A few minutes ago.
Amon stepped into the warehouse with light, measured footsteps.
He occasionally glanced around, carefully studying the movement of everything within his line of sight.
The warehouse was cluttered with a variety of miscellaneous items.
Crates were stacked haphazardly, old tools rusted in corners, and broken machinery collected dust in the corner of of a few blocks not too far away.
'It feels abandoned… but Bard is using it as his hideout, I must be careful!' Amon observed as he moved silently through the dimly lit corridor, his boots making soft, deliberate contact with the concrete floor.
Suddenly, he paused, sniffing lightly as a faint acrid scent drifted into his nostrils.
'Smoke?' He could detect a faint scent of tobacco hanging in the air.
His eyes narrowed as he noticed a few drifting wisps of smoke curling upward from nearby before fading lightly.
'Someone's smoking?' he frowned, 'one of the guards stationed here, perhaps?'
Uninterested in overanalyzing, he quietly approached the source.
Rounding a corner, he saw a young man who looked to be around eighteen.
The youth leaned against a metal beam, a cigarette between his fingers.
He took a slow drag, exhaled a cloud of smoke, then drew in again with a serene expression, seemingly intoxicated by the sensation.
Amon stepped closer, and with a subtle tremble of his fingers, he raised his hand to his face.
He removed his mask, let his sword rest lightly behind him, and approached silently.
"Excuse me," he said in a calm, polite tone. "Bard asked me to come and get you."
The moment the youth heard the voice, he startled and instinctively tried to hide the cigarette, as though he feared being reprimanded.
He snapped his gaze toward Amon, and the moment their eyes met, a strange sensation surged through him—like he had glimpsed something he was never meant to see.
His expression dulled. All emotion drained from his face before he collapsed to the floor, lifeless.
There was no struggle, only the eerie stillness of a person who hadn't expected death at that moment.
Amon stared at the youth for a few seconds before grabbing him by the arms and dragging his body toward the nearby waste disposal unit.
'How convenient,' he muttered inwardly, moving with haste, making sure no one caught sight of him.
After disposing of the body, he retrieved his sword and mask and continued walking deeper into the warehouse.
Not long after, he encountered another young man emerging from a nearby bathroom.
The boy was fumbling with the zipper of his trousers, his gaze fixed downward.
The moment he looked up, his eyes fell upon a face that seemed not to belong to the mortal realm.
His expression froze in shock before he dropped to the ground with a dull thud, lifeless.
'Huh?' Amon felt a subtle wave of weakness surge through him. 'It seems my guess over the years was right. Every time someone dies from looking at my face, something drains from me… as though I'm being weakened.'
He pondered the sensation for a moment, then pushed the thought aside.
If he couldn't uncover the truth now, he would do so eventually.
He dragged the second body out of sight but stopped abruptly.
A piercing scream shattered the silence.
Two more guards had just turned the corner, and under the faint moonlight, they spotted Amon dragging a corpse.
The scene looked like something straight out of a horror film.
The first guard, overwhelmed by fear, screamed uncontrollably.
He had heard disturbing rumors about this district—and now, it felt like he was living one.
Without even confirming what he saw, he turned and bolted toward the main warehouse hall.
The second guard didn't follow.
Instead, he glared at his fleeing companion and scoffed.
Then, with practiced precision, he reached to his side and drew a sleek, metallic pistol.
He charged toward Amon without hesitation and raised the pistol high in the air, bringing it down with force.
There was a sharp crashing sound, the pistol clattering to the floor—and the heavy thud of another body hitting the ground.
Amon furrowed his brows.
'My presence has been exposed. I can no longer move through this place undetected. A full confrontation is now inevitable.'
He hesitated, weighing his options. 'Should I continue the rescue… or retreat?'
After a moment of inner conflict, he made his choice.
'At worst, I die and reincarnate again. But if I succeed in saving her, I can live a quiet life once more. Besides... she's cute. And perhaps, the only friend I've ever had.'
With his decision made, Amon picked up his sword, let the body fall from his grip, and gazed toward the inner room of the warehouse.
He could hear hurried footsteps approaching, but his heartbeat remained steady.
He had seen too much, endured too many horrors. Death, even now, failed to shake him.
He waited calmly, his eyes locked in the direction of the approaching guards.
Within seconds, five guards arrived. Among them was the same youth who had fled earlier.
"He's the one I saw killing the others!" the youth shouted, pointing with a trembling finger while cowering behind the rest.
The four guards beside him shot him irritated glances, clearly disgusted by his cowardice. One of them, frustrated, charged toward Amon without hesitation.
Because of the dim lighting, Amon's face was partially concealed. But as the guard drew close enough, he saw the face clearly—and collapsed, just like the others.
Amon felt a flicker of weakness again, but he paid it little attention.
Among the remaining guards, one with narrow blue eyes narrowed his gaze at his fallen comrade. A suspicion began to grow in his mind.
'This…' he whispered in thought, his heart skipping a beat. 'Could he be an Ascendant?'
The word echoed in his mind as he stared at Amon.
'That power… it's like some kind of silent death ability.'
He observed Amon more closely, stepping back with caution.
'Could it be related to distance? Or maybe eye contact? We're not in his direct line of sight right now, so maybe that's the key.'
His mind raced, calculating.
He turned to the muscular man beside him.
"Go. Handle this."
The man hesitated. They had all witnessed what happened to the others, and no one wanted to be the next victim.
But this was an order from the second-in-command. Refusing it would be akin to disobeying Bard himself.
With no other choice, the muscular guard drew his pistol from his waist.
His movements were slow, deliberate, and his aura flared with pressure.
The youth watched closely, analyzing Amon's every movement, trying to discern the extent and rules of his mysterious ability.