Chapter 37: Rem Vs the Bandit dumbass

Rem POV

The air hung heavy with the scent of dust and dry grass as we stepped off the train that had brought us to the outskirts of Dustpan Town, a small town nestled amidst the vast expanse of the Kunso Desert.

The bounty notice clutched in my hand, its parchment crinkling with every step, promised a hefty reward for the capture of a notorious bandit leader, a man known only as "Scarface Jack" - who had terrorized this isolated community for months.

"Let's split up and gather some intel," I suggested to tereda, as his keen eyes were already scanning the ramshackle buildings lining the dusty main road.

Tereda nodded, "Meet back at the town bar in an hour. We'll compare notes and see what we can find."

I nodded, a familiar sense of purpose settling over me.

Despite the stifling heat and the oppressive stillness of the air, a spark of excitement flickered within me. 

This was our first bounty, a chance to prove our skills and earn a reward that- despite not being necessary with our ridiculous wealth, would be fulfilling to receive.

"Be careful, Rem," Tereda added, his voice softening as he reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from my face. "Don't take any unnecessary risks."

I offered a reassuring smile. "You worry too much, Tereda," I said, my voice teasing. "I'm as strong as you now! There's no way some gross bandits will get close to hurting me."

Tereda shrugged, and gave me a kiss.

Giving me a reluctant glance, he walked to gather info in another direction.

With that, we parted ways, our paths diverging as we ventured into the heart of Dustpan Town, each of us seeking answers that would lead us to our target.

My inquiries, however, were met with a strange mix of fear and silence.

I approached three different townsfolk, their faces etched with a weary resignation that hinted at the hardships they had endured under Scarface Jack's reign. 

But the moment I mentioned the bandit leader's name, their eyes widened with terror, and they scurried away, mumbling apologies and claiming ignorance.

It was as if the very mention of Scarface Jack conjured a specter of fear that haunted this town, silencing its inhabitants and casting a pall over its dusty streets.

As I continued my investigation, a man, his attire suggesting a level of wealth and privilege that stood out amidst the town's poverty, approached me, his eyes lingering on my form with an unsettling intensity.

"Well, hello there, beautiful," he said, his voice a practiced drawl that oozed with a false charm. "I haven't seen you around these parts before. What brings a lovely lady like you to Dustpan Town?"

I frowned, tightening around the hilt of the spatially folded flail I had upon me always. 

Concealed beneath my kimono were many bludgeoning instruments and a few sharp ones all spatially folded for easy access. 

Despite the sweltering heat, I wore a formal Tomosode kimono, its elegant black fabric and intricate patterns a clear sign of my status as a taken woman and for those too dull to notice that, my ring should shove it in their faces that I don't want interest of what's not mine. 

This man, his blatant disregard for propriety, clearly lacked even the most basic social graces.

I stared at him, my expression a mixture of confusion and disgust so deep that it hurt. 

Without a word, I turned and walked away, his pathetic attempts at flirtation fading into the dust and silence of Dustpan Town's desolate streets.

—

The town bar, a ramshackle building with a wooden sign that creaked ominously in the wind, beckoned me forward.

It was time to meet with Tereda and see what he had uncovered.

Hopefully, his investigations had yielded more fruitful results than mine.

This bounty, it seemed, was already proving to be more challenging than we had anticipated.

—

The bar's interior was a dimly lit haven from the oppressive heat of the desert sun. Dusty wooden tables and chairs were scattered across a worn floor, their surfaces sticky with spilled drinks and the remnants of forgotten meals. A lone bartender, his face etched with a weary resignation, wiped down the counter with a rag that had seen better days, his movements slow and methodical, as if time itself moved at a languid pace within these walls.

I settled into a booth near the back of the bar, grateful for the blast of cool air from the ancient air conditioning unit that rattled and hummed above the counter. The silence, broken only by the rhythmic clinking of glasses and the occasional cough from a grizzled patron nursing a beer at the bar, was a welcome reprieve from the stifling tension I had encountered on the dusty streets of Dustpan Town.

Tereda was late. We had agreed to meet here after an hour, and nearly two had passed. A flicker of concern sparked within me, but I quickly dismissed it. Tereda was more than capable of handling himself. He was a skilled Hunter, his senses honed to a razor-sharp edge, his power amplified by our enchanted rings and years of relentless training.

The insistent buzzing of a fly, its wings beating against the grimy windowpane, was the only sound that dared to interrupt the bar's languid silence. I swatted at it, my irritation growing with each passing minute.

The air conditioning, its rhythmic hum now a constant presence in the background, seemed to kick into overdrive, the temperature plummeting from a pleasant cool to a bone-chilling frigidity. 

I shivered, pulling my kimono tighter around me, another minute passed and I pulled out a tan coat, adding a layer of warmth against the sudden chill. 

Even within the bar's dimly lit interior, I could see my breath misting in the air.

Just as I was beginning to wonder if the air conditioning unit had malfunctioned, a familiar figure approached my table.

It was the man from earlier, the one who had dared to approach me on the street, his eyes lingering on my form with an unsettling hunger.

