"I knew this day was going to be shit," Alex mumbled, though his voice was loud enough for others to hear.
Turning to Freya, he hesitated for a moment before asking, "How do you wish to handle this?"
As much as he wanted to just knock those guys unconscious and be done with this whole mess, Alex didn't want to go against Freya's will. He was, after all, in the territory of the Drazen family and she was the matriarch. Every decision of importance had to go through her first. Acting without her approval could easily be seen as disrespect, especially now that he was considered an ally of the family.
Freya gave him a small nod. "Let's see what they want before anything," she whispered.
"What we want?" the leader of the hooded men replied aloud, as if he had heard Freya. "I already said it, I think." He rubbed his chin before adding with a smirk, "Well... for a beauty like you, I guess I can make an exception."
"What we want is simple, really," he continued, his voice carrying across the hall. "All we're asking is that you hand over every single valuable the Drazen family has in this city—from the treasures up for auction to everything stored in the city's vaults. Then, you'll also nicely hand over all these unconscious nobles scattered around. Do that, and we promise no harm will come to the Drazen family or the city's inhabitants. Sounds like a fair deal... doesn't it?"
Freya didn't even need to think, nor did she care to hear the rest of his so-called offer, before shaking her head firmly.
'There is no way I can agree to that,' she thought, her gaze as cold as a winter storm. 'Accepting this would doom the entire family to a fate worse than death.'
She refused to imagine the kind of horrors that would follow if she agreed to the insane demands of these men.
"What is your decision?" the hooded leader pressed.
"Obviously, we can't accept those demands," Freya said icily.
"What a fierce woman," the hooded leader replied with mock admiration. "Or should I say... a cold woman?" He chuckled. "Well, anyway. To be honest with you, I don't even have the authority to make this deal with you. I was just trying to be kind to the illustrious matriarch Freya. But since you've decided to spit on my kindness... don't come crying when you lose everything."
Alex frowned and glanced sideways at Freya. "And now? What do you want to do with them?"
"We have to deal with them," Freya replied, her tone sharp as a blade.
"That's what I've been waiting to hear all along," Alex said with a faint grin, stepping forward toward the leader of the hooded men.
"Are you sure you want to go against us? In case you haven't noticed, there are barely a dozen of you while we are more than a hundred," the leader warned.
Alex stopped in his tracks, then let out a low chuckle. "In case you haven't noticed... compared to those of us still standing, you guys are nothing but dirt—cheap, worthless, and about to be wiped off the floor."
With that, he suddenly exploded forward!
In the blink of an eye, Alex was already upon the hooded leader, his fist driving toward the man's stomach like a sledgehammer launched from a ballista.
The ground beneath him fractured in a spiderweb pattern as Alex's fist connected, a thunderous boom reverberating through the auction hall. But at that exact moment, he felt a jarring resistance—like he was striking an armored plate instead of flesh.
He instantly realized his opponent had an exceptionally high defense stat.
Not that it mattered.
Even if the damage wasn't as great as he had intended, the sheer force of his blow was so devastating that it blasted the hooded leader backward with unrelenting brutality. The man was hurled through the air like a cannonball, smashing through the first wall in an eruption of debris, then the second, then the third—each impact loud enough to shake the chandeliers above.
The entire auction room quaked as the leader's body carved a destructive path, punching hole after hole through the building's structure. When there were no more walls to break, his momentum carried him across the street, shattering a stone fence and flipping over two carriages before he finally vanished into the distance.
"Well, that's that—he was starting to get on my nerves… and on my fist's to-do list," Alex said brightly, brushing the dust from his hands.
No one laughed. Not after witnessing that display of raw, terrifying strength.
Alex turned toward the hundreds of other hooded men, ready to deal with them—but froze as his eyes caught something through the ragged holes the leader had left in his wake.
"What the..." The words caught in his throat.
He had considered the possibility, but it still sent a cold chill down his spine when he witnessed the sight. Outside, beyond the ruined walls of the auction house, dozens of bodies lay sprawled on the ground—completely motionless.
Faced with this sight, Alex wanted to confirm something, so he unleashed the full scope of his senses.
Since coming to the city, he had been limiting his perception to just a few meters around him, as stretching them too far placed an enormous strain on his mind. In a bustling city like Drisidd, the mental overload from scanning even a few hundred meters was simply overwhelming—thousands of heartbeats, footsteps, voices, and movements bombarding his mind at once. That's why he usually kept his range to roughly a dozen meters, close enough to react instantly to threats but far enough to keep his thoughts clear.
However, at that moment, he went all out—his senses unfurling like a tidal wave, sweeping through every street, alley, and rooftop, easily spanning the entirety of Drisidd and even reaching beyond its walls. That was when he felt it.
The city, which had been vibrant and noisy even in the dead of night, now felt unnaturally still. The sounds of life were gone. Most troubling of all, only a small fraction of the usual population was moving. The vast majority of its inhabitants were lying motionless—unconscious… or dead.
Alex's body trembled, a pure, sinister, and unrestrained rage boiling up from deep within him.
He didn't see himself as a hero or someone who deeply cared for strangers. In truth, he was the type who would walk past a crime scene if he judged that getting involved was more trouble than it was worth. He would only help if it was within his power and didn't cost him too much. The only time he would risk himself for another was if their well-being directly affected his own or the safety of those he loved. All he truly wanted was to live peacefully with his family. Even his desire to become stronger than anyone else came from a single, unshakable truth : unless he had the power to protect them, this world would eventually harm them.
However, looking at this… seeing hundreds of thousands sprawled lifelessly across the city streets, his fury surged to a breaking point.
He wasn't a hero, but there was a part of him that would never—and could never—tolerate the kind of atrocity unfolding before his eyes. That part was none other than Captain Jack, the war hero, the soldier who had spent decades on the battlefield to give the civilians behind him a chance at a better, more peaceful life than he had ever known. To that part of him, the fact that those hooded men could sacrifice an entire city just for the chance to kill or abduct a few nobles was more than infuriating—it was unforgivable.
Alex's mantle seemed to distort, the purple smoke making it ripple and writhe as if coming alive, reacting to the sheer fury of its master.
A dense, chilling killing intent burst from him, his aura suddenly spilling forth, growing heavier and sharper with each passing second—until the wooden floor beneath him splintered and cracked under the sheer, suffocating pressure.
The lights in the auction hall seemed to dim unnaturally, shadows thickening and creeping along the walls as if the darkness itself had been summoned to answer his rage.
Everyone in the hall—whether ally or enemy—found it hard to breathe. The killing intent was so dense it felt like a living thing, pressing against their lungs and hearts. Many were certain that if they so much as twitched, death would claim them instantly.
Throughout it all, Alex neither spoke nor moved, yet the tension in the air made it clear—the other foot was about to drop, and when it did, there would be no turning back.
"You guys…," he mumbled, his voice so dark and venomous that chills rippled down every spine, legs trembling under the weight of the words, "…none of you are leaving this place alive…"
He slowly lifted his gaze, locking eyes with the surrounding hooded men.
"…That, I swear."