Abyss City 1.0 - Rat Hunt
Rustle— rustle—
Ichinose mechanically solved problems and flipped the pages.
Tricks with wording or numbers now yielded answers in seconds.
"Nose~ C'mon, enough studying. Let's go grab dinner."
"I haven't finished reviewing yet. Wait."
Ichinose gave Noah—sprawled on the bed as usual—her usual reply.
Noah's presence wasn't a distraction.
Ichinose even used Noah's endless attempts at conversation to ramp up the difficulty, turning it into focus training.
Perfect for sharpening concentration, she thought.
"Ugh... so boooring."
Noah grabbed Ichinose's dolls from the bed and stared at them.
A teary-eyed dragon doll, a shark doll.
All of them had that adorably dumb look.
"Nose. What'd you name these guys again?"
"I told you last time. Sniffles and Bluebie."
"Sniffles and Bluebie... right, that's it."
Noah could tell.
Her prim friend had hugged these last night.
They reeked of Ichinose's scent.
Meanwhile, Ichinose sat at her desk, chatting idly while scribbling with her pen—
—until a problem about the south made her pause.
"Noah."
"Yeah?"
"Have you ever been to the south?"
"Nope. But Dad's told me stories. Said it's no place for people."
"As expected."
"He also said it's great for grinding experience since it's crawling with monsters."
According to Noah, the south was exactly as the public knew it.
Monsters spewed by the void whale had multiplied explosively.
Career criminals, outcasts from society, hid there and formed packs.
To ordinary eyes, it had no value as land.
"But why the south all of a sudden? You were never interested."
"Saw it in the workbook, so I asked."
"Oho—! Well, pretty girl, if you're curious, wanna take a trip south with your big sis?"
"That creeps me out, so drop the weird talk."
Ichinose loosely brushed her off, solved the last problem, and picked up her smartphone.
Experience...
An empty profile with no profile pic filled her view.
*****
Rohan checked the dead thug's smartphone, rapidly extracting info.
He played a video to keep the screen from locking while moving.
Once he'd confirmed everything by digging through it, he even memorized the gang's faces.
One down, five left.
Rohan moved fast.
Shoved a sock in the corpse's mouth and tossed it into the dark brush.
He hijacked the driver's seat, wiped blood from the knife off the passenger seat, and rummaged the vehicle.
Pills of unknown use, smokes, lighter, booze, a few coins and tokens.
Coins jingled in his palm.
Got bus fare and dinner money.
The standout item: a gun in the passenger seat.
Unfamiliar model.
Obviously a semi-auto pistol.
Rohan had never handled guns from this world. The cars were all new to him too.
So he focused and fiddled with it briefly.
Checked the chamber, detached the mag.
Bullets... what caliber? No specs here.
Despite the different look, it wasn't much different from guns he'd handled in his past life.
Same handling; he could disassemble and reassemble it on the spot.
Click!
Pocketing the pistol, he stepped out—and Juyeon's practical lesson popped into his head.
—Guns terrify civilians. But they're useless against mana-enhanced bodies.
In class, she'd fired multiple rounds into her palm to prove it unscathed.
Thanks to that, Rohan knew guns weren't seen much differently from hunters' weapons in Academy City.
As Juyeon said, for bows, guns, or thrown weapons to shine, you needed talent or skills like Princess or Clara's to infuse projectiles with mana.
He lacked that, but he took the gun anyway.
Good for suppression fire.
At his and the enemies' level, a bullet would hurt like hell.
Softer spots like eyes would get pierced; flesh would take shallow embeds.
That was plenty.
Next.
Rohan climbed into the idling dump truck.
Syringes and drugs littered the passenger floor.
A toolbox in the back.
Tools smeared with oil and blood—versatile uses apparent.
Crowbar.
Fits like a glove. One more tool for Rohan.
Excellent weapon and negotiation tool. He hooked it to his belt and hopped down.
"..."
The dingy container on the dump truck caught his eye.
Rohan glared at it briefly, then looked away.
No need to open it.
Inside: a mouse-breeding operation, sorted by type and size.
Plus illegal recording gear galore.
Simple reason.
One thug had a possession skill for mice; paired with the computer guy, they formed the backbone of intel ops for the old elves.
Rohan finished searching the last vehicle.
Then followed the pitch-black path, tracking faint voices.
At my level, only one real threat...
The boss was likely alone, by nature.
Key point: take out the minions before he rejoined.
..
..
The gang huddled in the pitch-black factory.
Rohan locked onto them clearly.
—Wind's bitchin'. After this job, tell boss we head to a warm country?
—Dumbass, after years on the grind, you think that'll sway him?
—Fuck.
—Say it's a country with good paint-drying weather. That'll move him.
—True. He's probably graffiti-mad on the walls again. Loves all that canvas.
—Takes hours for him to come back.
—Shit, out of smokes.
—Want butts for 100 coin?
One, two, three, four... all but one.
Cigarette glows in their hands were perfect beacons in the dark.
Beastkin among them hadn't sniffed him out—probably the thick smoke.
Or complacency.
Leave the pistol on the floor.
If the boss was split off, the noisy gun would backfire.
They were yelling and cursing among themselves; a scream or two should blend in.
Visibility's iffy for a stealth rush...
Rohan pocketed his knife.
Slid the crowbar behind his back, out of front view.
Then stood.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Phone flashlight on, he strode boldly toward the group.
"Who's there? This is private company property. You can't come in."
All eyes snapped to him.
Followed by smirking lips—boredom turning to amusement.
"Oh yeah? Sorry 'bout that."
The burliest beastkin stepped out, towering before Rohan.
Top minion in HP and defense.
Dog beastkin, per Rohan's memory.
"Get lost."
Rohan spoke boldly; the beastkin chuckled, extending a hand.
"Gimme a smoke first."
"Smoke..."
Faked digging in his pocket.
Pretended to hand something over.
Contact made.
Weakness Infliction
Imparts a physical attribute weakness to the target.
At the same instant—
This blood stench...?
The beastkin twitched his nose at Rohan's scent on the wind.
The moment he caught on—
Rohan mana-wrapped his knife and thrust.
Squelch! The blade sliced thick muscle like tofu.
"Guhk...!"
Rohan slashed up to the throat.
No great strength needed. Bones snapped like twigs.
Three left.
Thud! The beastkin toppled.
The others blinked surprise away fast.
Calmly readied for fight.
"What? Kid's got style with a blade."
"That fucker! Still owe me coins from the dog bastard!"
"Heh, you'd have gotten butts free."
Idle banter, but their eyes churned with sticky killing intent.
Already past the ambush shock—intriguing to Rohan.
..
..
Hiss! Hiiiiss!
The man filling a factory wall with spray paint turned.
The approaching figure wasn't his minion.
Blood-soaked man.
Crowbar in one hand, pistol in the other.
Wounds here and there, but none mortal.
So he asked.
"My men?"
"Dead."
The flat declaration saddened him.
To quell the rising grief, he slipped on brass knuckles from his pocket.
"Sigh, too bad. Knew they were fighting but couldn't join..."
"Leg cramp?"
Rohan had figured this guy knew midway.
The screams were loud; one minion even tried calling him.
"Felt extra good today. Can't stop a piece midway."
"I see."
Rohan nodded, aimed the pistol—
Bang!
—and pulled the trigger.