Crash.
Shards of glass exploded outwards as a man shot through the penthouse window of a hundred-story skyscraper.
"Freeze! One more step and we open fire!"
"You're not getting away, Phantom Thief Mead!"
"Drop the jewel, you bastard!"
A chorus of armed police thundered after him, but Mead only laughed—a wild, reckless sound. He ran straight for the edge, blew a mocking kiss to the furious officers, and vanished into the night.
"Hahahaha! Pathetic cops. You'll never catch me!"
Wind screamed past his ears as he plummeted, but there was no fear in his eyes—only exhilaration. He pulled a glittering gem from his coat, kissed it, and grinned.
Almost time.
He tucked the jewel away, watched the ground rushing up, and his lips twisted into a smirk.
"Hermes' Boots!"
Anyone watching would have been stunned: beneath Mead's feet, a dazzling magic circle bloomed, slowing his fall until he seemed to bounce lightly across the air itself. A few quick leaps, and he landed smoothly on the street below.
He glanced up at the dumbstruck police still clustered on the rooftop.
Phantom Thief Mead—swift as the wind, untouchable.
A voice cut through the darkness, cold and clear. "Using a Sacred Gear for petty theft? You disgrace the god who gave it to you."
Mead jumped, spinning to scan the shadows. Footsteps echoed. Three figures emerged—one in front, two trailing behind.
The leader was a black-haired, black-eyed youth—so strikingly handsome that even Mead, who prided himself on his charm, felt a stab of envy. Behind him, a blonde girl and a white-haired girl, both beautiful enough to turn heads anywhere.
Mead's gaze sharpened. He wasn't about to let their looks distract him. "Who the hell are you?"
His Sacred Gear was his greatest secret. These three showing up now? Bad news.
"You don't need to know our names," the youth replied, voice calm as midnight. "Just know your Sacred Gear belongs to me now."
Mead's temper flared. "Arrogant punk!"
No point in talking. He launched himself forward, leg sweeping in a crescent arc—a blade of compressed air screamed toward the trio.
His eyes were cold, his mind razor-sharp. The Sacred Gear was his trump card. Killing those girls would be a shame, but as long as he had power, there'd always be more women. The world was big; he could enjoy it anywhere.
But—
Boom.
Instead of carnage, a spherical barrier shimmered into existence, enveloping the three. Mead's attack crashed into it and fizzled, not even leaving a scratch.
His heart sank. That wasn't magic—it was something else. Another Sacred Gear.
Mead's confidence wavered, but he wasn't backing down yet. He fired off a barrage of crescent blades, each one stronger than the last.
The barrier flickered, but held firm.
"Damn it!" Mead cursed, panic rising. He spun and bolted, moving so fast he was a blur.
"Lord Tenra, the target's running," the white-haired girl—Tosca—said quietly.
Tenra, Tosca, and Gaspar—the trio had arrived.
"He won't get far," Tenra murmured, unruffled. He raised a hand; golden rings shot out, streaking after Mead.
"Let's go collect our prize," he said, already moving.
—
"Damn it, damn it—what is this?!"
Four golden rings—half-phased into the void, half clamped tight around his limbs—bound Mead in place. He struggled, rage and terror mixing in his eyes.
"No use," Tenra said, approaching with Tosca and Gaspar. "Those are Laozi's Golden Bracelets. Even the legendary Battle Saint Monkey couldn't break free. You don't stand a chance."
Mead's bravado crumbled. "Hey, listen, man—this is all a misunderstanding. No hard feelings, right? Money, women, whatever you want, I can get it for you. Just let me go."
Tenra shook his head. Money and women had their appeal, sure, but he preferred to earn them himself.
"I only want your Sacred Gear."
He didn't bother with more words. Tenra activated [Sacred Gear Plunder], his hand plunging into Mead's chest.
Mead's scream tore through the night, raw and agonized. It went on and on, until finally Tenra withdrew his hand, Sacred Gear in tow.
Mead sagged, pale and trembling. He stared at Tenra, recognition dawning through the pain.
"You… you're…"
"The Sacred Gear Plunderer."
A name whispered in fear across every faction—a super-criminal, wanted by all, rumored to appear and vanish like a ghost. He could steal Sacred Gears, leaving their owners broken and powerless. No one knew how many had fallen to him.
Mead managed a bitter laugh. Of all people, he'd run into the legendary Plunderer—and become his latest victim.
Anger, regret, disbelief—all faded as weakness overtook him. Mead collapsed, unconscious.
Tenra barely glanced at him. He studied the jewel in his hand, watching as a pair of ornate boots—golden wings at their sides—materialized within.
Hermes' Boots. Another Sacred Gear claimed.
He fused the artifact into his body. Power surged, but Tenra absorbed it instantly, barely registering the increase. At this level, a boost like this was nothing.
Hermes' Boots: the prize from Mead. They let the user walk on air, ride the wind, move at blinding speed, and even launch slashing attacks with a kick. Not bad, as Sacred Gears went.
Tenra tested the abilities, then dismissed the golden rings. Mead dropped to the ground with a dull thud.
"Lord Tenra, where to next?" Gaspar asked, voice soft.
Tenra didn't answer. He gazed up at the brilliant stars overhead.
Eight years on the road. Tosca had joined him four years ago. If his memory was right, Riser's coming-of-age ceremony was just around the corner.
Which meant—
The journey was ending. Time to go home—and fulfill the promise he'd made long ago.
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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