Ambush in the Alley
Zeon's hotel offered room service.
That meant he could get meals delivered right to his room anytime.
Ding-dong!
The hotel staffer rang the bell on Zeon's door.
The door opened moments later, revealing Zeon in a robe.
What a weirdo, the staffer thought, clicking his tongue.
He figured Zeon looked odd, pulling the robe's hood low over his face even inside the room.
Some guests are just like that.
They check in but act like they're still out in full gear instead of relaxing.
This hotel's security was ironclad.
Protected by barriers and patrolled by Awakeners, outside intrusions were next to impossible.
Yet here was a guy who couldn't relax even in his own room. That screamed criminal—or someone with a shady past.
Zeon crooked a finger silently.
The staffer wheeled in the cart laden with food and set it on the table with a bow.
"Enjoy your meal."
As the door clicked shut behind him, Zeon—who'd been hunched over till now—lifted his head.
His face beneath the hood was entirely sand.
Not Zeon. A Sand Soldier.
In an instant, it crumbled back to a pile of grains.
All that remained in the room was cooling food and a heap of sand.
Monsters were a dire threat to humanity.
Once masters of the entire Earth, human territory had shrunk to a mere fraction, with most land now monster domain.
Even Neo Seoul strained to expand its reach, but results were scant.
The city's influence barely extended to the magic stone mine vicinity.
They hadn't secured any real outposts in the deeper desert.
Common knowledge held that stronger monsters lurked farther out. No telling what might hide beneath the sands.
Threatening as they were, monsters paradoxically yielded precious resources.
The mightier the beast, the greater the haul.
Skin, scales, bones, blood, organs—nothing went to waste.
Striking a magic stone was pure jackpot.
Mine-extracted stones offered better cost-value, but monster cores boasted superior performance.
Boss-grade ones sometimes contained skills. Random which, but luck could skyrocket one's power.
Thus, Neo Seoul mobilized countless parties and raid teams for hunts and dungeon clears.
Hunted monsters streamed into the city for processing.
Gaaang!
A massive saw blade spun furiously, slicing through monster carcass. Magic-treated for durability, it still shed teeth after one leg, fraying raggedly.
"Fuck! Blade's shot."
"Swap it quick."
They replaced it and resumed.
After countless swaps, the behemoth lay dismantled.
Workers handled it meticulously, spilling not a drop of blood or shred of meat.
Tajik watched arms crossed, scrutinizing every step.
His top priority: Condor SSC. It underpinned his power, after all.
But he couldn't slack on others.
His boss, Shaorun, was terrifying.
Seemed hands-off, delegating freely—but he monitored everything meticulously.
Great authority came with zero tolerance for failure. Slackers vanished without mercy.
Tajik knew this, so he diligently inspected his charges, hunting flaws.
Next: the chemical dye firm.
Not glamorous, but their dyes were special—stealth, cloaking, energy shielding.
Applied to Awakener gear, survival odds soared.
Hence, nonstop R&D for upgrades.
Tajik eyed the bubbling vat.
Dye based on blood from a B-rank maned lizard.
Its acidic blood was vicious—one drop punched holes in steel plating.
Skin contact? Instant melt. A human dissolved in seconds.
Tough to hunt, too—master of stealth and cunning. Prep was key.
Such lizards rarely reached the plant.
Luck this time.
Tajik watched a bit, then headed out.
His residence: a high-rise nearby. Perk of Shaorun's inner circle.
"Hm?"
Mid-stride through the alley, Tajik looked up.
Odd unease prickled him.
Familiar path. Yet... off.
Unnaturally dim, oppressive.
"No streetlights."
Neo Seoul lit even deserted alleys. This one, his daily route, too.
Not tonight.
"Barrier?"
"Not a barrier. Sand wall blocking the outside."
A low voice echoed from alley shadows.
"Who's there?"
Tajik whipped toward it.
A figure emerged from the gloom.
