Leaving the martial arts school, Galon and his senior brothers and sisters went out for a meal and drinks. Galon, tipsy and fearing discovery by his family for underage drinking, didn't dare to go home.
But under the relentless encouragement of his seniors, each capable of easily overpowering him, he couldn't refuse without offending them. After arranging a master-appreciation feast for next week, Galon barely managed to escape from the restaurant. He wandered the city streets to sober up, feeling heavy-headed and light-footed, and found himself on Pennington Street without realizing it.
The night draped the street in a veil of moonlight, casting everything in a hazy white glow. Lights flickered from the windows of buildings on both sides, and shadows moved within the soft yellow halos. The faint sound of a piano played, its rhythm lively yet slightly unpolished.
Walking down the right side of the street, the cold wind blowing against his face helped clear Galon's foggy mind slightly.
A black horse-drawn carriage with jingling bells passed by, its lanterns swaying, casting a dim light that barely outlined the driver.
The carriage whisked past Galon and quickly disappeared around the corner, leaving behind only the occasional sound of the horses' breaths.
Galon tightened his coat and quickened his pace.
Reaching the end of the street, he stood in front of the Dolphin Antique Shop. Intending only to walk off the alcohol and perhaps take a look, he was surprised to find the shop still lit.
Approaching the door, he knocked forcefully.
"Old man! Open up!"
With a creak, a small opening appeared above the door, revealing the smiling, white-haired head of the old man.
"It's you, kid." He sniffed, apparently detecting the alcohol, "Drinking at such a young age!"
The old man hurriedly opened the door to let Galon in.
"Uh... old man, do you have anything to sober up?" Galon felt lightheaded, his steps unsteady as if he couldn't walk straight.
"This is an antique shop, not a general store," the old man said, sitting down with a mix of schadenfreude, shaking his head at Galon, "Afraid of being discovered by your family, so you're wandering outside to sober up, right?"
"How did you know?" Galon sat on a red cloth stool, tossing the counterfeit goods on the table aside, and began massaging his temples.
"Just look at you. I was about to close up, but since you're here, I'll stay a bit longer. The city's not very safe at night these days; be careful not to wander too late."
"Got it, don't worry." Galon swallowed dryly, "Old man, got any water?"
"Back room, help yourself. I'm not looking after you." The old man continued to write something at the table.
Galon staggered to the only back room, groped for a cup of water, and drank it down. The cool water immediately revived him somewhat.
Returning to the main room, he dragged a chair over to the old man's table and sat down.
Taking advantage of the alcohol's courage, Galon finally asked what he had been most curious about.
"Old man, what about that book you showed me last time? Can I take another look?"
The old man bit the end of his feather pen, pretending not to hear.
"I said, old man, did you hear me?"
"I heard! What's with the yelling?" The old man waved his hand, " Looking at that book is a waste of time for you. Without the talent, no matter how many times you look, it'll be the same."
"Who says? I didn't look carefully last time." Galon bluffed, " Give it to me this time, and I'll definitely read it carefully!"
"You sure know how to pick. Do you know how much that book is worth on the market? You couldn't afford it even in your next life if you damaged it." The old man scoffed.
"That's called appreciation, understand? I'm just looking! I didn't ask you to give it to me." Galon was exasperated. He had been coming here every day to nag the old man, not necessarily to see that book again, but hoping the old man would bring out something similar.
"And since when does looking at a book require talent?"
"If you don't have talent, you don't have it."
"You wouldn't understand." The old man looked down at the table, nodding as if pleased with his handwriting, "Got a lead on Mr. Mercury's theft case."
"What lead?"
"They're investigating a new case on the outskirts of the city. Found a clue, my stolen items should still be in the city. They're checking now. Might get most of it back soon."
The old man packed up his papers and ink bottle, casting a glance at Galon, "Also, forget about that book. I sent it to a friend a while back, it's not here anymore."
"Got anything similar? I'm only interested in medals and that kind of stuff."
"You mean items with troublesome histories?" the old man asked, surprised.
"Troublesome histories?" Galon was taken aback.
"The copper cross medal belonged to several generations of wastrels, squandering their family fortunes. The book was similar, bringing misfortune to its owners." The old man seemed somewhat wistful.
"Items with troublesome histories, huh?" Galon pondered as he left the antique shop, his mind clearer, contemplating this issue.
"If only items with their own troubled stories have potential..." He recalled the Ring of Misfortune, "Then what exactly is the potential I absorbed from it?"
Unaware, he found himself on a more secluded path home, the sparse houses allowing a clear view of the dark green mountain walls and woods behind them.
"This path..." He suddenly startled, checking his surroundings, realizing it was where he had first failed and killed someone.
The gray street was uneven, a dark red bloodstain still visible on the ground, perhaps from his previous deed. No one was around, only the headlights of a white car slowly moving away in the distance.
Galon hurried past the stain, now completely dry with some long black hairs entangled in it.
A chill ran down his neck, and he quickened his pace. A figure suddenly emerged from a left alley, rushing towards him.
The person, clad in a black trench coat and wearing a round hat, approached with crisp, urgent footsteps.
Galon stepped aside to let the person pass, but the figure, seemingly drunk, stumbled directly towards him.
"Careful." Galon reached out to steady him, then startled. A flash of silver aimed at his abdomen, followed by a pain like a mosquito bite.
No sense of danger, no hair-raising fear. Galon was first puzzled, then a chill ran through him, realizing the situation. He embraced the attacker, squeezing tightly.
"Who sent you?"
A series of cracking sounds followed, the attacker's body limp in Galon's arms, arms and some ribs broken.
Strangely, the person still clung to him, silent.
Galon, attempting to inquire, noticed a figure at the alley's entrance, aiming something at him.
A unprecedented fear surged, the sensation of a blade hanging over his head.
By the moonlight, Galon saw the person's slightly red pupils and the black gun in hand.
Bang!
A crisp sound.
As the flash appeared, Galon felt a scorching object hit his chest accurately, the person in his arms also shot.
The pain was like a scrape, not lethal.
"Guns too?!" Without a second thought, Galon pushed the body away, dodging two bullets in a movie-like maneuver thanks to his recently enhanced agility.
Despite the close calls, Galon, having died once, felt no fear of death. His heart pounded fiercely, his body's strength bursting forth.
After three shots, Galon charged at the shooter.
The attacker, assuming the first shot was successful, was taken aback by Galon's charge.
Galon slapped the gun away, the weapon spinning into the street.
Seizing the attacker's neck and striking the abdomen, a black shadow flashed.
Galon felt pain in his right arm, seeing a black and blue dagger in the attacker's hand, its eerie glow under the moon.
Inspecting his wound, he noticed a blue tint.
"Poison!" A chill ran through him.
Unfamiliar with the weapon or poison, but knowing the numbness indicated it wasn't ordinary.
Galon thought of his sister Ying'er, studying at home, and the old man at the antique shop, his newfound path in martial arts.
He didn't want to die, not so soon after arriving, not without fully embracing this life.
"If I'm to die, you're coming with me!" He roared, seizing the attacker's dagger hand, drawing it across their chest.
A cut, a scream, revealing the attacker was a woman.