Putting on the high-collared shirt and cloak-style trench coat that had been prepared long ago, donning the full-face mask with white base and flame patterns, the cowboy hat, black gloves, deerskin boots, tactical belt, and the fine steel longsword, nothing was left out.
Finally, he attached to his neck the "Nirieli-brand microphone," which could convert the words of a spiritual body into actual vibrations in the air…
Once all preparations were complete, a bounty hunter completely shrouded in a trench coat, not revealing even a trace of his true face, known by the people of this world as "the Faceless One," was born.
———
In an underground tavern in the red-light district, all kinds of shady figures gathered here. Some sat in twos or threes at tables, whispering quietly; some observed their surroundings like lone wolves; others drank and sang wildly without restraint, pulling heavily made-up prostitutes into flirtatious banter.
Among these people were local gang members, adventurers and merchants from elsewhere, even soldiers and military police, many of them infamous or well-known figures.
Their outfits were just as bizarre, some dressed like Arab tycoons, some wore fantasy-style warrior gear, the bartender had on a fashionable suit vest, while the military police somehow looked like they were in modern-era uniforms.
…This chaotic mix of clothing styles formed a strange sense of vitality, as if silently proclaiming how wildly crooked this world's tech tree was.
But no matter how tough their backgrounds were, everyone more or less avoided a certain corner, leaving a small empty space there.
Occupying that table alone was a strange man who wore a hat and trench coat even indoors. Clearly this was a tavern, yet he had no intention of removing his mask to eat, he had only ordered a drink, placed it on the table, and hadn't touched it at all.
Normally, a place like this wouldn't lack troublemakers. Someone this eye-catching should have attracted unsavory characters long ago, but he had been sitting there for quite some time, and no one dared to provoke him.
The reasons varied from person to person, but the biggest common factor was probably one word.
"Afraid."
The appearance was far too distinctive.
Over the past three years, this man had risen rapidly to fame in the underground world (though he appeared only intermittently, with a total active time of just half a year).
He didn't strike often, but every time he did, his target was killed with absolute precision. Many big shots with considerable influence in the underworld hadn't been able to escape him.
What was truly terrifying wasn't even that.
Although he called himself a "bounty hunter," his actions followed no pattern at all. Many crime bosses who weren't even on bounty lists had still been taken out, as if his targets were chosen purely based on personal likes and dislikes.
In a chaotic world where villains were everywhere and murderers were nothing rare, someone like the "Faceless One", with unknown motives, unknown identity, and guaranteed kills, naturally inspired extreme fear.
Anyone with even a little sense wouldn't stupidly go up and try to chat with him.
This delicate atmosphere wasn't broken until an information broker in a gray hooded cloak arrived, walked straight over, and sat down across from the Faceless One.
"This time I took a huge risk. This is all top-secret intel..."
Clang!
A bag was tossed onto the table. The unmistakable weight of it immediately shut the broker up.
"Where's what I asked for?"
"It's all here."
The broker pulled out a long, narrow package from his chest and handed it to Iori, then took the bag and focused on counting its contents.
Iori opened the small package. Inside were sheets of leather-textured wanted posters. Unlike the ones circulating publicly, these had additional information written in small characters on the back, such as where the person was last seen.
The boy skimmed through them, nodded in satisfaction, and just as he was about to pack them up to review later, a familiar face suddenly entered his field of view.
Smack!
Iori slapped the wanted poster onto the table and asked in a low voice, staring at the startled broker who looked up in shock, "Do you have more detailed information on this person?"
The broker steadied himself and looked down. The poster depicted a long-haired girl with a cold, beautiful appearance.
Below the portrait were the identifying traits.
Black hair, red eyes, skilled in using a katana, outstanding assassin, Imperial Arms user, escaped from her assigned unit half a month ago. Traitor to the Empire. Dead or alive.
"Aka…me… Akame?"
Iori had long since confirmed, through gathering and cross-checking information, that the world he was in was Akame ga Kill.
Darkness and brutality were the core tone of Akame ga Kill, while the protagonists belonged to an assassination group under the Revolutionary Army. The entire main storyline revolved around resisting the decaying thousand-year Empire and its lackeys.
In his previous life, Iori had lived in a place where similar dark eras appeared countless times in history books. So after arriving here, he felt no psychological burden at all as he sought out bullies, corrupt officials, and rotten nobles to test his blade.
The result was that his combat experience and swordsmanship skyrocketed. Along the way, he earned the title "Faceless One" and unlocked a few CGs, modest gains, but gains nonetheless.
Naturally, his actions drew the Empire's ire. After all, many of those he killed were "people of status," so it didn't take long for him to end up on wanted posters, with his bounty briefly rising to the same level as Revolutionary Army officers.
But no matter how hard the Empire tried, no matter how much manpower and resources they mobilized, they couldn't catch Iori. They couldn't even find a shadow of him. Meanwhile, people continued to lose their heads to the Faceless One.
