"What is my true objective in this world?" Jonathan thought about all the circumstances and still could not fully understand what his goals were in this world where he only fought against evil.
It was not enough to simply eliminate evil spirits, kill werewolves, and much more. It was still not enough; he knew he had to act more and at least feel that something was not slipping through his fingers.
Jonathan also could not understand old Harry's decision, but if there was one thing he could be sure of, it was that there was a trigger that led him to make that decision, right after his wife had died. For a man like Harry, taking justice into his own hands did not come solely from his grief; something must have happened for him to decide to take action with his own hands.
Based on old Harry's behavior, he definitely was not a man who would get into trouble just to make this world a better place, which is why Jonathan was certain that those gang members did something to him that made an old man like Harry decide to take action on his own.
Being aware of all this, what old Harry wanted to do was a bit obvious, so without opening the envelope, Jonathan immediately left the church.
He lacked crucial information, but even though he respected old Harry's decision, he could not let him commit a foolish action.
…
A few blocks away, old Harry walked slowly through the fine streets of these lands far from the city, his face remaining calm as he walked along the streets.
Due to his age and dozens of illnesses, he could not perform strenuous movements. Once he made too many physical movements, he would have difficulty breathing and would feel pressure in his chest as well as suffocation. In severe cases, he would faint and die from respiratory arrest.
"Cough… Lord, if this is your will, give me strength to do what I am thinking…" Old Harry coughed again and began to feel short of breath, but his steps remained firm and he walked slowly at the same pace.
It did not take long before old Harry reached his destination, an alley where the worst trash gathered to get drugs and commit evil deeds.
A group of teenagers with their heads covered with red bandanas looked at old Harry's figure, and all of them immediately began to see what he was planning to do.
"Haha, look who's here."
"Hahaha, damn pathetic old man, get lost and go feel sorry for yourself somewhere else."
Old Harry stopped, raised his head, and saw that some of the boys in this group seemed to know him. Many of them were the scum of society, and all of them were his neighbors from the neighborhood; those damn dogs had been blackmailing an elderly couple passing by.
The dialect they used, the curses, their voices contained so much filth that one could easily mistake them for a trash container.
"Hey, princess, you'd better take out your pension money and give it to me, then both of you get the hell out of this place."
"Please, don't hurt us, take whatever you want but don't hurt us."
"I only want the damn money, why the hell would I want your money?"
Harry watched as these shameless people intimidated those elderly folks, and his blood began to boil.
Thinking of something, Harry's breathing began to accelerate again; unconsciously he covered his chest and walked forward, finally entering a house that was open.
This room had many sheets hanging on the walls; the floor could be seen at a glance and it was a mess. Trash had already accumulated, and glass bottles, cans, and junk food scattered across the floor could be seen.
As Mr. Harry went deeper into this house that was not his own, he could notice that the furniture had been destroyed; smells of cigarette smoke and urine could be perceived from the surroundings.
All of this had happened in a single day.
Old Harry, who saw this, frowned, stepped on the trash, and stood in the middle of the room. With just a look, he could see that this entire house had been used by those gang members, since there was all kinds of trash around.
Syringes, light bulbs, and many other things were scattered across the floor. All of these things were tools for drug addicts. Everyone used these things to get high, and upon discovering that this house had become the habitat of homeless bastards, old Harry frowned.
The reason? Very simple: the house he was in was of course not his, but that of an old friend.
Old Harry's eyes grew colder and colder as he walked toward the broken window, brushed past the tattered curtains, and looked at how many of those gang members were right before his eyes.
Compared to where he lived, the house where his old and lonely friend lived—that is, the house he was in at this moment—faced the sewers.
Looking outside, he remembered when he met that young Priest and had a conversation with him for the first time. His entire life had changed since then: he lost his wife, his friend was killed, and the illness he suffered from had grown worse.
Old Harry closed his eyes and remembered his friend's words: "Old Harry, I'm really very afraid."
"I shouldn't have told those boys anything, damn it, they filled the walls of my house with graffiti, they beat me at night, broke my windows… You must not mess with them, the police didn't do anything either."
The only words old Harry could say to his friend were to call the police, but from what he knew, he had called the police numerous times and they never did anything.
During that day before the encounter with Jonathan, old Harry tried to persuade his friend not to do anything foolish after he picked up the shotgun with the intention of taking justice into his own hands.
After his persuasion that morning, his old friend promised he would not do anything. But after they separated that same morning, his friend died that night. His entire body was covered in injuries from beatings.
The cause of death?
The police told him that he had been stabbed several times in the chest. Because there were no witnesses, they classified this death as an attempted armed robbery.
Since his friend lived near that gang, all of them were arrested that same night but were released the next morning; after all, there was no evidence.
Who would take revenge for an old and forgotten elderly man? Perhaps that was what many people thought, except him, who had done nothing because he still had to take care of his wife. But now that she was gone, old Harry knew he had to bring justice to his old friend.
Thinking about this, old Harry coughed and stared intently at the scum in front of him who were still intimidating passersby, his eyes fixed on each and every one of them.
Like a former soldier who had participated in real wars and had lived in retirement, what he had in abundance was patience.
After waiting an unknown amount of time, old Harry waited for nightfall, waited patiently, and saw many of the young gang members begin to leave.
But there was a group that split off from the rest and walked toward the house where old Harry was hidden among the sheets.
"Fuck, luckily we managed to get the money from the merchandise we didn't sell today, so that will be our reward."
Old Harry silently pulled a pistol from under his arms and checked the suppressor on the muzzle.
If Jonathan were here, he would know that old Harry was holding a Glock 17 with a suppressor, an incredibly quiet weapon. This pistol was modified in such a way that someone of old Harry's age could use it without any problem.
"Cough…"
Old Harry raised his pistol and aimed at the first man entering through the door, and at the instant he stepped inside, he pulled the trigger.
Bang!
The corpse of the man who had been shot in the head fell to the ground, causing the people following behind him to freeze.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Old Harry, with his aim a bit off, hit one young man in the chest and shot the other in the shoulder, causing him to run away.
"Only two, guess I really am old…" Harry muttered with a smile on his aged face.