The evening sun hung low over Backlund, painting the streets gold. Meanwhile, Christin was walking down a alley lost in thought.
Then, a harsh voice called out from behind him.
"Hey, bastard! Where's our money?"
Christin turned around slowly. Four men stood there, all in their twenties.
He sighed. "How many times do I have to say it, George? I'll pay it back."
All four of them laughed. George, the one in front, stepped closer with a smirk.
"No, no, no, you don't understand. We want our money now, or else we'll—"
Before he could finish, Christin moved like lightning and knocked him out cold with a single punch.
The remaining three froze, their smirks vanishing. For a moment, no one spoke. Then one of them said, nervously,
"C'mon, guys. He might've taken down one of us, but there are three left. There's no way he can beat all of us."
"Yeah, you're right," another agreed quickly. "He's just one guy!"
The third nodded, and all three charged at Christin at once.
The first one reached him and drew a dagger, stabbing toward his chest. But Christin grabbed the man's wrist mid-swing and smashed his fist into his face, sending him stumbling back with a broken nose.
The second man tried to punch Christin, but Christin caught his arm and headbutted him hard enough to knock him out instantly. He crumpled to the ground.
The third man panicked and pulled out a revolver.
Bang! Bang!
Two shots rang out. The first bullet tore through Christin's right hand; the second hit his chest, making him bite his lip in pain. But when the man tried to fire again, the revolver jammed.
The first thug—the one with the dagger—had recovered and lunged again, but he slipped and face-planted, knocking himself out.
Ignoring the pain, Christin sprinted toward the man with the gun. The thug turned to run, terror written across his face, but Christin was faster. He caught up to him and punched him so hard that the man went limp instantly, collapsing lifelessly.
A few seconds passed. And as he started walking away, he heard a faint groan.
He turned around and saw the dagger-wielding guy trying to crawl away. But halfway through, the man convulsed violently and then went still. Christin checked his pulse—nothing.
"Damn," he muttered, stepping back.
After making sure the alley was empty, he left quickly, his right hand throbbing with pain.
A few blocks later, he passed a man sitting on a bench, reading a newspaper. The man glanced up but said nothing. Christin ignored him and kept walking.
Minutes later, he reached a well-known bar. As he stepped inside, the room went quiet for a moment. People stared, whispering to each other, but Christin paid them no attention and walked straight to the counter.
"Good evening, sir. What can I get you?" asked the middle-aged bartender politely.
Christin said. "Your most expensive drink."
"That'll be five soli, sir."
Christin handed over the money without hesitation. The bartender quickly began mixing the drink.
When the glass was finally set down, Christin took a long sip, letting the alcohol distract him from the pain.
Just then, the door opened.
A beautiful woman entered—a vision of grace with long brown hair, green eyes, and a flowing skirt. She immediately drew every eye in the bar, men and women alike.
One bold man stood up and swaggered toward her. "Hey, beautiful. How about spending the night at my place?"
She smiled seductively, touching his jaw. "Hmm… why not?"
Before the man could say another word, Christin stepped between them, pushing him aside gently but firmly.
"Hey, lady," Christin said with a charming grin, "how about you come to my place instead?"
The woman's smile widened. "Sure. Why not, handsome?"
As they walked together through the quiet streets, Christin asked, "May I know your name?"
She glanced at him, eyes glinting. "Juliana."
"Juliana," Christin repeated with a smile. "That's a beautiful name."
When they reached his home, a golden retriever bounded up to greet them, barking happily and sniffing Juliana. Its tail wagged wildly. Juliana bent down and patted the dog's head.
Later that night, the two were in Christin's bedroom. Juliana stood before him, smiling as she began to undress.
"Wow," Christin murmured, his eyes wide. "You're… hot."
Hours later, Christin woke to the sound of his dog barking frantically.
He groaned, rubbing his temples. "What is it now?"
But when he turned to the side, Juliana was gone.
A sharp, acrid smell hit his nose. Smoke.
Christin's eyes widened. He jumped out of bed, pulled on his clothes, and ran downstairs—only to see the entire first floor engulfed in flames.
"Damn it!" he shouted.
He rushed back to his room, grabbed the golden retriever, and leapt out the window. They hit the ground hard but safely. Christin set the dog down, looking up at his burning house.
People were gathering outside, whispering and pointing.
Christin stood there, chest aching, his home collapsing into fire and smoke.
"What the hell is going on today?" he muttered under his breath, staring into the flames.
Hello there! Author here, and I just want to say a few things first.
Thank you so much to these amazing people:
Kamuiglazer for 3 power stones — I really appreciate it!
SSDDZeus_6783 for 3 power stones — I deeply appreciate it!
JoZ555 for 3 power stones — I hope you have a wonderful day or night!
Falier111 for 1 power stone — I truly appreciate it!
invisible_Do_ki for 1 power stone — I really hope you have a great day or night!
Also, guys, there will be R-18 content, but only in later chapters.
See you all tomorrow!