Chasing him rooftop to rooftop was exhausting, even with thirty points sunk into Dexterity. My lungs burned, my legs ached, but I kept closing the distance.
He must have realized it too—that running was pointless when hunted by an underworld dog.
"You damn pup! Can't you just quit already?!" he bellowed, his pace slowing.
"…"
I didn't answer. His shouting didn't matter. As long as the bounty was mine, I would chase him to the edge of the world.
"Fine! If you want to die so badly!"
He snarled and yanked something from his pocket—a medal glinting faintly under the moonlight. With a grunt, he hurled it skyward.
The medal spun, shattering into golden light.
In the next instant, glowing armor rained down and clamped itself around his body.
"Gold Heart, change!" he roared as the pieces locked into place, the display straight out of a children's superhero show.
He carefully set the little girl down and turned to face me. Then, as if the entire underworld were his stage, he struck a dramatic pose.
"Always believe in my soul, because I… am GOLD HEART!!!"
…It might've been impressive.
If he weren't fat.
The armor clearly wasn't designed for his bloated frame; his stomach bulged out between the plates, and the joints strained awkwardly against his limbs. The supposed heroic shine only made the tightness more ridiculous, like a cheap costume stretched over the wrong actor.
I stood still, expressionless. The only thought that crossed my mind was how utterly pathetic it looked.
"Heh…" The sound slipped out before I could stop it. A dry chuckle, mocking his appearance.
…Shit! I hope this doesn't ruin my image.
"Don't laugh!" he barked, his voice cracking like that of a twelve-year-old boy. His eyes widened inside the helmet. "Shit! I forgot to fix the voice changer!"
He started fumbling with the side of his helmet, frantically pressing buttons, the once-grand figure now reduced to a buffoon wrestling with his own gear.
Pathetic.
While he was distracted, I melted into the rooftop shadows, moving silently until I was right behind him. Then—
Crash!
I struck, my blow sending his armored body flying off balance. He tumbled from the rooftop, crashing hard into a dark alley below.
The impact rang through the night, metal screeching as sparks flew. The armor shuddered, flickered, then collapsed back into the form of a simple medal, rolling across the ground with a dull clink.
Now there was no "Gold Heart."
Only John Pedroplie—bloated, wheezing, and very human.
"You stay here," I told the little girl, my voice cold and commanding.
I dropped into the alley after him. John tried to limp away, but with his leg broken, every movement was pitiful—like watching a rat drag itself through filth.
"You're just a rat," I said, pulling out my dagger, "running until there's nowhere left to hide."
"You fucking dog!" he spat, face twisted. "Do you even know who I am?"
"Of course." I leveled the dagger's tip at him. "You're a freak who preyed on children."
I stepped closer.
"P-please, I have a famil—"
Steel sang. His words dissolved into a wet gurgle as my blade cut his throat clean.
"That makes it worse," I said flatly. "You fool."
He crumpled at once, clutching at the wound. Blood poured in sheets, staining the cobblestones until it spread across my shoes. He twitched once… twice… then was still.
I looked down at him.
I had killed a man. And yet—nothing stirred inside me.
Maybe because I kept reminding myself he was just an NPC. I had killed plenty of those before, sometimes for fun.
But this blood… this blood was different.
"…Filthy," I muttered, voice colder than the night itself.
I crouched, wiped the blade clean, and went to work. My hands were steady, mechanical, almost detached from my own body. A few minutes later, I rose holding the proof the guild demanded: the man's face.
In the underworld, you didn't prove a kill with blood. Or with words.
You proved it with identity itself.
I wrapped the skin, slipped it into my coat, and sheathed Ji-Hyun's dagger. Straightening my suit, I fixed my cuffs and stepped out of the shadows as if I hadn't just dismantled a man.
"First blood," I murmured.
But before I could leave, a small tug at my coat stopped me.
I turned.
The girl John had kidnapped clung to the fabric with trembling fingers.
I crouched, lowering myself so her eyes met mine.
And when I looked at her properly, realization struck. Pink hair that glimmered faintly even in shadow, eyes red as rubies—steady despite the horror she'd witnessed. Her dress bore black and crimson accents, lined with the subtle threads of nobility.
She wasn't just a victim. She wasn't just a child.
She was someone important.
"What's your name, little one?" I asked, my voice softer, but still detached.
She hesitated only a second before answering.
"Anna Von Herana."
The name landed like a weight in the alley.
Herana. A house of fire and pride, one of the great families that shaped the Academy and beyond. The kind of name whispered in both noble halls and underworld dens.
