The scarred man's voice echoed in the dim chamber, each word dripping with cruelty. "We'll start slow, Jake. Pain has a way of loosening tongues."
Jake remained defiant, but beads of sweat glistened on his brow as the woman stepped forward, holding a thin, serrated knife. She traced it along the wooden table beside Jake, the grating sound filling the room.
Alex watched from the shadows, his heart pounding. Each moment stretched unbearably as the knife hovered closer to Jake's skin. A deep, boiling rage surged within him, threatening to consume his reason.
"I can't do this anymore," Alex muttered, his voice low and firm.
Ethan, crouched beside him, turned sharply. "What are you talking about? We can't act now! There are too many of them. We need to wait for the right moment."
"There is no right moment," Alex hissed. He gestured toward the scene unfolding before them. "Look at him. They'll kill him before we can do anything. I can't just stand here."
Ethan hesitated, torn between reason and the raw determination he saw in Alex's eyes. "Alright, then what's the plan? Because if you're thinking about charging in there, that's suicide."
Alex exhaled sharply, forcing himself to calm down. "You're right. We need reinforcements." He turned to Ethan, his expression resolute. "I need you to get out of here and find Agatha's guild. Tell them everything we've seen—about the Black Hand, the camp, Jake, all of it."
Ethan's eyes widened. "Are you insane? I can't just leave you here! They'll—"
"I'll be fine," Alex cut him off. "I'll keep them busy, take out anyone I can while you're gone. But we don't have a choice. They need to know what's happening here."
Ethan clenched his fists, struggling to accept the plan. "If you get yourself killed, I'm bringing you back just to yell at you."
Alex smirked faintly, though his eyes were deadly serious. "I'll hold you to that."
With one last glance at the chamber, Ethan slipped away, moving quickly and silently toward the camp's edge. Alex waited until the sound of his retreating footsteps faded before turning his focus back to the mercenaries.
The torture had begun in earnest. The scarred man spoke in a low, venomous tone as the woman delivered sharp, precise cuts along Jake's arm. Jake bit down on his lip, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a scream.
Alex's fists clenched as he moved deeper into the shadows, his mind racing. He couldn't afford to wait. Every second counted.
The camp was sprawling, with mercenaries scattered in small clusters. Most were gathered near the central tents or patrolling the outer perimeter. But Alex's sharp eyes had already marked several who were isolated—easier targets.
He moved swiftly and silently, his stolen armour blending him into the crowd. The first mercenary was leaning against a supply crate, his weapon resting casually by his side. Alex approached from behind, his movements fluid. A quick strike to the neck with the hilt of his sword dropped the man silently.
One by one, Alex picked off the weaker, isolated mercenaries. A man tending to a fire, a guard distracted by a game of dice, another idly sharpening his blade—each fell swiftly and without a sound.
Alex's mind was cold and focused. He didn't allow himself to dwell on the lives he was taking or the growing pile of unconscious and bound mercenaries he left hidden in the underbrush. He couldn't. Not while Jake was suffering.
By the time Alex returned to his vantage point near the chamber, his muscles ached, and his breaths were shallow. But he had cleared a small path through the chaos, creating pockets of vulnerability in the camp.
Inside the chamber, Jake was slumped forward, blood dripping from the cuts on his arms. His breaths were shallow, but his defiance remained, his gaze fixed on the scarred man with burning hatred.
The man chuckled darkly. "You've got spirit, I'll give you that. But let's see how long it lasts."
Alex's rage flared anew. He couldn't wait any longer. Reinforcements or not, he had to act.
"Hold on, Jake," Alex muttered under his breath as he gripped his sword tightly. "Help is coming."
He steeled himself, preparing for what would come next.
The hours dragged on like an unending nightmare. The chamber where Jake was held seemed darker now, the air heavy with the smell of sweat and blood. Jake's head lolled forward, his strength nearly spent, his breathing ragged and shallow. His resolve had carried him this far, but his body was beginning to betray him.
The scarred man leaned in closer, his voice low and taunting. "You think silence will save you? It won't. But don't worry; we've got all the time in the world to make you talk."
Jake managed a weak chuckle, his lips cracked and bloody. "Guess... you don't know much about us. We're stubborn."
The man's face twisted into a snarl, his patience clearly wearing thin. He grabbed Jake by the hair, forcing him to look up. "We'll see how stubborn you are when I—"
A faint rustle outside the chamber made the man pause. He glanced toward the doorway, his hand still gripping Jake's hair. "Stay here," he barked at the woman beside him, before stepping out to investigate.
