Chapter 27: Polite Concession
Wez had no choice but to pull himself together.
He had to admit that he had indeed underestimated the girl on the stage. He had thought she was just a delicate, helpless heiress.
But now the heavy objects floating beneath the theater’s ceiling hung directly over his head, and Wez had nowhere to hide in this enclosed space.
The girl likely possessed some kind of Transcendent ability to manipulate matter. She had lured Wez into the theater to extract the location of the Bloodwine Society’s secret warehouse—clearly well prepared.
However, that warehouse belonged to the gang and was filled with potions and treasures that must not be revealed to outsiders. Most low-level members weren’t even qualified to know it existed.
Should anything in that warehouse be lost or destroyed, Wez would be the one answering to the “lender.” All the blame would fall solely on him. Wez was well aware that the Bloodwine Society’s retribution and punishment were far more terrifying than death.
In other words, Wez could not reveal the location or access method of the warehouse to this mysterious girl. A Bloodwine Society debt collector was not about to kneel to a little girl.
Since she had drawn a weapon, it meant the girl was prepared to fight. Wez couldn’t be bothered to waste words—wolves of the Blackwater River District never howled before pouncing and tearing into their prey.
He suddenly drove the five iron fingers of his prosthetic into the seat beside him. Steam sprayed, drive shafts spun, and under the terrifying mechanical grip, the seat shattered to pieces.
Wez pulled out a half-meter-long steel rod from the wreckage and straightened the iron nails embedded in it to increase its lethality. The Warden potion had given him the talent and physical qualities of an excellent warrior. Any object in the hands of a Transcendent on the Generosity Path could become a handy and threatening weapon—almost as if they were born to wield it.
Seeing his combative stance, the girl still stood calmly in place. “So, negotiations have failed,” she murmured, lowering her eyes slightly, her tone low with seeming regret.
That meant the battle was about to begin.
Sure enough, the bricks and stones above Wez’s head loosened and plummeted with a roar—the girl’s trap was revealing its fangs.
He charged toward the stage with all his might, barely dodging the falling chairs and rocks thanks to the powerful body granted by his potion. Within seconds, he had reached the foot of the stage.
Wez slowly climbed up. No more stones fell here—she hadn’t suspended the heavy objects above her own head.
Nor had she caused all the suspended items to fall to block his approach—in a counterintuitive move, she held back.
“I thought you were some unfathomable Transcendent, but you’re just a naive girl.” Wez chuckled, his voice low. “Let me be blunt—don’t expect to get anything out of my mouth. Asking me to betray the Bloodwine Society? I’d rather die!”
The silver-haired girl blinked. She seemed a little surprised, though not overly so—Funis hadn’t originally intended to go all-out.
What surprised her was Wez’s apparent determination. But what Funis didn’t know was that Wez’s resolve came from fear of the Bloodwine Society’s punishment—not from noble sentiments like loyalty or honor.
The Xiza Chamber of Commerce had some connection to Chescia, and Funis had used its name and letterhead to fabricate a half-believable lie. The theater was still under the troupe’s name and had nothing to do with the chamber.
Luckily, her plan had succeeded.
Wez entered the theater alone, just as intended. Funis then sealed the only exit, cutting off all outside support.
The greedy old wolf had drooled over the meat, unaware he was stepping into a hunter’s trap.
If he held the Society’s secrets dearer than his own life, Funis would oblige him.
After all, he was just a gang’s lapdog—extorting, murdering, and robbing without a trace of conscience. Funis had no reason to show mercy. As for the warehouse location, she could just ask the remaining debt collectors—among six people, there would surely be one coward.
Wez gripped the steel rod and circled Funis, probing her.
He truly couldn’t see what was special about this girl. Petite and slender, she looked like she’d be blown away by a breeze. No fully developed adult would take such a tiny thing seriously—using full strength might even seem like bullying a child.
But Wez was the vilest kind of scoundrel. As long as someone dared provoke or belittle him, he wouldn’t let them off—even if it was a baby.
A brief pause for calculation.
Wez lunged first to seize the initiative.
He raised the steel rod and brought it down—pure, unrestrained force. That was how a warrior of the Generosity Path should fight.
Pity about that delicate and pretty face, Wez thought. Even that much-praised princess of the Kingdom of Correnzo couldn’t compare in looks.
The Warden’s Transcendent traits had enhanced Wez’s physique and strength. A downward blow like this, wielded with full force, was over three times stronger than an ordinary adult man. With rusted iron nails embedded in the steel rod, if the girl took it head-on, her skull would surely shatter and her flesh burst open.
The steel crashed down so fast it tore visible arcs through the air, the sound of slicing wind sharp and piercing.
But Funis remained calm and composed, as if the noise around her had nothing to do with her.
She lifted her eyes slightly.
Light purple eyes, like ancient, still wells.
In the moment of swinging down, Wez met her gaze. An indescribable intimidation—almost a suppression of spirit—hit him, and it came from a twelve- or thirteen-year-old girl.
Just for a second, a lapse of focus.
The steel rod did not strike flesh or bone. Unable to stop the inertia, Wez’s hands slammed deep into the stage floor, scattering shattered wood and debris.
Funis had dodged.
The gleaming, snow-white Mary Jane Shoes had stopped just a fraction short of the crater blasted into the stage. The silver-haired girl had simply lifted her skirt hem and taken a dainty step back. What Wez thought would be a sure hit missed completely.
The pit in the wooden floor was half a meter wide—evidence of the Warden’s terrifying power. Such destruction with a mere steel rod.
But no matter the force, if it couldn’t hit, it was laughably absurd.
And for such a fast, fierce strike—Wez hadn’t even seen Funis move. It was as if God had suddenly reached out and clipped that frame from his memory. Abrupt and unnatural.
Was it luck? Or something else?
Wez didn’t understand.
Because humans simply couldn’t insert a high-speed movement between two still poses. Funis’s seemingly effortless step back had left this battle-hardened debt collector drenched in cold sweat.
The cylinder turned.
In the brief silence, the sound of the trigger being pulled rang sharp and clear.
With her cold, emotionless gaze and petite figure, Funis should have looked up at him. But now, she stood above him—golden barrel coldly pressed against the back of his skull.
“My turn,”
she said.
Not at all as sweet and delicate as her appearance suggested—the girl was, in truth, a hunter who left no room for her prey to breathe. Show a single opening under her gaze, and the killing intent would follow.
And now, Wez is full of openings.
The hammer struck. The revolver’s muzzle spat a burning tongue of flame. Bent over as he was, Wez could not possibly dodge at such close range. If he did nothing, a bullet would surely punch through the back of his skull.
But for a Warden, dodging wasn’t the only option.
The Knights of Mercy from the Generosity Court could withstand blades and swords on the battlefield with nothing but flesh. That was a Transcendent trait—temporarily increasing the hardness of a specific body part to the level of marble.
Localized Hardening.