Chapter 19: Crisis, a Race-Against-Time Cat-and-Mouse Game
I walked through the alley, my mind still reeling from the day’s events.
First, the bookstore owner had chased me out, then a cute little girl had kidnapped me, demanding I become her subordinate.
Terrified, I’d bolted like a startled rabbit.
Hoping for a stroke of luck, I’d scoured a few obscure bookstores and even asked the old man at the street stall, but every single one turned me away.
Clutching the few copper coins left in my hand—alms from a kind-hearted shopkeeper—I glanced at the book I’d taken.
It was a fairy tale written in my spare time.
Maybe I should just give up and become a novelist?
The savings I’d scraped together while studying were nearly gone.
This month’s food and rent, plus the looming burden of exorbitant tuition fees—I was supposedly specially admitted to the Royal Academy, yet somehow ended up as an unregistered student who hadn’t paid a dime.
Not that I had to worry about debt collectors.
The people after me didn’t want money—they wanted my life… Heh.
I recalled the old professor’s horrified expression when I’d mentioned my research, the disbelief in my colleagues’ eyes, their subtle steps backward.
But before my grandfather left, he held my hand, urging me not to give up.
Staring into the pitch-black alley just steps from my home, I felt something stirring in the shadows.
Before I could think, a cold gleam flashed past me.
A Black-Clad Figure emerged from the darkness, seizing my wrist.
Damn it, I knew I shouldn’t have cheaped out on a place in such a remote, shadowy alley.
As their dagger swung toward my face, I lunged forward with all my strength, catching them off guard.
Their grip faltered, and I broke free, sprinting toward my house.
Bursting inside, I slammed the door shut, shoving boxes, cabinets, shoes—anything I could find—against it.
The pounding on the door gradually subsided.
Just as I reached to light a candle, the sound of shattering windows erupted from all directions.
Dark figures slipped through the broken windows under the moonlight, their ghostly eyes scanning the blackness for their fleeing prey.
I crouched in a corner, covering my mouth, barely daring to breathe.
Thankfully, this place was so remote even the moonlight barely reached it.
In the pitch-black room, a bookworm like me, used to poring over tomes in the library, was oddly at home in the dark.
But the cramped space only delayed the inevitable under their carpet-like search.
As footsteps drew closer, I clenched my fists, ready to fight.
Then, a sudden crack—the figure in front of me collapsed.
“Grab him!”
The voices didn’t sound like they belonged together.
Could someone else be after me?
My mind flashed to the girl I’d met earlier today and the burly young man behind her.
After a few more thuds of heads hitting the floor, the footsteps faded into silence.
All I could hear was my own ragged breathing and pounding heart.
Cautiously, I peeked from under the table, only to lock eyes with a pair of crimson orbs.
Before I could retreat, a large hand yanked me up.
“Master, what do we do with him?”
“Alive is enough. How he gets there doesn’t matter.”
Lycan, carrying the unconscious me on his back, raced across the rooftops.
Suddenly, a fierce impact sent him flying.
He grabbed the roof’s edge, flipping back onto another rooftop.
The newcomer wore a mysterious iron mask and a black cloak, but a gold-embossed badge at their waist gleamed oddly.
Before Lycan could react, a fist flew toward his face.
The punch was too fast to dodge, aimed straight at his head.
Lycan caught it, countering with a brutal fist of his own.
His raw strength sent the opponent reeling, blood trickling from under the mask.
Yet they didn’t relent, shifting stances and attacking again.
Burdened by me on his back, Lycan could only fight with one hand.
The opponent grew nimbler, dodging his punches and landing blows on his weak points.
Though the wounds were trivial to Lycan, the mosquito-like attacks grated on him.
Finally, he flung me off, charging at the opponent.
Unburdened, Lycan unleashed his feral nature.
His crimson eyes blazed with fury, muscles bulging, veins popping.
In an instant, he was behind the masked figure, his hands like claws digging into their armor.
He hurled them off the roof, both crashing to the ground below.
Lycan pinned their throat, his other hand raised to strike.
But the opponent drew a poison-tipped arrow from their waist, stabbing it into Lycan’s side.
As blood seeped out, the toxin spread.
The poison barely slowed Lycan, but it dulled his movements.
The opponent seized his arm, flipping him off with borrowed force.
As they drew a dagger to finish Lycan, a blade flew from the shadows, knocking their weapon away.
Loka, face hidden under a hood, stepped forward.
“He’s outmatched. That one’s yours.”
Seeing Loka, the opponent hoisted me from the flowerbed where I’d landed, leaping away across the rooftops into the night.
Loka knelt beside Lycan, whose limbs were now fully paralyzed by the spreading toxin.
“When a hunter stalks a bear or wolf far larger than himself, he waits for the moment they let their guard down to deliver a fatal shot.
That single, seemingly insignificant arrow can be their death knell—just like you now.”
Loka sliced Lycan’s arm with a dagger.
As black blood flowed, Lycan’s limbs began to move again.
He struggled to his feet, gazing apologetically at Loka’s unreadable face.
“Master, I failed.”
Lycan bowed, expecting the usual reprimand or worse, as he’d endured in his past.
Yet, strangely, he accepted the unknown punishment.
The dagger fell into his hand.
Loka stared down at him, expressionless.
Lycan gripped the silver-glinting blade, silently aiming it at his heart.
“You have two choices now. Plunge it in and atone with your life.”
Loka kicked the dagger from his hand, the blade grazing his shoulder, leaving a bloody mark.
Her expression remained icy.
“Or keep your head on your neck and bring me more value.”