Outside, Alex moved like a shadow. His stolen armour, smeared with dirt and soot, rendered him nearly invisible in the camp's dim light. The mercenary patrols were thinner now, their ranks unknowingly whittled down one by one.
In the past few hours, Alex had become a predator in the night. His kills were swift and methodical—slashes to the throat, precise stabs between armour plates, quick silencing blows to the temple. Each move was calculated, each step taken with the utmost care to avoid detection.
Fifty. Sixty. The numbers blurred in his mind, but Alex kept going. His rage had become a cold, focused thing, driving him forward without hesitation. He had no time to reflect, no space for guilt. Every mercenary he took down brought him one step closer to freeing Jake and ending this nightmare.
Inside the chamber, Jake groaned weakly, his head lolling to the side as the woman crouched before him with her knife. "He's taking his time," she muttered, glancing toward the doorway.
"Maybe he got lost," Jake croaked, managing a faint, defiant smirk.
Her eyes narrowed, and she raised the blade. "You've still got jokes? Let's see how funny you are when—"
She froze as a shadow moved behind her. A moment later, Alex's arm wrapped around her neck, his other hand clamping over her mouth. Her muffled scream was cut short as he twisted sharply, and her body went limp.
Alex lowered her gently to the ground, his chest heaving. He stepped forward, his eyes locking on Jake's battered form.
"Took you long enough..." Jake's voice was barely a whisper, but there was relief in his tone.
"Hold on," Alex said, his voice low but firm. "This isn't over yet."
The scarred man had returned, his boots crunching against the dirt floor. He paused when he saw his companion slumped on the ground, her lifeless eyes staring at nothing. His gaze snapped to Alex, who stood between him and Jake, sword drawn and blood-streaked.
"You," the man growled, his expression darkening. "I knew something was off."
Alex said nothing, his blade gleaming faintly in the flickering torchlight. He shifted his stance, ready for the fight to come.
"You think you're a hero, don't you?" the man sneered, drawing his own weapon. "Killing my men in the dark like a coward. Let's see how you do face-to-face."
Alex's grip tightened on his sword, his eyes cold and unyielding. "Come find out."
As the scarred man lunged forward, his blade aimed to cleave Alex in two, the world seemed to slow. Alex sidestepped with uncanny precision, his movements sharper, faster, more decisive than before. He didn't have time to process the surge of power coursing through his veins, but he could feel it—his muscles coiled like springs, his senses heightened to an almost supernatural degree.
Alex's blade met the mercenary's with a metallic clang, the sheer force of the impact sending vibrations up his arm. The scarred man staggered back, eyes wide with surprise. "What the hell...?"
But Alex didn't give him time to recover. He pressed forward, his strikes calculated and relentless, overwhelming the mercenary. Blow after blow, Alex's newfound strength and speed turned the tide, and with a final, devastating slash, the scarred man fell to his knees, blood seeping from a deep wound across his chest.
The notice flashed again in Alex's mind, bold and bright-
NOTICE :- LEVEL UP 4↑(LEVEL 6)
HP:- 400↑(700)
PHY:- 25 ↑(50)
ATC:- 20 ↑(80)
SPE:- 15↑ (30)
DEF:- 25↑(50)
Skill:-LV 3↑(4)
NOTICE:- You may go back in time(max 6 hours).
Panting, Alex stepped back, his grip firm on his sword as the man collapsed to the ground, his weapon clattering uselessly beside him. Alex glanced at Jake, whose head had slumped forward. He was alive but barely holding on.
In his mind, the shimmering notice lingered:
"You may go back in time (max 6 hours)."
The option to reset everything tempted him—a chance to undo Jake's suffering, to strike before the mercenaries had even arrived. But Alex clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. Not this time.
"I'm not running away from this," he muttered to himself. "Not anymore."
Alex turned to Jake, cutting his bindings with precision. Jake let out a weak groan, barely able to lift his head. "Stay with me," Alex urged, his voice steady despite the chaos in his mind. "Ethan will come with reinforcements. I just need to buy a little more time."
Jake managed a faint nod. "Don't... get yourself killed... hero."
Alex cracked a rare smile. "Wouldn't dream of it."
Alex moved through the camp like a shadow, his newly honed skills and power turning him into an unstoppable force. Each isolated mercenary fell before they even had a chance to sound an alarm. His sword flashed in the torchlight, quick and merciless, as he eliminated threats one by one.