Recognition furrowed his brow deeply.
"Zeon?"
"Fancy meeting like this again."
Zeon smiled warmly.
Tajik gaped, incredulous.
Never dreamed he'd encounter Zeon inside Neo Seoul.
"How the hell did you get in?"
"Lucky temp pass."
"Temp pass?"
"Yeah. Friend hooked me up recently. Paying off now."
"Issuing that means high up the chain. Impressive connections."
"Just got lucky."
Tajik chatted casually, like old pals. But he scanned ceaselessly, probing.
"Neat trick. Sand wall. Your skill?"
"Yep."
"Versatile."
His eyes gleamed.
He pierced its utility instantly.
"Rank? Range? Duration?"
"..."
"Not spilling?"
"Reveal your aces to someone like you?"
"Fair. No way you'd."
Tajik scratched his head.
His gaze sharpened, serpentine cold.
"Last offer: join Shaorun. Top treatment."
"If I wanted that, I wouldn't bother sneaking in."
"Prefer action over talk, eh? Same as me."
"Perfect."
Zeon grinned.
The sand wall sealed them perfectly. Outsiders blind to happenings. But duration limited. No dragging.
Passersby would notice.
Suddenly, ominous blood-red aura surged from Tajik. Martial Awakener hallmark.
B-rank martial artist.
Shring!
He drew a small curved dagger from his waist. Crescent blade, mere 30 cm—but razor keen.
"Dungeon loot?"
"Call her Blood Elena. Once drawn, she tastes blood, claims lives."
He'd personified it.
Enthralled by its power.
Blood Elena amplified native ability by 30%.
Huge boost.
Tajik licked the blade.
"Won't kill you. You're too valuable."
Plenty ways to exploit sans death.
Amputate limbs, preserve body in special tank, brainwash to obey.
Unthinkable once. Routine under Shaorun.
Zeon sighed softly.
"Why dangerous skills are trouble."
"No! Useful. You'll advance Neo Seoul—willing or not."
Flash!
Tajik lunged as words ended.
Afterimage lingered; distance closed in blink.
Zeon crooked fingers.
Dozens sand tendrils lanced from the wall like lightning.
Sand Blaster.
"No chance."
Shkigak!
Blood Elena slashed them apart.
Its crimson aura cleaved anything.
"Legs first."
Shiiik!
Tajik dropped low, targeting Zeon's legs.
Blade whistled fatally—then Zeon's body slid back slickly.
As if invisible thread yanked him.
Retreating, Zeon crooked fingers again.
Shshshk!
Myriad tendrils barraged Tajik.
He swung and swung Blood Elena.
Blasters shattered, severed.
But endless.
"Fuck! How much mana you got?!"
Tajik's eyes bulged.
Zeon mirage-like. Visible, near—untouchable.
Every grasp met Sand Blaster downpour.
Sandstorm rain.
Grains from cleaved blasts stung eyes, mouth.
Finally, Tajik spat curses, unleashing trump.
"Damn it! Blood Elena Blade!"
Shshshk!
Dozens crimson aura blades spawned from dagger, hurtling at Zeon.
Ultimate: wield once, kill assured.
Capture? Forgotten. Just slay the pest.
Blades sealed all dodges.
"Done."
Tajik certain—till scores of soldiers swarmed Zeon.
Sand Soldiers body-blocked the skill.
Kwaaang!
Explosion. Soldiers and blades crumbled.
"What the—?!"
Tajik gawked, stunned.
Missed Zeon circling behind.
Zeon gripped his neck.
Strength fled; Tajik collapsed.
"Kuh!"
Zeon caught him gently.
Couldn't mar valuable flesh.
That's why the prolonged dance—for flawless takedown.
"What'd you do? Release me."
"What comes next."
"Huh?"
Zeon drew a glass vial from subspace.
Inside: wire-like scrap.
"What's that?"
"Thirsty?"
Zeon smiled.