One Strike, Three Gains (2)
A burly frame bulked up with some effort at building muscle, two protruding front teeth. Long hair tied back.
Lorden, the loan shark who ran the biggest outfit in Lamieli's back alleys.
Lately, he couldn't shake the feeling that everything was going to shit.
'Fuck, nothing's going right...'
He slumped in his chair with a heavy sigh.
Fingers drumming anxiously on the armrest out of habit, he sank into thought.
Just a short while ago, his organization had been sailing smooth as silk, full sails ahead.
Then, bam. Hit a reef out of nowhere.
Right from the moment Kutan, his action captain, and his lackeys turned up charred black corpses.
'The guys I sent to hit the bakery... why the fuck did they die at Aleng's weapon shop? They didn't even stop by the bakery, those bastards.'
He'd rushed to the weapon shop too late to piece things together—the knights had already combed through it, leaving no evidence behind.
Identifying them at all in a blaze that massive was a goddamn miracle.
'But Aleng's corpse wasn't there.'
If that third-rate blacksmith's body had turned up too, he could've written it off as some freak accident and moved on.
But only his men's bodies.
This screamed sabotage by some rival gunning for him.
So Lorden figured Aleng held the clues and scoured high and low for the guy.
But whether he'd flown to the heavens or sunk into the earth, no one had laid eyes on him.
'Fuck, and then patrols ramped up. Goddamn it.'
After the big fire, patrols—ones they usually half-assed—intensified like crazy.
Way overkill for a few alley punks burning up.
And not just for a day or two—it dragged on from then till now!
With armored tin cans prowling day and night like their eyes were on fire, inter-gang beefs naturally hit a lull.
This was the moment he'd waited fucking ages for.
Just one step away now.
Seeds he'd diligently sown were ripe for harvest.
All he had to do was take out the biggest rivals, the Stone Faction, at this pivotal juncture—and brakes slammed on hard.
Lorden was in deep shit.
He'd tapped his noble connections to gauge the situation, tried greasing palms to fix it.
But no matter how much cash he shoved their way, they just shook their heads.
Orders must've come from way up top.
'Stone Faction's ripping itself apart right now—that's our shot!'
With him stalled, his crew started doubting his leadership.
His Rust Faction was a pack of desire-driven thugs, handpicked for being easy to handle with the right payoff.
But now, that backfired big time.
The organization was a dam on the verge of bursting.
"Hey, why aren't we smashing those stone-head bastards?"
"What, boss too scared to hit 'em now that it's go-time?"
"Nothing gets done right without Kutan. Guess he was the real boss."
"Fuck! I'm sick of just boozing! If we can't swing swords, at least get us some pussy! Heard Stone Faction's hideout's full of sweet moans every night! Who's with me?!"
Of course, he'd caught the loudmouths and decorated the walls with their severed heads.
But even that had limits now.
Keep slaughtering his own men, and he'd just bleed himself dry.
He needed a breakthrough, or he was done.
"Goddamn it..."
Lorden scowled.
Then—
Bang!
"B-Boss!"
One of his scouts burst in, face pale and frantic.
Lorden shot him a glare, mood soured.
"What."
"Some weirdo barged in!"
Lorden shot to his feet.
"Weirdo? 'Some weirdo'? Just one guy?"
"Y-Yes! Solo!"
"One guy? Why the hell's he here? Stone Faction scout?"
"Doesn't seem like it! Never seen him before."
If this scout didn't know him, he wasn't one of theirs or Stone's.
And no idiot charges in alone...
"...Maybe a noble sent him with intel."
The scout's face lit up.
"Y-Yeah! Fits—clothes, vibe, all noble-like!"
But Lorden felt uneasy.
'Who? Who sent him?'
Nobles gobbled his bribes easy enough but kept their distance, smug superior types.
Mutual back-scratching: look the other way on Rust jobs, tip off on heat.
If one showed up, it'd cost a fortune.
'Probably demand a king's ransom... but if it pans out...'
Lorden weighed pros and cons quick.
Tsked.
"You. Fetch a dagger from the warehouse. You know what happens if anything goes missing."
"!"
The scout paled— that dagger was Lorden's prized magic blade.
Worth more than the whole treasure vault combined.
Lorden was playing his ace to break the deadlock.
"Fuck. Better see what he brought."
Lorden shoved the door open and stepped out.
Chaos everywhere.
Peering to see what, his eyes bulged.
Smack!
Smack!
One man.
Scout nailed it—stood out.
Black hair, black eyes, expressionless face, neat clothes, brutal violence.
Weird club in hand—probably iron, hard to tell in the dim hideout.
His two gatekeepers were getting pulverized mid-fall.
Thud!
Thud!
Bodies hit the floor, bloodied messes, skulls caved in, rolling.
Dead, for sure.
"Fuck... what the hell's this psycho? Killed my boys? Thought he had info?"
Lorden bit his lip.
Matched the guy's look to his mental rogue's gallery.
Nothing.
'Who? Where from? Not noble?'
Wanted time to think.
But felt his men's eyes on him.
'Shit.'
Two lackeys downed right in front of him—dragging feet would fan doubts about his grip.
