A low-slung gun belt hugged his waist, holding twin revolvers with polished grips, ready for a quick draw.
Fingerless gloves exposed calloused hands, hinting at countless duels won. The figure radiated a cold, lethal aura, a gunslinger who lived on the edge between shadow and smoke.
"Oh… It has been a while since I've spoken to you… Plus, I told you to call me by my name, Matt…" instructed the White Rat, twirling one of his pistols around.
"You are still the resident rat of the crew, Minwoo. But that's beside the point… Why are you even here?" questioned Matt, his patience waning thin.
"Same reason you're here," answered Minwoo, with a hint of sarcasm lacing his voice.
"You and your partner made quite a name for yourselves after taking down Tarasque. Naturally, they sent me to check in on both of you. But let's be honest—the real reason is that I know you better than anyone in the Legion."
"No one else would've figured out what foolishness you were up to. Word got out that you took up an offer that's practically suicide, so I had to see for myself if you were really stupid enough to follow through. And, as it turns out, you are."
He shook his head slowly, disappointment etched across his face.
"I knew you were reckless, but this? Even for you, this is a new low."
Mattheos Sin Rosenberg felt the urge to kick the soul out of Minwoo R Dalles right then and there but reminded himself that he didn't share the same bloodthirst as his partner.
"I didn't recall having to ask for your permission to take up missions. So, you're basically stalking me under the order of the Legion? That's pretty messed up. And also, that's the not same reason as to why I am here…"
The White Rat smiled as he snapped his fingers, earning a raised eyebrow from the bunny.
"You are very right… The final reason why I am here is because of the Northern Cartel's offspring. The Viceroy of the Allatrinity. I was sent to kill him, nothing more."
Minwoo's voice slithered into Mattheos' ears like a cold venom, sending shivers down his spine. The honeyed smile and warm eyes he wore like a mask did little to disguise the malice dripping from every word.
The rabbit knew better than to trust appearances—Minwoo had perfected the art of hiding a dagger behind a pleasant facade. The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with unspoken threats.
For the Sin of the Syndicate, this was a delicate game of survival. Facing the White Rat was a calculated risk, one where the odds of slipping through the cracks seemed slightly better than taking on the Viceroy himself. But only just.
The White Rat was infamous for his cunning, a creature who delighted in psychological warfare. Matt could feel the weight of his own fear gnawing at his nerves, but retreat was not an option.
One wrong move, one slip of the tongue, and his life would hang in the balance.
The Sin of the Syndicate steadied himself, his mind racing through every possible outcome. Was it worth provoking Minwoo, this man who could smile so sweetly while plotting someone's downfall with the ease of a master strategist?
The rabbit may have had better chances against the White Rat than the Viceroy, but in this deadly arena, even the smallest gamble could spell disaster.
"And what of your partner? Why isn't she with you? I know my intelligence wasn't wrong…" asked Minwoo, cocking his head to the side.
Matt widened his eyes but quickly composed himself, anticipating what the White Rat would do next. He tried his best to think of an escape; one confrontation per day was his motivation.
"The Viceroy has captured her, I presume? And I heard that it was to force an alliance between both the Northern Cartel and the Syndicate… To take the Legion down…" noted the White Rat as he slowly pulled out his other pistol.
With a tap of his slender index fingers, the twin pistols hummed to life, glowing with a radiant, golden light. Thin strands of brilliance spiraled around the barrels like coiling serpents, crackling with barely contained energy.
Minwoo's sinister smile widened, his eyes narrowing in cruel amusement as he prepared to unleash another deadly barrage at Mattheos. There was no need to reload—these weapons weren't bound by mundane limitations.
The bunny swallowed hard, the knot in his stomach tightening as the reality of the situation sank in. Minwoo wasn't using physical bullets; he was wielding something far more dangerous—pure, concentrated energy.
The White Rat had no intention of letting him escape. Every move, every flicker of a shadow in the room felt like a prelude to the end.