Although Rain was a fairly well-known hacker, these two encrypted disks still required several days to decode.
Although Ignis was eager to eliminate that individual corrupted by Khorne, he could only endure for now.
That afternoon, while the Salamander was in the workshop hand-crafting more dragon's breath shells, he received a visitor. The young artist Emile Volt had arrived, saying he had completed Billy Kid's character portrait design and had already confirmed it with Nicole and Billy. Today he planned to paint the robot's mural on the outer wall of their base.
The boy excitedly told Ignis that after his father learned the money he earned from painting was several times his regular wages, he had tacitly approved of the hobby. As long as it didn't interfere with school, he could practice freely.
Ignis followed the boy to the outer wall, watching him adjust his paints and prepare to begin.
But the situation they walked into was rather tense, and the boy's hands trembled slightly. Fortunately, when he noticed the giant standing beside him, he relaxed a little.
Yes—the area around the Cunning Hares' base had not been peaceful lately.
The Saint Love Behavioral Correction School had been aggressively promoting itself here, frantically pushing its "correction courses" onto local parents. Several delinquent kids had reportedly already been taken away for "reform." In order to ensure superiority should a conflict break out with the local troublemakers, the school had deployed many more people—nearly thirty escorts, plus several security robots.
Those things were decommissioned New Eridu Public Security units; although partially disarmed, their metal bodies were still far stronger than humans. Without thermal weapons, defeating them was almost impossible.
Due to several companions being taken, the local delinquents were anxious too. Their weapons had clearly been upgraded; spiked clubs were standard gear now, and the Salamander seemed to spot a few homemade shotguns among the crowd.
To be honest, if a fight really broke out, knowing these punks, those guns would definitely go off. But since they lacked any firearms training, there was no guarantee they wouldn't accidentally shoot their own people.
Emile glanced at the two groups confronting each other and shrank back slightly. He had been bullied by these kids many times in the past. Although things had improved greatly after Ignis stood up for him, old shadows were not easily dispelled.
Especially when those former tormentors held weapons, wore vicious expressions, and stared at you out of curiosity.
He regretted choosing today. When he left home earlier, these people hadn't gathered. How had they formed up into a standoff in the short time he went inside to greet the giant?
"Damn it! They'd better tell us where they took Redel!" someone among the delinquents shouted. "I heard that place is worse than a prison!"
"Yeah! Little Fisher got dragged in too—and there's been zero news! It's like he vanished! I called and texted—nothing!"
"Boss! Give the order! Let's cripple them today and grab their leader for interrogation!"
"Boss! Say the word!"
The delinquents all looked to their leader—the newly emerged head of the "Wolf Gang," Vesmir Forson. Honestly, Ignis wanted to comment on how embarrassingly tacky that name sounded.
Back in school, Vesmir Forson had always been someone who loved showing off. According to Emile, the guy wasn't inherently bad, but he couldn't resist flattery. A couple of compliments or a bit of provocation would make him impulsive and reckless. He often escalated attempts to help bullied students into bigger fights. In the end, he was expelled for beating up a teacher who tried to break up a fight.
In Ignis' eyes, Vesmir wasn't particularly wicked—just misguided, impulsive, and oblivious to consequences, which ultimately cost him his education.
If someone guided him properly, he might even become a chivalrous do-gooder. But the Salamander had no time to play educator—he had far too many problems to deal with.
A Khorne cultist might be looking for a head to sacrifice, and somewhere a Slaanesh vanguard might be rebuilding its narcotics factory—or preparing to produce something even worse.
Thinking about those two made Ignis' head pound. By the Emperor, if you could just grant me a hint about their whereabouts, that would be a real blessing…
But the Old Man did not reply. Instead, Ignis overheard the lead instructor of Saint Love issuing orders to his subordinates.
"If a fight breaks out, grab their leader. If you really can't manage it, just throw them into the van and take them to the school. The higher-ups issued a strict mandate—if we don't meet the quota, not only do we lose our bonus, our salaries will be cut to minimum wage."
"Yes, Chief Instructor. But if we grab these kids… will their parents pay?"
