"So… you're telling me your entire gang was crushed by just two people? The Bloodhand Gang is finished?"
In Cuckoo Town,a group of guards surrounded a narrow alleyway, armed with blades and muskets. At their head stood Aula, frowning as he stared down at the Bloodhand Gang member kneeling before him, clutching his head and sobbing uncontrollably.
Normally, the guards didn't interfere with Bloodhand Gang affairs. As long as those thugs didn't threaten the merchant guild, it wasn't their problem. But tonight's multiple explosions, cannon fire, and the crack of flintlocks had left the merchants deeply uneasy—and eager for information.
So, the guards had come to investigate. By chance, they'd run into a Bloodhand member who had just escaped from the manor.
"Don't kill me! The Flying Reaper—he's a demon! I didn't do anything bad, I just wanted to make a living!"
His terrified rambling was disjointed, bordering on madness.He kept screaming the same nonsensical words over and over—"The Flying Reaper! The Flying Reaper!"
At least he was responsive when questioned. After Aula gave him two sharp slaps across the face,the near-hysterical survivor began to babble everything he knew between sobs—still crying out "Flying Reaper" as he did.
Two outsiders had attacked the Bloodhand Gang's manor not long ago. With overwhelming violence, they had annihilated the gang's elite forces and their leader. The Bloodhand Gang was completely wiped out.
But—
"You're kidding me… just two people?" Aula muttered in disbelief. The story sounded like the ravings of a lunatic.
The Bloodhand Gang had ruled Cuckoo Town for years, and tonight was one of their big gatherings. Nearly two hundred core members were present, plus at least a hundred hired thugs and lackeys. Three hundred armed criminals, vicious and ruthless—and they had muskets, cannons, everything.
And now he was being told two people wiped them out?
Impossible.
Absurd.
"Boss, should we still go check it out?" his nervous deputy asked carefully.
"Of course we're going. You think we can ignore the guild's orders?" Aula rolled his eyes.
"What about this guy? He's one of the Bloodhand Gang's officers," the deputy added.
"If I'm not mistaken…" Aula looked him over from head to toe. "This bastard's the one who used to kidnap orphans from town, right? The ones who lost their parents?"
"Yeah. Innocent my ass," one of the guards spat.
Innocent? Even if a few among the Bloodhand Gang didn't deserve death, most certainly did. And if you hesitated, if you spared the wrong ones, you'd only let monsters slip through the cracks.
"No one cared when an orphan disappeared," Aula said coldly, drawing his pistol. "Why should anyone care about you?"
Bang!
The Bloodhand thug dropped instantly, finally free of his terror of the "Flying Reaper."
"Dump the body. Keep this quiet—we don't need the rest of the gang coming for revenge". Aula reloaded his pistol without looking up.
The guards obeyed silently. Two of them dragged away the corpse, their expressions showing grim satisfaction—you finally got what you deserved.
Yes, they didn't usually meddle outside the guild's interests. Without profit, no one risked their life for strangers.
But they were still human. After seeing what the Bloodhand Gang had done, anger and disgust were natural. They understood why Aula had pulled the trigger.
They'd already forced the man to talk, already made enemies. Might as well finish the job cleanly. Even if the Bloodhand Gang wasn't entirely wiped out, chaos was guaranteed—and one more missing body wouldn't matter.
"Let's move. Time to see which god did this."
Aula holstered his pistol and led his men out of the alley.
Soon,they reached the Bloodhand manor gates—and froze at the sight before them.
Bodies everywhere. The stench of blood filled the air, sharp and metallic. Groaning survivors twitched on the ground, barely clinging to life.
Every single one bore the same kind of wound—a single sword slash, deep enough to reach bone. All cut by the same blade, the same swordsman.
"What in the world happened here?" Aula stopped at the ruined gates, staring in shock.
Actually, there were no gates anymore. They had been sliced cleanly into pieces. Beyond them lay dozens of corpses—nearly a hundred of the Bloodhand Gang's strongest fighters. Among them, Aula recognized a scar-faced man and his crew—Zagu's most formidable subordinates.
Now they were all down.
Several wheeled cannons lay overturned, barrels twisted and scattered. The ground bore scorch marks and shattered stone where explosions had gone off. So this was where all that cannon fire had come from.
But something didn't add up.
It was too strange—Every trace of battle belonged to the Bloodhand Gang. There were almost no signs of their enemies' injuries. It was as if only one person had fought… and massacred them all.
But who could destroy an entire private army single-handedly?
No answer came—only the sudden echo of footsteps from the manor's dark interior.
"Who's there?" Aula's face hardened. He raised his flintlock pistol toward the sound, and his men followed suit.
"That's my line," came a calm voice from the darkness.
A silhouette appeared, carrying something round in one hand. As the torchlight reached him, the figure of a teenage boy came into view—and the object he held was a severed head.
"You ask someone's name," the boy said lightly, "shouldn't you introduce yourself first?"
"I'm Captain Aula of the Cuckoo Town Guard, and you—"
Aula's eyes drifted involuntarily to the head in the boy's hand. Blank eyes. Familiar face. There was no mistaking it—Zagu, the Bloodhand Gang's leader.
Aula's eyelid twitched. His grip on the pistol tightened.
The boy ignored their alarm, walked calmly to the broken gate, and set the head down in the center. Only then did he speak again.
"I left this here as a warning—so people wouldn't bother me. But it looks like you've already done that."
Then he turned, smiling with teeth that gleamed in the firelight. "The name's Ren. At the moment, I'm one of only two living people in this manor."
"…"
Aula swallowed hard.That single sentence sent a chill crawling down his spine.
Only two living people? Meaning everyone else inside was—
"I wouldn't recommend pointing those guns at me," Ren said suddenly.
Before Aula could react, Ren blurred forward—and in an instant, the pistol was no longer in Aula's hand.
"W-wait! What are you—doing!?" Aula stumbled back, sword half-drawn in panic.
The surrounding guards raised their muskets, tense and ready—until their expressions turned to shock.
Because Ren… had pointed the pistol at his own head.
What was he doing? Suicide?
"Not only is it rude," Ren grinned, "but bullets don't work on me anyway."
He pulled the trigger.
Bang!
A flash of fire—and then, a crisp metallic clink as the bullet bounced harmlessly off his forehead and fell to the ground.
Clang—!
(End of Chapter)