Chapter 32 - Opportunistic

The man with goggles, who was supposed to be a lookout, had started running away the moment their leader missed the shot. So the only troublesome factors left in this whole equation were the sharpshooter on the roof and the Kingsman himself.

Vern still hadn't mixed himself up in the situation, so there was no reason for the Kingsman to come for him. But he had to cross the bridge, and he doubted that he would just happen to run into such a perfect situation anywhere else.

That leader said it is hard to isolate the Kingsmen. Other bridges might have more than one of these reapers waiting and there's no running past that. So, if he missed such an opportunity, who knew how long it would be before he could get into the inner districts? There was a lot to be done in there.

And just what are they trying to achieve by doing this? Wouldn't it be sufficient to police the inner districts and be done with it? Why stop people from coming in?

Not like they could really stop everyone. All the districts were surrounded by water, after all. A little time underwater with proper gear could allow one to cross any of these rivers. The currents were fast but not enough to become insurmountable for the dedicated.

Ahh, Do I really need to come up with all these random conjectures right now?

Later.

His eyes glued to the building with the sharpshooter—the Kingsman jumped from one beam to another, rapidly closing in. Vern started taking measured steps towards the bridge, trying to stay in the shadows as much as possible, avoiding the Kingsman's line of sight.

Vern's heart, just like his head, began thumping like crazy. If he didn't get the timing right and ended up killing the Kingsman in a fall or some accident—not only would it weigh on his conscience, the shooter on the roof will become a real problem. Who was to say that the marksman wouldn't shoot him down when he tried to cross the bridge?

But not taking care of Kingsman wasn't an option either.

Damn. He focused on the road for one second, and some of the shades from the Ropecaster began fading mercilessly, punishing him for losing focus even for a second.

So Vern hid behind the next carriage and peeked over, trying to seem as small as possible, working extra hard to keep that Ropecaster in his perception. The reaper was already at the front of the bridge on the closest tower.

BANGGG

The man just seemed to hold his blades harder, and a fiery haze covered him for a second, and he soon walked out of it unscathed. Then with another flick of his hand, Vern saw a steel strand dart across his peripheral above him. It bolted into a high window of the house beside him as it cracked the glass before going right in and latching onto something.

Then the reaper jumped and pressed some triggers on his hands as he began propelling towards the building next to Vern in a rapid arc.

Should I do it now?!

Vern barely held himself in. There was quite some distance between the bridge's tower and any building. This grapple alone wasn't going to be enough to get him all the way to the shooter. If he destabilized the Ropecaster now, it would only backfire.

Before Vern knew it, the man flew above his head and stabbed his right blade into the brickwork of the building, using it as a ledge to launch himself higher. Abandoning the impaled blade mid-jump, he sent another steel strand flying from his left hand toward the railing of the roof.

Almost.

Vern focused on one of the flaws of the Ropecaster. At the highest level, it had a release and retraction mechanism. If he could simply get either one of those to stop working, he should be fine since the man won't be able to catch up to him.

These flaws actually did physical damage to the device, so he didn't even have to maintain the vision. Just sneakily destabilize the Ropecaster and get as much ground on the man as possible before he could come running after him. Descending this tall building would be no joke, not when the man would have to follow the laws of gravity like a good little human for once and maybe find some stairs.

BANGG

The next shot however, hit right on the hook, and the strand that just latched onto the railing recoiled and went limp, throwing the Kingsman off balance. But the reaper, with his lightning-fast reflexes, plunged his other blade into the building and found footing on the wall. But not for long as he suddenly pulled it out with both his hands and leapt away.

The shadow looming over Vern's head grew larger as the reaper seemed to be coming for him with that seething blade. Vern dodged to the side and his heart lurched to a halt. What!?

But the man already had his right hand outstretched as another swinging strand sent him hurling back into the sky toward the roof at a wide angle.

Fuck! Gave me a scare for nothing.

But this wasn't the time to slowly soothe his heart. There was no way he could 'predict' how the Kingsman would move once he was out of his sight, and his perception would be assigned grays incorrectly. Who knew if he could still perform the Vision in such a situation?

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So the moment the Kingsman gripped the edge of the roof—

NOW!

Vern concentrated on the releasing mechanism of the contraption and sought that destructive notion. A crack appeared in his perception, which widened and widened further…

THUMP

He involuntarily punched the carriage as his top hat fell down from his embrace. He wanted to scream, but it would draw unnecessary attention.

That was painful. More painful than he expected it to be. The man wasn't even too far away at this point. Why did it drain him so much? His other hand still clutched his head as the veins around his eyes surged with overwhelming pulsations.

But the Vision had done its job. Sparks flew from the Kingsman's waist, along with intense grinding and screeching. Still, the reaper didn't pay it any mind. He vaulted over the railing and landed on the roof.

Vern pressed harder on his head, picked up the top hat, and made a break for it. He bolted past the carriages, the debris, and all the wreckage that littered the roads.

BANGG

Once on the bridge, he glanced back and saw a red aura in front of the sharpshooter on the roof of the building. It was a foregone conclusion. He tried to use the long rifle like a staff to crack open the reaper's head, but in the blink of an eye—the rifle was sliced in half alongside with his head.