He slid into the booth across from me, his movements smooth and practiced, his expensive attire a jarring contrast to the bar's worn decor.

He pushed a glass towards me, its contents a vibrant orange concoction that smells sickly sweet and artificial.

"I thought you might appreciate a drink," he said, his voice a practiced drawl that dripped with a false charm. "Something to cool you down."

I stood, recoiling in disgust and staring down at him with as much disdain and disgust as I felt.

This man-

This bug, it's audacity knew no bounds.

"Do you not understand the significance of what I'm wearing?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm, my disgust filled expression unchanged, my hand instinctively tightening around the hilt of my flail, ready to pull it out of my sleeve with a moment's notice. "The Tomosode kimono? The ring on my finger?"

He chuckled, a dismissive sound that grated on my nerves. "Whoever your husband is," he said, his eyes gleaming with a predatory glint, "he should be honored to have a man like me show interest in his wife."

My disgust transformed into a burning hatred, a primal rage that threatened to consume me. 

I resisted the urge to draw a blade- not my flail- and end his pathetic existence right then in a way that is so inefficient that it would simply cause enough pain that he would beg to die.

Instead, I raised my hand and slapped him across the face with all the force I could muster- that a normal person could survive at least.

The sound of the impact echoed through the bar, silencing the few remaining patrons.

A strip of something that resembled skin flew from his face, revealing a jagged, discolored scar beneath.

My eyes widened in recognition. The scar, the arrogant demeanor, the unmistakable scent of blood and cruelty that clung to him like a shroud.

This wasn't just some random, clueless fool.

This was Scarface Jack.

A cold smile spread across my face. 

It seemed fate had delivered our target to us on a silver platter.

there would be no escape.

A flicker of fear, carefully crafted and convincingly portrayed, crossed my face as I stumbled back from the table, knocking over the chair in 'panic', my gaze meeting Scarface Jack's with a calculated mix of terror and vulnerability.

"I… I need to go," I stammered, my voice purposely trembling slightly.

I turned and hurried towards the bar's exit, my steps quick but deliberately uneven, as if I were trying to maintain my composure while fleeing a dangerous situation.

I could sense his gaze burning into my back, a predator's focus that sent a reak shiver down my spine. 

One of disgust.

He followed, his footsteps heavy and confident, the scent of blood and arrogance clinging to him like a shroud.

As we exited the bar and stepped onto the dusty street, the temperature plummeted. 

The air around us crackled with a sudden chill, the ground beneath our feet frosting over with a thin layer of ice. 

My breath misted in the air, forming fleeting clouds that dissipated into the encroaching cold.

He's a Transmuter, I realized, my eyes narrowing as I assessed his aura. 

He was channeling his Nen into a form of ice manipulation, his body radiating a chilling aura that transformed the air around him into a weapon.

I didn't slow down, my steps still feigning a panicked retreat, but my mind raced, calculating the distance to the town's edge, the point beyond which our confrontation wouldn't endanger the innocent bystanders caught in Scarface Jack's icy wake.

Once we were a safe distance from the town, I stopped, turning to face him, my carefully constructed facade of fear melting away. 

A happily cold smile spread across my lips, my eyes hardening with a predatory gleam that mirrored his own.

"Let's see what you've got, Scarface," I said, my voice low and dangerous, the playful lilt gone, replaced by a steely resolve.

I reached into my kimono's hidden pocket dimension, my fingers brushing against a familiar cylindrical shape. With a flick of my wrist, I launched a flare into the darkening sky, its crimson glow arcing across the horizon, a signal to Tereda.

Just in case this fight proved to be more challenging than anticipated.

Scarface Jack, his body now encased in a shimmering armor of ice, his eyes blazing with a manic glee, charged towards me, his fist raised in a strike that aimed to shatter bone.

I met his attack head-on, my spatially compressed flail materializing in my hand, its spiked ball meeting his icy fist with a resounding clang.

The sound of shattering ice echoed through the air as Scarface Jack's armor crumbled, his arm contorting at an unnatural angle, the bones beneath pulverized by the force of my counter. 

He screamed, a sound of pain and disbelief that was swallowed by the desert wind.

He flew backward, a ragdoll tossed by an unseen force, his body tumbling through the air, a trail of blood and shattered ice marking his trajectory. 

He slammed into the town wall in the distance, the impact echoing across the desert like a distant thunderclap.

I stood there for a moment, the silence settling around me, broken only by the gentle whisper of the wind and the distant chirping of crickets.

He's… weak, I realized, a wave of disappointment washing over me. 

All that anticipation, all that buildup, for a fight that ended in a single blow.

I turned and walked back towards the town, my footsteps echoing against the now-thawing ground. The crimson glow of the flare I had launched still burned in the distance, a beacon against the darkening sky.

I reached the section of the wall where Scarface Jack had landed, his body crumpled and lifeless amidst a pile of shattered ice. Tereda stood there, his expression a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

"You killed him with one hit?" he asked, his voice incredulous.

I shrugged, my disappointment evident in my tone. "He was weaker than I expected."

The thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of a hard-fought victory, was absent.

Tereda just shrugged. "Let's go clean up his camp. I guess."