One of the black-clothed figures, shorter and thinner than the other, stepped forward. His masked face tilted as if studying Manasei with curiosity.

"Hey, kid," the man said,. "Do you regret killing that old man now?"

"What?" Manasei replied, his grip tightening on his metal pike as his eyes narrowed.

"The orphanage counselor," the man clarified.

Manasei's gaze locked onto the man, his silence stretching for a moment before he finally spoke. "I see now. You two aren't alchemists working with the enforcers. You're here to cover up that dirty old man's secret."

The taller figure chuckled, his tone mocking. "Well, well, we've got ourselves a witty little rat here, don't we?"

Manasei gave a dry, humorless laugh, "Isn't it a bit much, though? Sending two esteemed alchemists after a mere street rat like me?"

"We've seen how capable you are. If you hadn't made such an impulsive decision, you could have ruled these rat-infested streets with a life," the skinnier man chortled.

"Given a choice, I'd do it again," Manasei shot back.

The entire time, Manasei's eyes flickered about. His mind worked furiously, analyzing every possible escape route, but his heart sank as he realized the corners were closing in. They weren't leaving him any room to slip away. Turning his back on them for even a second would almost certainly result in his death.

He masked his growing nerves with forced bravado, steadying his voice and sharpening his words.

If I can't run, I'll stall.

"Let's get this over with quickly, Number 72," the taller man said, his voice cold and impatient. "If the enforcers show up, it'll be harder to act as we please. And this brat might try to take advantage of that."

The shorter man, Number 72, nodded in agreement. "You've got a point. Even though he's got an abnormal level of physical prowess, I can handle him. You just make sure to keep the escape routes sealed."

Manasei had always been physically exceptional, far surpassing not only his peers but even grown adults. His strength, reflexes, and endurance bordered on the supernatural, feats often attributed to alchemists. Yet he himself didn't see it that way. The origin of this abnormality was a part of himself he avoided confronting, not out of ignorance but because of the trauma and distress it brought. Thinking about it dredged up emotions he wasn't ready to face.

Instead, he accepted it as a tool, something he had grown used to wielding. It didn't matter where it came from or why it existed, as long as it served his goals. Maybe someday he would have the courage to face the truth, but today was not that day.

As Number 72 lunged forward, his fist tore through the air with a speed that was almost impossible to track.

THUD

The punch connected squarely with Manasei's stomach, sending him flying backward. He spat out saliva as the air was forced from his lungs, barely managing to stop himself before slamming into the concrete wall of the alley

Number 72 didn't let up. His movements were quick and deliberate, his agile figure closing the gap in an instant. This time, Manasei managed to intercept the blow with his metal pipe

BANG

The metallic clash reverberated through the narrow space, a testament to the sheer physical power enhanced by alchemy. Manasei's muscles tensed as he struggled to hold his ground. The two began exchanging blows, the clang of metal and the rush of air from swift punches filling the alley.

Despite Number 72's calm and relentless attacks, Manasei focused on defense, barely blocking or dodging each hit. The rhythm of their battle shifted, whether by design or accident, as the two gradually moved out of the alley and into a rather empty street.

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"You think it'll make a difference?" the taller man called out, his voice carrying a tone of casual confidence. Perched atop a nearby building, he looked down at Manasei with a faint, almost mocking smile. "We chose this spot specifically. So I'm sorry to say, we'll be the last people you'll ever see."

His cold gaze flicked up to the man on the roof.

Manasei kept silent throughout the skirmish, his lips pressed into a tight line. He had always found talking during combat pointless, even dangerous, Words could distract, and this wasn't the time to risk losing his focus. His sharp eyes darted around, scanning for any possible opening to escape,

There's always a way out, he thought grimly. I just have to find it.

Suddenly, Number 72's arm glowed with a pale orange hue, an eerie shimmer that radiated power. Manasei's eyes widened in shock. This was unexpected, by the looks of it, something devastating.

