(A/N):
Drop a meme here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.
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Barber Shop...
Steel rang against iron.
-Bang!
The lock on the barber shop door gave way under a heavy strike, and guards poured inside with weapons drawn.
The shop was dark, shutters closed, the air still carrying the faint scent of soap and metal.
"Upstairs,"
The captain ordered.
They moved quickly.
The first floor was exactly as expected—too perfect.
The bed was neatly made.Books were aligned on shelves with obsessive precision.No sign of a struggle.
"...."
"...."
"...."
No sign of haste.
"No one's here,"
A guard reported, uneasy.
Then another guard stopped.
"…Sir."
They all turned. On the far wall hung a large painting.
It depicted a man clutching his own chest as blood streamed between his fingers—a serpent coiled tightly around his heart, constricting, crushing, its fangs buried deep.
No signature. No date. Just intent.
The room felt colder.
"...."
"...."
"...."
As they continued searching, a loose panel behind one of the shelves gave way.
Inside—
A framed photograph. Jack. Dressed in wedding attire. Standing beside a woman.
Her face had been deliberately torn from the picture.
Silence followed.
"…So he was married,"
One guard whispered in low voice not wanting to disturb already angered captain.
The captain stared at the image, jaw clenched as he spoke not want to leave behind tiniest bit was information about this barber.
"Bag everything, Every book. Every paper. Every frame."
But the truth was already clear.
They were too late to capture the culprit.
Above Rivermoor —
High above the city, a red flash cut through the sky.
Ben surged forward in his Jetray form, eyes scanning the streets below with ruthless focus.
The city had gone quiet—guards had warned civilians to stay indoors unless it was an emergency.
Shutters closed. Streets emptied. Movement stood out.
"...."
"...."
"...."
'Good,Nowhere left to hide.'
Were Jetrays thought while he was flying in the sky.
He banked sharply, accelerating, searching for a lone figure moving with purpose.
The Port...
Down by the docks, Nebra and her Silver Eagle squad spread out through the crowds that remained.
The port was always busy—ships unloading, merchants arguing prices, sailors coming and going.
If Jack planned to flee—This was the place. While Nebra was giving her orders left and right,
"Eyes open, He blends in. Don't assume anything."
Her squad nodded, dispersing among crates and gangplanks.
-Nod
"...."
"...."
"...."
The Merchant's Mansion...
Jack stood across the street, half-hidden by shadow, studying the mansion before him.
Wealth radiated from every stone.
Tall iron gates. Manicured hedges. Balconies trimmed with gold-painted railings.
A place built to keep the world out—and luxury in.
"...."
Jack's gaze was calm. Appraising.
Soon, movement stirred in the bushes beside him.
Cats emerged one by one, slipping from the darkness like living shadows.
Their eyes gleamed briefly as they looked up at him, tails flicking in silent communication. A soft mew.
-Meow!
Jack smiled. And murmured.
"Good work,"
He followed them along the perimeter of the estate, keeping close to the wall until they stopped near a less-traveled corner.
There, a tree had grown too close—its trunk pressing against stone, roots cracking the foundation ever so slightly.
The branches leaned inward.
An oversight.
Jack tilted his head, evaluating it.
The bark was slick with moss. The angle awkward.
It didn't matter.
He placed one gloved hand against the trunk and began to climb, movements smooth and practiced. He was using his his dagger magic: Razor claw.
His boots found purchase where none should exist, body light, controlled.
Higher.
The city noise faded.
From above, the mansion grounds spread out beneath him—quiet, unaware.
Jack reached the branch that curved over the wall and paused, listening.
No alarms. No voices. No footsteps.
Satisfied, he swung himself over and dropped silently onto the other side.
Jack moved quietly through the garden, his footsteps soundless against trimmed grass and stone paths.
His eyes counted instinctively.
One guard by the fountain. Two near the side entrance. Another pacing along the hedge line.
Only a handful. The rest were gone.
"...."
Jack's lips curved faintly. Then he murmured.
"So he really did send them away, How considerate."
He already knew why.
The merchant had dispatched one of his guards to the port—to watch over a ship. A long shift. An inconvenient one.
And in that absence, the guard's wife had been invited here.