In other words Elana's little sister.
I studied her quietly.
My first kill… and already, fate was dragging me into deeper waters.
◇◇◇
Walking into the guild, I was greeted not by silence, but by a wall of bodies.
A dozen men lounged near the entrance, their rough clothes marked by the same insignia—an emblem of a pit bull sinking its teeth into a severed arm.
"You finally showed up, young pup," one of them drawled, flipping a knife between his fingers. His grin was all teeth, his eyes sharp and hungry.
I didn't reply.
I adjusted my hold on Anna, letting her small weight rest against me, and walked past them as though they were no more than smoke.
The man's grin faltered at my silence.
Anna's hand clutched tighter at my coat. Her voice was a whisper, trembling.
"Uncle… who are those people?"
"Don't mind them, sweetheart," I said coldly, eyes forward, my voice calm and sharp enough to cut through the tension.
I didn't need to waste words on dogs.
As I strode toward the mission desk, a hand clamped down on my shoulder.
"Where do you think you're going, pup? Shouldn't you greet your seniors?" The man had four arms, each corded with muscle, each twitching as though eager for a fight.
I didn't answer.
I simply removed his grip with calm precision and met his gaze with a flat, icy stare.
That only made them laugh.
"Why so stiff? You must be thirsty," another man jeered, tilting a mug over my head. Foam and cheap beer ran down my hair, dripping onto my collar.
"You shouldn't touch someone above you," I said quietly, straightening my suit.
They burst into raucous laughter.
"Hahahahaha! Who the hell do you think you are? You're just a pup—just a handsome one!"
The four-armed man leaned in again, two hands pressing on my shoulders this time. "Hey, kid, it'd be better if yo—"
The words never finished.
A flick of my wrist, and his tongue hit the floor with a wet slap. His scream came a moment later, muffled and garbled, blood pouring down his chin.
"Still yapping?" My voice was calm, unbothered.
"You bastard!" the others roared, rushing me all at once.
Steel hissed.
And then silence.
Their laughter died with them, heads severed in clean strokes that barely stained my blade. Their bodies crumpled around me like broken dolls.
I adjusted my cuffs, exhaling once.
Turning, I looked down at the girl in my arms. Anna's breathing was steady—fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the carnage around us.
I brushed a strand of her pink hair back gently. "Are you okay, sweetheart?" I whispered. "It's fine. I'll send you home soon."
Then I stepped over the corpses and continued toward the mission desk as though nothing had happened.
"You sure know how to deal with people like that," the woman at the counter murmured, a faint smile tugging her lips.
"Just give me my money and we're done." With a flick of my fingers, I tossed John's face onto the desk.
She caught it, inspected the grisly proof, and raised her brows. "Your cut is… precise. Clean. No doubt about it—this is his face."
She looked up. "Give me your bank code."
I slid the slip across the desk. "Here."
She scanned it swiftly, nodding. "The men who stopped you earlier… they were Iron Fang rank. Most pups wouldn't last a minute. How did you manage to handle them?"
I met her gaze without blinking. "Experience." My tone was flat, absolute, as if the question itself were pointless.
She swallowed lightly, fingers moving faster across the terminal. "Done. The payment's on its way."
I set Anna gently on the counter. "This girl was kidnapped by John Pedroplie. Send her home."
The woman tilted her head. "Do you know her name?"
"Anna Von Herana."
At once, her face drained of color. She straightened, cradling Anna as though she were a relic worth kingdoms. "Von… Herana…?!"
"Handle it," I said simply, already turning away.
"W-wait!" she called after me. "You can't just dump this on me alone!"
I ignored her, lengthening my stride.
"He—hey! At least give me your number!"
My only answer was the echo of my footsteps fading into the guild's heavy silence.
◇◇◇
The guild Leonardo Auditore had walked into just hours earlier was no longer the same.
The mission counter was smeared with drying blood. Tables were stained red where bodies had been dragged across them. The corpses he had left at the entrance remained untouched, lying like discarded husks. No one dared move them.
And no one cared.
Such was the underworld—where death was ordinary, corpses were furniture, and money ruled above all.
Anna stirred in the attendant's arms, her small eyes fluttering open. Through the fog of sleep, she caught a final glimpse of the man who had saved her.
A back fading into shadow. A stride that did not falter.
She didn't cry. She didn't scream. She only held onto the name she had heard whispered from the attendant's mouth.
A name already beginning to circulate in the underworld.
A new bounty hunter.
Cold. Efficient. Unyielding.
Leonardo Auditore.
To Be Continued...