Alexander did not know how he got here, well, he did, but how did this cunning ancestor of his convince him to do something like this?

Well, what was he to do? He could not just ask for money from his father; the tidal wave of questions that would follow would drown him to death. The same with his mother, only instead of a tidal wave, he would have to face a dormant volcano erupting. Although the voice assured him of its perfected lying ability being sufficient, Alexander wasn't naive enough to believe it outright.

Despite how dire the situation, he cannot bring himself to ask his younger brother for money. That, combined with the reassuring words of this sly ancestor, he somehow found himself in the bazaar again.

He was completely covered from head to toe, with the hoodie up, mask, and everything. Alexander had never felt so dirty and guilty in his life.

He felt like a thief, well, in a way, he was. This was the old marketplace, in the area where he bought the chickens, where the fresh meats were sold. And of course, there were not only chickens but also beef. Some shop owners, to prove their authenticity, slaughtered the cow or beef in public by professionals, and of course, they charged a small extra premium for that.

The plan was simple: he would dash forward with every stretch he had to his legs, and just at the moment of slaughtering the cow, he would swoop in and behead the cow with the knife he bought not too long ago, effectively stealing the kill. Though it sounded simple on paper, it was far more daunting in reality.

Not only did he need to time it perfectly, but he also needed to find the right window, the right angle, the right strength, and not to mention his full force to bring down the cheap knife he bought. He did practice a few times with a dash or rather a jump, but it did not boost his confidence at all; rather, it dampened it.

He had been waiting here for quite some time. The voice told him to wait for the biggest one, which, according to the voice, was a completely different and better breed than the others.

One by one, the number of cows dwindled and was sold out. Just as Alexander thought, they brought out the biggest cow at the last. This was his chance, He was waiting here for quite some time. This was the time, Alexander did want to back off at the last moment but he knew he needed to have some corrage and he knew he needed this level.

With lightning reflexes, he surged forward, barely allowing a moment for contemplation. In an astonishing display of speed, he closed the distance, standing face to face with the formidable bovine. Without a second thought, he unleashed a powerful swing, his blade slicing through the air with a resounding whoosh. The thick neck of the ox presented no obstacle to his determination as he committed fully to the strike, embodying a force to be reckoned with.

As his blade, more akin to a machete, hovered perilously close to the ox's hide, a sudden realization jolted him like a bolt of lightning: he had made a catastrophic blunder. Despite his meticulous efforts to cloak his intentions, he had carelessly overlooked the omnipresent gaze of the CCTV cameras. The gravity of his oversight hit him like a sledgehammer, shattering his confidence into a thousand irreparable fragments.

In his frantic desperation, he unleashed the full force of his strength, his hand pulsating with the power of all 12 points. In the grip of panic, there was no room for restraint as he swung the machete. With a swift, decisive motion, the blade met the skin of the ox, effortlessly slicing through like a hot knife through butter.

But in his panic, the trajectory was a little off, but nonetheless, the head of the ox was severed and flew off far just from the sheer force of the swing. The swing ended with the machete hitting the ground, producing a loud clanging sound, creating cracks in both the ground and the machete.

In the next moment, he heard a gut-wrenching cry. And looking up, he saw the man opposite him was lacking one finger as blood gushed out from there. In his panic, the trajectory of his swing was altered somewhat, resulting in this man losing his finger.

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His already panic-stricken mind went into panic overdrive. At first, he was doing something that could be passed off as a prank or even the police would not care much, but now, now, what have he done.

He did not even wait a second, with all his strength, putting on his heels, he dashed away from there in a blink of an eye, kicking up a small dust cloud in his place. The panic and fear in him allowed him to pour even more speed into the escape than usual.

Like a gust of wind, Alexander was out of there. It all happened in the blink of an eye, so no one had the chance to do anything.

"Hey, hey, who was that?"

"Forget who. chase him down?"

"But how? It was too fast."

