Two burly men stood at the entrance to the base, looking like guards who weren't particularly dedicated to their jobs.
They immediately noticed the uninvited guest approaching, but paid him little attention. After all, the newcomer was just a young boy who wasn't particularly tall. At first glance, it was obvious that he posed no threat.
Both guards frowned, unable to understand what a homeless child was doing here. After all, this was the northern part of the city, where the aristocrats lived, and the city guards didn't allow just any riffraff into the area.
However, when one of them managed to make out the boy's face in the dim light, he exclaimed in shock:
The other guard immediately covered his ears with his hands, since his partner was shouting far too loudly.
"Hey, Boromer, what the fuck are you yelling for? Do you know this homeless brat or something? Is he your bastard child with some whore?"
Boromer didn't answer right away. He kept staring at the boy's face, as if trying to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him.
"You..." he finally breathed, taking a step forward. "This is impossible..."
"Who the hell is he, anyway?" the second guard snapped, still not getting an answer.
"Are you fucking blind, Podrick? He's the very same brat who beat you up. A subordinate of Lady Veronika from the Embraces of Venus. Because of him, the fugitive we were chasing managed to slip through our net."
"Fuck, are you serious? He's the little bastard who made us work all that overtime? I've wanted to get even with him for a long time, but I heard Lady Veronika values him way too much. Apparently, he's in charge of the accounting. He's the reason the prices at the brothel went up."
"Yeah, that's the one. I'll never forget that pretty little face," Boromer nodded.
Podrick's eyes reddened, and his hands clenched into fists of their own accord.
"You little brat, it's you! What are you doing here?!"
"Fuck, what the hell is this brat doing here? Is he deliberately trying to provoke us?" Podrick came up with his own explanation for the boy's presence, and it made him so angry that he rolled up his sleeves, ready to teach the little bastard a lesson.
"Don't do anything rash," Boromer said, holding his companion back. "You know we can't afford to offend someone as influential as Lady Veronika. Especially now that the cult leader has ordered us to go underground."
His companion's words went in one of Podrick's ears and out the other. He was so furious that he could barely contain his rage.
Ever since he'd been beaten in public during the mission where they failed to catch the fugitive, Podrick had been the target of constant mockery. Even the cult leader himself had learned of his disgrace and never hesitated to bring it up whenever he was in a bad mood.
What kind of world was this, where a grown man could get beaten up by some kid?
But the worst part was that he hadn't even had a chance to vent his anger, since the boy was Lady Veronika's subordinate, and nobody wanted to provoke her.
So how could he let this opportunity slip away when it had practically fallen right into his lap?
"I know," he grumbled in response. "But do you really think she'll make a big deal out of it if I just teach this brat a little lesson? He clearly lacks a man's attention. I'll play the role of his father and teach the boy some discipline. I'm sure Lady Veronika will appreciate my efforts and might even thank me for the favor."
"Do whatever you want!" Boromer turned away.
He pretended not to understand Podrick's intentions.
Let him blow off some steam and stretch his fists. A little public beating never hurt anyone. As long as the boy stayed alive, that would be enough.
Grey approached them, paying no attention to the guards' threats, as if he couldn't hear them at all.
Podrick's face spread into a blissful grin.
He believed the boy was so frightened that he wouldn't dare resist. Perhaps he'd worn out his welcome with Lady Veronika, and she'd sent him here to demonstrate her goodwill toward the cult?
"That must be it," Podrick thought to himself. "You little nobody, you should accept your punishment willingly and take a good beating."
The more he thought about the situation, the more reasonable his idea seemed.
"Should I break his arm? Or maybe his leg, so he stops wandering around at night? I definitely shouldn't hit him in the face. I'm sure Lady Veronika values him so much because of that pretty little face of his. Fuck, it pisses me off! Why do handsome guys always get the best of everything?"
Podrick was lost in his own little world, cracking his knuckles as he waited for the boy to come a little closer.
At that moment, he felt truly invigorated, as if some of the stress from working overtime had suddenly vanished. His body felt several kilograms lighter, and even the bottleneck in his cultivation seemed to have loosened a little.
Not long ago, he had been just as worthless a vagrant as the boy before him. But now, after joining the Merciful Flame's Cult, he could bully even someone with an influential backer without facing any consequences.
Such a drastic change in his circumstances was intoxicating.
A status like this was worth putting up with all the trouble of hunting down runaway teenagers who were supposed to be offered as sacrifices.
Podrick stepped toward the boy and even raised his fist to strike.
"You little brat, you've been very naughty. It's your own fault for falling right into our hands. Now be a good boy and let Daddy Podrick beat some sense into you. I've heard that's how barbarians raise their young."
Grey's expression didn't change. His face remained as impassive as a statue. He simply raised his right hand forward and sharply straightened his left arm.
A sword shot out from beneath his sleeve, but Podrick only saw a strangely shaped tube pointed directly between his eyes.
The tube was very short and didn't look dangerous at first glance. So Podrick didn't even try to dodge. Who knew, perhaps the boy had brought an offering as an apology.
That was how Grey calmly managed to point his revolver directly at the guard's brow. The tube was so close to Podrick's eyes that its edges appeared blurry to him.
