Chapter 147

The hospital corridor was enveloped in darkness, all its lights extinguished.

Amidst the profound stillness of the night, the deliberate, unhurried footsteps reverberated.

The elderly gentleman, who had recently acquired the ‘Compassion of Archangel’ at the auction house, pushed open the ward door, its hinges creaking in eerie harmony with his echoing shoe steps.

“How are you feeling?”

Although met with silence, he removed his hat and settled into the chair beside the bed.

“Your expression says it all.”

Upon the bed sat a young woman, her listless hair cascading down.

Eyes, sharp and unyielding, gleamed through the tresses.

Her parched lips parted gradually, and a raspy voice found its way out.

“The mission failed, and in a terrible manner.”

“I never thought we’d be stabbed in the back like this.”

“......”

“It’s unfortunate that Brook died. We lost a valuable colleague.”

The elderly man held a deep appreciation for Brook’s remarkable acting prowess and unwavering loyalty to the exploration team.

Losing someone who could flawlessly perform, even before an audience of hundreds, was undeniably a heart-wrenching ordeal.

The woman remained silent for a moment but then spoke in a frigid tone, “I don’t want to care about the dead. What about the artifact?”

Her apparent indifference toward a fallen comrade was chilling. However, it was precisely this detachment that had earned her the old man’s utmost trust.

“Here it is,” he responded, flicking his fingers, revealing an object concealed behind his back.

A staff adorned with magnificent wings on its sides, yet featuring a conspicuous void at its core. This was the ‘Compassion of Archangel’, believed to have been stolen with impeccable precision from the auction house.

“It’s now half of what it used to be...” he sighed, handing the staff to the woman.

A blend of coldness and nostalgia enveloped the moment. Irina Pheffield, her grip on the staff turning her hand pale, muttered, “I won’t let this slide. I will reclaim my treasure.”

At this juncture, who had the rightful claim? Once blood was shed, there was no turning back.

The exploration team might not have been well-versed in the city’s rules, but they were far from naive. With Brook, their stand-in captain, now deceased, other team members were likely gearing up for revenge.

“First, we should focus on treating your injuries. I’ve called a doctor who, although can’t keep secrets as well as the potion maker, is competent. You will be satisfied.” the elder attempted to pacify Irina’s wrath.

“I respect not only your archaeological skills but also your character that values your team. I will do my best to help you.”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t hold us back.” Irina responded coldly, yet Vincent smiled in quiet understanding. He knew the lengths to which Brook had gone to secure the potion maker’s amulet. Their methods weren’t always aboveboard. But at this juncture, right or wrong seemed almost irrelevant. They had already made an enemy who couldn’t be ignored.

Judging right from wrong should always be done after surviving, not before.

Vincent found the fearless expedition leader, who may lack recognition but was unmatched in competence, more valuable than the nameless wizard who almost killed her.

*****

Cough, cough!

Yard Maringson, the manager of Scavenger branch in District 43, dashed about in a frenzy.

“How did this happen?”

It was meant to be a routine job—labeling an anonymous cargo, transporting it to the railway station, and collecting the freight charges. Nothing more.

Although some time had passed since the city’s inspection, the tension in the streets lingered.

That’s why Yard had been choosing only seemingly safe jobs, proceeding with caution. True, they had killed a few bystanders and looted nearby shops along the way, but compared to their previous exploits, it was relatively minor.

Their plan for the day was to get paid and then head out with their comrades to unwind at a club in District 40, washing away the stench of blood completely.

That was the plan until an emaciated man appeared and shattered everything.

Crash!

A barricade, constructed from assorted objects, crumbled, and the Scavengers struggling to hold it met a gruesome fate, their remains scattered into the air.

“Ah, ahhhhh!”

“Monster!”

“A madman’s here!”

Up until this point, dozens of Scavengers had been dispatched, their bodies obliterated beyond recognition.

It was imminent.

A blue flash that seared through the retina.

