Just as Hermes retracted his hand from Nicolo's friendly grip, the warmth of the moment was instantly snuffed out. Before the young Don and his butler could even take a step past the threshold to bid their final regards, the doorway was shadowed. Four men, moving with the heavy, unrefined coordination of a village militia, blocked their exit completely.
The transition was so abrupt that Hermes—still battling the lingering dizziness and mental fog—couldn't stop his forward momentum. His face collided directly with the solid stomach of a massive man who had planted himself like a boulder in the frame. The brute towered over them, wearing a blue cowboy hat emblazoned with the logo of the village militia.
To prevent a sudden commotion and stop Justin—whose hand had already twitched toward his holster with lethal intent—the young Don immediately lowered his head. Swallowing his irritation, he offered a swift apology and signaled his servant to follow him.
"Hmm…," the militia officer he bumped into glared at his back and reached out, grabbing Hermes by the shoulder. "Hey, may I take a look at your mask, sir?"
The young Don turned around, the dark, sleek material of his new mask catching the dim hallway light. He asked politely, "What is it, officer? Is there somethin' wrong here? I already apologized earlier. What's wrong? I'm just a passerby."
With that response, the other militia members surrounded them, their hands resting on the hilts of their rusted blades and clubs. This made Justin grip his holster, shifting his body into a defensive position that hummed with hidden violence. Instead of being provoked, the officer laughed—a coarse, grating sound common among men who ruled through intimidation.
"Don't be too hostile. We're friendly," the officer said, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar design of the mask. "I just got informed about a man found on the street. Naked and looked pitiful before the sun rose. According to the description, he wore a gas mask. But looking at the design of your property, it seems different. Forgive me for stopping you. But, can I take a look at your identification cards for a further interview?"
Hermes raised a hand, stopping Justin from drawing his weapon. "Again, is there somethin' wrong here? If my mask is kinda different from the description you've received, then it proves that I am not the person you're looking for. My apologies, officer. But may I know your names and position in this place? It is not my intention to make you feel upset, but it is very common for me, a merchant from other states, to be careful in interacting with strangers."
"Oh," the officer looked surprised, and his companions looked curious. He smirked, "Forgive me, it is very rare to meet someone like you who is so cautious about your surroundings. Don't worry, I'm the head of the Village Militia with a rank of Captain, bestowed by our beloved Village Chief Zamor Camelia. So, you're a merchant, huh? From where exactly?"
"From Cimeria Southern Desert," Hermes replied, keeping his voice steady despite the spinning in his head.
"I see," the officer smirked, "So, how about your friend back there? Is he a merchant as well?"
"No, even if he looks like a common man from the outside, he's just a jerk and a useless tool so don't mind him," replied the young Don as he pointed his thumb at his butler.
The officer tilted his head in confusion. "Umm, what? I didn't exactly get what you meant."
Hermes sighed with a tired tone, "Haah, forget it. He's my personal butler. A loyal dog who'll follow me till the depths of the earth."
"Umm, is that true, sir?" the officer turned his gaze at Justin.
Justin offered a simple, stiff nod, confirming that his master was telling the truth—though his eyes remained fixed on the Captain's throat.
The officer laughed again. "I don't know what kind of relationship is between you two, however, the law is the law. You need to follow what's written on it and we, the militia, enforce that law here in our village. With due respect, may I see your papers showing your status, and particularly, I would like to know your true names."
Hermes gulped some air and exhaled. Rather than reaching for an ID, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the Emblem of the Camelia Family, thrusting it in front of the officer's face.
"— Woah, you have that one?" The Captain's bravado evaporated instantly. His face went pale. "My apologies, hope you don't mind our manners. Please, let us forget about this. No need to show your ID's and other identification papers. Feel free to stroll around and don't mind asking me, personally, some advice and service. I'll make sure to give my best to fulfill my service to the fullest. Just leave it to me. Boys, make way!"
He gestured frantically to his men. "These people are our generous people so we must show deep respect and hospitality as the officials of this place. Give them some way.— Oi, Oi, Oi, why are you blocking the young man's way? Didn't I say, give them the way. Make way!"
He gave a forced smile while lowering his head, his hands showing the path. "Forgive me for mistaking you for someone I know. Please go ahead. This way, please. You may go now."
Hermes and Justin walked past without a word. The militia and his men trembled as the two disappeared from their sight. Captain Mattia knew that only a few people held that emblem. If he continued to harass someone so close to the Village Chief, he would be digging his own grave.