This thoroughly embarrassed the Imperial military police. The Chief Minister himself even issued a formal reprimand, which only made the Faceless One's reputation grow even louder.
To be fair, the military police were actually a bit innocent. It wasn't that they were incompetent, after all, even if you called in the "death god elementary school detective," he still wouldn't be able to catch a truly invisible person.
With the nature of a spiritual body, once Iori took off his clothes, who could possibly see him?
In fact, give him just ten seconds and he could return to Bleach, disappearing completely from this world.
How were they supposed to catch that?
Besides, Iori didn't just run away.
Although his spiritual pressure was only around seated-officer level, under the boost of the Perfect Shinigami talent, his actual combat power was a full tier higher. He was only missing a Shikai and some refinement to reach vice-captain level.
There weren't many people in Akame ga Kill who could truly threaten him, and those people weren't exactly someone you'd casually run into on the street.
Thus, over the course of three years and more than ten visits to this world, Iori messed with the Imperial military police countless times, until they finally "gave up."
Officially, the wanted posters stayed up. But in reality, they stopped organizing large-scale hunts, quietly pinned the Faceless One's crimes onto other fugitives, and worked to reduce his influence.
Forcing the entire Imperial military police force into silent surrender through sheer individual power, even if they were only the Empire's police, beneath the border army and imperial guards, was still a feat that shook the entire underground world.
Whether Imperial officials, criminal organizations, or even the Revolutionary Army, everyone reached the same conclusion. The Faceless One might not be the strongest assassin, but he was absolutely the most troublesome. If it wasn't necessary, don't provoke him.
This series of events earned Iori about four style points.
The reason it was only four seemed to be that the assassination targets weren't high enough profile, and his "escape methods" were wrong.
If he had revealed himself like Aizen did, letting all the strongest figures watch helplessly, then tossed out a few smug lines… the style points would have shot up instantly.
Iori's first meeting with Akame happened during one of the Empire's attempts to capture him.
That time, not only were military police deployed, but furious Imperial officials also brought in a highly professional assassination unit, hoping to pit Iori against his "peers."
They even deduced that Iori had concealment abilities and had scientists develop heat-detection devices specifically to counter him… but unfortunately, they were still useless.
The hunt once again ended in failure. Both military police and assassins died at Iori's hands. If not for concern over spiritual pressure consumption, he would have given them all a lesson they'd never forget.
And it was during this incident that Iori encountered the black-haired, red-eyed assassin, Akame.
He recognized her immediately as one of Akame ga Kill's protagonists, a future blade of the Revolutionary Army.
At that time, Akame hadn't awakened her free will yet and was still part of the Empire's assassination unit.
As an elite killer trained from childhood, she relied on killing intent perception beyond the five senses and managed to catch a trace of Iori's presence.
Iori had admired her since his previous life. Now, as a swordsman himself, he couldn't help but feel eager. He revealed himself and engaged her in a clean, exhilarating sword duel.
To be honest, Iori's swordsmanship was superior. But during the fight, he deeply realized how differences in training methods, combat objectives, and offensive-defensive mindset could dramatically affect the outcome.
A Shinigami's blade exists to purify Hollows, and while it fights, it also prioritizes self-preservation, especially when facing groups. Mutual destruction is rarely chosen.
Akame's swordsmanship, however, was almost entirely offense, completely centered on killing, an extreme blade that would sacrifice everything to achieve its goal.
At first, Iori was even suppressed.
But once he burned spiritual pressure without restraint and unleashed Zangetsu's shunpo and firepower, the situation reversed instantly.
He didn't kill her. Before Imperial reinforcements arrived, he left and hurried back to the Soul Society, even though he still had over half his spiritual pressure left, he preferred to refill his mana first.
From then on, it was as if some strange bond formed between them. They occasionally ran into each other, sometimes clashed, but that first encounter was the only true life-and-death fight.
They were the kind who understood each other through battle. They didn't speak much, but Iori could sense her mental state slowly changing.
After seeing how cruel the world under Imperial rule was, and realizing how rotten and dark the upper echelons were, she stopped being a "blade" held by others, and became a killer with true free will.
Their last meeting was a month ago. Iori had already suspected that Akame had awakened and would soon betray the Empire to join the Revolutionary Army, just like in the original story.
What he hadn't expected was that, perhaps due to a butterfly effect caused by him, this time her defection hadn't gone smoothly. She hadn't linked up with the Revolutionary Army directly, something went wrong, and now she was being hunted relentlessly.
Not knowing would be one thing, but now that Iori knew, how could he not get involved, farm some bond CGs, and annoy the Imperial higher-ups along the way?
He eagerly took out his stored gold, bribed relevant military personnel to obtain the latest intel, and immediately headed for the target area.
Using his advantage as a spiritual body, Iori specifically targeted Imperial assassins and troops, eavesdropping, no, outright openly attending their strategy meetings, gathering firsthand information.
