Felix's lips curled into a soft smile then he waved a hand lazily. "Break him."
Then he turned, walking back to sitting on his goon's shoulders as if Ezra wasn't worth his time. The rest of the group cracked their knuckles and raised weapons, their faces twisting with excitement.
"Wait!" The fat boy shoved his way forward. He adjusted his trousers, a club dragging in his left hand. His mouth twisted with rage. "Let me handle this bastard." His smirk spread, ugly and cruel. "He dared interrupt my fun. I'll start by breaking his legs… then gouging out his eyes. Hahaha!"
Ezra's face didn't move. His thoughts drifted backward.
Why am I angry? Why am I even risking my life confronting this scum?
The question pulsed in his chest. His breath caught for a moment.
Then a piece of memory—what he now accepted as a fragment of a past life he must have lived, unlocked and opened before him.
He saw a part of his past life, when the weight of living expenses had driven him into the military. The choice of joining the army led to missions that were dangerous, but one stood out—his last. It was a rescue mission: a group of rich teens kidnapped during a yacht party. Ezra's squad was sent in. At first, they thought it was a normal job, but then they discovered the truth.
The kidnappers weren't hardened soldiers. They weren't foreign invaders. They were just teenagers—local kids, same age to those they kidnapped. They called themselves freedom fighters. Claiming to be protesting against immigration, against "mixed blood" in their country. At first the protests had been loud but peaceful. But the government ignored them, and hatred twisted. That group turned protest into terror.
Ezra saw how his past self and his team fought through the chaos. His best friend, the one person who had stayed by his side after his mother abandoned him and grandmother died, was captured. When they finally found her, it was too late. She had been violated, treated the same as the kidnapped girls. And the boys… the boys were executed one after another, like cattle, just to make a statement.
He began feeling the emotion of regret. The helpless rage. The way she looked at him with broken eyes before she ended her own life later, unable to bear the scars, and the worst. The face of the boys, no terrorist walking away with just serving prison time while their main leaders walking away free like they weren't involved in anything, only to find out they were the sons of some powerful elites.
No wonder they could have the money to get this much fire arms, no wonder the heavy security that protected the yacht party was easily breached, no wonder the case after saving the girls was dismissed.
No wonder, No wonder, No wonder, No wonder…
All these spoiled privileged monsters.
The image burned into him.
His fists clenched at his sides. That was why.
The fat boy's laugh dragged him back to the present. Ezra's eyes snapped open, locking onto him. His glare was sharp enough to make the boy stutter in his steps.
"You bastard!" the fat boy roared, forcing courage into his throat. He charged, club swinging down to smash Ezra's skull.
Boom!
Ezra tilted his head just enough. The heavy wood cut the air by the width of a finger, smashing into the frozen ground with a crack. Before the fat boy could raise it again, Ezra moved. He closed the distance in a blur. Steel flashed.
The fat boy's eyes widened as a cold bite cut his throat.
"Ahh…cough…" He tried to scream, but only wet gurgles came out. His hands clawed at his neck, pressing against the red flood spilling between his fingers. He stumbled backward, knees buckling. His eyes darted desperately to his friends, his hand stretching toward them, but none moved. They stood frozen, shocked.
The boy collapsed into the snow, body twitching.
Ezra stood over him, calm. His breath didn't shake. "You know," he said, his voice low and steady, "I thought I would question my sanity every time I killed someone. But right now…" His eyes were cold as he looked down at the boy's dying struggle. "I feel no guilt."
He turned his gaze on the rest.
The group flinched under his stare.
Felix's smugness shattered. His face twisted, veins bulging as his eyes reddened. "What the hell are you idiots doing?!" he roared. "Kill him! Break him! Destroy him now!"
A lackey snapped out of his daze, raised his bow, and fired. Two more rushed at Ezra, one with a dagger, the other with a sharpened stick.
The arrow cut through the air, aiming for Ezra's head.
