Chapter 3 - In The Dead Of The Night (2)

A king, huh? Was he harboring ambitions of world domination or some grandiose scheme? It sounded like a fantastical dream, but given the unsettling details this guy shared, maybe it wasn't as implausible as I first believed.

Yet, amidst these thoughts, I wondered if this case held any connection to my brother. There was an inexplicable sense that unraveling this mystery might reveal something linked to him.

Yet, perhaps it was merely my imagination running rampant...

"I'll entertain your proposal," I said, my tone edged. "But for now, I've got somewhere urgent to be." I spun on my heels, ready to make my exit, but his next words froze me in place.

The man chuckled, "Sorry, Eclair, but you're not going anywhere."

"What do you mean?" I shot a glance over my shoulder.

"Just what it sounds like. You're staying put."

Behind me, the ominous symphony of guns being cocked reverberated, creating a chilling atmosphere. And it wasn't confined to the rear—I felt the intense gaze of a sniper fixated on me. As I scanned the surroundings, a realization dawned upon me—I was encircled. Any misstep or inkling of resistance, and the ominous promise of bullets ripping through the air awaited me.

"You talking about being on your best behavior seems like a damn joke now, huh? Real cowardly move to pull this shit when I let my guard down, thinking you were on the level."

"You know what grinds my gears, Eclair? The one thing I can't stand in this godforsaken world is losing. Losing to someone the underworld didn't even know existed until he decided to make a grand entrance, wreaking havoc on Milham's capital three damn months ago. It shattered my pride into a million pieces. But make no mistake, I refuse to accept defeat. I hunger for victory at any cost. You can't fathom the burning desire I have to claim your head as my trophy right here, right now. The moment you turned down my offer, you signed your death warrant. And when you drop your guard, I'll end you. Sure, taking your head won't magically mend my pride, but it's a damn fine prize, especially considering you're only worth a measly hundred gold less than my bounty."

"You sure know how to pull a complete 180," I remarked. "You claim to loathe losing, but how the hell do you plan to take on that guy in your current sorry state? Are you really going to throw down with just one arm and one leg?"

"As I've said, this is just a temporary setback. I'll bounce back, and mark my words, I'll do whatever it takes to make that man kneel before me."

"Men and their damn pride..."

I kept a watchful eye on him, all the while heightening my senses to pinpoint the individuals lurking around me. Three figures concealed within the buildings, five—no, six—on the rooftops. Wait, scratch that. It felt like there were only five on the rooftop, but why did I sense a lingering sixth presence? Not that it truly mattered; I could handle them all, surely. Two discernible pairs of eyes trained on me—likely snipers. Then, right in front of me, two men. Simultaneously, two more lurking behind me.

Fourteen individuals, to be precise. If there indeed was a mysterious sixth person eluding my senses, the count would climb to fifteen.

"Well then," I declared, activating my skill. Threads of silk, stronger than any metal, materialized in my fingers. With a subtle sway of my hand, they danced in harmony with my movements. "I suppose reasoning isn't on the table anymore, is it?"

"Believe me, I'm a man of reason. I just... don't appreciate when things refuse to go my way."

As he uttered those words, a barrage of bullets came hurtling towards me from all directions. Swiftly, I pivoted to face him, and with a deft flick of my wrist, I unleashed the silken strands in my hand. The bullets split into fragments as they collided with my lethal threads, the motion of my hands and the silk so rapid that they became a blur.

I manipulated the threads with an effortless grace that seemed almost like a dance. The metallic pings of bullets meeting their swift demise resonated through the narrow alley. There I stood, an immovable force, my hands the only parts of me in motion.

As time elapsed, the four figures near me, those lurking behind, and the ones flanking the man emptied their guns, the ominous clicking of their now-useless firearms echoing. Seizing this brief window of advantage, I unleashed my silk threads upon them. In a masterful display, I slashed the silken strands through the air, cutting through each assailant from top to bottom, right down the middle. Once severed, their bodies stood frozen for a moment, an eerie pause, before succumbing to the inevitable and splitting apart.