Mattia entered the station with a ghostly pale face. Behind him, three men in white hats followed. Nicolo, seeing his superior, lowered his head in greeting.
"Good morning, Captain Mattia. It's been a month since we met," Nicolo said with a bright smile. "What brings you here? You even bothered to contact me through the secret phone. Oh, what happened to your face, sir? You look so pale."
"Forget about it," said Captain Mattia as he collapsed into a chair. "Hey, I received a telegram from the main station that you found a naked man in the middle of the street. Is that right?"
Nicolo paused. He knew the "naked man" was likely the boy who just left, but he chose to play dumb.
"— I'm profound. A naked man? Really? Did I send somethin' like that? C'mon, that's ridiculous. There's no way someone like that exists."
"Don't play dumb, Nicolo. Don't screw with your superior officer. I even bothered to come here to see that man but... I find nothing here." Mattia muttered aside, "Except that brat and his servant."
Nicolo giggled, "So, you called me just to confirm it?"
"Of course," Mattia replied, his tone annoyed.
"May I ask why? Is that man worthy of your time to investigate? Whenever I ask for a back up to capture some thugs in the streets, you guys are arriving at that time so late. And worse, you even let them be released so easily by bribery," Nicolo chattered, offering his captain a cup of coffee.
"Hey, Nicolo." Captain Mattia picked up the cup and took a slow, deliberate sip. "Watch your mouth. Don't think too highly of your own oblivion. You're under the same level of scrutiny as me. Both of us are the same, in short."
"Sir, you've been promoted for your service—but in a bad way. It's truly magnificent that the authorities haven't discovered your corrupt personality. You're a far worse officer than me," Nicolo complimented, though his voice dripped with hidden sarcasm as he refilled the Captain's cup from the pitcher.
"Stop that nonsense," Mattia chuckled, a sound echoed by his three followers. "You're even worse than me. But we're getting off-topic. Where were we? Ah, yes. The naked masked guy. So, no such person exists or was captured here? Was that a prank?"
The village sergeant laughed, flashing a bright, toothy smile. "Yep, sorry, sir. I'll write an apology letter to headquarters for a false report. I'm truly sorry for the inconvenience."
"Gosh, you should be. God damn it, I almost got in big trouble with two strangers before I got here," Mattia said, the memory of the silver-and-gold Camelia emblem still making his stomach churn. "Those people are dangerous. I advise you to be careful when talking to strangers. You never know if they are big personalities or if they'll lead you to your own abyss." He sighed, leaning back. "I guess I need to make a secret call to the leader of that organization."
"What do you mean, 'those people'?" Nicolo's eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me you're still working with those gangsters from District 3? The Handdwag... the—"
"—The Handdog Gang, idiot. And there's nothing wrong with it," Mattia explained, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and igniting it with a flick of his lighter. "They pay taxes and illegally pay us a fortune behind the scenes. The money we get from them is significantly higher than our current salary." He blew a thick cloud of smoke. "In this world, money is everything. You can't live without purchasing power. Even if there's a law here, who'll stand in our way? No one. Because we are the law. We are the gods of this village who control the place and enforce the law in our own way."
"Oh, c'mon. You'll be removed if someone hears your so-called 'service' to the people," Nicolo suggested, taking a cigarette offered by his captain. He lit it and exhaled. "Those bastards in that district are corrupted folks who just want to destroy society. You still have time to stop before everything goes south."
Captain Mattia turned a serious gaze toward him. "If someone tries to do that, he'll never see his family or the sun tomorrow. Unless he pays the right price to spare his life. Right, boys?"
"Sir, yes, sir!" his henchmen barked in unison.
"Oh, well. Don't cry later. I told you the cost of your actions," Nicolo said. Mattia laughed, stomping out his cigarette. "Jeez, don't worry. I'm untouchable. Anyway, I'm heading back to the station. Take this." He slid a thick white envelope across the table. "That's your commission for yesterday's service."
Nicolo stared at the envelope. "So... the Priestess is dead."
"What? She's still alive, idiot. She's currently held at the Dark Scily Forest by the Handdog gang."
"Are they still there?"
"No idea. Oh, and did you meet a man in a non-facial mask?"
"Naah, I didn't," Nicolo lied smoothly.
"Of course, stupid. Lie more. Never mind. I wouldn't ask if I hadn't. Anyway, keep that cash hidden. If Ilona from the village hall finds something odd during her audits, we're all screwed. Put it in your vault."
