Prologue: Smoke in Glen Luna
A small bar, just like any you'd find in the alleys of the Empire.
Quiet music from a little phonograph filled the place, soothing the patrons' minds and bodies.
Glen Luna
"Hm."
As always, the cocktail recommended by the Master, and a cigar in hand.
"Hoo..."
This moment, with the complex flavors and aromas of booze and tobacco lingering in my mouth, was pure bliss.
I was savoring the cocktail's bouquet alongside my cigar when—
The phonograph's music suddenly shifted.
"Hm? Jazz? Master, what's with the sudden change?"
Crunch, crunch.
The Master, sporting that stylish mustache straight out of a storybook, wiped his glass in silence before speaking.
"A customer's here. Gotta switch the music."
"Hm? Whatever, I guess."
My eyes took in the neat, peaceful bar scene; my nose and mouth savored the cocktail-cigar synergy; my ears drank in the rich jazz melody.
Clunk!
Then came a noise like cold water dousing that perfect harmony.
The door to Glen Luna flew open with a bang.
At the same moment, the jazz cut out, dropping into a suspenseful pause.
Thud.
A man plopped down right next to me, not bothering to brush the dirt off his boots—in fact, stomping them harder.
The faint clink of ice melting in my glass, the jazz, and this guy's discordant racket were messing with my ears.
"You Abel?"
"Hooo..."
I glanced at my cocktail for a second, then drew on the cigar, filling my mouth with rich smoke.
Angus Fleur—a top-shelf cigar, through and through.
There was something else to it, packed as it was with mana.
Click.
I was enjoying it when a nasty click sounded at my temple, followed by a cold metallic chill.
A revolver.
Confirming that, I said calmly,
"Oh? Weren't you looking for some guy named Abel? You shove a gun in my face without even checking."
"Ha! What a goddamn hick-town drama."
He pressed the barrel harder against my temple.
I rolled my eyes to look at him. Not a pretty sight.
Bloodshot eyes, foam dried at the corners of his mouth—a junkie thug if I'd ever seen one.
I couldn't hold back a sigh.
"Haaah. Seriously. Now even trash like you is after me."
"Huh?"
"Alright, alright, Mr. Killer."
I casually raised both hands above my head, exhaled cigar smoke, and turned to face him.
The idiot didn't even try to stop me—hell, he slacked off thinking I'd surrendered.
Green as they come; it was obvious.
"Before you kill me, there's one thing I wanna say."
"What?"
Click.
He jammed the gun against my forehead, like he'd blow my brains out at the first dumb word.
Funny. I'd have shot already, no chit-chat.
At this ridiculous back-alley farce, I pointed downward with a finger.
"Why isn't the smoke disappearing?"
The smoke had by now filled the bar floor like a cloud.
I blew out more cigar smoke and eyed the man.
He looked flustered.
"Smoke's supposed to vanish quick. You know that, right?"
Warning
You are revealing your own ability.
Opponent has noticed something unusual. Ability manifestation power and destructive power slightly increased.
A blue window flickered in my vision.
I ignored it, watching the man freak out over his suddenly immobile hands.
"What the—?!"
He couldn't see it. No way a non-awakened normie could spot mana.
Smoke squeezing his arms tight, like ropes or chains, cutting off circulation.
To him, it must've looked like his limbs were possessed.
-----!
The jazz swelling to a climax throughout the bar.
I whistled lightly along, sipping my cocktail—now perfectly mellowed by the ice.
Oak barrel notes, apple, heavy smoke tickling my nose alongside the taste.
"Master, your skills haven't dulled a bit."
Crunch, crunch.
"Sheesh, no small talk? You're too much."
Passing by the ever-stoic Master, I savored the cigar smoke.
The lingering cocktail flavors synergized with it, blooming into something deeper.
He must've prepped it seeing my cigar.
"Please..."
A voice reached my ear as I casually enjoyed my drink and smoke.
"Spare me... please, I didn't know you were someone important..."
The same guy who'd just shoved a gun in my face to kill me.
His voice, brimming with certainty, madness, and glee moments ago, now dripped only with desperate will to live.
"Hm. Wanna live, huh."
"Yes! Yes! I'll tell you everything—who sent me. Please... spare me!"
Bound head to toe in my cigar smoke.
Without it, he'd probably be kowtowing by now, he looked that desperate.
"Who hired you does pique my interest."
His face lit up at my words.
Probably thought he saw a way out.
"But I don't feel like saving the guy who came for my head just to hear it."
"Y-Yes...?"
"Hoooooo."
Deeper exhale of cigar smoke.
The man stared with trembling eyes at the young man before him—barely looking of age.
Why had he taken this job?
Blinded by drugs, by money—a fatal mistake.
Among the back-alley powerhouses, this one stood out as utterly alien.
Why make an enemy of the Smoke Devil, Abel?
His face vanished in the billowing smoke; only faint wisps revealed glimpses of him now.
"See ya."
With a casual wave goodbye, the man lost consciousness—and his life—right there.