The gunshot thundered like a clap of thunder.
Propelled by the immense pressure of the gunpowder, the bullet shot out of the barrel with unstoppable force.
In the next instant, Podrick's skull burst like a watermelon. He didn't even realize he was dying.
Grey felt a tremendous recoil. It was so powerful that the revolver nearly flew out of his hands.
The second guard instinctively threw his head back and looked up at the sky, as if trying to figure out why the thunder was so loud. As he searched the night sky for lightning, he failed to notice his companion's blood, mixed with bits of brain, spraying in every direction.
Grey didn't wait for Podrick's body to hit the ground.
He was already rushing toward Boromer, aiming at the exact same spot.
Another gunshot, and another lifeless corpse.
The weapon from another world knew no mercy, nor did it care that the two guards surpassed Grey in cultivation.
It didn't matter whether they were stronger, more agile, or faster. The revolver remained utterly indifferent, just like Grey's face at that moment. The words Senior had spoken while they were testing the weapon echoed in his mind.
"God created men, but gunpowder made them equal."
Only now did Grey truly understand the profound meaning hidden in those simple words.
A few drops of blood splattered across his black cloak, and a tiny piece of bone nearly hit him in the eye, but he didn't even flinch. Instead, he immediately took cover behind a pillar and tossed a grenade into the hall.
At that moment, five believers who had been enthusiastically playing cards just a minute earlier rushed outside to investigate the source of the deafening thunder.
Was the end of the world upon them? Or was the sky about to fall on their heads?
Whatever it was, they wanted to see the cause of this strange phenomenon with their own eyes.
Unfortunately, to reach the street, they had to squeeze through a corridor that wasn't wide enough for five people to move freely.
They shoved one another, each trying to be the first to rush outside.
Meanwhile, an oval-shaped iron object was leisurely rolling along the floor at their feet. None of them noticed it, even though it made quite a racket as it rolled across the wooden floor.
Another explosion rang out, this time far louder than the first two gunshots.
The shockwave swept through the building, shaking it to its very foundations. The nail fragments Grey had used to make the shrapnel grenade flew in every direction at tremendous speed.
They slammed into bodies with dull thuds and buried themselves deep in the wooden walls. The beautiful chandelier illuminating the corridor tore loose from its hooks and crashed directly onto the heads of the five cult members.
This time, death did not come for everyone at once.
The explosion was indiscriminate and uncontrollable. It struck everything around it, but didn't always hit vital organs.
Of the five people who had entered the corridor, three were still breathing.
The cultists had no idea what had hit them. Fear hadn't even had time to take root in their minds. Their thoughts were completely blank. Only the agonizing, tearing pain, as if their bodies were being turned inside out, reminded them that they were still alive.
The three men lay curled up on the floor, groaning like wounded animals.
Though, in Grey's opinion, it was hard to call them human in the first place.
Anyone willing to sacrifice innocent children for their own interests deserved a far more terrible fate. It was almost frustrating that these bastards had gotten off so easily.
Grey clapped his hands over his ears, hoping to get rid of the unpleasant ringing that was disorienting him, then stepped out from behind the pillar to finish what he had started.
Like the Grim Reaper himself, he approached the wounded men to put an end to their suffering.
When the cultists saw the dark figure in the baggy cloak, their eyes widened like saucers. It wasn't the pain from their wounds or even the shock they'd just experienced that filled them with fear, but the sight of this figure, which reminded them how close death was.
The reaper slowly and methodically approached them one by one, swinging his sharp sword and slitting their throats.
The last survivor watched his companions die with his own eyes. He desperately wanted to fall to his knees and beg for mercy, but all that escaped his mouth was a choked gurgle.
A fragment had pierced his lung, and his body no longer obeyed him. He had spent the last scraps of his strength just to turn his head.
In his final moments, he couldn't even scream. All he could do was helplessly watch as the tip of the sword plunged between his eyes.
Grey acted without hesitation.
His movements remained precise and methodical, as if he were following a textbook. A thirst for blood burned in his eyes, and his dark pupils pulsed as if trying to swallow his irises.
He felt no remorse and had no doubts. His hand didn't tremble.
He knew that these were the very people who committed horrible acts to achieve their goals. These were the people who feared the strong and intimidated the weak. These were the people who stood in the way of his search for his mother and sister.
No matter how hard he searched, he couldn't find even a trace of pity in his heart.
Unlike Senior, he had grown up in this merciless world and was familiar with the principle of survival of the fittest.
Back in his early childhood, during their escape from Lutetia, his beloved mother had given him and Grace a firsthand demonstration of a massacre.
He still remembered the moment when Cassia, together with Kaguya, Chris, and Aiko, mercilessly slaughtered an entire group of bandits. Back then, their actions had filled him with revulsion, a sharp, prickling feeling mixed with confusion.
He simply couldn't understand why such powerful people would stoop to such cruelty. Wouldn't it have been easier to run away? He had believed that true strength didn't need bloody proof. But now...
Grey drove his sword into the last survivor, not a single muscle on his face twitching.
He didn't even look back as he stepped over the corpse and ventured deeper into the building, listening for the slightest sound.
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