"I'll keep it in mind," Nicolo assured him.
"Good. We're leaving." Mattia waved as he and his men exited. Nicolo bowed respectfully, watching them go. "Good day, sir. Have a nice life."
As the door clicked shut, Nicolo's knees gave out. He collapsed against the wood, staring at the ceiling. "Oh, shit. I'm dead. Fuck my life."
Outside of the place…
As Hermes and Justin finally approached the secluded alley where their vehicle remained parked from the previous night, they were oblivious to the predator watching from the heights. High above, perched on the rusted ledge of a decaying clock tower overlooking the Fourth District, a man in a sharp black suit exhaled a plume of thick cigar smoke.
His face was shrouded by a heavy black hood, and though sweat beaded on his forehead from the oppressive morning heat, his hands remained perfectly still. He adjusted the windage on his high-powered rifle, the crosshairs settling with lethal precision right on the center of the young Don's forehead.
He pressed two fingers to his temple, activating a telepathic link. "My Lady, I have a visual. Bad news—the young man is still breathing. He is currently with his servant. Permission to terminate? My finger is already on the trigger."
There was a long, chilling silence on the other end. When the voice finally responded, it was melodic, yet freezing—a cold, level-headed whisper that carried the weight of a sharpened blade. Somewhere, far from the dusty streets of the district, the speaker stood in shadow, draped in a heavy blue cloak. The deep azure fabric seemed to swallow the light around her, and her hood cast a deep veil over her features, hiding the eyes of the one who had whispered a fateful oracle in secret.
"How curious," the Lady in the Shadows replied, her tone hauntingly calm as she smoothed the shimmering fabric of her cloak. "You spoke with such certainty last night. You assured me the Don of the Archnemesis family had been erased. To hear he is walking the streets of the Fourth District... it suggests either he is more than human, or you are less than professional."
The Hidden Watcher swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the cold steel of his weapon. "My Lady, I... a report reached my colleagues about a man found naked in the street. I moved to confirm if it was a ghost or the truth. It is him. Unbelievably, he survived. Should I take the shot?"
"No," the woman commanded, her voice as smooth as silk. She reached out with a pale hand, moving a carved ivory piece across a wooden board. "If he survived whatever occurred last night, then the variables have changed. Killing him now, in broad daylight near a militia station, is a clumsy man's game. If the Verdugo family catches wind that he still draws breath, they will grow desperate—and desperate men are hard to control. We cannot move to the next phase of the expansion if the board is this messy."
She looked down at the board, her mind drifting to the secret arrangements she had made. They were both mere instruments in a much larger orchestra, bound by a common allegiance.
"Remember our purpose," she added, her voice dropping to a reverent, lower register. "We both serve Him. Our actions must align with the vision of our master. If we act prematurely, we risk disrupting the path He has laid out for us. Our work is for His glory alone."
"Yes, My Lady," the man exhaled, acknowledging the weight of their shared service to their hidden Grand Lord.
"Pull out for now," she concluded. "Let the young Don have his day. If he is truly the omen they whisper about, then his end must be a masterpiece, not a street-side execution. We are in no rush, and the abyss is patient. Do not fail me a second time."
"Understood." The man lowered the rifle and pulled a fresh cigarette from his pocket, igniting it with a small spark of fire magic from his index finger.
He watched the vehicle roar to life below, the young Don disappearing into the winding streets of the safe zone. He blew a cloud of smoke into the hot morning air, a ghostly trail that vanished as quickly as Hermes's path through the district.
The telepathic link remained active, the Lady in the Shadows's voice lingering like a frostbitten memory.
"If he is coming back now, then we proceed to Plan B," she commanded, her tone cold and final. "Three more assassins will arrive at the seaport of District 2 next week. But for us, there is a stroke of luck—someone is already positioned near him. I want you to meet with the contact currently hiding at Zeke Mountain."
The Hidden Watcher listened intently as she provided the coordinates. Zeke Mountain sat at the center peak of the Dark Scily Forest, a mere two kilometers from the village boundaries.
"Find the one they call 'Z'," the Lady continued. "Her boss gave her a name suitable for such a desolate place. Go now. ASAP."
"As you wish," the man replied. The link severed with a sharp silence.