He reached out even before feeling its approach.

He was certain even before fully extending his arm.

He would sever it.

Seouk!!

Amidst the relentless lightning’s backflow, where not a sliver of space remained visible, Yard’s expression lacked hatred or anger. Instead, he discovered a faint opening, narrower than the eye of a needle—a glimmer of pure, resolute determination to cling to life.

Within the pristine calm that surrounded him, Yard’s vision gradually normalized as he severed the lightning before him.

Confronted by the blunt muzzle of a shotgun, Yard blinked in surprise.

“......Huh?”

Baang!!

What erupted from the gaunt wizard’s shotgun wasn’t bullets; it was a shockwave akin to a cannonball. All the choices Yard had staked his life on to find suddenly became meaningless as his body crumpled to the ground, a gaping void where his lower half had once been, the cold steel of the railway station’s floor cutting through his exposed intestines.

Looking down at Yard’s convulsing face, Lennok remarked, “Good focus.”

“Haha...... F*ck.”

Yard chuckled hollowly, realizing from the outset that victory had never been within reach.

It felt like cheating. How could a wizard capable of unleashing such devastating lightning also wield a shotgun with such absurd power?

There had to be a limit to recklessness. Yet, as always, the world favored the stronger.

Would the outcome have differed if Yard had held that weapon instead? Such musings were moot now.

Gradually closing his eyes, Yard muttered, “Cut off the lightning, huh......?”

Yard Meringson, District 43’s Scavenger branch manager, aged 37, drifted into an eternal slumber, bearing the unique distinction of an achievement no one else had ever claimed in his final moments.

***

Koong!

“Here. This is the object you were looking for.” Lennok declared, placing the jar he had been holding before Sebastian.

Sebastian promptly inspected the jar’s contents and nodded in satisfaction. “Work was done smoothly as expected. Very good. What did you do with those scavengers?”

“What...?” Lennok responded with a nonchalant shrug, and Sebastian understood implicitly.

“It’s good if you took care of it. These guys kept stealing goods like rats in this area, so they needed some attention.”

“You can be assured on that part.”

“Very good... Besides, you are much faster than when you worked for me last time. Have you improved your skills?”

“I’ve gotten used to it.” Lennok replied as he took a seat across from Sebastian.

They were in District 45, an opulent building housing Sebastian’s office. This visit marked Lennok’s return after completing a task Sebastian had requested. The speed at which Lennok had carried out the job had left Sebastian somewhat impressed, but from Lennok’s perspective, it was merely par for the course.

Having grown accustomed to freelancing, Lennok had acquired the knack of efficiently handling assignments. In this particular instance, his adversaries had been low-level scavengers from the outskirts, making it relatively straightforward for Lennok to achieve swift results through force alone.

He hadn’t even tapped into his full magical potential, relying instead on a shotgun infused with auxiliary magic.

“Anyway, I hope this will be a good enough reward for what I’m asking.”

“I was already pulling up the data for you. Take a look.”

Several sheets of paper levitated from a printer situated in the office’s corner, neatly forming a file folder.

“After listening to you, I immediately started gathering information on those sponsoring the Arasha expedition team.”

Sebastian opened the folder and presented its contents to Lennok.

“Vincent Mayblack. He operates quite a large trading company even in the inner districts of Vulcan.”

At Sebastian’s words, Lennok raised an eyebrow.

“He contributes to the distribution of a large amount of goods produced in Vulcan to various continents. Looks like he’s making a pretty good profit by inserting valuable relics into the mix. He’s quite old, but separate from that, he’s a man with extraordinary charisma.”

“There must be some reason for continuously sponsoring the expedition team. Given that he was even involved in that ridiculous play at the Teyna auction house, he must be deeply involved.”

Sebastian closed the folder with a solid ‘thud’ and stroked his chin, a sly smile curving his lips.

“Van, it’s been a while since you showed your face, but you brought something quite interesting. I really did pick the right person.”