The punch came fast, almost faster than Manasei could process. In that instant, his thoughts crystallized: Block it, or it's over.

He gripped his metal pike with both hands, holding it horizontally across his chest to brace against the incoming blow. The force of the punch collided with the weapon, but what happened next took him completely off guard.

The glowing fist shattered the metal pike, splitting it in two. One half flew off into the distance, the other remained in Manasei's trembling hands.

The remnants of the punch slammed into his chest with the force of a hammer, sending him reeling backward. Blood sprayed from his mouth, the metallic taste flooding his senses as pain radiated through his torso. Yet amidst the agony, his eyes burned with a ruthless fire.

Before Number 72 could pull back, Manasei lunged forward with what remained of the pike. His movements were fueled by instinct and desperation, driving the jagged metal into the man's neck with brutal speed. The skin was unnaturally tough, the hardest layer to pierce, but the sharp edge managed to break through.

Number 72 grunted in pain and rage, his hand shooting out to shove Manasei away. The force of the push sent Manasei stumbling backward, his grip on the broken pike tightening as he steadied himself.

The entire exchange, though seemingly complex, had unfolded within seconds.

In the chaos of the moment, Manasei used the force of the push to propel himself backward into a nearby alley. His instincts screamed at him to run, to put distance between himself and the injured Number 72. The man might be a distraction now, but as Manasei turned to flee, something unexpected happened.

With all his might, 72 hurled a circular blade, its edges glinting sharply in the sunlight as it tore through the air at a blinding speed. Manasei barely registered the attack before—

SWISH!

The blade sliced past his left arm, and the sound of something hitting the ground followed—a dull, wet plop.

For a moment, Manasei kept running, his body propelled forward by pure adrenaline. Then it hit him. Pain.

It was surreal, overwhelming, a fiery agony that seemed to radiate from everywhere at once. Beads of sweat dripped down his face as he dared to glance at his arm—what was left of it. Blood poured from the ragged stump where his forearm had once been, the sight almost making him stumble.

But he didn't stop. He couldn't.

If he stopped, he'd lose more than his arm. Gritting his teeth, he made a sharp turn down another alley, his vision blurring slightly from the pain and blood loss. Spotting a sewer grate, he threw himself down into the darkness, landing with a splash in the foul-smelling waters below.

Forcing himself to steady, he tore a chunk of his cloak with trembling hands and tied it tightly around the wound. The makeshift tourniquet slowed the bleeding, though it did little for the pain. Still, Manasei didn't stop. He couldn't afford to.

He pushed forward through the sewers, the darkness swallowing him as he made turn after turn, each one more erratic than the last. His mind raced as quickly as his feet, but amidst the searing pain, another emotion surged; anger.

Pure, unbridled anger.

He wasn't angry at 72, but more so what had let up to this moment, His fury was directed inward, at himself. He knew he could have ended 72 during their fight, but he hadn't. He had hesitated. The guilt and fear that lingered around the act of taking another life had stayed his hand, and now, he was paying the price for it.

No more, he vowed, his jaw tightening as he stumbled forward. 'No more stupid sentiments, no more hesitation. I won't let myself be weak again.'

With each step deeper into the sewers, he resolved to cast away the part of himself that clung to mercy and guilt.

Only now, with his life hanging by a thread, did Manasei truly understand: in battle, there was no room for hesitation, no space for mercy. A fight wasn't just a clash of wills or skills, it was about survival, about reducing your opponent to nothing before they could do the same to you.

From this moment forward, he vowed to abandon the lingering sentiments that had once held him back. Mercy was a luxury he could no longer afford.

Like anyone else, he had people who depended on him, siblings waiting for his return, and a past he had yet to resolve. These were the things that tethered him to the world, the reasons he couldn't falter.

He would no longer be so charitable as to spare those who sought his life. If they came for him, he would meet them with all the ruthlessness necessary to survive.

It was a lesson learned painfully, etched into his body and mind this day, and one he would carry with him for the rest of his life.