Amidst the charged atmosphere between everyone, Brian stepped in, standing at the hall's entrance. Cold pavement tiles stretched beneath his feet, the walls dulled with a fading coat of paint that still carried stains of smoke and remnants of past battles. Narrow windows allowed a coppery light to carve sharp shadows across the floor, while the air was heavy with the smell of metal and sweat. Brian spoke in a steady voice, weighted with authority:
"I believe you are here for work, not chaos. I don't understand why everyone from the Abyss Legion always turns out so barbaric."
Sael replied mockingly, a childish grin tugging at his lips:
"I'm not barbaric—you're hurting my feelings."
His gestures were boyish, waving his fingers playfully as if putting on a small act.
Kyle, standing tall like an unyielding stone, ran a hand through his hair in agitation. His expression twisted in irritation, his lips curling into a faint grin pressed through clenched teeth:
"Who's the barbarian here? Wasn't it your dog who attacked me out of nowhere? Is that civilized behavior?"
His words carried a coldness, yet beneath them simmered restrained menace.
Brian's voice cut through the tension:
"Of course, we deal with barbarians in their own way. Do you think this is a barn, to barge into the hall without respecting anyone?"
His stare was that of a commander who knew how to keep order.
Kyle and Sael, in perfect sync, spoke at once, their voices overlapping like mismatched notes:
"Should we knock and wait for your lordship's permission?"
A flash of embarrassment flickered across Kyle's face before he turned his head sharply, while Sael barked back, irritated:
"Stop imitating me, you pest!"
Brian cut them both off sternly:
"Is this all the Abyss Legion sent?"
His tone was iron, forcing down his rising anger.
Sael answered indifferently:
"There are ten more, but I let them go have breakfast."
He said it as though excusing himself.
Brian's eyes widened in fury, glaring at Sael:
"You were sent here under my command. You have no right to dismiss anyone."
His words struck like formal decrees.
Sael shot back with sharp arrogance:
"We're the Abyss Legion. You have nothing to do with us. We'll help as an independent unit, and I'll lead them. You know I don't take orders. Either I command, or I work alone."
His voice dripped with conceit.
Brian, unfazed:
"Your nonsense doesn't concern me. This is a mission of surveillance and protection, and you're known for breaking things. You'll be split into squads—each of you will join two city legionnaires. If you prefer working alone, I can exempt you to monitor the headquarters until the event starts tomorrow."
He spoke like a strategist moving pieces on a chessboard.
Sael chuckled slyly:
"If that's the case, fine. But take good care of my men."
Whispers rippled among the soldiers:
"I heard this brat's arrogant because of the way he's treated. Thinks he's a commander just because he leads a special squad."
Kyle asked quietly, yet his voice cut sharp:
"Can I work alone as well?"
Brian, weary:
"Don't add to my troubles. Today is simple—just patrols. Catch anyone suspicious. I might allow you to work alone tomorrow."
Kyle smirked challengingly:
"Fine, just don't stick me with that monkey."
He flicked his eyes toward Dave with disdain.
Dave clenched his teeth, rage written across his face, while Kyle's stare provoked like a raised spear.
Brian quickly assigned patrol squads. Kyle was paired with Vivery and Brood to guard the northern district—a calculated mix of sharpness, sensitivity, and brute force.
They headed north. The area brimmed with villas and luxurious homes, glass facades and marble pillars glittering in the light, yet only streets away crouched slums of cramped huts and damp alleys. The collision of wealth and misery pressed down like suffocation—a copper river of privilege bleeding into a swamp of forgotten lives.
Vivery's eyes trembled with sensitivity as she scanned the streets. Tall and graceful, her hair flowed like a shadow, her voice calm as a whisper behind closed doors:
"I'll extend my skill—my heightened perception. I can sense disturbances over a wide range. I'll stay in a restaurant here to monitor. If anything stirs, I'll send a signal."
Her fingers brushed the pocket of her jacket, as if preparing an unseen device.
Brood, towering with scarred hands that told of brutal history, grunted with a rough laugh edged with dark humor:
"You just don't want to step in there. You can sense while walking too."
But beneath the jest, his pride in his own strength gleamed.
Kyle muttered softly:
"Let her be. Let's blend in with the crowd. It's only surveillance—boring work."
His mask of boredom barely veiled inner tension.
Brood's laugh rumbled louder:
"With me, you'll never be bored. We can rough someone up under the excuse of questioning, maybe pocket some valuables too."
Half joke, half truth.
Kyle ignored him and walked on. Brood added, more serious this time:
"Change your clothes first. You look like a suspect already. Everyone will know you're Legion. This is partly an intelligence job."
His eyes prowled the crowd like a hunter.
Kyle sighed and quickly changed. The two wandered through bustling streets—carts creaking, tea sellers calling, distant shouts merging into the city's pulse.
Down an alley, Kyle saw a fat man clad in gaudy finery, golden trinkets clinking with every step. He tugged a child on a chain as if walking a dog. The sight was obscene—the gleam of gold against the child's trembling form. Rage flooded Kyle's veins as he stormed over:
"What are you doing?"
His voice hit like steel.
The jeweled man sneered:
"Do you know who you're speaking to? Get out of my way."
