As Amukelo walked out of the corner they just came from he began to laugh like a madman, his cloak swirling around him like a shroud of darkness. The air was thick with tension, his laugh echoing off the walls, chilling the spine of each cloaked figure before him.
As he pointed at the one who had mocked Pao, his laughter tapered into a deadly calm, his eyes gleaming with a ferocity that made the bravest of them falter. "Do you remember how you were mocking my friends? You will regret the disrespect that you showed." Amukelo's voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried in the quiet of the alley like a storm.
He turned his gaze to the other two, his voice slicing through the air, "Beg on your knees, and I might consider ending your life painlessly." The two hesitated, taking a step back, their faces pale under their hoods.
The third, the one who had not received Amukelo's grim offer, scoffed, trying to rally his courage. "What are you scared of? He's alone, we will—" His words cut off sharply as Amukelo appeared next to him in a blur, his movements too fast to track.
With a swift, precise motion, Amukelo sliced through the man's hand, "AHHHH!!!" The man elicited a scream of agony. He swung his sword with his other hand in a desperate counterattack, but Amukelo caught this hand mid-swing, his grip iron-like, crushing the bones with ease. "AAAHHHH!!" The man's cries filled the alley as Amukelo delivered a brutal kick, sending him crashing against the wall, blood spattering the bricks.
Turning slowly to face the remaining two, Amukelo watched as they stumbled back, falling to their buttocks in their desperation to escape. One of them managed to stammer, "Please spare us..."
Amukelo's response was cold and merciless. "Drop your weapons and resign from Nameless Dynasty, and your adventurer badge. You don't deserve that, you pieces of shit! IS THIS CLEAR?!!"
When one tried to protest, "But..." Before he could utter a sentence Amukelo's sword flashed in a deadly arc, severing the man's head from his shoulders in a spray of blood. To the survivor, he repeated, "Is it clear?"
The remaining man nodded frantically, dropping his weapon and stripping off his cloak as he fled into the more crowded area, leaving behind his badge in his haste.
Amukelo then turned back to the first man, the one who had mocked Pao. He was still alive, barely, pain etched across his features. Amukelo approached slowly, his every step measured and heavy with intent. The man looked up at him, fear and pain mingling in his eyes as he realized the fate that awaited him.
The man's desperate pleas filled the air, his voice shaky with terror. "Plea... please, spare my life. I have... I have a family."
Hearing this, Amukelo paused, a cold, hollow laugh escaping him as he sheathed his sword. Instead, he delivered a brutal punch directly to the man's face, breaking his jaw with the force of his blow. His laughter twisted into a maniacal, pained sound, a raw and unfiltered expression of his internal agony.
"Do you think they didn't have families?!" Amukelo shouted, punctuating each word with another savage punch. "Do you think they didn't have loved ones? What about them?! What about their loved ones?! And what's it all for? For a **fucking sword**!" His voice rose to a scream as he continued to batter the man, each question accompanied by blows that echoed off the alley walls.
Amukelo's relentless assault continued, fueled by a mix of rage and grief until the man's body finally went limp, slumping to the ground, lifeless. Covered in blood, Amukelo stood panting heavily, his chest heaving with each breath. He looked at himself, he was completely covered in blood. He looked then at the Nameless Dynasty cloak discarded by the man who fled. Despite the splatters of blood, the dark fabric hid the stains well. In a decision that felt like a mantle of purpose being draped over his shoulders, Amukelo picked up the cloak and put it on, his face shadowed beneath its hood.
Now cloaked, Amukelo moved through the streets of Llyn with a new, grim determination. He searched for Neclord but to no avail. The streets, bustling with life, seemed oblivious to the darkness that had descended upon his world. With no sign of Neclord, Amukelo decided to visit the pub, a place that had once been a refuge of camaraderie and now served as a hub for gathering crucial information.
Inside the pub, the atmosphere was conspicuously devoid of any members from the Nameless Dynasty, a fact that didn't escape Amukelo's notice. He approached his informer, a shadow of fatigue under his eyes. "I heard that they'll search the inn where you stayed," the informer whispered, leaning close. "This could be a good spot for an ambush. If it's true, Neclord should be there."
Amukelo's eyes narrowed, processing the information. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice low and resolute.
As he turned to leave, the informer added a caution, "But be careful. Not all his underlings may be strong, but he is, and so are some of them."
Amukelo nodded solemnly, the weight of his task heavy on his shoulders. Without another word, he stepped out into the cool street, the cloak billowing slightly as he made his way toward the inn.
As Amukelo approached the inn, the bustling crowd gave way to a tense standoff, with the streets choked by the presence of the Nameless Dynasty. The group had taken strategic positions. Some were perched on rooftops, others peered out from behind windows, and a larger contingent blocked the inn's entrance, their eyes scanning for any sign of their target.
From a hidden vantage point, Amukelo assessed the situation. His eyes darted across the scene, identifying each member's position and their line of sight. His gaze then fixed on a solitary figure in a window close to the inn's entrance. The man seemed isolated, his attention focused outward, making him an ideal target for a silent takedown.
Moving with the stealth of a shadow, Amukelo slipped through the back alleys to the rear of the building. He entered unnoticed, the interior deserted and eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the tense atmosphere outside. He made his way upstairs, his steps light and measured to avoid any sound.
Reaching the door behind which the lone watcher was stationed, Amukelo knocked softly. The door cracked open, a sliver of light spilling out as the man inside peeked through, his body tensed for conflict. He relaxed slightly upon seeing the familiar cloak, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.
"What are you doing here? I was supposed to be alone. Neclord will be furious if—" His sentence was cut short as Amukelo's blade whispered through the air, a swift, clean motion that left no room for screams or struggle. The man crumpled silently to the floor.
Quickly stepping over the body, Amukelo moved to the window the man had been using to survey the area. He scanned the scene below, his heart pounding in his chest. Then, he saw him—the distinctive figure of Neclord, unmistakable with his white hair and no hood, a stark contrast to his minions. Neclord turned slightly, and the light caught the scar across his face, confirming his identity.
At that moment, Amukelo's blood boiled with a mix of rage and anticipation. Every muscle in his body tensed, ready for the confrontation he had been seeking. He gripped his dagger tightly.