It had been a day since the scene with the elves. The memory of their fearful eyes, the way their chains had rattled, still lingered in Amir's mind, like an itch he couldn't scratch. As the sun set, the light fading from the sky, Amir couldn't shake the feeling that he was on the cusp of something far darker than he had imagined.
He didn't even know why he wanted to destroy the gang, to be honest. It wasn't a rational decision. No one with any sense would take on an entire gang by themselves. The Saint Hood Gang wasn't some ragtag group of outcasts. They were organized, systematic, with an iron grip over their territory.
Yet, there he was, standing on the precipice of a war that could easily spiral out of control. He knew better than anyone that killing two of their members would only make the retaliation worse. The gang wasn't stupid—they would strike back with force. But Amir didn't care. What was a few more lives, a few more battles in a world that had already taken everything from him?
He did, however, find himself curious. How had the gang managed to get their hands on elves in the first place? Elves didn't just wander north. They were reclusive, their lands tucked away in the southern reaches of the empire, far from the chaotic human territories. The idea that elves were being trafficked this deep into the heart of the empire didn't make sense. How had they crossed the barrier of race and distance to become slaves in the hands of criminals? It was a mystery he couldn't let go of. And with the gang's ties to powerful figures, finding answers would be difficult—unless he tore everything down himself.
The night stretched ahead of him as he trained his cultivation. His mana levels had to increase, had to push beyond the limits he had set. He needed every ounce of power to carry out his plan. Amir could feel the crackle of magic around him as he concentrated, each breath a steady rhythm as his mana swelled within him. The more he fed it, the more it responded, but it wasn't enough. Not yet.
It was late when he finally finished his training. He had just enough time to make his move. The shadows of Divitas were his ally, and with them, he slipped into the darkness of the streets, his mind already turning over the pieces of his plan.
The first stop was Glenn. He had been the one Amir had spared after the initial bloodshed, a low-ranking member of the Saint Hood Gang now bound to Amir's will. F+ rank, not much of a threat, but useful in gathering information. He found Glenn in a dilapidated building, hiding like a rat in a corner.
"You're still alive," Amir remarked, voice cold. Glenn's eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly masked it with a nervous chuckle.
"Y-Yeah, I'm still here," Glenn stammered, wiping sweat from his brow. "I didn't think you'd keep me around, to be honest. Thought for sure I was dead when you dragged me out of there."
Amir's gaze was unwavering. "You should've been dead. But I have plans for you, Glenn."
The man gulped but didn't say anything. Amir took a step forward, the tension in the room thickening.
"You understand what's happening, right?" Amir continued. "You've seen what I'm capable of. I'm not here to let you go. You're mine now. Don't even think about running."
"Don't worry," Glenn replied, his voice edged with both fear and resignation. "I'm not stupid. I know what happens to those who betray you."
Amir didn't acknowledge the words. Instead, he turned away, dismissing Glenn like an afterthought. The Saint Hood Gang wasn't the real challenge. It was the entire system behind them, the faceless powers pulling the strings from the shadows. If Amir wanted to destroy them, he had to get close. And for that, he needed information, resources.
His next stop was Jack's store. It wasn't his first choice, but Jack was useful. The man had connections, information, and a certain ruthlessness in his own right. Amir had no doubt that Jack would play along, for the right price.
As he entered the store, he was met by the familiar sight of Jack hunched over, inspecting a bottle of rum with an almost reverent expression. The sight was both ridiculous and endearing, and for a moment, Amir allowed himself a rare smile.
"Back for more, eh?" Jack's voice was full of warmth, despite the tension Amir had been carrying. "I've got some good stuff this time. New shipment just came in."
Amir glanced at the bottle Jack was holding, then back at him. "You know, I'm surprised you're still in business. I figured your wine stash would've put you out of business by now."
Jack laughed heartily, setting the rum down with care. "A man's gotta have his vices, right? And you're here, so it can't be all bad. What's on your mind?"
Amir placed the order, buying several scrolls—more specifically, a few tactical ones that would allow him to set up traps and illusions. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get the job done.
"I'll need some time," Amir said, his voice low. "But I'm counting on you to keep your mouth shut about this. Things are going to get messy soon."
"Messier than you already are?" Jack quipped, eyeing Amir's worn clothes and bloodstained hands. "You know what, kid? I like the cut of your jib. You're not afraid to get your hands dirty."
Amir didn't respond, only nodded once before turning and heading out. His mind was already a whirlwind of strategies, calculating, adjusting, refining. He didn't care for the games or the small talk. He had no time for anything that didn't further his goal.
The Guild was his next stop. Finral was there, leaning casually against the bar, sipping wine as usual. The S-class Guildmaster looked up as Amir entered, raising an eyebrow as he noticed the dark look in the younger man's eyes.
"How's everything? Still hanging in there with the war effort?" Finral asked, his tone casual, but Amir could hear the undertone of concern.
Amir didn't answer immediately. Instead, he studied Finral, noting the weariness in his eyes. He was a man who had seen too much, a man who had given up on his ideals long ago. It made Amir sick, in a way.
"I'm fine," Amir said, his voice cold. "You should focus on selling wine. This city is going to burn down around you."
Finral's face tightened at the words, though he masked it quickly. "I see. So, that's how it is, huh? A child already disillusioned with the world." He studied Amir for a moment, as if weighing his words. "I'll check in with Tabatha."
"Don't bother," Amir muttered before walking away, his footsteps heavy as he exited the Guild.
Later that night, as the city fell into a restless slumber, Amir moved swiftly and silently. His plan had been set into motion. The streets of Divitas were empty, the silence punctuated only by the occasional creak of wood or distant footfall.
He moved like a shadow, his form blending into the darkness. Every step was calculated, every movement precise. The gang members never saw him coming.
By the time dawn's light was beginning to break across the city, Amir stood over the remains of thirty men. Their bodies lay scattered, blood pooling in the streets, their eyes wide with terror.
One man, barely clinging to life, cowered before Amir. His body was slashed and battered, cuts crisscrossing his skin, yet a faint golden glow still flickered around his wounds.
"Please," the man begged, voice shaking. "Don't kill me. I'll tell them—tell them everything!"
Amir's eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a cold smile. "Run. Tell your superiors to come find you."
The man scrambled to his feet, barely able to move. His legs gave way as he staggered into the night, running for his life.
Amir watched him go, then turned and walked away, his heart steady, his mind already moving on to the next stage of his plan.
And as he disappeared into the shadows, a new rumor began to spread through the streets of Divitas—the rumor of the Saint Hunter, a shadow that had begun to reshape the city's dark underworld. The name would soon be feared, whispered in hushed tones, as the hunt had begun.