Jack reached into his coat and withdrew a small glass vial filled with a faintly shimmering liquid.
He uncorked it and knelt beside one of the cats that had followed him in.
"This won't harm you,"
He said softly, almost kindly.
"This sedatives don't work on animals like you."
He poured a few drops along the cat's fur.
The animal twitched once—then padded away calmly, as if nothing had happened.
Jack straightened and watched.
The cat moved toward the nearest guard, brushing against his leg.
The guard frowned, distracted, waving it away. Moments later, his steps slowed. He staggered, reached for the wall—
-Frown
—and collapsed unconscious.
"...."
Another cat approached a second guard.
Then a third.
One by one, the guards slumped to the ground, weapons clattering softly, breaths steady but deep. No cries. No alarms.
The garden fell silent.
"...."
Jack adjusted his gloves and surveyed the scene with satisfaction.
"Clean,"
He said quietly. The path to the mansion stood open now.
The mansion's doors yielded easily.
Inside, the silence was unnatural.
"...."
"...."
"...."
No maids. No butlers. No footsteps echoing through the halls.
Jack walked in openly now, boots clicking softly against polished marble. Chandeliers hung overhead, unlit but pristine, wealth frozen in stillness.
He ascended the staircase at an unhurried pace.
Halfway up, he heard it.
Laughter. Two voices—one male, one female—careless, intimate, utterly unconcerned with the world outside the room they occupied.
Jack stopped.
"...."
The sounds drifted through the corridor—whispered words, breathless amusement, the unmistakable closeness of two people indulging in secrecy.
Their voices dipped and rose, mocking, indulgent.
Jack's expression twisted.
Disgust washed over him so sharply he nearly gagged.
He turned his face slightly away, pressing a gloved hand against the wall as he drew in a slow, measured breath.
'Control,'
He told himself.
Through the half-closed door, he caught fragments of their conversation—cruel laughter,casual contempt, the woman's voice making light of her husband's absence, the man's tone dripping with arrogance.
They laughed at what they were taking.
They laughed at who they were betraying.
Jack's jaw tightened until it ached. As he whispered.
"…Vile,"
To him, this was the purest form of rot.
Men sent away to labor.
Trust treated as a joke.
Betrayal turned into entertainment.
The laughter continued, oblivious.
Jack straightened slowly.
The nausea faded—replaced by something colder.
Something focused. He adjusted his gloves, monocle catching a faint glint of light as he stepped closer to the door.
"…Judgment,"
He murmured under his breath.
And beyond that door, two people remained unaware—That the moment they had mocked so freely was about to become their last.
The door opened.
-BANG.
Both of them froze.
"...."
"...."
"...."
The laughter cut off mid-breath as they turned toward the intrusion—shock flashing across their faces as reality crashed down on them.
"Who the hell are you?!"
The young man shouted, scrambling instinctively, mana flaring as his grimoire snapped open beside him.
Jack stood in the doorway. Silent. Smiling.
"...."
A low, cruel laugh escaped his throat, echoing unnaturally through the room. Then he spoke softly.
"Disgusting,"
His fingers twisted.
Steel flashed as flesh reshaped itself—each finger extending into a polished dagger, gleaming under the dim light.
His grimoire flipped open on its own, pages turning rapidly as dark mana pulsed outward.
The young man reacted fast.
"Air Magic: Breeze Razor—!"
A violent gust slammed into Jack, throwing him back a step.
The spell landed cleanly, cutting across his side.
Blood spilled.
But Jack didn't fall. He looked down at the wound.
Then back up. His eyes were no longer amused.
They were hungry.
The woman screamed.
-Ahhh!!!
"What—what are you?!"
The young man shouted, panic creeping into his voice.
Jack moved. Too fast.
He closed the distance in an instant, driving forward with brutal precision.
The young man's cry tore through the room as Jack struck, burying his blade-hand deep enough to steal his breath and his strength in one merciless motion.
Jack leaned close, voice calm, almost curious. While he asked quietly with amusement looking at the terrified women.
"How does it feel, when the dagger goes deeper than you expected right my-lady? You like it right."
The room descended into chaos—fear replacing arrogance, realization replacing indulgence.
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(Author's POV)
(A/N)Thanks for reading the chapter!
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