The night air was cool against Liam's skin as he walked home from the dojo, his mind still replaying the sparring session from earlier. His body was a little exhausted from a full day's training. Master Chen's words going through his head again: precision and patience. He felt his progress, his control was growing with each day.
The streets were quiet, the orange glow of streetlights casting shadows as he passed. Movement up ahead caught his eye. Three figures emerged from the alley, blocking his path. Their swaggering steps and low murmurs were clear signs of trouble. Liam didn't slow down, his face remained calm hoping they would just walk past him. But unfortunately, that didn't happen.
The first thug, a skinny man with a shaved head, laughed as he flicked open a knife. "You lost, kid?" he taunted, taking a step forward.
Liam's gaze shifted between the three men. He didn't reply, his body already shifting into readiness, though he made no move to engage yet. These weren't professionals, they were just street thugs, hoping for an easy target.
"Looks like he's too scared to talk," the second thug laughed, his hand sliding to his waistband. Liam's eyes narrowed as he caught sight of a gun handle.
That's when things got serious.
Without hesitation Liam closed the distance, his movements sharp and efficient. The first thug didn't even have time to react as Liam's fist slammed into his ribs. The cracks from his bones was followed by a gasp for air as the man fell to the ground, clutching his side.
Liam didn't pause. The second thug was already pulling out his gun, but Liam was faster. In one fluid motion, he drew Incursio, the blade humming through the air as it sliced clean through the thug's wrist. The man screamed, dropping the gun to the pavement. Before he could react further, Liam's sword flashed again, this time cutting deep into his chest. The thug collapsed, blood pooling beneath him, his eyes wide with shock.
The third gangster took a step back, his face pale as he fumbled for his own weapon. Liam's gaze locked onto him. The thug raised his gun, but in his panic, his aim was shaky.
The gunshot rang out, and Liam felt a sharp burn as the bullet grazed his shoulder. His body reacted on instinct, sidestepping the next shot with a fluid motion. He felt the pain in his arm, but he ignored it. The world seemed to slow down, his senses sharpening as adrenaline surged through him.
In that moment, Incursio responded.
Power surged through the blade, the runes glowing faintly. Liam moved before the thug could fire again. With a single, precise slash, he severed the man's hand at the wrist. The gun dropped to the ground as the thug screamed in agony, reaching to clutch the bloody stump.
But Liam wasn't done. He stepped forward, his movements smooth and decisive. In one swift arc, Incursio cut through the man's throat, silencing him before he could make another sound. The thug's body slumped to the ground, lifeless.
For a moment, the alley was silent except for Liam's breathing. Blood dripping from Incursio's blade. He sheathed the sword with a soft click, wiping a bit of blood away from his shoulder.
He glanced down at the bodies—three men, all dispatched quickly and efficiently. No one had seen. No one would know. It was as if they had never crossed paths with him at all.
Liam's expression remained steady. The encounter had been swift, yet he had taken lives for the first time. It was a reminder of the brutal world he lived in. He knew he had acted out of necessity; kill or be killed. He wouldn't hesitate to defend himself again if the situation demanded it.
But as he started to walk away, he paused. He could call the police, report the ambush, claim self-defense. But he knew better. The moment the authorities arrived, Incursio would be confiscated as evidence in a murder investigation. And Incursio was not just a weapon; it was a part of him, tied to his survival. Losing it was not an option.
Besides, the police wouldn't care about the full story. They'd see a kid with a bloodied sword and three dead bodies, and that would be enough to ruin everything he had worked for. He couldn't risk drawing attention to himself, not when he still had so much left to do.
He took one last glance at the scene. "It's better this way," he muttered under his breath, turning his back on the bodies and walking away.
The pain in his shoulder was a reminder that he still wasn't strong enough. The fight had been quick, but not perfect. He should've sensed them sooner. Should've disarmed them faster. He knew that in a real battle with a stronger opponent, that bullet could have been far worse than a mere graze at his shoulder.
As skilled as he was becoming, tonight exposed a weakness. His instincts weren't sharp enough, his sixth sense was still underdeveloped. 'I need to train harder,' he thought. 'I need to be more like Tatsumi, with the ability to sense danger before it even happens.'
In the back of his mind, a single thought lingered, Incursio was waking up. He'd barely used its power, but it had responded to him. The potential was there, he just needed to train harder.
He estimated it would take at least another year for his body to reach the standard he needed. He had no illusions about what had just happened. He'd made a choice, there was no place for hesitation in the world he lived in. Danger was everywhere and without enough power you can turn to dust barely even knowing what was happening.
Still, there was more work to be done. His hand pressed against the wound in his shoulder, the pain now subsiding slowly. It was nothing serious, he'd had worse in training. But the reminder was there, he wasn't invincible yet.