"I won."
Ali's voice was low, laced with the kind of conviction that made the very idea of losing feel like an insult. He shook his head at Jacob, clearly unimpressed that he'd even considered the possibility of Philip walking away victorious.
Jacob exhaled a long, shaky breath, the tension in his shoulders melting away just slightly. "Then the ring—"
"I gave it to him," Ali added casually, as if handing over a rare and powerful item to a near-stranger was no different than passing the salt at dinner.
Jacob blinked.
Then blinked again.
His jaw dropped slightly before he leaned back, both hands flying to cover his face.
"Of course you did…" he muttered through his palms. "You gave him the ring. Oh my god, you gave him the ring."
Ali didn't bother reacting. He sat coolly across from him, calmly chewing a mouthful of pastry like he wasn't dropping bombshells every other sentence. He waited. Patient. Silent. Letting Jacob spiral.
Jacob finally pulled his hands from his face, rubbing his temples as if trying to massage away the chaos. "Why?"
Ali didn't blink. "Listen here. You're not leaving the Air Guild. I've decided you're more valuable as an apostle of one of the five ancient guilds. So, since the Frenchman lost the duel, he's now forced to join the Air Guild and, effectively, serve as your bodyguard. He's strong, has good instincts, and the potential to grow even stronger. I gave him the ring for your protection."
He spoke flatly, as though stating universal truth.
Jacob stared at him, trying to gauge how serious he was—only to realise Ali was always serious. There were no jokes. No second guesses. Just firm, decisive action.
He sat back in his chair, brooding. The path he'd mapped—cut off in one afternoon. He'd envisioned a clean exit from the Air Guild, an independent route paved by his own ambition. And now? Now he had to double down, play the loyal apostle again. Smile at the elders. Dance their dance.
He gritted his teeth. "The Frenchman is known as a crazy bastard who drags around a slave he beats up whenever he's bored. And you want me to team up with him?"
Ali leaned forward slightly. "Let's just say that having your guts torn out of your body can change a man. And since when do you care about abused slaves, Jacob? You're not running a charity. All you need to care about is this—"
Snap.
A paper appeared in Ali's hand with a soft flicker of light. He slid it across the table.
Jacob narrowed his eyes and picked it up. He read quickly at first, then slower. The expression on his face shifted from suspicion to reluctant approval.
It was the contract. A legitimate one from the Judgment Guild. All it needed now was Philip's signature to become official and appear in the interface system. Jacob read through it again just to be sure.
"This is good," he admitted grudgingly, handing it back.
Ali didn't move to take it. "You give it to him yourself," he said coolly. "Take him to the Air Guild. Make it official. You should get properly introduced to your new friend."
Jacob gave him a deadpan stare.
"Oh, and by the way," Ali added, "he's got some very interesting air-based spells—or skills, maybe. Not sure which. Either way, his fighting style is… entertaining."
Jacob stood up from the table, clearly done. "I'm not in the mood to eat."
He took two steps toward the exit—before suddenly freezing mid-step.
His body stopped responding.
His heartbeat jumped.
Ali's voice cut through the silence like ice.
"Forgetting something?"
Jacob turned back slowly, one foot still lifted like he was caught mid-stride. He saw Ali sitting with perfect calm, tapping the back of his right hand with his left index finger.
He felt like a child being disciplined.
Jacob exhaled sharply through his nose. "What's your summon?" he asked bitterly.
Ali's eyes darkened slightly. "Nice try. Now give them."
Jacob sighed in defeat. He opened his interface and initiated the trade—sending the gloves without any compensation in return. The system confirmed the transaction with a soft chime.
Ali accepted, opening his inventory to reveal the black gloves with golden engravings pulsing faintly with magical energy. He looked them over once, satisfied.
"Happy?" Jacob muttered, already halfway to the door.
"Jacob, the Adventurer's Guild would have never taken you in," Ali said, his voice calm, final.
