The silence of the forest was absolute now, broken only by the gentle rustle of leaves in the broad daylight. With the surviving bandits scattered and fleeing for their lives, I stepped out from behind the mossy boulder and began cleaning up the battlefield with systematic precision.
I walked over to the bodies of the fallen syndicate enforcers and bandits. Working quickly, I stripped them of their usable merchant cloaks and leather armor, stuffing the fabrics tightly together. Then, I turned my attention to the wealth of firearms scattered across the bloody dirt.
I picked up the two high-quality Tommy guns from the elite enforcer I had just shot down, checking their mechanisms. These would make perfect additions to my personal arsenal. As for the rest of the mass-produced firearms lying in the mud, I gathered them into a massive pile, dragged over some burning debris from the destroyed carriages, and set them ablaze. I watched coldly as the cheap iron melted and the synthetic mana stones cracked and died in the heat… I would ensure no low-level criminals could ever wield Maine's dangerous weapons again.
Once the disposal was complete, I organized my gear beneath my spacious traveling cloak. I meticulously stowed away my equipment:
Three Tommy guns that are the one given to me at the camp and the two collected for personal use.
The formula for the tear gas that are secured tightly against my ribs
My customized Death Chant Shotgun. To which I didn't use a single bullet, not firing it, just for decoration.
Don Anthony's severed head, still gripped firmly by the hair. My five gold bounty.
With my arsenal packed and the balance of the underworld temporarily restored, my next objective was clear. I needed to return to Town Carcaka. I had to retrieve my personal belongings from the syndicate's hideout and, more importantly, track down Don Anthony's original, magma-infused Death Chant Tommy gun.
Before his brutal demise, Maine had mentioned that the weapon was locked down and that Don Anthony held the specific activation code. But looking back at the smoking crater where the kingpin had blown apart, that code had undoubtedly burned and turned to ash along with his torso. I let out a low, mocking scoff under my breath. It didn't matter anyway.
Codes are for babies.
I didn't need a sequence of numbers or a passcode to bypass a mechanical lock; with my advanced engineering knowledge and my relentless brute force, I would find the original weapon and completely dismantle its security systems manually.
Turning my back on the smoldering graveyard in the forest, I began the long trek back toward the town gates of Carcaka, a lone executioner walking under the bright morning sun to collect his ultimate prize.
The long, solitary trek back toward Town Carcaka gave me time to process the chaotic aftermath of the forest massacre. Walking along the dusty dirt road under the bright sun, a sudden realization crossed my mind: Luck was dead. The arrogant, gold-decked youth who had just asked for my help loading the carriages had been standing right beside Don Anthony when the blood-imbued dynamite detonated. He had vanished completely into the white-hot flash of the explosion.
Better yet, it dawned on me that several of the fallen syndicate enforcers were actually my former guildmembers from my previous life. They had once walked the same path as me, only to throw their lives away by joining Don Anthony's ruthless mafia structure. Their deaths were nothing more than the direct consequence of their own foolish, greedy choices. I felt zero remorse. In the underworld of Andromeda, fools who chase blood money always end up paying with their lives.
Soon, the massive stone walls of Carcaka materialized on the horizon. As I approached the town perimeter, I spotted the familiar, armored figure of the gatekeeper, Berlin Jol, standing guard at the threshold.
Knowing it would look incredibly suspicious to walk past a border official in broad daylight while casually holding the severed, charred head of the region's most feared mafia boss by the hair, I carefully tucked Don Anthony's head deep within the heavy folds of my traveling cloak. I adjusted the fabric, ensuring the three stolen Tommy guns, the tear gas formula, and my personal shotgun were completely hidden from view.
Berlin Jol stepped forward, his greedy eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at my lone, hooded figure.
"Wait a minute… you're one of those merchants from that massive caravan that rolled out earlier, aren't you? Where's the rest of your crew?"
Before I could even craft a lie, he waved his hand dismissively, his corrupt mind immediately pivoting back to his favorite subject.
"Eh, whatever. Doesn't matter. Toll first."
I didn't say a word. Reaching beneath my cloak, I pulled out a single silver coin… plenty for a single traveler… and tossed it into his waiting palm. Berlin Jol caught it with a satisfied smirk, pocketed the silver, and stepped aside, waving me through the iron-studded gates.
Once inside the town borders, I walked past the market district, completely ignoring the rows of colorful, painted kalesa wagons that reminded me too much of the syndicate's smuggling front. I kept my head down, navigating the winding streets until I finally arrived at my destination, the Coal Mine Inn. This was where I had staged my operations, and somewhere inside, Don Anthony's original, locked-down Death Chant Tommy gun was waiting to be reclaimed.
