"By the way, since Momokawa's ability is so overwhelming, why are you two so... underwhelming?" Alistair asked, draping his arms over the shoulders of the two men with genuine curiosity.
"What do you mean underwhelming? We're plenty strong, alright? My 'Weapon' is a—well, it's a multi-hit lethal type. What if I'd accidentally ended your life?" Mustache snapped, shrugging off Alistair's hand with an indignant huff.
"Hah? Really? 'Multi'-hit lethal? How many hits does that take? Ten? A hundred?" Alistair looked at him with a mischievous smirk. His offensive repertoire might not be the most diverse, but his survival skills were top-tier. With the Dog and Horse talismans, unless it was some high-level conceptual erasure, trying to kill Alistair was a joke.
"He's actually telling the truth. His Weapon is formidable," Owen added, nodding in defense of his partner. "Every strike from his Weapon against the same target causes the effect to multiply. Usually, two hits are enough for an opponent on his level. Three or four hits can kill someone significantly stronger than him."
"I see... but the cost must be high, right?" Alistair noted. Effects like that were broken, but usually balanced by a heavy drain on the user.
"Exactly. The mana consumption doubles as well. He can only use it on the same target five times max before he's tapped out," Owen agreed.
"No problem, no problem," Mustache said, smoothing his facial hair with pride. "No enemy has ever lived long enough for me to need a fifth hit. No need to worry."
Bang! Splurt!
A gunshot rang out. In an instant, a spray of blood erupted from Hwa Momokawa's temple. The entire right side of her head was blown apart.
Thud.
Hwa collapsed to the ground, fresh blood pooling beneath her.
"Hwa!" Owen and Mustache shouted in horror.
"Interesting. It seems your organization is riddled with internal conflict. Someone's assassinating their own high-value assets," Alistair mused, his eyes narrowing. He was becoming more intrigued by the government's inner workings. As for Hwa, he wasn't worried; they'd explained her ability, and even with the Horse talisman's power, he didn't sense her life force actually fading.
"Forgive us, but we have to step away for a moment," Owen said, his face hardening. Mustache summoned his Weapon—a short, sword-like blade—while Owen's bracelet began to glow.
"Ugh... that really hurts."
Hwa's "corpse" twitched. A low groan escaped her—or rather, a sigh of pure annoyance and exhaustion.
"Does this happen often?" Alistair asked, watching the two men sprint off toward the sniper's location.
"Often enough. I'm used to it," Hwa said, pushing herself up from the ground. Her injury had completely healed, though she was still covered in gore, looking like a nightmare.
"Ah, dammit. I only finished half of it." Hwa picked up her cigarette from the pool of blood. It was soaked through and ruined.
"Can't you just light another one? Your salary is more than enough for a pack a day," Alistair said, watching her try to wring it out like a wet towel.
"Frugality is a virtue. And I don't like smoking; it's just for the fatigue," Hwa muttered, finally tossing the ruined cigarette aside and pocketing her lighter.
"You really don't want to clean that up?" Alistair pointed to her silver hair, half-dyed crimson.
"This? It's fine. I'll wash up later." She ran a hand through her hair, unbothered.
"Fair enough. So, what's the deal? A civil war?" Alistair pulled a box of chocolate Pocky from his pocket, flicked one into the air, caught it in his mouth, and began to chew.
"Probably. Give me one." Hwa walked over and snatched a Pocky stick, dangling it from her lips like a cigarette.
"Probably? So you guys have enemies both inside and out?"
"It's always been this way. My existence just gave them a target," Hwa said, taking off her bloodied coat to wipe her face.
"You're incredibly calm," Alistair said. He wouldn't want to go through being killed over and over. Thank God his Dog talisman prevented death rather than just resurrecting him. Having your skull explode was a bit much.
"You'd be used to it too if it happened a thousand times." Hwa looked weary. Her passive ability was beyond her control; otherwise, she might have chosen to stay dead long ago. "There's more than one way to strengthen a Weapon. Besides hunting Souls, you can absorb power by killing other Weapon Users. If you're lucky, you might even steal their abilities. My ability is their ultimate prize."
Hwa leaned against a stone wall.
"So there are Weapon Users who use guns?" Alistair recalled the black bullet he'd seen—it didn't look like lead, but more like a mana crystal.
"Of course. Weapons come in all shapes—melee, conceptual, firearms, jewelry. No two are identical. However, siblings can often have Weapons that resonate for a stronger effect," Hwa explained, nibbling on her Pocky.
"Fascinating. I wonder what kind of 'Weapon' I'd manifest." Alistair was genuinely curious. The three he'd seen so far were impressive: an unkillable AoE healer, a stacking assassin blade, and a buffer. He wondered if Owen's buffs were percentage-based or flat stats.
"Maybe gauntlets? Though, I'm more curious about how your physical stats got so high," Hwa mused.
"Me? Just an ordinary high schooler. The kind who can beat up a hundred-year-old man," Alistair said casually, flicking another Pocky into his mouth.
"High schooler?" Hwa looked at his six-foot-seven frame and arms the size of her thighs. She was speechless.
"Oh? It seems I've arrived at a bad time."
A lazy voice drew their attention.
"Who's this punk? Is that streetlamp your stage? You're only allowed to hang from it; standing on it is reserved for the King of Heroes," Alistair looked up. A brown-haired youth, seemingly high school age, stood atop a nearby lamp post.
"Strange. Why are all the newcomers high schoolers lately?" Hwa muttered.
"Heh, because I—"
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Hwa didn't wait for him to finish. She whipped out a handgun from nowhere and emptied the magazine at him.
Clatter.
Alistair stood there, looking thoughtfully at the series of bullet holes in his own stomach.
Wait, what?
"Ah, close one! Where's your honor? I was talking! Not attacking during the monologue is common sense!" The brown-haired boy was now standing where Alistair had been, patting his chest theatrically.
"Substitution?" Alistair asked, flexing his abs to push the bullets out of his skin.
"Bingo! That's my Weapon's ability. I avoid damage and attack enemies through 'Exchange.' Don't bother struggling. Any attack you aim at me will hit your ally instead. You weren't in the plan, Big Guy, but it doesn't matter. You. Can't. Touch. Me."
"Do I look that weak?" Alistair asked, a bit miffed. He'd specifically chosen this "Sett" (League of Legends) appearance for its intimidation factor.
"Not really. You just look dumb as—ugh!"
The boy's mockery was cut short as a fist the size of a dinner plate smashed into his face, sending him flying.
"That's it?" Alistair scoffed.
"Impossible! Why couldn't I react? Is your Weapon a speed-type?!" The boy clutched his face, his eyes wide with shock. He'd reacted to Hwa's gunfire, but he couldn't even see Alistair move. The only explanation was that Alistair was faster than his neural reflexes.
"The other two aren't back yet, so I'll play with you for a bit." Alistair cracked his neck with a series of pops, flashing a "bright" smile. "Oh, by the way, hold this. I don't want to break them." He tossed the box of Pocky to Hwa.
"Alright, if you're here to kidnap someone, you must have backup. Call them out. You're a bit too soft-skinned to handle this alone. Careful you don't end up as 'Sleepy Tea'." Alistair laughed. He sensed the aura of a "Mystery" item on the boy. What a nice guy—delivering loot right to his door.