"That's not our concern. I'm responsible for capturing them—collecting fees is someone else's job. Just meet your quota. Why are you worrying about useless things?" The Chief Instructor's tone grew sharp. "Stop asking questions and follow orders. Otherwise I'll send you to Room 13 for a little lesson."
"Yes, Chief Instructor."
The man left immediately to relay the orders.
The delinquents grew more agitated, their shouting turning nastier. The security robots had powered up fully, their electric batons crackling with maximum output.
Emile Volt's hands wouldn't stop shaking. He had heard these insults before. Old, dark memories surged up, shattering his concentration. His brush slipped, twisting Billy Kid's arm into a strange shape on the wall.
It was ruined—he'd have to repaint the entire wall. Discouraged, he stirred the brush violently through the paint and smeared it across the mural in frustration.
Ignis placed a hand on his shoulder. The warmth steadied him. He stared bitterly at the ruined image. It had been salvageable—he'd simply let fear and anger overwhelm his judgment.
"It's fine. We'll redo it next time." Ignis was patient.
But when he turned around to face the Chief Instructor of Saint Love, his expression completely changed.
"I'll say this plainly. This is in front of my home. Pick another place. Your people are scaring my friend."
The Salamander forced himself to suppress his anger, trying to keep his tone civil.
But the man was clearly used to throwing his weight around; he didn't take the giant seriously at all. He spat at Ignis' feet, then slowly lifted his head.
"We're on a public road. Does the road belong to you? Why don't you go ask your mom if she knows how nosy you are? You're so huge—how'd she even give birth to you? And do you know I used to be the close-combat champion in my Defense Force company? Talking tough at me—who the hell do you think you are?"
The Chief Instructor's tirade actually amused Ignis. The last creature to act this arrogantly in front of him had been Ironclaw—which was now reduced to ashes.
Though the Salamander was gentle by nature, that depended on the person. For those who couldn't speak like civilized beings, he had a very direct solution. The giant drew the lever-action shotgun from his pants leg, pressed it to the man's forehead, and chambered a round with a kachak.
"I think the truth is in my hands right now." Ignis tilted his chin upward at him. "Tell me—what martial art did you practice that's faster than a bullet? This isn't some arena. We use guns."
The other instructors from Saint Love froze in shock as the giant leveled that massive shotgun at their superior. They were used to wrangling children—not confronting a giant armed with a huge shotgun.
Seeing their leader being humiliated, the delinquents cheered loudly, urging Ignis to "teach him a lesson."
The Chief Instructor was trapped. If he yielded, he'd lose face; if he didn't, he'd lose his life. He could clearly see the shotgun was loaded, and Ignis' finger was on the trigger.
"Don't move. If you startle me and my hand twitches, your skull pops." Ignis watched the man's trembling legs and knew instantly this guy wasn't some hardened fighter—his bragging was probably nonsense.
Humans had self-preservation. Robots did not. The security units simply followed preset directives. Seeing their own man held hostage, they immediately attacked with their sparking batons.
Since the delinquents were behind the robots, the Salamander didn't want bystanders injured, so he chose not to fire.
Instead, he used only his left hand—tearing the first robot's arm off, then ripping its head off. He swung the shotgun around and shattered the second with the stock.
With his muscle coils augmenting his strength, the Salamander's power was terrifying. Machines that were immovable against criminals were torn apart like cheap scrap.
When Ignis ripped off the last robot's head and tossed it at the Chief Instructor's feet, the man finally broke. He had pinned his hopes on those headquarters-issued robots—useless as they turned out to be.
"Next time, pick another place," Ignis barked. "Clean up your trash and get out."
The Saint Love staff, all pale-faced, hurriedly gathered the robot fragments and drove away.
The delinquents erupted into triumphant cheers at the sight of their opponents fleeing in disgrace.
The Salamander shook his head. These kids couldn't continue like this—they needed something productive to do. They were far too bored, and eventually they'd cause real trouble.
Ignis thought for a moment, then walked up to the head of the Wolf Gang, Vesmir.
"Kid, you've got potential. Interested in learning some real skills from me?"