Kyle seized his hand, crushing until a piece of ornament snapped to the ground with a sharp crack. Staring into his eyes, he demanded:
"What is this child doing here? Shouldn't he be in an orphanage?"
Brood's face tensed, his voice cautious:
"Leave him. We can blackmail him. Don't push this—we don't know his ties."
But Kyle twisted the man's arm harder, fury burning in his eyes:
"Speak! What's he doing here?"
The child burst into sobs, words choking between tears:
"I'm fourteen!"
Kyle snarled:
"Do you think I'm blind?"
Brood muttered:
"He may have bought him at a market. Drop it."
Kyle growled:
"That's a crime. He must pay."
Brood argued grimly:
"More likely a runaway from the orphanage. If you return him, they'll kill him. No point dragging this further."
But Kyle shattered the chains from the boy's neck, his eyes burning:
"Run—wait two streets away."
Then he pummeled the fat man relentlessly, each blow venting a buried storm. He hissed in his ear:
"If not for these eyes on me, you'd already be dead."
A prickling sensation snapped Kyle's attention—someone watching. He raked a hand through his hair, snarled to Brood:
"Take this one to prison. I'll handle that rat."
And vanished into the crowd.
Moments later, Kyle reappeared before the spy with a wild grin:
"What are you doing? Watching us?"
The man stammered:
"I… I was just curious about what you were doing."
Kyle gripped his shoulder, leaning close, voice a deathly whisper:
"Think I'm stupid? Why were you hiding your breath?"
The man blurted quickly:
"It's training… to improve my skills. Nothing more."
Kyle drove his knee into the man's gut until he vomited blood. Hovering over him, Kyle snarled:
"You chose the hard way. Speak, or I'll give you a quick death."
Fists and boots rained down, dragging the man to the brink.
Through bloody gasps, the man croaked:
"I know nothing… someone paid me to report anything unusual. All I saw was… black mist… nothing clear."
Kyle laughed hysterically:
"Haven't killed anyone in days. Bad luck for you."
He wrapped a hand around his throat, but Brood pulled him back sharply:
"No killing. We hand him to the law."
Brood, carrying the fat man as well, growled:
"We have no right to kill. The law will handle them."
Kyle's face shifted, bloodlust cooling:
"I wasn't going to kill him. Just scare him. But isn't sparing him betrayal?"
Brood answered firmly:
"Plenty have been caught. This isn't complicity unless the authorities decide so."
Kyle wiped his bloodied hands and stalked off:
"Take them or release them, I don't care. I'll change and return."
He later found the boy, hiding in a trash bin, pale and shivering.
"Did you run from the orphanage?" Kyle asked, voice low but steady.
The boy nodded, fear choking his small voice. Kyle sighed, locking eyes with him:
"I know the orphanage is hell. Study hard and you can live well. Without strength, suffering doubles. On the streets, weakness costs more than you can pay."
The boy wept:
"I scored zero… I ran away. They'll skin me alive if I return. I'd rather die. Just kill me."
Kyle gritted his teeth, stroking the boy's head:
"Are you stupid? Don't be afraid. I'll take you back myself, and make sure you're spared."
The boy blinked in wonder:
"Are you a scholar? Are you smart?"
Kyle tilted his head:
"Why ask?"
The boy sniffled:
"Only those with perfect scores can do as they please."
Kyle chuckled:
"I have something else to show you."
He took the boy's hand, leading him to the northern orphanage—iron gates looming, towers standing watch, guards stationed like shadows.
A guard's voice quivered at the sight of Kyle, bloodstained and grim-eyed:
"Who are you?"
Kyle tossed him a wad of notes, speaking with calm command:
"Will you fetch a caretaker?"
The guard scrambled for the money, mumbling:
"I'll do it… who said you're someone important?"
Kyle entered, escorting the boy into the matron's room. A stern woman, whip in hand, eyes as sharp as blades, shrieked:
"What is this? Why did you let him in?"
Kyle's voice was calm, unwavering:
"I brought this child back. Take care of him."
The matron sneered with a cruel laugh:
"A runaway? Hah! I'll make sure he never thinks of fleeing again. I've yet to tire of disciplining these brats."
Kyle's gaze darkened. In a flash, he seized her by the throat, choking until her eyes rolled. He flung her down, whispering coldly:
"If anything happens to him, I'll tear you apart."
Then he snapped her left arm with a sickening crack. Her screams split the room:
"Please stop! I won't harm him!"
But Kyle only muttered, leaving her writhing:
"If he suffers by your hand—or anyone's—you'll regret it more than death."
He tossed more money to the guard:
"Split it with that hag. Pretend nothing happened."
The guard stammered:
"But… how do we register a runaway from another orphanage?"
Kyle's reply came sharp and cold:
"That's why I paid you—to solve it. Or I'll erase you both."
The guard nodded frantically:
"I'll hide him. Don't worry."
Kyle leaned close, voice a venomous whisper:
"I'm Legion. I know you traffic drugs and sell children. I can burn you down whenever I choose. Treat them like humans."
And with that, Kyle walked out, leaving the boy terrified yet clutching a fragile shred of safety.