CHAPTER 188: 188. HITMAN’S HUNTING

At Point B, the mist hovered low in the clearing, circling Lucian’s boots as if it were alive. He sees glints of pale light coming through the dense canopy on the edges of his twin short swords. His gray eyes searched the dark tree line where six mercenaries were concealed.

Despite their heavy, wild bloodlust, they remained hidden and were reluctant to attack first. As he swung his swords in slow arcs, their tips slicing through the grass with a gentle swish, Lucian let out a breath, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

"Really?" he called in a mockingly disappointed tone. "Are you simply going to lurk up there like frightened rats? Come on down and fight. Or are you guys don’t have something between your legs to face me?"

A heavy thud broke the silence as a mercenary dropped from a tree, landing at the clearing’s edge. His dark cloak billowed, revealing a tall, muscular frame, scars visible under worn leather armor.

Under his hood, his eyes blazed with scorn as he held a battered longsword, its blade chipped but sharp. "This kid has a mouth," he growled with a rough voice. "I’m going to like closing it."

Thin and wiry, another figure stole into the clearing, holding a twisted staff. "It makes sense why the bounty is so high," he said in a high-pitched voice. "This brat’s must’ve pissed off the wrong people."

A third mercenary advanced, a massive brute with a huge greatsword slung over his shoulder. His grin was wild and his shaved head was glistening with sweat. His voice was deep and threatening as he rumbled, "I’ll carve him into pieces."

The six mercenaries spread out, forming a loose semicircle around Lucian, their weapons glinting in the dim light. Crossbows, daggers, and swords were ready, their stances tense but careful.

Lucian tilted his head, tapping one sword against his boot, his expression almost bored. "You know," he said, his tone casual as he pointed a blade at the nearest mercenary, "I considered using my blood technique. But honestly? You lot aren’t worth the effort."

The wiry mercenary with the staff stiffened, his knuckles whitening around his weapon. "Big talk for a dead kid," he spat, raising his staff as mana crackled along its length. "I’ll burn that smirk off your face!"

Lucian’s smirk widened. "Go on, then," he said softly. "Impress me."

Snarling, the wiry mercenary pushed his staff forward. The clearing blazed orange as a bolt of flame roared toward Lucian. The grass where Lucian stood was scorched by the flames as he moved quickly and gracefully around the fire.

Lucian’s right sword flashed upward, closing the gap before the mercenary could react. The man’s severed hand fell next to his staff, which clattered to the ground, split in two.

He started to scream, but Lucian’s left sword cut his throat, choking him with a stream of blood. The clearing became silent as the lifeless body crumpled.

The remaining five mercenaries froze, their bravado fading as they stared at the blood-soaked teen. The tall mercenary with the longsword tightened his grip, his jaw clenching.

"He’s fast," he said in a low voice. "Get ready."

The blood from Lucian’s blades flicked. He declared, "One down."

"Next? " He raised an eyebrow as he looked at the greatsword-wielding brute. "You seem eager."

With a roar, the brute charged forward, his greatsword raised, its enormous blade whirring through the air. His heavy footsteps made the ground tremble, but Lucian remained unflinching. Lucian ducked to the side as the sword fell, the blade crunching loudly into the ground, spraying grass and dirt.

With his twin swords a blur, Lucian spun around and slashed both blades into the brute’s side, piercing both flesh and armor. The man’s eyes widened in shock as he gasped, but Lucian swiftly and relentlessly stabbed repeatedly until the brute fell in a heap, blood accumulating beneath him.

With their confidence crumbling, the four remaining mercenaries exchanged anxious looks. One whispered, his crossbow trembling in his hands, "He’s not human."

Lucian straightened, his gray eyes cold, his cloak smeared with blood. "Last chance," he said softly. "Come at me in together, or I’ll hunt you down one by one."

********

Four mercenaries, their cloaks patterned after leaves, slipped through the bushes at Point C. They had been dispatched to investigate why there had been no reports or signals from their comrades here. Eyes darting to every corner, the group moved cautiously.

Three of them scattered, searching the thick undergrowth and tangled branches for their missing allies. The grizzled, scarred-faced acting leader was crouched beside a twisted oak, his fingers searching the ground for traces or indications.

The silence was broken by a sharp cry. "Come on over here!" One of the mercenaries yelled, "Hurry!" in a panicked tone.

The leader rushed toward the noise and the others gathered at the spot. They stopped suddenly and stared at the desolate scene, breathing heavily. One of their companions lay sprawled among the fallen, dry leaves, his body unusually still. Blood pooled under his head, dark and shiny.

The leader knelt down and turned the man’s head gently, exposing a tiny, neat wound in his temple that was both accurate and lethal. The mercenaries looked at each other uneasily, their fear intensifying. In their world of swords and mana, there were no firearms; this wound was peculiar and out of world.

"How did this happen?" Leaning closer and squinting at the small hole, the youngest mercenary mumbled, his voice trembling.

"Too tiny for an arrow," said another, his eyes darting anxiously to the trees as his tone uncertain. "Perhaps... some sort of magic?"

The leader stood with his jaw clenched and his hand on his sword’s hilt. "Something’s off," he growled in a low, tense voice.

"Spread out. Look for the others." The leader remained by the body as the mercenaries nodded and slipped back, their movements tentative. His instincts warned him of danger as he looked at the treetops.

His cheek was struck by a warm drop. Wiping it away with a flinch, he froze when his blood-stained fingers. His heart pounding, he looked up. High in the branches, another mercenary’s body hung, swaying gently, blood dripping from a matching hole in his skull.