The man in the black suit did not take the stairs. He stepped off the ledge of the clock tower and took flight, his body slicing through the air at high speed toward the dense canopy of the forest. He located the peak and searched for the specific spiritual signature—a hidden spot that only a mage of his caliber could perceive.
He sensed a powerful, undulating aura within a concealed cave. He landed at the mouth of the cavern with rapid speed, yet his boots touched the stone with no sound. Cautiously, he walked inside, fixing his black attire. Suddenly, a ripple in the air suggested an incoming strike. He immediately formed a shimmering defense barrier, but the attack never manifested.
"Who are you? A man like you who wants to interrupt my bath time deserves to die," a voice echoed from deeper within. "However, only a few know exactly where I can be found. I'll give you one chance to explain your presence in my hideout."
The woman's voice was liquid and melodic, resourcing like the prelude of a flute. The man bowed with deep respect. "I am part of the dark organization named the Visigoth Cult, my codename is Seraph. I humbly apologize for the interruption, but my superior commanded me to find you. May I know if you are the notable assassin called Z?"
"Hmm," the woman replied. Through the thick, rising steam of the natural hot spring, her silhouette was barely visible. She possessed an athletic yet graceful frame, her long, damp hair clinging to the curve of her back like silk.
"I didn't expect a Cult member to know that name," she continued. "Yes, I am Z, a high-ranking member of the CMR (Commission of Mafia Rights Council). So, your superior sent you? This means you failed to kill the man named Hermes Archnemesis and you want me to finish the job. Am I right?"
Seraph was taken aback. "Indeed, that man is still breathing. My superior is displeased. The Cult will provide for all your needs and pay the right amount, madam."
"Of course they will," she smirked. A splash followed as she rose from the surface, her movements fluid and confident. She reached for a white towel, drying her skin with efficient motions. Once dry, she reached for a sleek, intricate mask, securing it over her face to ensure her features remained a total mystery.
As she began to dress, she reached into her bag and pulled out a curious item: a small plushie doll. It was a miniature, somewhat adorable caricature that resembled Hermes Archnemesis. She stared at it for a moment, her thumb tracing the doll's face with a lingering, feverish intensity. There was a silent, hidden obsession in her gaze—a secret hunger that went far beyond a contract. She squeezed the doll's neck playfully before tucking it away.
"Well, then. I shall move now. You may leave."
"Goodbye, madam," Seraph said, and disappeared.
The woman, Z, watched the empty space. She ran a hand through her hair, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across her hidden lips. "Fufu~, as expected of that man. He can't be killed that easily. Well then, let's go meet him, shall we?"
"— Achoo!" Hermes sneezed violently in the back seat of the car.
"Boss, are you alright back there?" Justin asked, glancing at the rear-view mirror.
Hermes pressed a handkerchief to his nose. "Don't worry, it's just a sneeze. Damn, it's fuckin' cold. Do we have a heater or something?"
Justin waited until he saw the last of the militia checkpoints fade into the distance. Once they were truly alone on the private road, his posture relaxed, and his tone shifted into one of deep, private loyalty.
"You should be more careful, my Don," Justin said softly. "A sudden chill can be the first sign of a weakened spirit. After we get back to the mansion, we'll be changing your attire to something suitable for the head of the family. These commoner clothes are truly pathetic. I suppose I'll have to teach you how to dress properly again."
"Yeah, yeah, just focus on the road," Hermes grumbled, leaning his cheek against the rear open window. He closed his eyes, praying for peace. Suddenly, a smooth, thin material flew through the window, sticking directly to his face.
"A-a-a newspaper again? Goddamn it," he muttered.
"Boss, you're alright?" Justin asked. "How did you get a newspaper there?"
"Don't ask me! If this paper is here, it means a new mission," Hermes groaned, unfolding the supernatural page.
[Objective Completed: Escape Succeeded]
[Rewards: All sinners have perished. New abilities unlocked.]
NEXT OBJECTIVES:
[Save the Priestess]: Failure = User dies in vain. Luck demoted to -40.
[Defeat the Dark Organization]: Time Limit: 20 Days.
[Destroy the District 3 Gang]: Time Limit: 20 Days.
[Start a Business]: Time Limit: 7 Days.
[Penalty]: Deadly Penalty.
[Rewards]: Right to marry a beautiful maiden.
"What the fuck is this? This doesn't make any sense at all!" Hermes yelled as the newspaper melted into black ash. "Fuck this! I just prayed for a quiet life but now, you're making me do these shits? You gotta be kiddin' me!"