch had been flipped, and suddenly, raw strength surged through his body in waves. [Man of Violence] had finally activated, raw power filling every muscle and tendon.

He felt unstoppable.

The gunslinger, still perched in the window, waited to get a clear shot on the obviously mundane but dangerous girl. His aim wavered when he had his barrel facing Reed.

Blood poured from the wound in his head, and yet Reed stood tall, glaring at him with cold, unrelenting fury. Suppressing a shiver running down his back, he decided to hold off on pressing the trigger, not wanting to waste his loaded bullet on a bastard like Reed who despite being shot in the head wasn’t dead.

“Hurry,” he growled, standing up as he positioned himself in front of her. Aria struggled to get to her feet behind him, her hands trembling as she reached into her cloak for her grimoire.

"Aria," Reed barked, snapping her out of her shocked daze. "I need you to blast that gunman. I’ll cover you."

Aria’s hands tightened around the leather-bound grimoire, the glow of mana faintly flickering around the book. Her brow furrowed, and for a split second, her eyes darted to Kalden, who was struggling to stand, his clothes half-burned and skin scorched from the fireball.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice tense. "I only have enough mana in the grimoire for one more fireball. I could hit Kalden instead—"

“No!” Reed interrupted, his voice fierce, his eyes burning with determination. “Hit the gunslinger. I can tank more bullets, but I can’t fight Kalden while protecting you from getting shot. Do it now.”

Aria hesitated, her gaze flicking back and forth between Kalden and the window where the gunslinger crouched, ready to fire again. Then, with a sharp nod, she opened her grimoire, her fingers dancing over the pages, summoning the spell.

Kalden staggered to his feet, his body barely holding together. His once-imposing figure was now a smouldering mess—skin charred, clothes torn and half-burnt, his chest heaving as he glared at Reed with hatred. But despite the agony etched across his face, he wasn’t out of the fight yet.

Reed noticed Kalden wasn’t using his paralysing gift — perhaps the damage had weakened his ability, or maybe the man hadn’t got his bearings yet. Either way, Reed knew he couldn’t afford to let Kalden get back on his feet. This was his chance.

“Now!” Reed shouted, his body coiled with energy.

Aria’s voice rose in a chant, and a brilliant flame erupted from her hands. The fireball roared to life, a blazing orb of destruction that illuminated like a lone star amidst the empty street. She hurled it with all the force she could muster, sending it hurtling toward the gunslinger in the window.

As the fireball soared through the air, Reed’s body surged forward, his legs like springs as he launched himself toward Kalden.

Kalden’s eyes widened, barely managing to raise his arms in defence before Reed was on him. The first punch came down like a sledgehammer, connecting with Kalden’s forearm. Reed felt the bone snap beneath his knuckles, the impact sending a shudder through the older man’s body making him let go of his poisoned dagger. Kalden screamed in pain, but Reed didn’t stop.

Empowered by his gift, Reed was a whirlwind of violence. His fists flew with terrifying speed, each strike landing with enough force to shatter bones and break flesh. Kalden tried to block, tried to defend, but each time he raised a limb, Reed’s next punch broke it.

Crack—Kalden’s wrist shattered.

Crack—his elbow bent the wrong way.

Every punch felt like a death sentence. Reed’s eyes gleamed with savage satisfaction as he drove Kalden back, blow after blow crushing the man’s defences.

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Kalden let out a guttural roar of pain as Reed’s fist connected with his jaw, sending him stumbling backward. Blood and saliva sprayed from Kalden’s mouth as he fell to his knees, his body a broken, battered mess.

Without hesitation, Reed reached for his broken sword. The blade, jagged and cruel, slid out of Kalden’s chest, the motion causing a fresh spray of blood to erupt from the wound. Kalden gasped, his body twitching in shock, his one good eye wide with horror.

Reed stood over him, panting, his chest rising and falling heavily. "This is where it ends," Reed muttered darkly, the broken sword poised to strike the final blow.

And with a swift, merciless thrust, Reed drove the blade into Kalden’s heart. The older man’s body jerked once before going limp, the light fading from his only good eye.

Meanwhile, the fireball finally reached the gunslinger. His eyes widened in shock as the flames engulfed him, the heat unbearable. He let out a bloodcurdling scream as the fire consumed his clothes, his skin blistering and cracking under the intense heat. He fell backward, tumbling out of the window and crashing into the old inn’s floor with a sickening thud.

The remaining gang members, wide-eyed and panicked, rushed forward, desperately trying to put out the flames that had overtaken their comrade. Their efforts were frantic, hopeless.

As the chaos settled, Reed stood over Kalden’s lifeless body, blood dripping from the broken sword still in his hand. He turned, breathing heavily, and saw Aria standing in the aftermath, her chest rising and falling from the exertion of the spell.

It was over.

___

Aria rushed over to Reed as he knelt beside Kalden's lifeless body. Her hands hovered for a moment before gently touching his bloodied back, fingers trembling as they traced the torn fabric and the two bullet holes that marred his flesh. She moved to his side, her breath catching as she saw the wound on his knee, the hole in his head where the bullet had grazed him. Blood trickled from each injury, staining his clothes, but Reed's expression was stoic, almost detached, as if the pain was a distant thing, an inconvenience.

"Gods, Reed, you're... you're a mess," she whispered, kneeling next to him, her voice filled with worry as she examined his wounds more closely. "How are you even standing?"

He gave her a lopsided grin, one that was more exhaustion than bravado. "You get used to it." He winced as her fingers brushed too close to the bullet wound in his back. "Though I won’t say it doesn’t hurt like hell."

