Paranormal Link-26
Usually, the bastards who handle their business in the dead of night wrap their whole bodies in black to keep anyone from knowing who they are. That's why folks commonly call those shady types "men in black." Of course, they hide their identities not because they're ashamed or feel guilty, but simply because it's to their advantage. So what do you call the ones who strut around at night, showing their faces openly and brazenly doing their deeds? Righteous officials? Wandering heroes? Fiends? The correct answer is black path thugs. The black path thugs who suck the common folk dry by day and scrap over territories by night. And I hate those pricks more than beggars.
It's not because I'm some former patrol officer with a grudge, or because I got stiffed on pay during my ronin days. I don't have some grand sense of justice making me puke at their evil—it's just that those fuckers are the epitome of armed non-humans, scum who wield blades without a shred of humanity.
Look over there—their ugly mugs are even worse than the filthy faces of those beggar bastards.
"So you're saying it's just coincidence that our boys turned up dead in that scrapyard, and the one who got killed on the way to Chinatown from this neighborhood?"
"Why the hell are you asking me? We didn't do it—we never said it was coincidence."
I could hear Gustaf, the beggar boss, trading barbs with what looked like the thug leader.
"If your underlings are dropping, go shake down the other gangs you're feuding with. Beating on beggars who scrape by day-to-day ain't gonna help."
"Well, the one who died yesterday had some beef with you guys, from what I heard."
"That got settled, didn't it? You saw his face—don't tell me you don't know how."
The beggar grinned wickedly, and the thug boss—with a massive gold chain dangling around his neck—scrunched up his already ugly face. It was a sight too pathetic to behold.
"Trying to play gangsters? You think that makes you a real gang?"
"Can't compare to a gutless mutt who can't even protect his own turf."
Oh, did the beggar just drop a good line? …But thinking back, it sounded just like the time he called me worse than a dog. That fucker?
As I stared at the beggar's face, he flashed a sleazy smirk and added, "A stray dog that steals food is lower than a beggar who takes what's left over, after all."
The other beggars around him burst into cackling laughter, the sound spreading like a damn chorus. The thugs looked more flustered than pissed.
"Have these beggar shits all gone mad…?"
The thug boss was fuming, veins bulging as he snarled at Gustaf. Gustaf just smirked and fired back in a tone dripping with contempt.
"Tell your little pup: protect his own yard before eyeing someone else's."
"…Hah."
The thug boss turned away with a snort, pretending to be unfazed. But his eyes stayed glued to Gustaf—I knew exactly what the bastard was planning. Typical black path thug bullshit.
I leaped from the rooftop, kicked off the wall, and landed smack in the middle of the beggars and thugs, thrusting my blade between them.
Clang!
"Ow, you asshole. Clean your damn sword. I'd die of tetanus if it stabbed me."
"……!"
True to form for a black path dog, the guy I'd ambushed with a surprise stab gaped at me, eyes wide as saucers.
"Who the fu—!"
Thwack!
A beggar's fist came flying over my shoulder and smashed into his face. With a heavy thud, the thug boss staggered back a few steps.
"If you're here to deliver a message, spit it out and fuck off. No funny business."
Gustaf spoke with the casual ease of someone who'd planned for me to show up from the start. It twisted my guts a bit.
…Should've just let him get stabbed.
Beggars showing off was goddamn nauseating.
"You beggar fu—!"
"What, wanna try it? You think North End has no gangs 'cause it's some rundown shithole with nothing?"
"…It is a rundown shithole with nothing."
"That's why the beggars run it."
"Shut your traps, you fucks! I'm talking here!"
The beggars on either side muttered among themselves at Gustaf's words. Their pathetic vibe actually lifted my mood a touch as I eyed the thugs. By now, they'd usually pull guns, but they hesitated, glancing at their boss up front.
"Boys, no guns! Give these beggar shits a taste of—!"
Crack!
"Urk!"
This prick's got a long tongue. Perfect timing—I smashed the hilt of my dagger into his jaw, right as he should've bitten it.
