Chapter—2
After killing the contractor, he headed out as if nothing had happened, his steps calm, almost lazy. He decided to stop by a supermarket, the bright lights and crowded aisles a sharp contrast to the blood still drying on his hands. But the moment he stepped inside, the air felt wrong—too tense, too silent beneath the hum of refrigerators.
They were everywhere.
Hidden among the shelves and pretending to shop were killers—far too many to count at a glance. Their gazes followed him through reflections on glass doors and polished floors. Each of them carried the same purpose: a contract bearing his name.
He stopped in the middle of the aisle and laughed.
A low, mocking laugh echoed through the store as he turned slowly, eyes gleaming with amusement.
"You really think all of you can defeat me?" he said, his voice cutting through the silence.
Before anyone could react, he jumped.
In an instant, the aisle exploded into chaos. His body blurred forward, weaving through the group like a living blade. One by one, killers fell—throats opened, skulls crushed, bodies collapsing before screams could even form. Blood splashed against shelves, staining food packages and pooling across the white tiles.
The leader of the killers tried to speak, his mouth opening to shout an order—but his head tilted unnaturally, his neck cleanly severed. His body hit the ground a second later.
Shock froze the rest of them.
The hero laughed again, louder this time, drunk on the carnage. Panic erupted among the normal shoppers. People screamed, dropped their bags, and ran for the exits, slipping on blood as alarms wailed. He didn't even glance at them. Their fear meant nothing.
He was here to kill.
Five minutes passed.
When the noise finally faded, the supermarket looked like a slaughterhouse. Bodies lay everywhere, twisted and broken. The air reeked of iron and fear. Out of nearly a thousand killers, only one remained alive—trembling, kneeling in a corner, soaked in blood that wasn't his own.
The hero walked toward him, stepping over corpses as if they were trash.
"A thousand of you," he said casually. "And I only needed five minutes."
He crouched down, gripping the survivor's chin and forcing him to look up.
"You disappointed me," he continued, smiling.
Then his eyes hardened.
"Now tell me," he said softly, "who gave you the contract to kill me?"
The last killer was shaking, blood dripping from his fingers. His voice cracked as he spoke.
"It… it was your boss," he said. "He gave the contract."
The hero tilted his head, amused.
"Why?" he asked calmly.
The killer swallowed hard. "He thinks you'll take his position. You're too strong. Too feared."
There was a pause. Then the killer's expression twisted with rage and despair.
"I did everything for the gang," he screamed. "Everything! And still—still he wanted you dead. So why should I protect him now?"
The hero smiled.
"You shouldn't."
In the next instant, the killer's head hit the floor.
Silence returned.
The hero wiped the blood from his face and walked out of the ruined supermarket as if leaving an ordinary store. His destination was clear now.
The gang headquarters stood tall, guarded, and arrogant—just like the man who ruled it.
The doors burst open.
The boss looked up from his chair, irritated.
"Why are you here?" he snapped
The hero stepped forward slowly.
"Oh, I came to finish a job.".
"What job?" the boss asked, already uneasy.
"To kill you."
The boss's eyes widened. "You're insane! I sent killers after you—"
"They're all dead," the hero interrupted casually. "Every single one."
The boss stood up, fury and fear mixing in his expression.
"Goodbye," the hero continued. "After today, I'm the boss."
The ground cracked beneath their feet as the boss slammed his hand down. Golden light exploded into the room.
"I summon my guardian—The Golden Gate!"
A massive radiant figure emerged, shining like a god forged from sunlight.
The hero laughed.
"Oh? You summon?" he said mockingly. "Fine. Then I'll summon too."
Darkness tore through the air.
"I call the Black Servant."
The room trembled. Shadows swallowed the golden light. The boss suddenly clutched his neck, stumbling backward.
"W-what…?" he gasped. "My neck… it hurts—"
The hero walked past him, already turning away.
He spoke softly, almost kindly.
"Because your neck was cut."
The boss collapsed, his head sliding from his shoulders a second later.
"Bye-bye."
The hero laughed as the shadows faded—
the throne now empty,
and the crown already his.