Aria quickly tore a strip from her cloak and pressed it against his back, trying to stem the bleeding for now. "You need rest," she said, her voice firm despite the tremor in it. "You can’t keep going like this."

Reed shook his head, determination still burning in his eyes. "No rest yet. Not until I’ve sorted things out." He pushed himself up, stumbling slightly before steadying himself. His body was battered, but his will pushed him forward.

Without another word, he began marching toward the old inn. Aria followed close behind, her heart hammering in her chest. As they entered the inn, the remnants of the Red Scorn knelt on the floor, heads bowed in fear and submission. The room smelled of burnt flesh, and in the corner lay the charred corpse of the gunslinger, still smoking slightly. The sight of his remains seemed to add to Reed’s authority—a gruesome warning of what crossing him could lead to.

Reed climbed onto the counter, wincing as he moved but forcing himself through the pain. He sat, his posture casual, as if he hadn't been shot multiple times and wasn't bleeding all over the place. Aria worked quietly behind him, removing bullets and applying bandages with practiced hands. The inn was eerily quiet, the only sounds the soft whimpering of the remaining gang members and the crackle of the dying flames.

Reed’s eyes wandered over the old inn. Despite its current state—dusty floors, creaky furniture, and walls that looked like they hadn’t been cleaned in years—he saw potential. The place had an old, rustic charm, the kind that could easily be transformed into something more. A bar, maybe. An inn where travelers could stop and share a drink. It had amazing potential, and Kalden had been too narrow-minded to see it.

"You lot," Reed called out, his voice rough but commanding. The remaining members of the Red Scorn flinched, their eyes snapping up toward him. "You’ve got two choices. You either join me, or you can get the hell out of here. I’m taking over."

A few of them exchanged confused glances, whispering among themselves. Reed frowned, noticing their lack of response, only a single young man seemed to be nodding violently. To the rest he gestured sharply. "Well? What’s it gonna be?"

Still, no clear answer came. Aria, who had been working on bandaging his wounds, sighed loudly and lightly slapped the back of Reed’s head, making him wince. "You idiot," she muttered, her voice laced with exasperation. "You’re in Cartencia, you dumb foreigner. Not everyone here knows Ingles."

Reed blinked, realization dawning as he rubbed the back of his head, a small smirk forming on his lips despite the pain. "Right... Cartencia. Got it."

Shaking his head, Reed pointed at one of the younger men in the crowd, a teenager who seemed like he understood his words. "You. What’s your name?" he asked, switching to a broken but passable version of the local language.

The teenager’s wide eyes darted around the room before he stammered out, "M-Mateo, sir."

"Mateo, huh?" Reed nodded, gesturing for him to come closer. The boy hesitated but eventually stood up, stepping forward cautiously. Reed pointed to the rest of the kneeling gang members. "You understand Ingles, right?"

Mateo nodded quickly.

"Good. I want you to translate everything I say to the rest of these fine gentlemen, alright?"

Mateo swallowed hard, his head bobbing up and down in agreement.

Reed cracked his knuckles, still seated on the counter. "Ask them this—raise your hand if you were close to Kalden or that burnt kebab over there." He pointed to the charred remains of the gunslinger in the corner, its presence still casting a dark shadow over the room.

Mateo did as instructed, relaying Reed’s words in Cartencian. The room fell into a tense silence as the question sank in. Slowly, a couple of hands raised, the men looking terrified, knowing full well what their connection to Kalden or the gunslinger might cost them.

Reed hopped off the counter, landing with a heavy thud. His body groaned in protest, but he pushed through the pain, his golden eyes locking onto the two men who had raised their hands. In his grip, Kalden’s dagger gleamed—its blade still slick with the green liquid that coated it.

Without a word, Reed moved toward the first man. The man’s eyes widened, fear flooding his face, but before he could utter a single word of protest, Reed stabbed him with the poisoned blade. The man gasped, his body convulsing as the paralytic agent took hold. His limbs stiffened, his muscles freezing in place as the poison spread through his bloodstream.

Reed watched, his expression cold and detached, as the second man met the same fate. Both of them now lay on the floor, paralyzed, eyes darting around wildly but unable to move. Reed studied the effects of the poison for a moment, looking at the blade in his hands shaking his head. That Kalden was really obsessed with paralysing people, huh.

Nodding to himself he studied the slick green liquid on the blade, making a mental note to find the remainder of the green liquid before turning back toward the rest of the gang members.

Climbing back onto the counter, Reed addressed them once again, his voice firm and unyielding. "Kalden and the Red Scorn are no more. I’m in charge now. You can either stay and join me, or leave. But if you stay, we’ll be making something better than this mess of a gang. I’m planning to establish a new force here, and if you’ve got the spine for it, I could use you."

Mateo translated Reed’s words, his voice shaky but clear. The remaining gang members glanced at one another, their eyes flickering to the paralyzed bodies of their comrades on the floor. The message was clear—Reed wasn’t a man to be crossed.

Suddenly, a few of the men launched into a chorus of praises, speaking rapidly in Cartencian. Mateo turned to Reed, his face pale but determined. "They... they are all praising you. They are pledging their loyalty, I guess."

Reed grinned, his teeth bloodied but his spirit unbroken. "Good," he muttered, leaning back against the counter, finally allowing himself a moment to breathe. The strength from his gift still thrummed through him, making his injuries seem distant, almost trivial.

His eyes wandered over the inn again, that earlier thought creeping back. This place could really be something...

But first, there was one last order of business. He cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing in the quiet room. "Now, you lot better clean this place the fuck up!” he said, his grin widening, "As for me, it’s time to go do some looting."