Ezra's body shifted a fraction. His head tilted right, and the arrow whistled past, close enough to scrape his ear. Before it even landed, Ezra's arm snapped forward. His dagger left his hand and spun straight into the archer's forehead. The boy collapsed instantly, lifeless.
"You lowlife!" another shouted, swinging his dagger in wide arcs. Ezra slid aside, feet light on the snow. "Tsk—stop moving and just die!" The boy slashed again and again, wild. The one with the spear lunged in, jabbing at Ezra's ribs.
But Ezra's movements were sharp, controlled. Each dodge was small, precise—no wasted energy. The dagger scraped only the fabric of his coat, not flesh. The spear missed by a finger's width. Ezra's eyes never blinked.
Felix's mouth opened in disbelief. In mere breaths, two of his men were gone. He had underestimated the boy who looked fragile, weak. Now he looked like something else entirely. Felix's smugness melted into unease. His voice cracked as he barked at the last two. "What are you doing? Don't just stand there—!"
He stopped mid-shout, forcing himself to breathe. His face steadied, though his eyes shook. He turned to one of the trembling boys at his side. "You. Go hold him down. Do anything to keep him busy. Me and Matthey will regroup with the rest. Let's see how he handles all of us together." His voice rose, desperate confidence shoved back into place. "Let's go."
The boy he pointed at paled. "Wait, what? You want me to fight him? I'll die!" His voice cracked, his whole body shaking.
Felix's eyes narrowed with disgust. He kicked the boy hard in the stomach, sending him gasping into the snow. "You think you get to refuse my order? Hold him here—or I'll show you something worse than death."
With that, Felix turned and ran with Matthey into the thick brush.
The abandoned goon shook, legs trembling. He looked like he wanted to drop his weapon and run, but Ezra's presence froze him where he stood.
From the shadows, Gena's eyes followed it all. Her chest was tight, her breath shallow. What am I doing? she thought, fists clenched.
Ezra… the frail boy whose nose bled from a small push. Now he fights like this… Is it because of that center of gravity thing he mentioned? If I learned it, would someone like me actually matter?
Her lips trembled. Her memory flashed back to the first trial. The moment her finger pulled the trigger, when she killed her cousin—her best friend, the girl she called her twin sister. The horror twisted inside her chest.
It should have been me, she thought, tears slipping down her cheeks. She looked at Mary, broken in the snow, then at Peter's bloody body, and back at Ezra.
Even if I trained… even if I learned to use my body better… nothing would change. That's the difference between me and people like Ezra, Lady Vera, Lady Pamela. They have confidence. They adapt. They don't fear death. I could never…
Her eyes closed tight.
"Gena!"
Her head jerked up. Ezra's voice snapped her out of her spiral.
"Ezra?" she whispered.
"Check on Mary! If she's still alive, take care of her. If not, get back to the last safe spot we stayed in!" His tone was hard, leaving no room for argument.
Gena swallowed, nodded, and stepped out from the brush.
She blinked—both of the boys who had been fighting Ezra before were already dead, blood painting the snow. Only one remained, holding his wooden spear like a lifeline. His hands shook, fear plain on his face.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
Ezra's eyes were sharp, his body already turning toward the path Felix had fled. "I'm chasing that bastard down."
"You're not passing me!" the last goon shouted, voice cracking. He forced himself forward, charging with his spear.
He thrust straight at Ezra's stomach.
Ezra slid to the right, the tip grazing his coat. His fist snapped into the boy's stomach, folding him over with a grunt. Before he could fall, Ezra's fist shot upward, smashing into his chin. The boy's head whipped back, teeth clacking. Ezra's elbow followed, crashing into his cheek with brutal force.
The boy went limp, collapsing into the snow unconscious.
Ezra didn't look down. "Don't wait for me, Gena. Just stay safe." He sprinted into the bushes; his figure swallowed by the shadows.
"Wait, Ezra!" Gena cried, reaching out. But her hand froze mid-air. She looked back at Mary and Peter. Her fist clenched. With a trembling breath, she turned back to her friends and ran to their side.
Hoping Mary still breathed.