The camp was eerily quiet, save for the faint murmurs and distant cries from the tortured prisoners. But Alex's sharp focus didn't waver. He was counting down in his mind, each kill bringing him closer to the moment Ethan would return with help.
As Alex took down his sixtieth target, he paused to catch his breath, leaning against a tree. The carnage he'd wrought was staggering. He'd done it alone, without the crutch of his time-manipulating ability.
For the first time in a long while, Alex felt truly alive—not because of the violence, but because of the sheer determination and skill he'd discovered within himself.
His grip tightened on his sword. "I can do this," he muttered, a fiery resolve burning in his chest. "Not just for Jake, not just for Agatha's guild—but because this is who I need to be."
The camp was eerily quiet now, save for the crackling of torches and the faint moans of the tortured. Alex stood amidst the scattered bodies of mercenaries, his chest heaving, his sword arm trembling from overuse. His muscles screamed for rest, and every step felt like walking through mud. Despite his exhaustion, his eyes remained sharp, fixed on the central tent where the co-leader of the Black Hand, a towering figure cloaked in black and crimson, had finally emerged.
The man was massive, his presence commanding. His armour shimmered with an unnatural sheen, runes carved into its surface glowing with a sickly purple light. His eyes, cold and calculating, locked onto Alex with a chilling intensity.
"You've been busy, haven't you?" the co-leader remarked, his voice deep and resonating with power. "Sixty men, gone without a sound. Impressive... but futile."
Alex raised his sword, ignoring the shaking in his limbs. "You're next," he growled, though even he could hear the exhaustion in his voice.
The co-leader chuckled darkly, stepping forward with measured confidence. "Bold words for a man on the verge of collapse." He extended his hand, dark tendrils of energy swirling around it like living shadows. "You've done well to come this far, but now you face true power."
Before Alex could react, the co-leader waved his hand, sending a torrent of black energy spiralling toward him. Alex dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the attack, but the sheer force of the blast sent him tumbling across the ground. His body screamed in protest as he scrambled to his feet, raising his blade just in time to deflect another surge of dark magic.
The impact jarred his entire arm, and he staggered backward, barely able to keep his footing. The co-leader didn't relent, his attacks coming fast and relentless. Each strike of dark magic seemed to sap the very air around Alex, leaving him gasping for breath.
Alex charged forward, desperation driving him as he swung his blade with all the strength he could muster. The co-leader sidestepped effortlessly, his movements unnaturally fluid, and countered with a backhanded strike of dark energy that sent Alex crashing into a tree.
"Is this all you have?" the co-leader sneered, advancing slowly. "You've exhausted yourself on weaklings, and now you face me with nothing left to give. Pathetic."
Alex struggled to his feet, blood trickling down his forehead. His vision blurred, and his limbs felt like lead, but he refused to give up. He raised his sword again, gritting his teeth. "I don't need... to win," he spat, his voice trembling but defiant. "I just need to stall you."
The co-leader's expression darkened. "Stall me? For what?" He laughed, the sound cold and hollow. "No one is coming to save you, boy."
Alex didn't respond, focusing instead on dodging the next wave of attacks. Each movement was a struggle, his body screaming for rest, but he pushed through the pain, his mind replaying memories of Jake's screams, Agatha's trust, and Ethan's unwavering belief in him.
The co-leader's attacks grew more aggressive, his frustration evident as Alex continued to evade him, though barely. But Alex knew he couldn't keep this up much longer. His strength was fading fast, and every step felt heavier than the last.
With a roar, the co-leader slammed his fist into the ground, releasing a shockwave of dark energy that rippled outward. Alex tried to leap away, but the force caught him, sending him sprawling to the ground. He coughed, blood splattering onto the dirt as he tried to push himself up.
The co-leader loomed over him, a wicked grin on his face. "You fought well," he admitted, almost mockingly. "But this is the end for you."
He raised his hand, dark energy coalescing into a spear of pure shadow. The air around it seemed to warp, the sheer power radiating from it suffocating. Alex stared up at the weapon, his body too worn out to move, his mind racing for a solution that wouldn't come.
As the co-leader prepared to strike, Alex's mind raced. This can't be it. I can't fall here. Not now. Not after everything. His eyes flicked to the horizon, searching for any sign of Ethan and the reinforcements he was counting on. But there was nothing—only darkness and silence.
He clenched his fists, his mind screaming at him to use his ability to reset the clock. But a voice inside him, fierce and resolute, refused. No. I chose to fight this through. I can't keep running. I won't.
The co-leader's spear descended, and Alex gritted his teeth, preparing to make one last stand.