Lorden strode forward, bellowing.
"Hey, you dogshit fuck! What the hell is this?!"
"You're the bucktooth bastard. Guess it's true you can spot 'em by the teeth."
"!"
His encircling thugs gasped.
Mentioning Lorden's tooth complex to his face? Taboo.
Anyone who'd breathed the word "tooth" got yanked, buried alive.
But the man pressed on, unfazed.
"Fucking wild how teeth can stick out like that... They pop in if you push?"
Straight gut-punch insult.
Lorden's face flushed purple.
"You motherfucker! Who sent you?!"
The guy ignored him.
"Hm, real variety here. Hire by looks? Boss takes the cake for ugliest, though. Gotta give you that."
Nodded sagely.
Grind.
Lorden gnashed his teeth.
Low growl: "Asked... where... you're from."
"That... name slips my mind... but yeah, another freakish mug."
Rubbed his chin, recalling.
"Ah, square jaw."
"Kutan!"
Sparks flew from Lorden's eyes.
Kutan's killer walked right in!
Lorden scanned quick.
'Most of the crew's here. He's alone. Didn't see the gatekeepers go down, but handled two—skilled. But...'
No matter how tough, numbers win. Lorden knew that cold.
Sneer.
Cruel grin curled his lips.
"Big balls, psycho. Boys! Blades out!"
Thugs fumbled for weapons.
"Where's my sword?! That's mine!"
"Shut up, yours mine whatever—search around, dumbass!"
Ragtag, but each could kill easy.
No way he walks out alive.
Lorden welcomed an outsider he could waste without regret.
Bonus: Kutan's avenger.
Torture him slow, squeeze every drop—perfect lesson for challengers.
'Buys time, at least.'
Needed to rally them.
"Listen up! This dog's Kutan's killer! We don't forgive family-killers! Time to show 'em!"
Thugs roared.
The man glanced back.
Nodded.
"Figures. Minions of the black mage targeting Yustia, through and through."
His voice boomed, drilling ears.
Thugs clawed ears at the eerie ring.
'What? Yustia? Black mage?'
Question marks over Lorden's head.
Random bullshit—what the fuck?
'We're straight loan sharks.'
Ignoring doubts, the man leveled his club, posed.
Lorden opened to clarify.
"What the f—"
"Lost Hope."
Cut him off cold.
"Won't let you kidnap Iriel."
"Huh??? Us...? Rust, yeah, but..."
One thug chimed in.
Man smirked faintly.
"Right, you Lost Hope grunts. Promised rank if you nab Iriel for the black mage."
Eh?
Lorden's gut twisted—something way off.
'Kidnap? We do some grabs as sharks... but Yustia? Iriel...'
Flash: red-haired woman.
'Wait!! Yustia Duke's lady, Iriel Yustia?!'
Jaw dropped.
'No wonder patrols... oh fuck no!!!'
Panic surged.
True or not, if it stuck, they were fucked.
Back-alley kings? Whole outfit wiped.
They only snatched manageable marks—clean sharks.
Touch Yustia's heiress? Obvious doom—no idiot tries that!
Had to deny now!
"W-Wai—"
Too late.
Thwack!
Man lunged at the thug.
Unarmed, still hunting sword.
Speed blurred vision!
Wham!!
Dull thud echoed.
Not the thug.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Roll.
Flop.
The charger flew back pathetic.
Thug, reflexive flail, blinked stunned.
"Wh-What?!"
Stares shifted.
Gatekeeper-slayer, now one-punch master—hidden expert!
"...Y-You this strong...?"
"B-Bro, I'll pay back that booze tab."
"F-Found your sword? Here, take it!!"
Lorden furrowed brow.
'What the hell?'
***
Zeke lay floored, sly smile.
'Ah, gotta cough blood too.'
Weak reverse flow in mana roads—congestion surged.
Hack!!!
Spit hearty.
Fist-to-gut worthy? Geyser of blood.
"Urk. As expected. Black. Mages. Huh."
Glared, gritted teeth.
His hand glowed blue tattoo.
'Close.'
Shoved hand under belly quick, hid light.
Humm—
Soy Spoon's baking mana trick.
His version: finer, faster.
Baseball-sized mana orb formed.
Detonated under belly.
BOOM!!!!
Shook the building, smoke wisped up.
"Fuck... ing... bastards..."
'Ah, smoke—shitty acting.'
Usual deadpan fine for tough guy.
Now? Weakened act.
Black magic vibe, but stiff lines killed emotion.
Hiss—
Smoke filled hideout.
One by one, inhalers twitched.
Eyes reddening slow.
Zeke peeked low, head down.
'Good, most breathed it.'
Sucked smoke back to mana, absorbed tattoo remnants.
"...Grrgl."
"...Booze."
"...Sex."
"...Wanna kill."
Zeke eyed rear.
'But these fuckers—how long they zoning? Come on already.'
Face buried to hide:
"Assassin. Captain. Foes. Sniffed. Us. Out."
Eyes squeezed shut.
'Ah, fuck the delivery! Acting sucks—if they don't buy it?'
Belated worry hit.