He let out a weird screech—probably chewed his tongue—and toppled backward.
"Boss!!"
"Heard him? No guns."
As I sheathed my dagger, the thugs charged me like a pack. The beggars rushed them too, and the brawl erupted.
"Hey, beggar!"
Crack!
I smashed my tripod kick into the face of the guy barreling right at me and yelled at the beggar.
"How the hell did you know I scarfed down dinner tonight and start this shit?!"
"How should I know!? They barged in demanding we catch the killer. Guess they think we're their house mutts!"
In the midst of fists flying between beggars and thugs, I shouted back at him. After cracking a few jaws, I glanced around—the beggar scum fought better than expected. No military precision, but solid experience showed in their moves here and there.
"Hm?"
Through the thinning thugs, I spotted the boss—the one I'd jawed—raising a gun as he got back up.
There it is!
The bastard didn't disappoint. But Step Thunder Flash was out—too many obstacles. I'd have to slice through the beggars and thugs in the way, and it'd be too late.
I focused my inner energy into my fingertips and fired a finger-force blast with Striking Finger Art.
Pop!
"Argh!"
Bang!
The blast nailed his hand, his aim went wild, and the bullet hit the ground.
"Whoa! That X fucker!"
"You think we ain't shooting 'cause we got no guns!?"
"Bullets are pricey, though!"
"Whose side is this prick on anyway!?"
The beggars bickered among themselves as they closed in on the thug boss, surrounding him. My finger blast wasn't some fancy technique, but I'd poured in extra energy to make sure it didn't miss. Guess I overdid it—his hand was mangled, he couldn't even hold the gun, and the beggars started pounding him.
"Gaaah!"
His scream echoed through the last of the subdued thugs.
"Shut up, asshole!"
"You trying to wake the whole damn neighborhood?!"
Along with the beggars' merciless beatdown.
A bit later, the thugs—stripped clean by the beggars—limped off into the dark night streets, battered bodies hobbling away. A gang running on sandwiches and coffee was no joke. Whatever fueled their crew, these scrawny kids needed fattening up.
Gustaf approached me through the clusters of chattering beggars.
"Thanks for the help."
"No biggie. You'd have handled it without me."
"True that."
"……."
Should've let him get stabbed.
His polite response got a beggar's impolite nod. Regret hit hard.
"So what the hell was that about?"
"Their underlings got killed around here, so they came bitching at us."
"Yeah? Who croaked?"
"The ones dealing stolen goods at the scrapyard last time, and the prick who tried shaking down Gustavo the other day."
"……."
"Come to think of it, Rom the old man said he handed off the scrapyard fence job to you…."
He muttered like it just hit him, then bowed his head to stare at the sword on my hip.
"You don't say…."
"Say what?"
This crazy beggar suspecting an innocent man. His narrowed eyes screamed doubt—I wanted to run him through.
"Nah, the scrapyard guys were chopped to bits. The one yesterday got his gut sliced open… with something sharp."
"……."
"Room was a total bloodbath, they say."
I knew the perp, but decided to play dumb. The beggar wasn't grilling me seriously anyway—he dropped the suspicious glare and kept talking.
"Whatever, how gang scum die ain't my business. They're just grasping at straws anyway. Fencing stolen shit gets you fucked over all the time. Just probing us."
"Worth sticking your neck in here?"
"That too. …Anyway, thanks for the late-night assist. We'll handle our shit, so don't worry—just look after Blanca."
"Why would I give a damn about beggars? Blanca can handle herself, so you lot watch your own asses."
"…Fair. We gotta prep anyway. Won't move right away, though. Still turf-warring with Dragon Tooth, and who knows when those missionaries'll flip out again, even if it's quiet now."
"They flip out on a schedule or what?"
I asked one last thing about the missionaries before heading out.
"Few months back, they tore through every gang outta nowhere, then went quiet lately. Word is they were hunting someone… but they're so insular, nothing leaks out."
Just rumors….
I left the beggar muttering like he knew something, and bounced.
Ah, feels like that dinner's already digested. Fucking starving.