It was fine. Vern should be able to easily find himself some hiding spot by the time that Kingsman could get down from the roof. Assuming the other end of the bridge was unguarded. If it wasn't—he was done for.

Here's hoping there's not.

He ran down the cobblestone bridge, his coat billowing out behind him. His boots thudded loudly, drowned by the gushing of water underneath. His breaths came in ragged gasps, sweat dripping from his brow as he pushed himself harder, faster, one hand still clutching his eyes.

He quickly reached the halfway mark crossing the three corpses—one headless, one with half of one, and the last one with an intact skull but a gaping hole in his chest. The sight made him shudder, but he kept up the pace. Getting in there even half a day earlier meant that much less unwarranted grief for Ari.

Luckily this side was as barren as the other. Nothing but vestiges of a bustle littered the bridge—strollers, trinkets, carriages, clothes, just like everywhere else. No more Kingsman, at least not in his field of vision.

Vern shot a glance behind him, and his pupils constricted.

The Kingsman was hanging on the edge of the wall, making his way down by…stabbing through the building and using his blade as a ledge. After gaining some distance, he extracted it and jumped for his earlier blade that was still jutting out of the wall next to the window, completely cold.

But the moment he put his hand on it, he stabbed his other blade next to it, sheathed the first one before pulling it out again in the wake of more steam. Then like some mountaineer, he scaled down the building at breakneck speed with two seething blades.

Blast it all! These fuckers are crazy! Nothing was normal in this city. Why can't someone just stay within the calculations for once?

Vern accelerated, already on the other end of the bridge. He just had to blend in before the man could catch up.

Sidestepping many books, canes, and hats that littered the streets, he glanced one more time before a carriage blocked his sight—the reaper was already halfway through the bridge.

His heart wanted to leap out of his chest for this foolish game he had just played, but it would be worth it if he could just get inside one of the buildings or something.

After breaking the line of sight, he quickly turned into an alleyway and twisted and turned in different directions to confuse his pursuer.

"Do you need some help, my friend?"

Huh? Vern turned in the direction of the sound only to see a man running beside him in somewhat shabby clothes.

Vern wanted to stop and ask just what the hell was going on, but this wasn't the Kingsman, and the reaper was probably still hot on his tail. So he took a shallow breath as he squeezed through a narrow gap and replied, "How do you plan on helping me?"

The man ducked just like Vern to avoid hitting his head on the short entrance of the alleyway, "By deflecting your chaser, my friend."

Yeah, Vern didn't know whatever the hell he meant by that, and nor would he want anyone to fight that monster for him.

"Let's not, and just keep running. He shouldn't be able to locate us."

The man seemed to take that response in stride as he nodded and simply kept up, following all the random directions Vern moved in.

After what seemed to be another minute, Vern ended up on some kind of major street once again and saw a large establishment with a crowd gathered in front of it—plaques and signs in their hands. Vern didn't waste any time and rushed into the crowd, followed by the shabby man, who stopped right beside him.

Passing many a people somewhere close to the center, he settled down and donned back his top hat, perfectly blending in with others in the crowd. Then not even after a few seconds, he saw a red glow through the tapestry of heads and hats. Someone was walking out of the same street from which he did.

Sweat trickled down his brow as he took deep breaths, which seemed to be quite hard a task in and of itself. His body wasn't in quite the shape he would have hoped.

Looking at the red aura that seemed to not move around, he thought, I really am not worth pursuing. Please leave me.

He looked with his peripheral vision, pulling his hat further down. Then the red aura seemed to disappear as the faintly discernible shape sheathed his blades.

Yes. You can't have more people slipping into the inner district just to pursue a random nobody like me.

.

.

.

After another dozens of tense seconds, Vern heaved a sigh of relief as the shape finally turned back and entered the alleyway it came out of.

That was a little too close for comfort. It would have been game over—

"So, my friend, how did you do it?"

Vern glanced back at the man, a sharp glint in his eyes, "How did I do…what?"

"You orchestrated that, right, my friend?"

Vern turned around and took in the sight of the man among this crowd. He had a scraggy beard, long frayed hair, and a crumpled hat that attempted to mask his foreign visage. Draped over his thin frame was a rustic tunic, covered by a brown coat that was in tatters. A grimy bandage wrapped his arm down his elbow all the way to the fingers, while his neck was enswathed by a ragged scarf.

But in contrast to all his outfit were his sharp eyes under the shadow of his hat and the scabbard that hung on his waist above his balloon pants and tall boots. The man still had one of his hands resting on the ornate handle of the sword as if ready to draw it at a moment's notice.

This threw Vern for a loop. This man didn't look like anyone from the empire, much less a Kingsman. So what was this situation? This question? But Vern still replied to the scraggy swordsman, who surprisingly didn't have a strong accent., "I am not sure what you mean."

"Oh, did you really not do it, my friend? I sensed a ripple around you."

Since the man wasn't keen on being clear about what he meant, Vern wasn't gonna oust himself to some random swordsman for the sake of it. So he feigned innocence. "I just saw a chance and made a run for it, good sir. I don't understand what you're trying to say."

The swordsman looked to be in thought, pausing for a while before he replied, "Could you be a mystic that doesn't know about his own gifts?"