CHAPTER 85: CHAPTER 85

Sensing danger, Clayton quickly pushed his way into the crowd. He figured they wouldn’t dare start trouble in such a public place.

Without hesitation, he slipped into the bustling mass of people, drawing irritated shouts and curses as he bumped into them.

The one-handed pickpocket looked stunned by Clayton’s sudden move—then quickly grew irritated. He immediately gave chase, unwilling to lose him again.

But as he and his gang tried to keep up, they kept slamming into bystanders, causing chaos. The confusion only made it harder to track Clayton. Despite their urgency, they lost sight of him once more.

Frustrated, the pickpocket clenched his teeth. After a few seconds of thought, he turned to a nearby older man and asked, exasperated:

"Now what, Boss? That brat’s slippery as hell! He’s way too good at running!"

The older man stayed calm and gave a firm order:

"Alright, we’ll split up. If anyone spots him—kill him on sight, or whistle to alert the others."

"Got it!"

" Understood!"

The group scattered, fanning out across the area in search of Clayton.

...

Meanwhile, in the crowd, a young man strolled casually through the street—just another face among many. But his sharp eyes never stopped scanning. That young man was Clayton.

He allowed himself a faint smile, thinking he had finally lost them. But what he didn’t realize was that two of them were still on his trail, quietly shadowing him from a distance.

Still, Clayton remained cautious. He started walking in an erratic pattern, changing directions often to shake off potential pursuers. After a while, he felt confident enough to head home.

Just as he turned onto a familiar path, Dingo let out a low, repeated growl.

Clayton looked down, suspicious.

"What is it, Dingo?"

The dog sniffed the air, then glanced toward a certain part of the crowd. Following his gaze, Clayton spotted two lingering figures—right where Dingo had been looking.

His stomach dropped.

Still being followed.

Without hesitation, he darted into a nearby alley.

The two stalkers reacted immediately, pushing through the crowd to pursue him.

By the time they reached the alley entrance, Clayton was gone. The narrow passage was quiet. Too quiet.

They moved forward, eyes scanning the shadows.

Then—Snap! Snap!

The sound echoed through the alley.

At first, they paid no attention to the faint sound, assuming it was caused by something random and harmless.

But soon, they could no longer ignore it—a seemingly ordinary water projectile was suddenly hurtling straight toward their heads.

Instinctively, they tried to dodge, feeling slightly threatened. But in the next instant, they realized what it truly was—and were gripped by horror.

Then—Whoosh!

Jets of water shot toward their heads.

They tried to dodge, but the projectiles were too fast.

Boom! Boom!

The water bullets struck, bursting on impact. Blood and water splattered across the walls. Their heads jerked violently, narrowly avoiding direct hits. They managed to survive—but only just.

The burning sting in their wounds made one thing clear: these weren’t just regular spells. They were deadly. Precise. Lethal.

Realizing they were outmatched, both men reached for their whistles to call for help.

But before they could blow them—

Snap! Snap!

That sound again.

They froze, eyes wide with terror.

Boom! Boom!

The next shots were fatal. Their heads exploded like smashed fruit. Their bodies crumpled onto the ground, lifeless.

The blood splatter and broken bone fragments painted the alley red.

Silence returned.

A moment later, Clayton stepped out from the shadows, his expression cold.

He muttered an incantation—"Water Decay."

The corpses dissolved into slush, leaving only scraps of bloodstained clothing behind.

Clayton rummaged through what was left and retrieved a few valuables. Among them—a whistle.

...

Back in the crowd, the one-handed pickpocket paced restlessly, his face twisted in frustration.

He still hadn’t found any trace of Clayton.

Annoyed, he let out a sharp whistle.

Moments later, a few of his lackeys appeared.

"Did you find him?" the pickpocket asked, voice tense.

"No! He’s like a damn ghost!"

He cursed under his breath.

"Where’s the rest of the crew?"

The three exchanged uncertain looks.

"No idea... Maybe they’re too far to hear the whistle?"

The pickpocket clenched his jaw but didn’t push it.

"Fine. Split up again! I want that bastard found—now!"

They nodded and disappeared into the crowd once more.

Still alone, the pickpocket resumed his search. Despite his efforts, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Just then, the older man—his boss—appeared.

"Any luck?"

"None, Boss..." he muttered.

The man paused, then said:

"Let’s head toward the farming district. That kid gives off a farmer’s vibe."

Hearing that, the pickpocket perked up.

"Good idea. Maybe we’ll finally catch him."

He whistled to signal the others and followed his boss toward the outskirts of the city.

Once they arrived, the group split up again. The pickpocket and his boss waited near a narrow path they believed Clayton would take.

At first, the pickpocket was confident. Revenge felt close.

But as minutes passed with no sign of Clayton, doubt began to creep in.

Then—movement.

A familiar figure stepped into view.

The pickpocket’s eyes widened.

"Boss! There he is!"

The older man turned and nodded.

"Alright. Let’s move."

The pickpocket whistled to alert the others and followed close behind his boss.

Together, they intercepted Clayton.

He stopped, startled.

The pickpocket grinned wickedly.

"Haha! Gotcha now, you little shit! Where you gonna run this time?!"

Clayton looked around. Only two of them? He felt a surge of relief.

With a subtle motion, he signaled his mini skeletons to fall back. He didn’t want them caught in the crossfire.

The pickpocket noticed the gesture and misread it entirely.

"Hey! Are you deaf or just dumb, bastard?!" he shouted.

Clayton turned toward him—calm, steady.

His expression was cold. Unbothered.

That stare hit the pickpocket harder than any insult. It made him feel like a joke. Like Clayton didn’t even see him as a threat.

Enraged, he snarled:

"Bastard! Not afraid to die, huh—?"

But before he could finish—

Snap!