Darkness crept in gradually, swallowing the street in layers of shadow. Sol sat on the wooden bench, elbows resting on his knees, eyes lowered as he thought.
"This isn't safe" he admitted silently.
"But based on my abilities… and what I learned while observing myself… I should be able to handle this. At least a little."
Night settled completely.
A faint chill slid down his spine.
Danger.
Sol didn't hesitate. He opened his Spirit Vision.
The world shifted.
Colors layered over one another, translucent and distorted. The ordinary street peeled back, revealing subtle abnormalities hidden beneath reality's surface. That was when he saw them—three figures moving toward him from the darkness.
Two men. One woman.
None of them were Beyonders.
Sol stayed still, breathing slow and controlled, pretending not to notice their approach.
The man with the knife moved first.
The instant he stepped within range, Sol surged forward.
He sprinted and drove his fist straight into the man's face.
*Crack.*
The sound rang out sharply as the attacker crumpled, knocked unconscious before he could even react.
Without pausing, Sol bent down, grabbed the fallen knife, and hurled it in a single, fluid motion.
The blade struck the woman in the torso.
She cried out and collapsed, clutching the wound as blood spread across her clothes.
Then—
Impact.
The remaining man rushed in and tackled Sol. They slammed into the ground together, rolling across the dirt as pain flared through Sol's side.
His breath was knocked from his lungs.
Sol twisted his body and drove his fist into the man's side.
*Crunch.*
The impact landed solidly. Before the man could even gasp, Sol followed up with a sharp blow to the head.
The body went limp.
Sol shoved the unconscious man aside and straightened, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.
"Damn…" he muttered under his breath.
"I fight better than I thought."
He turned toward the woman. She was still conscious, eyes wide with fear—but Sol didn't hesitate. One clean strike sent her collapsing to the ground.
He crouched down and searched her quickly, then did the same with the others, fingers moving with practiced efficiency.
'Stealing from thieves isn't wrong. Definitely not.'
The thought crossed his mind, accompanied by a faint grin.
Twenty-eight pounds in total.
Not much—but enough.
Sol picked up the knife and moved back to the last man, who was beginning to stir. He sat down beside him and pressed the cold edge of the blade gently against the man's throat.
The man froze instantly.
Sol's expression was calm. Empty.
"So, friend," he said quietly.
"Who are you? Do you have others nearby?"
The blade pressed just a little closer.
"Are you part of a gang?"
A pause.
"If you are… then tell me—who's in charge?"
His eyes never left the man's face.
The man didn't even try to struggle.
Fear had already crushed any thought of resistance. After a brief pause, he spoke shakily, words spilling out in a rush.
Sol listened without interrupting.
Once he had what he needed, he knocked the man out cleanly and left the scene behind.
That night, Sol rented a cheap inn and finally ate a proper meal, paying with the money he'd taken earlier. The warmth of the food settled his stomach, but his mind remained alert, already planning his next move.
At two in the morning, the city lay buried beneath darkness.
Sol rose quietly and slipped out of the inn, footsteps light as he moved through empty streets.
After some time, he reached the location the man had given him.
"So this is it…"
Based on the information he'd gathered, the gang had eight members in total. Three of them were the ones he'd already dealt with. The leader lived here—along with two close subordinates.
And more importantly—
"The leader is likely a Beyonder."
Sol inhaled slowly.
He opened his Spirit Vision.
The world peeled apart.
Faint, translucent silhouettes emerged within the building—three spirits on the first floor. And on the ground floor…
One presence stood alone.
Sol's eyes narrowed.
He memorized the layout, every flicker of spiritual light burned into his mind.
This wouldn't be a reckless fight.
This would be calculated.
Sol slipped into the house through a narrow window, landing without a sound.
The man inside had his back turned.
Sol closed the distance in a heartbeat.
A sharp strike to the neck—precise and controlled—sent the man crumpling. Sol caught him before he hit the floor, lowering the unconscious body gently, making sure there was no noise.
He moved fast.
The kitchen was exactly where he expected it to be. Sol grabbed two knives from the counter, their weight familiar in his hands, then retraced his steps and slipped back into position.
"Someone's going to come down," he murmured to himself.
"It's always like that in movies… yeah. It's reasonable."
As if on cue—
Footsteps.
A man descended the stairs, calling out cautiously, confusion edging into his voice.
Sol didn't give him time to react.
One swift motion was enough.
With the ground floor cleared, Sol moved upstairs. His steps were light, controlled, every breath measured. He stopped outside an open bedroom door and peered inside.
Two figures.
No hesitation.
Sol flicked his wrist.
The knives flew.
One struck true.
The second missed.
The uninjured man lunged at him instantly, slamming into Sol and driving him backward. Sol twisted, managing to wound him before—
Another presence joined the fight.
Too fast.
Too close.
Sol gritted his teeth as the situation shifted.
This was no longer clean.
Sol kicked the man away, forcing distance between them.
Pain exploded across his side.
The wounded man had seized the opening, driving his fist into Sol's ribs with everything he had. The impact stole Sol's breath for a split second.
He reacted instantly—rolling away, boots scraping against the floor as he created space.
"Boss!" the man shouted.
Too late.
Heavy arms wrapped around Sol from behind, locking tight. Fingers dug into his neck as pressure cut off his breath.
"So this is the leader."
Sol's vision narrowed—but his hand found the knife.
Without hesitation, he plunged the blade into the man's side.
Once.
Then he dragged it.
Flesh tore open in a wet, brutal line. The grip around Sol loosened, strength draining away as the body slumped to the floor.
The boss went limp.
Sol staggered upright, chest heaving, eyes cold.
There was no hesitation now.
He moved through the remaining men efficiently—quick. When it was over, silence filled the room once more.
Sol stood alone among the bodies.
They had seen his face.
That alone sealed their fate.
Sol searched the boss's body and house methodically.
It didn't take long before the boss's blood condenced.
A Beyonder characteristic.
He activated his Spirit Vision, eyes sharpening as layers of the world peeled back. The characteristic revealed itself clearly—its aura sharp, cold, and tinged with danger.
"Assassin… Sequence 9."
Sol exhaled softly.
"Well," he murmured, glancing at the corpse,
"in a way, I saved you from a doomed promotion to Sequence 7."
The body, unsurprisingly, offered no response.
Sol pocketed the characteristic and left the building without another glance back. By the time he returned to the inn, exhaustion had finally caught up to him. He lay down and slept for a few more hours, dreamless and undisturbed.
When he woke, calmly checked everything he had obtained.
A little over one hundred and thirty-six pounds.
An Assassin characteristic.
And a knife stained dark with dried blood.
Sol looked at the items without emotion.
Killing strangers didn't weigh on him. Not when there was no bond, no history—no reason to hesitate. The thought didn't trouble him. It simply "was".
His expression remained steady.
Sol again lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Only now, in the quiet aftermath, did the thought surface clearly.
"I shouldn't have fought without divination beforehand."
The realization settled heavily in his chest.
If things had gone even slightly wrong…
The room remained silent, the weight of the thought lingering as Sol slowly closed his eyes.