Eugene was taken aback by the Ranger’s sudden appearance. Not only was he surprised that the Ranger had boarded this train, but he was even more shaken by the fact that he hadn’t noticed him earlier while scanning the mercenaries.
It’s no boast, but my senses are quite sharp. Being able to pick someone out of a crowd is enough proof of that. Still, the fact that his presence was so well concealed that I didn’t notice him means,
At the very least, he must be a master of stealth. Moreover, the opponent’s identity as a Ranger means he’s a combatant well-versed in various firearms. A Ranger skilled in stealth and proficient with firearms specializes in one particular field,
Who did he board this train to eliminate? Could it be that the target is Rian, the person under protection? It’s not impossible that there’s some imperial court intrigue unfolding.
there would be no reason for him to reveal himself now. Even assuming he has comrades, it’s easier to stay concealed from the start and assassinate the target than to reveal yourself partway through.
That’s how they’ve been trained since the Ranger corps was founded ninety years ago. Honor and pride like that of knights are not theirs. Their mission is to complete their tasks with maximum rationality and efficiency.
That has been the Rangers’ identity since their inception. Even after ninety years, that identity remains intact. In other words, the fact that this Ranger deliberately showed himself in front of me means,
If he were truly an assassin targeting Rian, he would have conducted prior reconnaissance. Even if he didn’t know my identity, he would have known that I was a bodyguard. Assuming the worst, this gesture can only be interpreted as friendly.
That’s one thing, and this is another. If he intended to interfere with my job of cleaning up these trash mercenaries, I’d have disabled that Ranger from fighting as well.
The Ranger grinned slyly, raising both hands and stepping back, but the fact that he didn’t disappear meant he still intended to intervene. As a warning, I swung my left hand toward his ear.
The Ranger tilted his head in surprise. The shuriken aimed at his ear missed by a hair’s breadth, embedding itself straight into the tavern wall behind him.
The shuriken quivered as it stuck in the wall. Had the Ranger not dodged, one side of his ear would have been torn off. Of course, if a Ranger couldn’t avoid such an easy attack, he’d have to give up the title.
The mercenaries in the tavern murmured as they stared at the shuriken lodged in the wall. Until now, they’d dismissed it as a simple quarrel. But seeing a deadly weapon thrown made them realize the seriousness of the situation.
Seizing the opportunity, the bearded man’s comrades drew their guns. Though my body could survive gunfire, the shock of bullets piercing flesh still stung.
The mercenaries’ hands were pierced by the shuriken, causing them to tremble and drop their guns. Unfortunately, one of them was holding a pistol in each hand. He quickly aimed with his other hand, which was still free of shuriken wounds.
With a metallic crunch, the bullet vanished. Though the gunshot was audible, no one fell. It was a strange scene—no casualties, no bloodshed. Even the shooter was stunned.
He must have aimed and fired properly. The bullet was flying straight toward my brow. If I hadn’t caught it, the bartender’s lounge would have been a mess.
The metallic sound rang out, and only then did the shooter’s face contort. His expression paled. He had no idea I could catch bullets. What followed was a pitiful, desperate attempt at survival.
A fool willing to disarm himself, it’s no wonder anyone and their dog tries their luck as mercenaries these days. I said a word to the one kneeling and begging.
That’s one thing, and this is another. Such incompetent types should be forced out of the profession. If I crippled one or two of their limbs, they’d be forced to retire.
The mercenary backed away step by step, but his legs gave out and he slid across the floor on his butt. Finally catching up, I crouched to meet his eye level and said,
He laughed foolishly, apparently thinking I meant to reassure him. Terrified and mentally paralyzed, he had no clue what was coming. I raised a corner of my mouth and smiled back, then said,
My grip was strong enough to crush iron swords barehanded. Human hands made of bone and muscle were easy to pulverize. Like squeezing an egg and breaking it, his hands were crushed and mangled. Bones snapped, skin tore, and blood sprayed everywhere.
The mercenary frothing at the mouth fell silent from the unbearable pain. When pain reaches its peak, shock causes unconsciousness. I pressed a bloody fingertip to his neck to check his pulse. A faint heartbeat pulsed beneath my fingertip.
Still, those hands had been turned into useless chunks of flesh. Even if repaired, they wouldn’t function again. I’d shredded nerves along with the flesh, making a full recovery impossible. Mercenaries who treat innocent students like prey must never be allowed to recover.
The mercenary’s comrades ground their teeth watching this. Though a shuriken was stuck in one of them, their hands were relatively intact. Of course, I had no intention of punishing only the gunman.
The shuriken lodged in the hand exploded, blowing off the remaining mercenaries’ hands. Amid the bloody mist scattered flesh and bone pieces, they were done with only their hands, but even those were obliterated beyond repair.
Two more mercenaries foamed at the mouth and fainted. Only the bearded man remained. He was still reeling from the shock of having a projectile embedded in his neck.
Those three stayed still when their hands were crushed earlier. Why stir up trouble now when I’m about to finish this? If your reason’s lame, you’ll be next.
I told the Ranger what the bearded man had said with his own mouth. The Ranger frowned deeply. It was a disgusting story bad enough to offend even himself. He averted his gaze, now silent.
Mercenaries once called adventurers and honored, why do they receive worse treatment over time? If we can’t help each other, we shouldn’t hold each other back.
Turning back, the Ranger extended his pistol. It was a slide-action automatic pistol with the caliber of a Revolver. It must be a custom-made, state-of-the-art weapon for Rangers.
A mere Ranger challenging the one who outmatched the Ranger’s father. Rangers are trained to gauge their opponent’s combat ability. He must know even he can’t stand against me.
I grabbed the Ranger’s hand as he lowered his gun. If you interfere in someone else’s business, you must take responsibility. I’ll stop punishing, but you’ll have to get your hands dirty.
Over the last hundred years watching human history, I’ve seen how societies collapse when rotten parts aren’t cut away. If you’re going to stop my surgical operation, then at least you’ll have to execute it with your own hands.
After those words, I said no more. The silence following the final ultimatum pressed heavily. The surrounding mercenaries were so intimidated they barely breathed.
The Ranger left the tavern, looking down at his hands. The hand that had pulled the trigger just moments ago. The blood spatters after pulling the trigger, and the ear-shredding scream, etched into my mind as a vivid impression I would dream about for a long time.
I was angry at the man who forced the trigger. The silver-haired young mercenary who compelled it stared coldly at his gun. Yet he had lived far longer than he appeared.
His superhuman reflexes to catch bullets fired from point-blank range, his monstrous grip strong enough to crush hands with a single squeeze, and his cold ruthlessness that never showed mercy and always drew blood.
Since Eugene was busy beating up these worthless mercenaries, I showed myself partly to see what kind of person he was. Though it disrupted my lord’s orders to observe him, I had done it nonetheless.
Curiosity about what kind of man a hero who fought alongside a warrior from a hundred years ago would be. But curiosity aside, my lord’s command remained. Having interfered with its execution, I would have to report back.
With that resolve, I entered the cabin and took a blue crystal from my pocket. This crystal was a magical communication stone personally made by my lord in the Zodiac, a mysterious gem that connects directly to him over any distance.
I breathed magic into it, causing it to glow. The light soared, sculpting the image of a figure from the bottom up. The figure was a teenage girl wearing a wide-brimmed hat turned upside down, her right eye covered by an eyepatch bearing the symbol of the Palmapse Star.
I knelt before her. There are many beings in this world that cannot be judged by appearances alone, and those who deceive time by their looks are not unique to Eugene the bandit.