In a fluid motion, my threads extended to the rooftop, snaking their way around the unsuspecting figures. Like a macabre puppeteer, I seized their ankles with my silken strands and effortlessly pulled them from their lofty perch. As they hung in the air, I deftly slashed my threads, severing their heads. The moon above bore witness to this macabre ballet, illuminating the grisly display of heads parting from bodies. Blood sprayed from the stumps, cascading down like rain in the narrow alley. The crimson shower splattered on me, turning my silhouette into a canvas of dark, gruesome art.

My eyes, now as red as the blood that rained down, locked onto the distant tower where two snipers had been observing. With lethal precision, I attacked them, slicing their bodies into a multitude of unrecognizable pieces.

Having dispatched all threats, I retracted my silks back into my fingers.

The man observed me with a somewhat amused smile. "Well, I guess that didn't work out. Seems like no one, other than myself, is capable of putting up a fight against you."

"Too bad you're only half the man you used to be."

"Yeah, I suppose that's a damn shame."

"You're flipping that 180 again. Is this the real you, or the prideful one?"

"Both this and the prideful version are the real me," he said.

"So, which one is it?" I questioned, locking eyes with him. "Are you the ruthless fighter who'll do anything to win, or the guy nursing a wounded pride?"

He chuckled, the sound reverberating off the alley walls. "In this unforgiving world, you've got to adapt, Eclair. Sometimes you play the ruthless game, and sometimes you nurse your pride. It's about survival, not tethering yourself to one version of who you are."

My eyebrow arched in skepticism. "Survival, huh? Well, you certainly tried to play the ruthless card, and it didn't quite pan out for you, did it?"

He grinned, an unsettling gleam in his eyes. "Maybe not this time, but I'll adapt. I always do. And the next time our paths intersect, you might encounter a different me standing before you."

The prospect of our next encounter lingered in the air. I could have opted to end him right then and there, but hesitation held me back, knowing he possessed a skill that rivaled, if not surpassed, my own. Attacking him head-on would be foolhardy, and I wasn't one to make rash moves.

I smirked. "Looking forward to it. Just remember, adaptability works both ways. I'm not one to remain stagnant either."

With that, I pivoted on my heels, exiting the dimly lit alley. Glancing behind me, I noticed the man had vanished, leaving no trace, not even the wheelchair he occupied.

A peculiar sensation gripped me as I stepped into the open. If I were to pinpoint it, even the hairs down there seemed to be on edge. It wasn't fear, I was certain of that. So what was this unfamiliar feeling?

"That's a nice skill you got there. What do you call it?" A voice, as deep and abyssal as the void, resonated from above. I looked up to find a man clad in an all-encompassing black outfit, his hood obscuring his face entirely. Beneath the hood, a pair of crimson eyes, darker and bloodier than mine, pierced through. My chest resonated with a heightened heartbeat. Was this... a sense of connection?

I responded, my voice competing with the rhythmic thud of my heart, "Silk Threads of Death. I assume you're aware, yet it seems there's more to it that you haven't grasped. Or perhaps your lack of knowledge stems from not knowing who I am."

"That's why I'm asking, because I have no idea who you are."

"It's not exactly polite to inform someone who's supposedly famous that you're in the dark about them, you know? Well, I guess when you're a rising star yourself, there's no time to acknowledge those who reached fame a while ago, Mr. Playwright," I retorted, a smirk gracing my face as I looked up at him and activated my skill once again. Simultaneously, he mirrored my smirk and gathered mana around his palms, conjuring fiery orbs.

"Then I suppose a good way for me to gauge your fame is through a battle," he proposed.

"You might be right."

With that, we prepared for the impending clash. However, he suddenly halted and stared at the air before him.

"Hmm? Huh... What... What?!" he exclaimed.

Curiosity led me to tilt my head, observing his reaction. In his surprised exclamation, I managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of his face. To my astonishment, his visage bore a striking resemblance to mine.