Night Watch in Wells Town
???: Night watch? A master of my caliber would sense anyone approaching from a mile away. That's what makes one a master.
I stand by that statement. It's no pathetic excuse—it's the plain truth. For starters, attempting Guided Qi Circulation with my barely first-rate internal energy is sheer madness. You think massive sects bother with something as grueling as Plum Blossom Divination for fun? It's that damn tough. Sure, what I pulled off wasn't full-blown Guided Qi Circulation like Plum Blossom Divination, but steering someone else's qi ain't a walk in the park either.
And here's the kicker: I'm not a master. Not anymore. Precisely, the "I" in question refers to the Thunderclap Sword Sovereign from back then—not the current me, who hasn't even reached Initial Thunder.
Anyway, that's the deal.
"……."
The stare prickling the back of my neck felt like goddamn needles. I wanted to turn around, but with a gun barrel trained on me, I decided not to poke the bear. Any idiot would've jammed the muzzle against my body, giving away the angle—but this guy wasn't that stupid. Hell, he had the sun at his back, his aiming arm shrouded in shadow. I couldn't even guess the trajectory.
In other words, at least a minimally trained, non-idiot human.
"Hands up, and back slowly away from the woman. Make a funny move, and I'll put a hole in you."
A cold, slender voice tickled my ear. Not even specifying where the hole would go? Master of mind games, this one. With that dumb thought, I slowly raised my hands and edged as far from Pria as possible.
"Crawl out from there."
I crawled out nice and easy.
"…Don't know who you are, but—"
"Shut it."
Her voice turned even icier, so I snuck a glance at Pria down in the pit. Her complexion was way better than last night, but she still hadn't regained consciousness. The hood over her head was fine, too.
The problem was her clothes. Half-stripped, top shoved up to her shoulders—enough to make anyone jump to conclusions. Especially her, the voice's owner.
"…Misunderstanding. For now."
Bang!Clang!
I opened my mouth to explain, but got a scorching bullet instead. It nailed the tip of my mechanical arm dead-on—sparks flew, and a jolt zapped through me like electricity.
"I'm in a shit mood today, so I won't say it three times. Shut. Your. Fucking. Mouth. Unless you want a bullet right now, you piece of shit."
Those sizzling curses shut me up quick. Not her first rodeo, that much was clear—and after eating lead, her marksmanship felt pro-level too.
As I stood there like a good boy, something thunked between my legs. A pair of silver bracelets, scratched up here and there, linked by what looked like heavy-duty chains. The kind a lover might make to never part.
"What about Miranda—" The words rose in my throat, but I swallowed them. Her trigger finger tensed with a click.
To avoid more poking, I slowly bent down and scooped up the cuffs.
Thinking about it, Miranda probably hadn't survived to this cyberpunk era anyway.
Click. Clack. Click-clack. Clack.
So I cuffed myself, of my own free will.
"Turn around slowly."
I complied, finally getting eyes on her. Surprisingly petite East Asian mix, decked in picture-perfect sheriff gear. Cowboy hat cocked sideways, slim cigarette dangling crooked from her lips. Shirt unbuttoned, tie loose. A big star-shaped gold badge gleaming on her vest.
Against the wasteland backdrop, her tiny frame radiated weird intimidation. Probably from the gun in her hand. The unwavering barrel confirmed that last shot wasn't a fluke.
"She's a patient."
Her face screamed "shut up" already, so I cut straight to it.
"Her clothes tell you she's with me."
"…Told you to shut it. Robber, patient—who gives a fuck."
She glanced at Pria sprawled in the pit. Black eyes flickered with mechanical light, then went dark. First cybernetic eyes I'd seen outside the mad scientist's bug-eyed specials. I stared, intrigued.
"What the fuck you gawking at, asshole? Try anything, and you're dead."
I raised my cuffed hands to show I was neutralized. She spat on the ground in disgust.
"Why'd you strip a sick girl's clothes, you animal?"
"Think about it—if I was up to no good, I'd have laid her flat, not face-down."
Her finger tightened like she itched to shoot, so I blurted it out.
"So what, you were playing doctor? Bare hands all over her back?"
"Wasn't groping… just letting her lie there…."
"……."
She scanned me head to toe.
"The way you talk… you one of those chakra bullshit artists, pumping 'energy' or whatever?"
Ptoo. She spat out her filter-blackened cig with blunt contempt.
From my angle, better a weird cultist than a sex offender. I'd roll with it.
"Fucking crazy cult freak."
I nodded, and she frowned, nailing the label. A twinge of accomplishment as I stood there—then her tone softened a notch.
"Feverish, and your 'buddy'? Escaped some hospital? Killed anyone?"
She eyed the blood on my clothes this time. I shook my head.
"That's mine. Got my arm ripped off by some psychos."
"…And you replaced it with that piece-of-shit prosthetic?"
I agreed it was shit, but hearing it from her stung. Once upon a time, a real arm hung there—no one gave a damn.
"Where the hell you from? Don't look like a day-tripper. Bad broker?"
Illegal border broker? A setting I hadn't considered popped from her mouth.
"Something like that… Four days back, those guys over there tried to kill us…."
I trailed off vaguely. Made me sound more sympathetic.
"Crazy bastard, spinning yarns."
Shit, caught? I schooled my face as she continued.
"Probably hit some score and came for a quick flip. Guys like you…."
Rustle.
A noise from the side cut her off. She stood, eyeing Pria rising. I followed suit, watching her struggle up.
"Sleep well?"
Propped on her elbows, Pria alternated glances between me and the sheriff before speaking.
"What did you do…?"
Rare genuine shock on her face as she asked me.
"Nothing!"
She looked convinced I'd committed some heinous crime while she slept. I protested desperately.
"Two suspicious naturists in the wasteland…."
Naturists? Curiosity bubbled, but the vibe said zip it. Pria stayed silent too.
"This guy's your buddy, right?"
"……."
Pria eyed the sheriff warily, then nodded faintly.
"You permit physical contact?"
"……?"
Her head didn't nod this time. Wide eyes turned to me—like, when?
Click.
The sheriff, gun still on me, clocked it too.
"Wait! Fever might've blurred her memory! Think back—just last night!"
Not scared of the gun. I don't scare like that. Just terrified of the misunderstanding. No one survives being misjudged. It's that brutal.
"……."
My desperate plea seemed to make Pria ponder.
"……."
Up close, her expression looked oddly blank. Unsettling.
"……."
The deliberation dragged. The sheriff's glare stabbed like knives—bullets next.
Finally, after eons of tension, her mouth opened.
"Told you… not to open your mouth… or make a sound."
"……."
"Trash bastard."
Screeeeech!!