Moving alone, he was faster than the assassination units and reached the town where Akame was hiding first.
His luck was good. He soon saw her in an alley, finishing off an opponent.
What surprised him was that despite being exposed, Akame didn't leave the town. Instead, she stayed, disguised as a traveler, and entered an inn to rest.
Curious, Iori didn't reveal himself. He stealthily moved outside her window to see what she was up to.
Could this be a rendezvous point with the Revolutionary Army? Was she planning to ambush the Empire's forces and catch them off guard?
Many possibilities flashed through his mind. But when he looked inside and saw the girl lying sideways on the bed with her back to him, a sword sheath clamped between her legs, looking extremely uncomfortable, his pupils still shrank, 'Ah, Akame! A powerful enemy is right outside! What are you doing, Akame?!'
Akame had run into a bit of trouble lately.
Trained by the Empire from childhood, surviving brutal hellish training, and becoming an elite assassin, she was supposed to have an absolutely calm mind, unaffected by anything that could interfere with her judgment or actions. Yet she had somehow fallen into this awkward situation…
It went like this.
Through repeated assassination missions, she encountered all kinds of people. Through interacting and talking with them, she gradually realized that the Empire's bureaucrats and nobles were the true source of all tragedies.
By coincidence, during one mission she met the defected Imperial general Najenda. This heroic woman successfully talked Akame out of her final hesitation, convincing her to join the Revolutionary Army and dedicate herself to overthrowing the Empire's decayed rule.
But the defection didn't go smoothly. Their movements were exposed, drawing pursuit. Najenda wasn't particularly strong and was already injured, so Akame drew the pursuers away alone to cover her escape. She fought while retreating, shaking them off several times only to be caught again, until she finally stopped here.
She had only planned to rest briefly, replenish supplies, and leave immediately. Unfortunately, she ran into an Empire-hired hunter. A short but intense fight broke out. Akame won, but she was also tricked.
Bounty hunters were basically wild dogs. Many came from the underworld, and their fighting methods were unpredictable. No matter how experienced a swordsman was, they couldn't know what kind of items a bounty hunter carried.
The one Akame faced not only earned money through bounties but also did private jobs. He carried all kinds of powders, lethal poisons, disorienting hallucinogens, everything.
He even coated his clothes with them. That seemingly ordinary fur collar would shed a hazy "dust" with a casual shake, making it impossible to guard against.
In the end, she killed him and avoided the poison mist, but still got contaminated a little.
Fortunately, as an assassin, Akame knew her toxins well. She identified it as non-lethal, which eased her mind.
The embarrassing part was that, from another angle, it was quite deadly.
It was a drug that made emotions more uninhibited and blood flow accelerate, often used to heighten excitement in certain situations, commonly known as an aphrodisiac.
A scumbag carrying something like that wasn't surprising. He'd probably committed plenty of crimes with it. In his panic before death, he likely threw out all his powders at once, including this one. Akame was simply unlucky.
After being affected, she was embarrassed, but not to the point of melodrama like in third-rate novels where someone has to seek dual cultivation or die.
First, the dose she inhaled was small. She'd undergone poison resistance training since childhood, giving her higher tolerance than normal people.
Second, most so-called aphrodisiacs were essentially hallucinogens that induced pleasure and mental fog. After all, they were developed mainly by brothels to entertain customers, not to kill people.
In reality, she just felt overheated, sweating under her arms, and extremely thirsty.
If she encountered pursuers outdoors in this state, escape would be difficult. To face Imperial elites, she needed to be in peak condition.
With pursuers potentially arriving at any time and time being tight, Akame found an inn and planned to deal with it herself.
However, assassins like Akame were raised as tools of killing from childhood, living in a cruel world where only the strong survived. To live, they had to abandon weakness, living not as girls, but as "blades."
As a result, she became pure and sharp, but also emotionally blunt. Forget romance; even gender awareness was faint. To her, love was less appealing than a good meal.
In such a critical moment, armed only with theory and no practical experience, she was extremely clumsy, lacking even basic feminine refinement, she didn't know how to please herself properly.
She could only rely on guesses and bodily instinct, clumsily rubbing her chest. But this was clearly ineffective. When she tried moving her hand lower, the sensation was like an electric shock that made her whole body tremble.
Though she didn't know the right technique, even simple friction caused her breathing to grow uneven and her temperature to rise.
Her learning ability was strong. Though clumsy at first, she eventually picked up some technique, especially after accidentally brushing against the sword sheath, as if an entirely new world had opened up.
Fully clothed and facing away from the window, her hands couldn't be seen. At a glance, she looked like she was resting. But a closer look revealed her toned, powerful thighs clamped tightly around the black-and-red sword sheath, rubbing back and forth.
Her pale feet overlapped, toes curling as if enduring something, while muffled, troubled yet pleasure-mixed breaths rippled through the room…