SECOND-CLASS SAINT

Chapter 43 - One At A Time (III)


One At A Time (III)

"Angelica!" Cyril called, the strong emphasis in his voice startled the noble girl and made her flinch a little. She let out a soft noise that sounded like a small squeal, somehow managing to quickly suppress it after noticing the pronounced look of valor in his eyes.

"Just a few more meters to go, let's wrap this up!" Cyril declared boldly, he pushed off the ground with an abnormally strong lunge, one powerful to leave the very ground dented amidst the trail of rising dust.

"Ah! Hold on Cyril!" Angelica spun her head back and forth thrice, unsure of what course of action she should take in response to her companion's brazen action. Right when the young girls' eyes began dilating into swirls, she let out a frustrated groan, saying: "Ahh! Gosh!" as she shook her head and chased after him.

Their pursuers, who had somehow found themselves caught up in the confusion, quickly discarded their skepticism and bolted after them. The bald man at the front, clearly their leader, had apparently cultivated a new vendetta during their brief chase, which hadn't even lasted a full sixty minutes.

Less than a minute later, the bombastic chase finally came to an end as the three men, still lagging behind, dropped onto a leveled surface nestled quietly within the heart of Dunwich's bustle. The place in question was eerily silent—too quiet to truly belong there.

It was a small park, spanning less than a hundred meters in width, wedged between rows of constant vehicular traffic yet untouched by the city's relentless energy. The evening sunlight filtered through lush green trees onto winding stone paths, while black lampposts stood tall beside wooden benches and vibrant flower beds.

Its modest size—compressed for the sake of modern convenience—made the whole area a perfect fit for the textbook definition of a 'pocket park.' Such spaces weren't uncommon in Dunwich, they were supposedly designed as brief respites for civilians seeking refuge from the district's ceaseless motion.

The small park was oddly vacant despite the time of day. Aside from the two teenagers staring down their aggressors from across the sett-style paving, no one else was around to witness the supernatural clash that was about to unfold.

All deviants possessed the ability to sense mana fluctuations within their vicinity—some more keenly than others. In a city where where more than eighty-odd percent of the population were deviants, it stood to reason that most could detect the vulgar buildup of magical energy radiating from the bald leader. Yet, they deliberately chose not to intervene.

That was a task for Longinus. Regular citizens weren't obligated to uphold such duties, even if they had the power to do so. Though many of Babylon's inhabitants wielded law-bending abilities, the uneven distribution of power ensured that those aware of their limits preferred to stay out of conflicts.

Moreover, only a handful of deviants ever honed their abilities to a combative peak. It was only natural for most to scatter at the first sign of an inevitable clash.

Until Longinus caught wind of their predicament and arrived on the scene, there would be no interruptions. Cyril and Angelica understood that perfectly, without even saying a word to each other, and yet after exchanging glances, they both smiled. They must have preferred it that way, after all it was the perfect chance to even the score with their pursuers.

"I'll ask just to be sure but is there any chance you three plan on surrendering?" Cyril asked the question with a pronounced sense of flippancy in his tone. Had the three men actually answered 'Yes' he would have probably frowned a little.

"Hmph, you must be joking." The bald man scoffed. From Cyril's perspective, the unyielding, stone-carved features adorning his almost perfectly lobed head only served to accentuate his particular form of brutish hospitality. Aside from his earlier scoff, the only change in his expression they could make out were the conspicuous signs of hardened veins surfacing on his scalp.

"You...you're Cyril Severin, aren't you?" One of the lackeys on the bald man's right, a brown-haired man with a slim build spoke up in an accusing tone.

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At his word, Cyril smiled.

"What if I am?" he responded simply.

"It's him. His profile was recently added to the hunter association's public roster, which means he's not a trainee anymore. He's a full-blown hunter now, well, at least provisionally anyway." the accomplice to the left finally joined in on the conversation and daringly stuck out his mobile to support his claim.

The app running on his mobile screen served as a real-time directory used by the Hunter Association to manage the activities of every hunter in Babylon through their profiles. Since hunters could also be hired for exclusive jobs, such as bodyguard work, the multi-purpose app also functioned as a recruitment tool for raids and similar missions with the catch being that only the records of official hunters— and not trainees—was made publicly available.

Provisional hunters were not exempt from the regulation, they were universally recognized as being a step up from the typical deviant trainees trying their luck because they had authorization that granted them official access to participate in dungeon raids.

All the bald brute needed was a single glance at the image displayed on the screen—it was a picture of the silver-haired boy standing before them, who had only recently been promoted to C-rank. Since his profile had just been added to the app's official records, all of his previous achievements before his re-evaluation were exempted from record. As a result, the text beneath his profile picture read:

"0 breaches closed, 0 dungeons cleared. No recorded accomplishments."

To the untrained eye, he was a complete novice—an unproven hunter with nothing to his name. For whatever reason, the taut expression woven through malice had yet to fade from the face of their malevolent leader.

His expression remained tense, with eyes that seemed only seconds away from fully going bloodshot. From the looks of things, he must have known something the other two lackeys didn't, either that or he just didn't care.

The bald man turned away with a blunt visage and channeled even greater ferocity into his already livid expression.

"Who cares if it's him or not? He's not getting off easy either way. These brats have been playing us for fools this entire time, leading us on like imbeciles all over the place just because they have a bit more power." The words grated on their way out, almost as if he'd sunken his teeth into the vibrations.

"Howard, Jack, get ready. We'll make this quick," ordered the bald man, his voice low and commanding.

"And the girl, Douglas? What should we do about her? She's a noble, you know."

"We're still taking her artifact so keep her busy until I get done here, but don't kill her, that'd complicate things. This one, Severin, he's a different story though, he got in our way last time, and you-know-who still wants him dead because of it."

"You'd best not underestimate me, good sir. I'll have you know I'm more than just a charming face." Angelica's declaration was accompanied by the familiar sound of a blade sliding against its sheath. The sublime silver rapier, crafted from rare ores and tempered Mithril rang out with an audacious shroom loud enough to mirror the young girl's determination.

Her gallant announcement had caught Cyril off guard, leaving the young man cluelessly staring in stunned silence. He wasn't expecting her, a sheltered noble of all people to respond to their foes in such a daring way. Cyril was starting to wonder if there really was more to the girl than she let on, then, upon realizing that they had known each other for less than two weeks, he couldn't help but giggle to himself.

"Well said, Angelica!" Cyril's proclamation rang out like a roar. Though he had no weapon to call his own at the moment, the silver aura encasing his body rippled through the air, distorting the natural flow of mana in the environment as he fell into a fighting stance.

"Watch yourself, these guys aren't the type to go easy on people, they mean business." With his vision still locked on their foes, Cyril calmly relayed the message to the glowing dame at his side. Angelica had donned an aura no less magnificent than his own, its subdued glow shining faintly against her skin.

"Understood. They will be put down shortly."

"Looks like these guys really hold a grudge. To think that even after a full year they're still this bitter, that Victor guy must really hate me." Cyril spat the words through his grin, probing for some kind of reaction from their unamused opponents.

"Keep talking while you can." Douglas hissed as he reached into the remains of his scorched trousers, his and emerged with a small vial akin to powder flask. Without hesitation, he tossed it into the air.

Jack, the slim build man on his left readily shattered the airborne object with a blast of wind from his hand. The contents, sparkling like tiny glass fragments, scattered upon impact before drifting down unceremoniously.

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