Chapter Forty-three: Slaughter (II)

Carlos and his companions had just retreated into the bar when Old Rod, the leader of the Hunter Squad, came stumbling inside with Char and Malt in tow. All the others in his team, except for the traitorous Trapper, had perished in the first exchange of fire.

The faces in the group were grim.

All but one—a beautiful woman named Jeffrey, who was perched by the bar window, watching the battle outside with bright-eyed excitement.

“Carlos, what do we do now?” Koman asked anxiously, listening to the deafening shouts and clamor from outside. The sheer number of bounty hunters out there haunted his thoughts.

Sidis’s voice quivered with tension. “Maybe we should try to find a back door and run for it!”

Carlos shook his head calmly. The chaos outside made any escape too risky—bounty hunters were surely lying in wait to ambush anyone who tried to break away alone.

Besides, the fact that his brother, Derrihet, had managed to bring reinforcements so quickly clearly meant their father, Baron Mori, must have anticipated something like this.

Carlos turned to Char, who was standing guard with Old Rod at the tavern entrance. Malt, her slender figure rigid and her neck stretched taut, looked paler than moonlight itself, her thickly lashed eyes swirling with terror.

“We can’t go out. We need to help Char hold the door. Koman and my father will be here soon—this is a small town, and the commotion will alert everyone quickly.”

Outside, the clash of steel, the thud of falling bodies, and the shrill cries of the wounded rose and fell in a relentless cacophony. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the stench of sulfur, seeping in through the open doorway.

Having settled their plan, Carlos and his two companions joined Koman at the door to aid Char.

Char’s face was ashen—whether from the sudden bloodshed or some deeper worry, Carlos couldn’t tell. He slapped Char’s arm heavily, but Char barely responded, lost in shock. Carlos motioned for Sidis to pull Malt into the deepest corner of the tavern.

To his surprise, Old Rod, the grizzled hunter, managed a wry, apologetic smile toward Carlos. Carlos said nothing—after all, this disaster had been aimed at Saltwell and the Stevenson family by the Astrolabe Guild, and the old hunter had little to do with it.

They weren’t the only ones to have retreated to the tavern at the first sign of trouble.

Other regulars, pale with fear from the chaos and bloodshed outside, cowered in the corners, hastily barricading themselves behind tables and chairs, forming a secondary line of defense.

“All who can fight, come hold the door!” Carlos shouted into the room. “Reinforcements are on their way. If we let those butchers in now, none of us will make it!”

A few burly men emerged from the shadows, cursing but resolute. They gripped their weapons and hurried to join the defense at the door.

Nearly a dozen defenders now stood at the entrance, though there was scarcely time to pile up furniture to block the way.

At almost the same moment, Jink, the blond, scarred servant of Lorant from the Astrolabe Guild, strode in wielding a broad sword.

Both sides hesitated for a heartbeat at the threshold.

Then battle erupted.

One nervous defender fired his pistol, but in his haste the shot went wide, the muzzle flash flaring as the bullet smashed into the doorframe.

Jink reacted instantly, his eyes chilling. With no hesitation, his greatsword swung down at the nearest man. The blade, still slick with warm blood, drove straight into the chest of a man gripping a war hammer, who barely managed a scream before collapsing.

At the door, Char, led by Old Rod, raised his hunting blade and slashed at the scarred intruder.

More bounty hunters pressed in from outside, joining the fray. In the cramped doorway, the two sides clashed at close quarters, locked in a deadly stalemate.

It was Koman, the steam guard apprentice, who broke the deadlock.

The chubby youth seized a heavy wooden chair, swung it overhead with a roar, and charged forward. He filled a gap left by one of Jink’s victims, then leapt, bringing the chair crashing down on Jink’s head.

Steam-tempering had increased Koman’s strength tenfold; with the power drawn from his core and the weight of solid wood, he unleashed a blow of over a hundred pounds.

Jink barely managed to throw up his arm before the chair shattered against his shoulder with a thunderous crack.

He staggered backward, eyes ablaze with fury as he glared at Koman.

“A steam guard…” he growled, realizing at once the source of such unnatural strength. His face darkened with rage, a trace of bitter blood trickling from his mouth—not that he had time to feel relief at surviving the blow. The pain in his shoulder slowed his movements; for a split second, his instincts failed him.

Old Rod, ever the hunter, seized that instant. Like a predator closing in for the kill, he slashed with his curved blade, then drew a dagger from his belt, aiming straight for Jink’s heart.

His technique was swift and sure.

Even though the scarred man was a two-star swordsman, panic seized him. The dagger’s tip sliced through his leather coat—one more inch and it would have been over, a twist to shred the fragile heart within.

But as Old Rod tried to drive the dagger home, he suddenly realized something was wrong.

No matter how hard he pushed, the blade would go no further.

A pale, slender hand had closed over the dagger.

Jink’s fear twisted into a savage grin.

The newcomer, hand still on the dagger, turned his face toward Old Rod. Even in the dim bar, his handsome features seemed carved from ice, his lips pressed into a smile so slight and chilling it made the heart skip a beat.

“Rod, it seems you really have chosen to betray the Astrolabe,” Lorant said coldly.

No one had seen when Lorant himself appeared at the door. He had stopped Old Rod’s deadly thrust as easily as halting a falling sheet of paper.

Old Rod froze, fear crawling up his spine as he saw the cold green light flaring in Lorant’s eyes. As a veteran hunter of the Guild, no one knew better than he the terror Lorant’s strength could inspire.

The gaunt old hunter trembled, but wasted no time staring into those merciless eyes. Mechanically, he twisted around, meeting Char’s startled gaze one last time. The boy truly was remarkable, Old Rod thought. Then he shouted, “Run, child, run!”

In the next instant, a hand clamped his shoulder, slid swiftly to his neck, and with a single, brutal motion, snapped it.

It all happened in a heartbeat. Another body, still warm, sprawled at the tavern door.

Carlos, witnessing it all, felt his breath catch and his pupils contract. With the strongest among them dispatched so easily, Lorant fixed him with a cold, oppressive stare.

A fierce, rebellious glint flashed across Carlos’s brow.

At the same moment, the dark energy within him began to stir restlessly.

Meanwhile, Jeffrey, the beautiful woman who had been quietly enjoying the spectacle outside, at last turned her gaze inward. Watching Lorant dispatch the old hunter so effortlessly, a smile crept onto her lips, curving in a way that invited endless speculation. In a tone of admiration, she murmured to herself, “At last, there’s a taste of true adventure.”