Amon sat in silence. He didn't appear panicked about the situation. He had already endured far worse in some of his past reincarnations.
There was even one lifetime where he had been reborn as a demon, forced to abandon his morality just to survive another day.
'In the end, I still failed. Life is truly fickle, huh…' Amon chuckled at his own helplessness.
'If Aunt still isn't back from work by 5:30 p.m., I'll try to resolve the crisis myself. However, I must prioritize my life above everything else.' Amon made the decision internally, his thoughts solemn.
He turned his gaze to the wall clock and watched the seconds pass, each tick echoing faintly in the quiet room.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
It felt as though time had slowed to a crawl. In such moments, one might be overwhelmed by nervousness, but Amon felt only one thing deep within him.
Warmth.
'I am cursed. Sooner or later, I'll have to step into my 101st reincarnation. How stressful… I was just beginning to enjoy this peaceful, quiet world,' he thought with a hint of melancholy in his heart.
…
Time passed, and soon it was 5:30 p.m.
Amon looked at the clock and exhaled deeply. 'It seems Sister has truly been kidnapped. She should have returned a long time ago, and Aunt is still nowhere to be seen. I suppose I'll have to handle this myself,' Amon murmured before standing up slowly.
'It's time I finally take off my mask…' Amon recalled the horror hidden behind the mask—an unspeakable terror. This was where his confidence in surviving came from.
He stepped out of the house and was immediately greeted by the faint scent of dust and old pavement. Across the quiet street sat an old man in a weathered wooden chair.
Old Man Don.
Amon hesitated momentarily, then approached him. "Old Man Don, may I borrow your sword for a while?"
He had no other weapon at his disposal, so this was the only option.
Old Man Don seemed to snap out of his daze. He turned his head and looked at Amon with mild surprise. "Kid, what do you want with my sword? Let me tell you, I've killed ghosts and monsters with that blade. It's far from ordinary!"
Amon slightly rolled his eyes but said nothing. He simply waited in calm silence for the old man to finish speaking.
…
'He's more kindhearted than I thought. He actually handed me the sword…' Amon was slightly surprised. As he walked briskly down the street, his fingers lightly brushed along the surface of the blade.
The sword was cold. A chilling aura seemed to rise from it, creeping up his spine like a whisper in the dark. Amon recalled the man's bold words about killing ghosts and monsters.
'Maybe he was telling the truth,' he mused with a quiet chuckle, then flagged down a nearby carriage.
"Harbor Street," Amon said firmly.
"Five coppers," the driver replied flatly.
Amon had no idea what the proper fare was, so he merely shrugged and paid without arguing. He climbed onto the carriage and sat down.
Only then did the driver notice the gleaming blade in Amon's hand. A trickle of cold sweat slid down his back.
'If he finds out I overcharged him, will my neck feel the edge of that sword?' The man's heart pounded with unease as he grasped the reins tighter.
He glanced back frequently. Every time he saw Amon seated calmly, making no move, he exhaled in silent relief.
'It seems he is wary of my weapon,' Amon thought to himself, unaware of the driver's internal panic.
…
Time slipped by quickly. Soon, Amon arrived at his destination: an abandoned warehouse with cracked walls and rusted metal doors. He paid the fare in full and stepped down from the carriage.
As Amon began walking toward the building, the driver hesitated before calling out cautiously, "Young master, I've heard people go missing in that place. After nine at night, I don't dare come near it. Since you're here for something important, please be careful."
Amon nodded silently, appreciating the concern. As the driver turned and left, a smirk crept onto his face.
'That warning alone is worth the extra three copper he gave me…'
Amon remained unaware of the man's musings as he entered the structure. At that moment, it was as if the very air had grown heavier.
Under the dim sky, Amon's cold voice echoed faintly.
"Well then… let's kill some bad people," he muttered as his hand reached for the edge of his mask.
…
Meanwhile, deeper inside the warehouse, a young woman was tied firmly to a chair made of splintered wood. Her skin was pale, and faint moaning sounds echoed from somewhere nearby.
Aurora's expression twisted in disgust as she watched two people disgrace themselves a few feet away.
The man, Bard, smirked as he approached. "Aurora, haha! It looks like your dear brother has abandoned you! Just become my little toy, and I'll shower you with endless wealth!"
He moved even more aggressively as he spoke.
Aurora's face darkened at Bard's words. Though she hadn't expected much, a part of her still believed her brother would come. 'Still… he should have come to save me by now, right?' she thought bitterly.
Once Bard had finished his vile act, he buttoned his clothes and walked toward her. His fingers trailed along her slender neck, sending a wave of revulsion down her spine.
"Why are you so stubborn?" he asked, his face drawing close, his breath foul and hot.
Aurora remained silent, her lips sealed in defiance.
Bard's eyes flared with rage.
"Undress her. I won't waste any more time. Since her pathetic brother isn't showing up, I see no reason to deprive myself of such delicate flesh…"
At his command, three of the six thugs stepped forward, their hands greedy as they began tearing away her clothing with rough movements.
Just as they were about to remove her blouse, a loud voice thundered through the warehouse.
Everyone froze. Bard's face went pale. 'Don't tell me that brat actually called the police!'
His heart thudded in panic. But a moment later, he calmed himself. He hadn't received a signal that any police were nearby.
"You two, go check outside!" he barked, waving his hand. The thugs stopped undressing Aurora and stepped back.
He was no longer interested in his vile desires. Now, he had to ensure nothing interfered with his plans.
'I just hope it's not something serious…' Even a man as twisted as Bard knew when to send a quiet prayer into the void.