Aiden stopped a short distance from the gate and looked around once more.
"They really built their base out in the open," he muttered. "Either they're idiots… or they are just confident."
He glanced at the surrounding buildings—collapsed roofs, filthy walls, people too afraid to even look this way.
"If the city lord knows these thugs are terrorizing the district," Aiden continued quietly, "soldiers should've been sent long ago. The fact that nothing's been done says enough."
He stepped forward.
The gate was crude but sturdy, reinforced with iron strips. As Aiden and his undead drew closer, two men lounging near the entrance straightened up. They were armed and wore smug expressions, clearly used to throwing their weight around.
"Hey!" one of them barked. "You two, stop right there. State your business."
Aiden's lips curved into a faint smile. "My business?" he said calmly. "I heard you took a girl from an inn. I came to get her back."
The second thug let out a loud laugh. "Oh, that girl? Lira, right?"
He leaned back against the wall, eyes gleaming. "She's probably getting screwed by the boss right now. And once he's done…" He grinned obscenely. "We'll see who gets to have a turn next."
He was still smiling when something filled his vision.
A fist.
Cold, fast, and impossibly close.
His eyes widened in pure shock. He didn't even have time to scream before everything went black.
The first thug barely had time to turn his head.
A sharp crack echoed as the bronze-grade undead moved. One step. One punch. Clean and brutal. The man's neck snapped sideways, his body collapsing limply to the ground.
It was over in a heartbeat.
Two bodies lay still before the gate, eyes empty, mouths frozen mid-expression. No struggle. No warning.
Aiden exhaled slowly, his smile gone.
Aiden placed his hand against the wooden gate and gave a single command.
"Break it."
The bronze-grade undead stepped forward and drove its fist into the gate. Wood exploded outward with a thunderous crack, iron strips tearing loose as the entire structure collapsed inward. The sound echoed through the house like a signal flare.
Shouts erupted from inside.
"What the hell was that?!"
"Someone's breaking in!"
Footsteps pounded across the floor as men rushed toward the entrance, weapons in hand. They poured out in a disorganized wave, clubs, knives, rusted swords, faces twisted with anger and surprise.
They were fast.
But they were ordinary.
The undead moved like a trained fighter stepping into a crowd of amateurs. It slipped past the first swing, shattered a wrist with a sharp strike, then followed with a blow to the throat. Bone cracked. A body fell.
Another man charged, screaming. The undead turned, drove a palm into his chest, and the man was thrown back hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs before his neck snapped against the floor.
Aiden stood at the broken gate, watching coldly.
"Don't stop," he said. "Kill them all."
The undead obeyed.
Inside the house, five more thugs rushed in from a side corridor, attacking together. It didn't matter. Their formation was sloppy, their timing worse. The undead flowed through them, fists and elbows landing with brutal precision. One fell with his skull crushed. Another collapsed, spine shattered. The rest didn't even manage to land a hit before they joined the bodies on the floor.
The stench of blood filled the air.
There were roughly fifteen men in total. Not one of them lasted more than a few seconds once they reached the undead. Panic spread fast. Those at the back tried to run, only to be caught and beat down without mercy.
Aiden didn't move from his spot.
He didn't cast Bone Spear. He didn't raise a shield. He let his undead do all the work, conserving his mana. There was no need to waste it on opponents like these.
One by one, the system notifications chimed quietly in his mind as each life ended.
Experience flowed in.
When the last thug fell, the house went silent. Bodies lay scattered across the floor, blood soaking into the wood.
Aiden stepped inside at last, his boots crunching softly.
Aiden stopped in front of a heavy wooden door at the end of the corridor. Compared to the rest of the house, this one was reinforced with iron bands, the wood thick and well cared for.
"This should be the leader's room," he said quietly.
Before he could reach for the door, it creaked open from the inside.
A man stepped out.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, muscles packed tightly beneath his clothes. In his hand was an iron baton, darkened from years of use. His eyes swept over the bodies in the hallway, then settled calmly on Aiden and the undead behind him.
"So that's it," the man said, his voice low and steady. "No wonder those useless idiots outside died."
He rolled his shoulders once, loosening up. "Looks like someone who knows martial arts paid us a visit."
His lips curled into a confident grin. " But too bad for you. I know martial arts too."