Even if I wanted to help, charging in on an armed opponent within such a narrow alley would be a bad idea. I'd end up like the mercenary, if not worse.

Think, Gray, I ordered myself. I had to come up with a way to divert the merchant, or whatever I was supposed to call him now. Murderer?

"I have nothing to offer you," the escort stated flatly, pressing harder on his wound. He kept his cool despite being stabbed and losing blood at an alarming rate. The knuckles surrounding the scimitar turned white. He was probably trying to distract him. To gain some time.

"You misunderstood me," the merchant responded, keeping his distance as he waited for his prey to bleed out. his expression said it all. He was well aware that the mercenary was still looking for an opening. "It was never about money."

"You could've slashed my throat and be done with it," he gasped, his eyelids closing slightly. "Just what do you want from me?"

It wasn't as if the robed man had to respond, so he simply scoffed, "Why don't you quit wasting time bearing with the pain and bleed out already?"

I glanced around, but there was nothing to throw. There were no rocks, empty bottles, or something else I could use within reach. But there was another way to distract him, I thought as I reached inside my pocket.

"Please, work..." I whispered as I turned on the phone's flash, directing it toward the alley.

"What the—" the merchant instinctively turned around. I didn't blame him though, knowing I would've reacted the same way.

Light reflected on the scimitar's blade as it cut through. The merchant tried to dodge, but it was too late. The tight quarters gave him an excuse to be close to his target, but the same could be said in return.

Panic rushed across his face as he choked on the surging blood. He tried to cover the opening with both of his hands, but couldn't. The merchant's knees gave out as more of his blood mixed with the water beneath.

I turned off the light and approached the mercenary, who was clearly tense. We exchanged a silent look before he let the scimitar fall to the ground with a clank. Then he put his hand firmly against the wall, trying to maintain his balance as he said, "Why did you help me?"

Seeing him like that, all I could muster was an: "I'm not sure..."

"You've been following us," he declared, looking at me as if certain of his judgment. "Why?"

I came to a halt, standing beyond his reach. With this much distance between us, I should be able to react even if he tries something desperate. If he perceives me as a threat, there was no telling what he could do.

"I want to find the Black Market."

He gasped for air. "Your name?"

"It's—" I took a step back, not finishing the sentence.

"There," he said, "that's the kind of hesitation they're looking for. To determine whether you're easy to pick on."

I couldn't figure out who he was talking about, so I had to ask: "Whom?"

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"Everyone," the escort squeezed out, bumping his shoulder on the wall as he watched his crimson hand. The blood continued to flow on his garments, seemingly indefinitely. "Always maintain a confident demeanor. Never be polite, as you've been to this point. Curse, if necessary. That's how someone as naive as you gets a shot."

As I grasped what he was implying, my lip quivered. "How come you're telling me all of this?"

"It's been a while since someone has been kind to me," the mercenary chuckled bitterly as he sank to his knee, his bloody imprint trailing on the building as he sought to balance himself with his hand.

I took a step closer, grabbing the mercenary by the shoulders to prevent him from falling. Then I leaned him against the wall, trying not to get any blood on myself in the process.

"Are you telling me all of this because I helped you?"

"The Underworld changes you," said the mercenary, dismissing my prior query. He had already started spewing rubbish stuff. "It brings out the worst in you... yet I assume after coming all the way here, you won't go back even if I tell you."

I nodded.

"Into my pocket then," he tried to say as his abdomen convulsed, making him throw up some blood. Some spelt on himself, and more so on the ground. "Shit, that fucker got to an organ."

I didn't know what I was supposed to do as I spun the circular object in hand. It was composed of metal and bore inscriptions that resembled the runes I had seen on someone's blade a while back.

"Do you want me to call for help?"

Despite the faint smile on his lips, his eyes widened as if he saw a ghost. "Aside from the badge, don't take anything else," he went on, ignoring my question. "In most cases, you wouldn't be able to enter unless you're connected with someone from that hellhole. That's how things are done around here... I would have shown you how to get there, but..."

A mild frustration swept over me, striving to overcome the fear coursing through my body. "You're not going to tell me what to do."

I could just take the scimitar and sell it in that so-called Underworld, couldn't I?

That only deepened his smile as he continued, "Neither of us wore any jewelry. It would have gotten in the way, and if either died, it would have been stolen by a thief or whatever. That's why you should not wear any accessories whatsoever."

He inhaled a chilly breath before adding, "Wallets, phones, keys, you name it. Keep them hidden if possible, or don't bring them at all, like I do. You have them with you, based on the expression on your face. If you're taking them out, make sure no one else is close enough to steal them from you."

I squinted my eyes, paying close attention to each of his words.

"You can't take the weapons from here, either. Whoever sees our corpses will conclude there's been a third party involved if one of them were to vanish. Leave them exactly where they are, they'll assume there was a fight, and that should be the end of it."

I clenched the badge tighter in my hand as I gazed at the merchant's figure, or to be more precise, the object on his back. "What about his bag?"

"Would you fight with a bag full of gold on your bag?" he asked, revealing his red-dyed teeth. "It's either empty or stuffed with something to make it seem heavy. Feel free to look through it if you don't believe me."

What the mercenary said made sense. I'd rather be as light as possible than be rendered by something like that.

"The rain's going to get rid of your traces here," he pointed towards the bluish glow in the distance, his extended hand gradually dropping a few seconds after. "Just get lost already."

I rose from my crouched position and looked in the direction the mercenary just pointed at. I wondered whether I should've intervened sooner. Perhaps I should've called for help instead of waiting to see how things played out. But, once again, I reminded myself I had my own problems to worry about.

I'm sorry, I thought to myself as I stared at his pale figure, accepting reality as it were. There wasn't anything I could do for him.

"And most importantly, never use a gun," he told me, deadpan. "Never."

"Of course," I replied, trying to put his mind at ease. I had a lot of questions for him, but he didn't appear to last for much longer.

"One last question," he mumbled, lifting his unfocused eyes toward me. "What's your name? Your real one."

Whether or not I told him my name shouldn't have mattered because he didn't have much longer to breathe, and yet...

"It's—" I closed my part lips for a brief moment, then continued, "—Douglass. That's my name."

Knowing my response was a lie, he only forced out a smile. "Mine's Ethan—" were his final words.

"Ethan," I repeated as the life vanished from his eyes. "Goodbye, then"

After a brief moment, I raised my gaze towards the dim, cerulean glow in the distance.

I couldn't go back now that I'd come this far.