"AaaaaRRRRrrrGggggHhhhhh!!!"
The bloodcurdling scream tore through the morning air like shattered glass, raw and agonized, bouncing off the orphanage walls before dying into sudden, terrifying silence.
Raven stood motionless in the courtyard, the piece of bread still hanging from his mouth. He took another slow bite, chewing as his mouth twitched.
"I was wrong... this bread is worse than the old world's..." The stale texture felt much more tasteless and hard to chew than anything he had eaten in his last life, reminding him why his old self wanted to leave this orphanage.
Eating this piece of bread every morning was something he definitely was grateful for, given many do not even get to eat something like this, but he was not that grateful to eat it regularly.
He finished the bread, wiped his mouth with his shirt collar, and casually rubbed his lips clean before opening his purple eyes to focus on the present scene.
The scene was straight out of a nightmare.
Six bodies lay scattered across the cobblestone courtyard, twisted into shapes that shouldn't exist in nature.
Arms bent backwards at bone-snapping angles, legs torn completely from torsos, weapons crushed into abstract metal sculptures that barely resembled guns anymore.
Blood painted the stones in Jackson Pollock patterns, still warm and steaming in Prague's cool morning air.
But the real masterpiece was the car.
The black sedan sat crumpled like an accordion, its front end collapsed completely around the screaming form of the scarred thug leader.
Raven's boot pressed down on the man's shoulder with brute but calculated force—just enough to crush the car's front area alongside the bones of the man while keeping him conscious enough to talk.
The man's bones had cracked like dry twigs, ribs poking through skin in jagged white spikes that gleamed wetly in the sunlight.
Around them, a faint blue dome shimmered almost invisibly in the morning light.
To anyone outside the barrier, the orphanage courtyard looked completely normal—just another quiet Prague morning with children having breakfast and an old man reading his newspaper.
The illusion cost exactly 1000 mana points from his reserves. Worth every drop to keep his business private.
Inside the dome, Old Man Kozlov and the three kids sat peacefully at their wooden table, eyes glazed with the same blue tint that painted their smiles.
They were completely unaware of the slaughter happening ten feet away, lost in a pleasant delusion where they were watching Raven's "drama student friends" put on an elaborate performance.
"Now then," Raven said conversationally, crouching beside the dying thug. His voice was steady, almost bored. "Who exactly is this young miss you mentioned?"
The man's breathing came in wet gasps, each exhale spraying crimson droplets across the cobblestones. "She's... urgh... engaged to young master..."
"Which young master?" Raven pressed, applying slightly more pressure with his boot. The car's twisted frame groaned in protest.
"KURGHH!—The... the mayor's son!" the thug screamed, his voice cracking with agony and terror. "Viktor... Viktor Petrov! HE IS OUR MASTER!"
Raven's enhanced memory immediately began processing. Mayor Petrov's son... There was definitely this guy within his class known to bribe the professors for ranking using his influence to live a life that a rich brat should live like.
He had a life technically opposite to what Raven had. But it was confusing as if ignored his past world—in this world, Raven had that kind of reputation which is of an ambivert nerd, who is popular for being academically focused rather than a womanizer.
Closing his eyes, he tried to remember about that young miss, but he could not recall anyone, especially given there were too many male or female students those days asking for his help, so how would he even remember one among many.
"The girl," he continued, tone still casual despite the man's obvious suffering. "What's her name?"
"Elena! Elena something... I don't..." The thug's words dissolved into incoherent whimpering as Raven shifted his weight slightly.
"Think harder."
"Please, I—I have her photo—Arrrghh—! Please.... ugh..."
"Your phone," Raven demanded, extending his hand.
The thug's trembling fingers fumbled for the device, nearly dropping it twice before finally unlocking the screen.
With a simple gesture, Raven made the phone fly through the air into his palm.
He scrolled through the photo gallery until he found what he was looking for—a picture that made a smile curl on his face.
The photo showed a woman's delicate features and nervous blue eyes standing beside some pompous-looking teenager. The boy couldn't have been older than twenty, with perfectly styled hair and that particular expression of smug entitlement that screamed old money and zero consequences.
Elena looked deeply uncomfortable, her smile forced and body language suggesting she'd rather be anywhere else.
The boy's arm wrapped possessively around her waist, grip tight enough to have her hand placed on it as if in discomfort.
"She is hot." Raven, the first thing said was looking towards the picture, observed the woman's body language, instantly getting what was the matter here.
So technically, one of the classmates of his approached him for some study material. He helped them, and the fiancé got jealous of him and sent thugs to give a death threat to stay away from her.
In his last life, after Old Man got a heart attack, Raven had distanced himself from the girl, knowing how it was a hassle to engage with strong people.
But now he wanted to screw this punk hard enough. And amusingly, he exactly knew how to do it.
The dying man could only gurgle in response.
"Let's see." Raven closed his eyes, thinking about all the girls in his college who'd asked for his notes over the years—now that he had her photo, he could at least recall this body feature of blue eyes.
Elena had been just one face among many—polite, quiet. Just like him, mostly focused on studies but had no friends; not even the girls approached her, making him now understand it was due to this brat.
"Who was the mayor at this time around, by the way?" Raven just asked, recalling—more like talking to the man, but his mind was fast enough to recall the name himself.
Before the man could respond—not that he was capable of coherent speech anymore—Raven lifted his boot and brought it down hard.
The wet crunch was final and definitive.
He retreated slowly, wiping his boot clean on the corpse's expensive jacket. Seven bodies, one demolished car, enough evidence to put him away forever.
Good thing nobody would ever find it.
Snapping his fingers, Raven watched the cobblestones beneath the bodies ripple like water.
The ground turned liquid, swallowing corpses with hungry efficiency—arms, legs, torsos disappearing as if they'd never existed.
The twisted car followed next, sinking into the earth without a sound.
Even the blood vanished, absorbed by stones that solidified back to normal within seconds.
Being the weakest member of the hero party had forced him to master creative applications of magic.
While his teammates relied on brute force, he'd studied transmutation, illusion work, battlefield control—all the techniques that kept squishy strategists alive when surrounded by monsters.
Those skills were proving surprisingly useful in the modern world.
Another snap dissolved the blue dome.
The glazed look faded from Old Man Kozlov and the kids' eyes, replaced by confusion then excitement.
"Tch, brat, why did you let your friends leave? Could have offered them some bread." Old Man, looking at how all the cars had left, just shook his head, giving a glare toward Raven who shrugged his shoulders, waving his hand before leaving.
While just leaving his message,
"I will get a real model as my farewell gift for you soon, old man... so you can die in peace."
Seeing Raven's back leaving, Old Man looked toward his magazine before lifting his hand in a fist and yelling back toward that brat who had grown up to now give his old bones false hopes. "COME HERE YOU LITTLE BRAT! HOW DARE YOU—"