I pushed past the heavy wooden door of my room at the Coal Mine Inn and securely threw the iron latch shut. Walking across the creaking floorboards, I pulled the heavy velvet curtains tight, blocking out the intrusive broad daylight of Carcaka and plunging the room into a deep, protective twilight.
Safe from prying eyes, I finally let my shapeshifting magic deactivate.
[DNA trace depleted. Shapeshift deactivated.]
A wave of kinetic distortion rippled across my form. The stolen flesh of Luke Granhart began to dissolve. The fake blonde hair, the masculine jawline, the extra skin of the prosthetic arm, the duplicated tongue, and the false right eye all dissipated into thin air. In their place, my true, biological traits rapidly reclaimed my body. My signature jagged scar reformed across my face, my tanned skin returned, and my long, brown hair with its distinct silver tips cascaded down my shoulders. Finally, with a powerful, liberating snap of bone and muscle, my demonic wings tore free from my back, unfurling into the dim room.
I was no longer the arrogant apprentice. I was Eirene.
I sat on the edge of the mattress and unburdened my heavy cloak, laying out the spoils of the forest massacre across the bedsheets. I looked down at my massive, newly acquired arsenal with a calculating gaze. The three bootleg Tommy guns Maine had forged gleamed faintly in the shadows. My tactical blueprint for these weapons quickly solidified: I would give one of the bootleg versions to Alta as a significant upgrade to her personal firepower. As for the remaining two copies, I would keep them tucked away as my personal, high-caliber extras.
My eyes then drifted to the corner of the room, where my thoughts turned back to the Ford Mint facility and the legendary, original Death Chant Tommy gun. I knew I couldn't just stroll over to the minting company right now in broad daylight. Because the Ford industry facility had been completely abandoned and strictly prohibited from public entry by the town authorities, sneaking around the perimeter during the day would make me look like a petty thief to any passing guards or citizens. My true identity carried a massive 16-gold bounty; drawing unnecessary attention over a trespass charge was an amateur mistake.
I needed to wait until the clock struck midnight.
Once the dead of night enveloped Carcaka, I would slip out of the inn, infiltrate the abandoned facility, and reclaim the original magma-infused weapon by tearing through whatever mechanical security Don Anthony left behind. And then, beneath the shroud of the midnight sky, far above the reach of the corrupt gatekeepers and surviving syndicate dogs, I would fully unleash my wings and fly off into the horizon, leaving the ashes of the Yellow Flower's empire far behind me.
I leaned back against the headboard, closing my eyes as the hours began to tick away toward the midnight hour.
I pushed past the heavy wooden door of my room at the Coal Mine Inn and securely threw the iron latch shut. Walking across the creaking floorboards, I pulled the heavy velvet curtains tight, blocking out the intrusive broad daylight of Carcaka and plunging the room into a deep, protective twilight.
Safe from prying eyes, I finally let my shapeshifting magic deactivate.
A wave of kinetic distortion rippled across my form. The stolen flesh of Luke Granhart began to dissolve. The fake blonde hair, the masculine jawline, the extra skin of the prosthetic arm, the duplicated tongue, and the false right eye all dissipated into thin air. In their place, my true, biological traits rapidly reclaimed my body. My signature jagged scar reformed across my face, my tanned skin returned, and my long, brown hair with its distinct silver tips cascaded down my shoulders. Finally, with a powerful, liberating snap of bone and muscle, my demonic wings tore free from my back, unfurling into the dim room.
I was no longer the arrogant apprentice. I was Eirene.
I sat on the edge of the mattress and unburdened my heavy cloak, laying out the spoils of the forest massacre across the bedsheets. I looked down at my massive, newly acquired arsenal with a calculating gaze. The three bootleg Tommy guns Maine had forged gleamed faintly in the shadows. My tactical blueprint for these weapons quickly solidified: I would give one of the bootleg versions to Alta as a significant upgrade to her personal firepower. As for the remaining two copies, I would keep them tucked away as my personal, high-caliber extras.
My eyes then drifted to the corner of the room, where my thoughts turned back to the Ford Mint facility and the legendary, original Death Chant Tommy gun. I knew I couldn't just stroll over to the minting company right now in broad daylight. Because the Ford industry facility had been completely abandoned and strictly prohibited from public entry by the town authorities, sneaking around the perimeter during the day would make me look like a petty thief to any passing guards or citizens. My true identity carried a massive 16-gold bounty; drawing unnecessary attention over a trespass charge was an amateur mistake.
I needed to wait until the clock struck midnight.