I Seek Power
"I seek power."
Clack-clack, clack-clack. The entire tavern rattled along with the screeching of the train overhead.
"They really need to blow up those tracks or something," the owner said with a wry chuckle. He didn't actually have the courage to blow up a railway, of course. But honestly, doing that seemed far more realistic than earning enough money to move his tavern out from under the tracks.
"What do you think, pal?" the owner asked.
But the man only stared blankly at the alcohol sloshing in his glass.
"Looks like this guy's out of it again." The owner quickly turned his attention elsewhere. He was a regular, so the owner knew his habits well.
Just then, someone shouted from a rowdy table nearby. "Hey, bring us another round!"
"Alright, alright, hold your horses," the owner replied, starting to fill up the glasses.
Staring at the scene with unfocused eyes, the man quietly listened to the chatter coming from the table behind him.
"Hey, did you hear the Blue Dragon Gang got absolutely demolished?"
"Now that you mention it, I did hear some rumors. Apparently, the Blue Dragons are doing everything they can to keep it under wraps, but..."
"Bullshit. Not even the Sak government can touch those bastards. How could they get wiped out overnight?"
The Blue Dragon Gang was a syndicate that ruled the eastern district of Sak. They ran all kinds of illegal rackets and terrorized the neighborhood, making the eastern residents grind their teeth in sheer hatred. And now, rumors were spreading that they had been completely destroyed.
"What do you mean there's no one? There's that masked freak."
"You actually believe that? Come on, even if he's real, how could a single person take down an entire syndicate?"
"And at the end of the day, that guy is just another criminal anyway."
The owner set the glasses down on their table. Wearing bitter expressions, the men raised their drinks.
"Let's just drink."
"Yeah, cheers."
Clinking their glasses together, they gulped down the alcohol as if trying to drown out their worries. However, one of them couldn't bring the glass to his lips.
"If that masked guy is really real..." he muttered, "I wonder if he could teach those Company bastards a lesson."
At those words, the men who were drinking choked in unison. "Cough! Hack, wheeze... Hey, you idiot! Watch your mouth!"
"You know how it is. If those words get back to them, we're dead meat."
They hurriedly scanned the tavern. Fortunately, the only people there were the owner and the man sitting at the counter. And since that man was practically a permanent fixture of the tavern—a total wreck of a human being—there was no reason to worry about him.
"You'd be safer badmouthing the White Tiger or Vermilion Bird gangs. You know exactly how those punks are able to run wild like this."
He knew it too. Those thugs only ran rampant because they had the backing of the Company—an entity that transcended the local government. But that only made him cling more desperately to the hope that the masked vigilante was real. An unrealistic dream like overthrowing the Company seemed utterly impossible unless someone like him existed.
"Sorry, my bad. I slipped up." But hoping for something and voicing it aloud were two entirely different things. The moment thoughts were spoken, they ceased to belong to oneself alone. No matter how drunk he was, what he had just said was a dangerous mistake.
"It's fine. It's not like anyone's listening here anyway. Just don't say that anywhere else."
After chatting over their drinks for a while longer, they stood up as the night grew late.
"Have a good weekend, everyone."
"Well, I don't know if that's possible with the hangover I'm going to have."
"True enough."
Chuckling, they left the tavern.
...Watching them leave, the man at the counter also stood up.
"Hey, pal," the owner called out.
The man stopped and turned around. Instead of answering, he simply held out his hand. *Clink.*
Why is the street so dark tonight?
On his way home from the tavern, he found it hard to even walk straight. He had definitely overindulged. These back alleys were dangerous enough on a normal night, but tonight, there wasn't a single soul in sight.
I really shouldn't have said that earlier.
The drunken comment he had made to his colleagues still weighed heavily on his mind.
I wonder if he could teach those Company bastards a lesson.
Even in hindsight, it was an incredibly reckless thing to say. He couldn't understand what had possessed him to blurt it out.
I have to be extremely careful from now on.
He was lucky no one had been around to hear it this time. If a Company informant had been nearby...
"Ugh!" A sudden wave of nausea hit him. He leaned against the wall and slumped down.