"Their leaders aren't exactly fond of me—or those who associate with me. They'd rather watch the Air Guild kill you than bring you into their fold and deal with the people chasing you."
Jacob didn't reply. He didn't turn. He just stepped through the cafe doors and disappeared into the street, his footsteps muffled by the soft creak of the wooden floor.
Ali didn't expect a response. He watched the door for a moment longer, then returned his gaze to the half-empty cup of hot chocolate in front of him.
'Maybe that'll help him process it,' Ali thought as he took a final sip. 'But he won't be happy either way.'
Jacob wasn't the type to accept losses. Especially not invisible ones.
'The guy fears the unknown. Hates not being in control of his own life. He's ambitious, yeah—but he's not brave. He wants power, but not at the cost of risk. He avoids discomfort, which is why he builds his world around manipulation instead of force. Emotions? Sentiment? He doesn't value them unless they benefit him somehow. Every connection is transactional. Every relationship is leverage.'
Ali's mind moved like a scalpel, dissecting people until there was nothing left but traits and patterns.
'Makes him easy to control. Very easy…'
He stood, polishing off a meal packed with more calories than most could stomach in a day, and left the shop. The air outside was cooler now, heavy with the low thrum of activity as Paradise buzzed in anticipation of the gate.
Ali's eyes swept across the shifting crowd, his focus split between the present and the quiet operations he had running beneath the surface of the world. His Spirit, already worn thin from the morning, was trickling lower.
He didn't show it, but he felt the weight of every portal he was opening, scattered in dark corners and alleyways. Invisible conduits shifting scrap metal from one realm to another.
'The second they pass through, I lose control—but only temporarily. I can re-establish connection the moment I reattach my Force. Still… the portal alone drains a point of Spirit. And that's not even counting the dragon…'
He glanced down.
His shadow stretched beside him as he passed under a lamp, but it was far from empty. A massive, reptilian head rested within its dark depths—black scales, monstrous fangs, and two dull eyes that seemed to follow him without movement.
Its hunger stirred beneath his skin, a constant irritant gnawing at the edges of his mind.
Ali cut through a narrow alley to avoid the main square—less noise, fewer eyes.
That's when he heard it.
VOOOOOOOO
A low, smooth hum filled the air above him. Familiar, but unnatural.
Ali stopped. Instinct faster than thought, he drew his Desert Eagle and aimed upward.
A shimmer flickered in the air, and then—
A small, sleek black drone decloaked just overhead, revealing a streamlined chassis with four whisper-quiet rotors. The machine descended slowly, precise, almost gentle. Its engineering was advanced—far beyond what the average player had access to. He'd seen enough war tech on Earth to know how deadly drones could be when used properly.
Ali kept his gun trained on it, silent, still. Watching.
The drone landed softly in the dust.
A small compartment opened on top, revealing a single white scroll neatly rolled up.
Ali crouched, picked it up, eyes narrowed. His Force brushed the drone's frame—nothing unstable, no hidden explosives. The hatch shut the moment the scroll left the compartment, and the drone immediately took off, its body fading into the air as its cloaking system reactivated.
Ali unrolled the note, reading it silently.
"Hi, my name is Miles. I am the apostle of the Tech Guild on the second level. You met my robot in the world of Jujutsu Kaisen.
Tomorrow morning at 07:00, my drone will wait outside your home. Follow it to meet with me."
The writing was neat, almost too formal. But it didn't end there.
"If you do not, I will release footage of your fight with the Sorcerer Killer."
Ali's jaw didn't move. His eyes scanned the last line twice. Then, without ceremony, he lifted his hand.
Crackle.
A surge of red energy surged from his palm, burning the paper into ash in less than a second. The wind scattered the embers into the alley.
He stood there for a moment.
Silent.
'What to do…'
He resumed walking. There was no rush in his step, no shift in expression—but behind his eyes, the calculations had already begun.
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Five chapters ahead of webnovel on patreon.com/Rondo312