"Forget that. First, call an ambulance. This man needs treatment."

"FINGER, WHERE IS MY FINGER?"

In the literal next moment, the crowd burst into chatter. But by that time, Alexander was nowhere to be found.

Despite being distant from the crime scene within seconds, he maintained his pace, relentless. With each step, he pushed his legs to their utmost limit, channeling every ounce of his 12 strength. In just one or two minutes, he covered a considerable distance, but it came with a price; his leg muscles throbbed with an intensity surpassing even that of a continuous 25 to 30-minute daily run. It felt as though the very fibers of his muscles were on the verge of touring out. Yet, panic drove him forward.

After a few more minutes, he could not run anymore as he stopped at a dark alley. Fortunately, this narrow alley was clear of people, and it was not hard to guess why. It was between two low-quality restaurants, and the smell of decomposed food was completely unbearable.

But Alexander was too stressed to even notice that. The first thing he did was to throw the machete underneath the pile of food trash, and of course, after shattering it to pieces with his kick first. He did not forget to bring his machete with him as this could be a huge piece of evidence against him. Even after doing this, he was panting heavily, his eyes bulging out, and clothes soaked with sweat. Alexander felt like he was thinking of a hundred things in the blink of an eye.

"Hey, hey, calm down, boy."

"What, what calm down. I have just severed someone's finger, I have literally assaulted someone. I, I, I am going to jail. My career is over, my life, my life is over."

"Stop it, and listen to me. Nothing will happen."

Alexander was literally confused and vulnerable at this time, so he saw no other way but to listen to the commending voice, forgetting that it was listening to this voice that got him into this situation in the first place.

"Did you remember what I told you? There is another set of clothes with you, right?"

In his panic, Alexander completely forgot, but he had another set of clothes in his possession. The original plan was to butcher the cow and, after moving out of sight, change his clothes and calmly walk out. The clothes he was currently wearing were also very old, and he doubted that any policeman would bother to investigate to the extent of checking for clothing just for killing a cow. But now, it was completely different; it could be considered assault or vandalism.

He retrieved the new clothes from his bosom, and with trembling hands, he clumsily put them on. With a hesitant murmur in his voice, he turned around, ready to leave.

"Wait, what are you doing?"

"What?"

"If someone finds these clothes here, there's a chance you might be figured out."

Alexander felt nervous upon hearing the sentence. "Oh! Oh, I understand," he said, proceeding to pick up the clothes with the intention of burying them under the pile of decomposing food.

"No, that's not what I mean," the voice said in frustration.

Alexander froze, thinking of all kinds of things in his mind. What did he do wrong? Was there some skill he needed to practice?

"Don't overthink it. What I mean is destroying the evidence. Burn the clothes," the voice said with a tone that brooked no compromise.

"Oh! Okay," Alexander said, about to set fire, but he realized he didn't have any lighter with him. "But how?"

"Look above you."

Alexander was initially afraid to see a CCTV camera right above him, but he soon sighed in relief as he noticed the wires were disconnected and sparks crackled ominously. Most likely, neither of the two low-class restaurants wanted to waste money fixing this problem that didn't affect their business in any way.

However, another problem arose: how could he ignite a fire using the sparks when the wire was short and positioned overhead?

"Throw the cloth on the spark," the voice said.

"What? The cloth can ignite anywhere, setting up a big fire."

"And so?" the voice said, gone was the amiable and elderly mischievous tone, and left was only emptiness and emotionlessness.

Alexander gulped hard, his face contorted with intense hesitation.

“look, BOY.” The voice continued with its indifferent tone, reminiscent of Alexander's initial encounter—a voice dripping with arrogance and supreme nonchalance. "You have two choices: either leave the cloth here, risking discovery and arrest. Potentially tarnishing your record, career, even your life. Or you can set the fire here, destroying all evidence. Though people might suffer, but what choice do you have? Now choose."