Can't Let Your Guard Down
“Anyway, you can't let your guard down.”
Zeon glanced back.
There was old man Clexy, still staring at him with eyes full of lingering regret.
If he'd heard the whole story, Zeon would've been hooked for sure.
Old foxes like that would slither in at the slightest opening and bind you so tight you couldn't escape—like a viper coiling around its prey.
The best thing was not to get tangled in the first place, but since he already was, keeping a proper distance was key.
These were the trickiest relationships in life.
Fighting monsters was preferable, at least.
With them, friend or foe was clear-cut.
Living among humans meant watching your back constantly, thinking three steps ahead.
Deep in thought, Zeon halted in front of his house.
Unfamiliar gazes prickled from the surroundings.
“Hoo.”
He let out a sigh without realizing it.
He'd just shaken off one annoying barnacle, only for another to latch on.
As Zeon stood motionless, someone approached.
The man in a neat suit—rare for the slums—with neatly combed-back hair was Iton.
Iton spoke first.
“You're Zeon, right?”
“And who might you be?”
“So that's a yes.”
“I still haven't heard your answer.”
“Name's Iton.”
“Iton?”
“I serve Goran.”
Zeon furrowed his brow slightly at the response.
Iton might not know it, but Zeon did.
Living in Shinchon without knowing its ruler would be weirder.
“So, what do you want?”
“The mana generator.”
“Pardon?”
“Where is it?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I know you recovered a mana generator. Where is it?”
“……”
Zeon's brow creased deeper.
Only a handful knew he had it—the merchant he'd bought it from and the ones he'd taken it from.
The merchant was dead, leaving only the thieves.
“You leaked info to the Crocodiles.”
Iton flinched at Zeon's words.
He was stunned by how Zeon had pieced it together from just “mana generator.”
Estimated combat rank: C-grade or higher.
And sharp as a tack to boot.
Definitely rare talent in the slums.
The word “recruit” flashed in Iton's mind.
“Hand over the mana generator and join us. We'll treat you right.”
“So, give up the generator and become your dog.”
“Even dogs' fates depend on their master. Goran rewards the capable generously. You won't regret it.”
“Pass.”
“Stubborn. Think it over.”
“I've thought plenty. Answer's the same.”
“Fine, just the generator then. Hand it over, and we'll leave quietly.”
That was when it happened.
Bzzt!
An alarm blared from his subspace.
Someone was trying to break into his house.
“You already sent people to my place?”
“Alarms, huh?”
“Basic precaution.”
“That'll make this easier. Even without your permission, my boys will bring it out. Accept your fate.”
“Fate, huh...”
“It's for your own good. Even a C-grade can't survive Goran's wrath in these streets. Just lay low, act like you don't exist...”
Iton spoke as if the generator was already his.
He'd sent a few underlings to Zeon's house.
Two were Awakeners.
F-grade at best, but enough to smash through a rickety door.
Even if Zeon wouldn't open up, they'd have it soon.
“This is sincere advice. Take it—for your sake.”
“Hard to see how that's for me.”
“Told you. The generator's as good as ours. Squirm all you want; it's pointless.”
“You think so? I beg to differ.”
“What?”
That was when it happened.
Several men burst out from Zeon's building.
Iton's underlings, sent for the generator.
Defeat was plain on their faces.
Iton sensed something was wrong.
“What happened?”
“We... couldn't open the door.”
“What?”
“No idea what it's made of. Won't budge.”
“Smash it, you idiots!”
“Won't break. Door, walls, windows—nothing takes our hits. That bastard did something.”
Iton's face twisted at the report.
He first thought they were lying, but no reason for that.
He glared at Zeon.
“Your doing?”
“Locking your door's basic, right?”
“Better open it nice and easy. Unless you wanna die...”
“Does Dokkaebi Market know about this?”
“What?”
“You stealing their intel. They won't like that.”
Iton's expression hardened instantly.
Stealing from Dokkaebi Market was top secret.
Tied to their trust—they wouldn't take it lightly.
War with Dokkaebi Market.
Not impossible, but it'd hurt them bad too.
“You won't get the chance to tell them.”
Before he knew it, Iton's men had Zeon fully surrounded.
“Would've been easier if you'd handed it over quietly. Now you're making this messy.”
Iton's gaze sharpened like a blade.
Weapons gleamed in his men's hands.
Monster butchering knives.
Common as dirt here.
Designed to dismantle beasts, they shredded human flesh in seconds.
Iton gave the order.
“Kill him!”
“Raaah!”
“Die!”
Before he finished, they swung at Zeon.
Shiiing!
Chilling whooshes as blades flew.
Zeon sighed softly.
“Hoo.”
Their attack marked the end of his break.
But he wasn't about to take it lying down.
Whoosh!
Dozens of fireballs ignited around him.
Spawned by the Superheat Gauntlet.
They slammed into the attackers.
“Argh!”
“Hot—it's too hot!”
“Mercy!”
Flames clung, men rolling and screaming.
The fire wouldn't die.
Even Awakeners among them tried their powers—useless.
The blaze roared fiercer, consuming them.
“Gaaah!”
“W-water!”
Their agonized cries echoed down the street.
No one intervened.
“Damn it!”
Iton bit his lip.
He'd heard Zeon was C-grade or better, but not this level of fire control.
“Call off the flames.”
“Huh?”
“Fire Awakeners can snuff them out, right? Douse my men. I'll spare you.”
“Still haven't figured it out? You're in no position to order me.”
“Prancing on rat-tail power.”
“Rat tail? I'd call it dragon-sized at least.”
“You punk, mocking me?”
Iton's eyes changed.
Zeon twisted away.
Shwwk!
Something grazed his hair by a hair's breadth.
A split-second slower, and his skull would've been pierced.
A steel ball.
It arced back, orbiting Iton like a satellite.
From Iton's pocket.
Zeon said, “Telekinesis? Rare ability.”
“That's right! Mine's telekinesis.”
A dozen more steel balls floated from Iton's pocket.
Special alloy—heavy, tough for their size.
Telekinetically hurled, they tore muscle and shattered bone like cookies.
Iton had sent dozens of Goran's rivals to the grave with this.
“Block if you can, punk!”
Shoo-shoo-shing!
Balls rocketed like bullets.
Straight at Zeon.
Iton envisioned bloody holes riddling Zeon's body.
Every power had a counter.
Fire magic packed punch, but not against this speed.
Clang-clang-clang!
Balls hit Zeon, ringing metallic.
Metallic?
Iton sensed trouble instinctively.
Far from flesh tearing or bone cracking.
As expected, the balls didn't penetrate.
They ricocheted off on impact.
His robe: Leviathan hide.
No scratch from this.
Zeon's body unscathed.
“Shit!”
Iton tried recalling the fallen balls.
Targeting the head now—no protection there.
But next instant, his eyes bulged.
Whoosh!
Like molten iron from a furnace, his steel balls melted, dripping.
Drip-drip!
The splats sent chills.
“Impossible!”
Iton yelled unwittingly.
No mere C-grade could melt his balls this fast.
Zeon was beyond that.
“Damn it!”
Iton retreated hastily.
Knowing the enemy outmatched him, he'd report to Goran first.
But Zeon wouldn't let him slip away easy.
Zeon surged faster than Iton's retreat.
Sand Step, though Iton didn't know.
Like blink, Zeon appeared before him, swinging his arm.
Dozens of fireballs launched.
Faster than Iton's balls.
They detonated on impact.
Boom-boom-boom!
Flames erupted in chain explosions.
“Arrrgh!”
Iton's scream burst from the inferno.