The narrow alleyway echoed with the harsh sound of swords clashing with ruthless precision.
Clang!
Clang!!
Clang!!!
The night was a canvas of cold shadows and shifting mud as Grey fought desperately against the leader of the thieving gang.
The leader, a wiry man with a scar slicing through his cheek, exuded malevolence.
His eyes were narrow slits of malice as he sneered.
"You're a tough one. Most don't last long once they cross blades with me."
The leader's gaze turned bloodshot, his fury palpable.
"It's a pity you messed with the wrong guy. NOW DIE!"
With a practiced flourish, the leader chanted:
"Mudslide!"
His command warped the ground beneath them.
The cobblestones transformed into a slick, treacherous expanse of mud, threatening to betray Grey's every step.
He struggled to maintain his footing on the unstable surface, the night air biting at his exposed skin.
Despite the dangerous footing, Grey's eyes remained cold and unyielding.
His every movement was a dance of precision, honed through countless battles.
As the leader lunged, his crude sword glinted ominously under the moonlight. Grey's reflexes, sharpened from a lifetime of combat, allowed him to barely deflect the leader's assault.
The impact reverberated through his body, and he staggered, a sharp taste of iron filling his mouth.
The pain was raw and immediate—an intense reminder of the disparity between them.
This leader was not a simple opponent at all. He wielded mana to bolster his attacks and fortify his defenses.
The mudslide spell made the battle even more chaotic, complicating Grey's efforts.
The leader pressed his advantage relentlessly.
Their swords clashed repeatedly—
Clang!
Clang!!
Clang!!!
Each contact left fresh cuts on the leader's body, while Grey's sword began to show signs of wear, tiny cracks threatening to splinter the blade.
The weight of the battle was becoming evident.
Grey knew that if his sword shattered, his chances of victory would evaporate.
Realizing the futility of trying to win with his current strategy, he decided to shift his approach.
He focused his gaze on the leader's neck, his intent sharpened to a deadly edge.
As he lunged forward, his killing intent palpable, the leader brought up his blade just in time to deflect—but even so, something unexpected happened...
Even though he blocked it perfectly, he felt a warm, wet tickle down his throat. It was quite shallow, but it was unmistakably his blood...
His neck—
A line of crimson spilled.
The man's eyes widened, disbelief painted across his face.
How...?
He was certain he blocked it...
So how??
He stumbled back.
There, in the pale moonlight, stood a boy—naked, bloodstained, breathing heavily.
His eyes burned gold.
His body trembled with exhaustion, but the sword in his hand remained steady.
The scene was almost absurd, but for the leader, the only sensation was a paralyzing dread.
'Monster.'
That was the only word that crossed his mind.
The boy before him was a monster—a force of nature that had outmatched him without even using mana.
The leader's eyes widened in horror, the shock of his own vulnerability striking him deeply.
The chilling golden eyes of Grey seemed to pierce through his very soul, and a suffocating fear gripped his heart.
He clutched at his neck, his breathing ragged and panicked.
He don't know what strange art did the boy used to defeat him..
but he didn't need to know more....
He had seen enough.
This battle was beyond his capability to win.
He raised his hands in surrender, his voice a broken whisper.
"I... I yield. Please, spare me."
Grey's breathing was ragged, his muscles burning. Bloodlust drained from him like smoke after a firestorm. In its place, an eerie silence took root.
He swayed slightly, his bones aching—cracked, bruised, battered.
After all, his body was still damaged from the meeting with his father. It was serious, and to fight thugs who possessed mana in such a condition was no easy feat...
If not for the years of carnage and relentless training, he would've fallen long ago.
Though he didn't show any sign of pain outwardly.
As—he smiled.
A crooked, tired thing.
"Give me everything you have," he rasped.
The leader, hands still raised, obeyed with stiff fingers.
He handed over two pouches—his own and Grey's.
Then, with a bitter grimace, he pointed downward.
"Take your clothes, too. Honestly... it's painful to look at you like that."
Grey glanced down at himself.
Then smirked.
"Heh."
'As expected... I'm perfect as ever.'
The leader watched the absurd self-satisfaction bloom across Grey's face, trying not to groan aloud.
'What the hell is he even proud of?'
As Grey finished dressing, he observed the two bandits lying unconscious. His attention was drawn to the leader as he administered some form of treatment to them. Grey's curiosity was piqued, and he inquired,
"What did you give them?"
The leader shrugged. "Some cheap medicine. Not as good as a potion, but it'll do. Speeds up healing."
Grey nodded. "Do you have more?"
"Used the last of it just now."
A pity.
His body throbbed with dull, persistent agony.
But it would have to wait.
He shifted, eyes narrowing in thought.
"Do you know any black markets?"
The leader hesitated.
Then nodded.
"There's one. But it won't open for another month."
Grey's frustration was evident. He had a week to return to the academy or face expulsion. The academy represented a safe haven and a chance for a new beginning—one he was keen to seize.
As he gathered the money from the bandits, preparing to leave, the leader's voice stopped him.
"Wait," the leader called out.
Grey turned, his expression inquisitive.
The leader spoke, his tone shifting to a more calculated demeanor.
"If you need to sell or buy something, I can help with that. For a commission, of course."
Grey's golden eyes were cold as he asked,
"And why are you helping me?"
The leader's demeanor shifted to a sly grin as he clasped his hands together.
"You see, I'm in dire need of money. If you give me a commission, I'll assist you with whatever you need," he said, then continued.
"You're new to this city, aren't you? Those clothes suggest you come from an elite family. Nobles of your rank are usually well-guarded. The fact that you're alone implies either you've escaped from your household or been cast out."
The leader's eyes gleamed with cunning.
"Whatever the case may be, you're in need of money, aren't you? Isn't that why you took my money?" He added with a smirk.
Grey was momentarily taken aback by the leader's keen observation. Despite the earlier confrontation, the leader hadn't fled when given the chance. Instead, he was trying to negotiate.
'It might be a trap,'
But so what?
The fact that the man had accurately assessed his situation showed intelligence—a trait Grey valued.
Besides, he could always deal with any treachery later.
He nodded thoughtfully and added,
"If you try anything funny this time, I won't let you get away with just a cut," his gaze fixed on the shallow wound on the leader's neck.
The leader shuddered involuntarily under Grey's cold, unwavering stare.
He stammered, "I… I understand."
The leader's earlier bravado waned, replaced by a palpable nervousness.
"Follow me. I know some people who'd be interested in making a deal."
"By the way, this one is Rex," the leader said, gesturing to himself.
"Grey," he replied curtly.
Thus began an unlikely partnership—the ruthless killer and the cunning thief, brought together by their mutual need for profit.