"Blegh." With a burning sensation in his throat, he violently threw up.
After dry-heaving for a while longer, he barely managed to pick himself up. Emptying his stomach made him feel slightly better, but for some reason, he felt completely drained of energy.
It was then. Huh? A silhouette suddenly flickered at the edge of his vision. It was the shape of a person.
Who was that? The figure had briefly appeared in the alleyway he had just walked through, but it had already vanished.
Am I seeing things because of the alcohol? Or perhaps it was just a random passerby. Yet, an ominous dread began to creep over him.
I need to get home quickly. Between his slip of the tongue earlier and this eerie feeling, he wanted to get off the streets. He quickened his pace.
As he hurried along, a chilling realization struck him. Someone is following me. And the distance between them was rapidly closing. The pursuer was now too close to ignore.
Then, it happened. *Bzzt.* The incandescent bulb overhead flickered violently and died, plunging the alleyway into absolute darkness.
Oh no! Sensing imminent danger, the man tried to bolt. But his stalker was already upon him. A cold, gleaming blade flashed in the assailant's hand.
I'm dead, the man thought. That was, until a figure suddenly intervened between him and the blade.
The sharp, metallic screech of clashing steel echoed through the night. In an instant, the stalker's weapon was deflected away. In the very next breath, a blade flashed. *Slash.*
Blood sprayed upward, defying gravity. The stalker's severed head fell to the ground with a dull thud. It had all happened in the blink of an eye.
"Ah, a-ah..." Terrified, the man collapsed onto the damp ground, his throat tightening as he prepared to scream. But the intruder turned around and pressed a single finger to his lips, signaling him to be quiet.
Wait, more importantly... He looked at the intruder's face. It was completely concealed by a mask.
A mask? Suddenly, the conversation from the tavern flashed through his mind.
"What do you mean there's no one? There's that masked freak."
"You actually believe that? Come on, even if he's real, how could a single person take down an entire syndicate?"
"And at the end of the day, that guy is just another criminal anyway."
It was possible. Witnessing that terrifying display of swordsmanship just now, he realized a single person truly could annihilate an entire syndicate.
"A-Are you the..."
"Watch your mouth." With those blunt words, the masked figure turned away. Stepping over the corpse sprawled on the ground, he vanished into the depths of the alley.
He really exists... The legendary masked vigilante he had only heard of in rumors. He had actually met him. And the man had just saved his life.
Drip. Plop. Something cold wet his forehead. He looked up. It was starting to rain.
I need to get home first.
A few coins lay on the counter. It was the tab left behind by the quiet customer.
I was actually just going to suggest he cut back on the drinking. I'm worried about his health. Even as he thought this, the owner swept the coins into his till.
Well, time to close up shop. Just as he stepped out to lock the doors, he noticed the rain pouring down outside.
Come to think of it, does that fellow even have a home? He didn't know where the man lived or what he did for a living. The man simply showed up at his tavern every day, looking disheveled and worn.
Well, curiosity killed the cat. He looks like a man carrying a heavy burden.
Shhhhh.
In a dark corner of an alley, the man sat leaning against a wall. He showed no signs of movement, as if he had completely given up on everything. His eyes were hollow and vacant.
He wasn't drunk. No matter how much alcohol he consumed, his body was incapable of getting drunk. Even sitting drenched in the freezing rain, he would never catch a cold. His body was incapable of falling ill.
Yet, to the passersby, he was nothing more than a stubborn vagrant who refused to die. No one cared about him, and no one wished to remember him. Not even he himself did.
He had no reason to live. He merely continued to exist because he possessed a body that simply could not die.
Splash, splash. Footsteps approached him through the puddles. He paid them no mind—until his name was called.
"Mr. Libero."
Only then did the man turn his head. Standing before him was a young boy clad in a raincoat.
"It was quite difficult to find you."
"You know me?"
"Of course. I have come to claim the promise you made to my ancestor."
Indeed. He could sense a faint, unmistakable trace of the Reim royal bloodline emanating from the boy. It wasn't something he could ever mistake.
"So, what is it you want?"
The boy replied with a dead-serious expression.
"I seek power."