"None of you will leave this place alive... that I swear," Alex said, his ominous tone making those present tremble uncontrollably.
Following his words, a wave of unknown origin washed over the hall, and each of the masked men suddenly felt something unnatural stirring within them. The sensation vanished as quickly as it came, yet for that fleeting moment, it was as though their very souls had been branded—marked by an invisible seal that no effort, no power, could ever erase.
The one who had unknowingly placed these marks, Alex himself, remained unaware of what he had just done. But even if he had known, it would have changed nothing. His resolve would remain unshaken, and his next actions inevitable.
His grip on his double-headed scythe tightened, his muscles tensing as he prepared to unleash himself, but at that exact moment, the sharp sound of shattering glass echoed once more, pulling everyone's attention upward.
When Alex lifted his head to see who was crashing into the auction hall this time, his expression darkened further. For the figure descending was none other than the old guard of Earl Drickon—Kradwell.
Clutched in Kradwell's arms were two unconscious figures: the limp body of Earl Drickon himself, and one of the Earl's personal guards.
Bang!
Kradwell landed heavily on the ground, the impact shaking the hall. And almost immediately, another figure descended through the same gaping hole above. Just like Kradwell, this man carried two unconscious bodies, their forms dangling lifelessly in his grasp.
The mere sight of these two men stoked Alex's fury to an even greater blaze. They were the very bastards who had ambushed him days ago, and he still hadn't forgiven them — nor did he plan to.
Feeling his cold gaze on them, Kradwell and his companion both turned toward Alex. Both of their faces were hard; but Kradwell's expression in particular was chillingly cold.
However, the old man drew a slow breath and his features relaxed into indifference. "I don't expect much from you, but know this: this is not the moment to settle our differences," he said, glaring at Alex.
"Why not?" Alex shrugged. "From my perspective, you're no different from those masked bastards — you're both my enemies," he said in a tone that left no doubt. "That said, you're not my priority right now. Unless you get in my way, I won't deal with you."
'Humph. Arrogant brat — I'll make you regret those words,' Kradwell thought, but he kept it to himself. He knew better than to provoke a direct confrontation with Arcanor here and now, especially with only a handful of allies and the Earl unconscious.
With that settled for the moment, Alex turned back to the masked men, who were still reeling from the sudden, invisible mark that had brushed their souls.
But again he was interrupted.
"Wait!" Freya called, stepping closer. "Please — leave these ones to us. I need you above."
Without her having to explain further, Alex immediately understood.
'She wants me to rescue the nobles,' he thought, a slight frown crossing his face.
Freya's request didn't please him — after all, he'd just sworn to kill every last one of those masked men — but he also understood why she singled him out for the rescue.
In theory, he was the only one who could be sent.
They didn't exactly know just how strong the opponents sent to abduct those in the private boxes were. They could be as weak as those in the hall right now, or much stronger, especially when one remembered that the ones in these boxes were none other than nobles and their escorts.
'Judging by the level of the one that attacked Freya, they should be on the same level as those ones, but…' His gaze turned to Kradwell and the other Earl's guard next to him, '…if that was really the case, those two wouldn't have needed to run away from their booth considering that they are both level 5.'
Unbeknownst to him, the reason Kradwell and his comrade ran away wasn't because they couldn't deal with them. They could, but doing so while protecting four unconscious people wasn't ideal, especially when considering the fact that the two of them weren't geared nor specialized in battle.
Meanwhile, the two level 5 guards of the Drazen family still seemed to be dealing with the aftermath of the artifact attack, as could be seen by their pale faces and blank expressions.
Besides these reasons, there was also the fact that it would equally be beneficial for him if those nobles up there survived, for the simple reason that he was now an ally of the Drazen family and he wanted to use their influence and power to bolster and publicize the products of Arcane. And it would be hard to do so while the Drazens were suffering the blow of letting a whole horde of nobles be abducted or killed.
"Fine, I will go," that was the only thing he said before he took off, though he did cast a cold glance toward Kradwell as if to warn him not to try anything funny in his absence.
The moment he was gone, the masked men seemed to have regained their bearings and without hesitation, they lunged in the direction of Freya and the others!
***
'Hm?' Alex raised a brow in surprise as he stepped back inside his and Freya's private booth, 'she did that herself?' he thought in amazement, seeing a little more than a dozen men lying on the floor, unconscious.
'Perhaps I really don't need to worry about her,' he realized.
Now that he was calmer, he also realized that he didn't need to worry about her and Maya's safety. He didn't have enough time to gauge them, but if those people in her shadow were as powerful as he thought, then Freya and Maya were the safest people in the entirety of the city.
With a smoothness and agility that would put many assassins to shame, he exited his booth, his double-headed scythe in hand, and entered the hallway—only to stumble on a score of masked men holding and transporting unconscious bodies.
Without hesitation, Alex moved, the air being sliced apart as the blade of his scythe bit into the neck of a masked man, his head rolling on the ground a split second later.
The other masked men didn't have time to register what was happening before they found themselves thrown into hell, with Alex in his ominous purple smoke armor and double-headed scythe looking little different than the death reaper itself.
What followed then was a pure and utter massacre.
Slice slice slice
"Ahhh..." A scream rang out in the hallway before it was abruptly cut short as Alex's scythe sang once more, cleaving through flesh and bone, and another head rolled on the ground with a dull thud.
However, the next instant, he explosively retreated as his danger senses tingled.
'What was that?' he wondered in confusion.
Aside from the bunch of masked men before him, there was nothing else in sight, yet his instincts were screaming that something was wrong.
Not wanting to take any risks, he took in a large gulp of air and then exhaled sharply, thick smoke pouring out of his mouth like the breath of a dragon. In an instant, the hallway was completely engulfed in a dense haze that made visibility almost nonexistent. That was the case for his enemies, though—for Alex, it was the opposite. Being surrounded by smoke only sharpened his awareness, and thanks to that, he immediately realized the reason he had felt threatened moments ago.
'Now, what do we have here?'