The silence on the street was heavier than the smoke still coiling from the alley. It was a silence born of pure, unadulterated shock. A hundred pairs of eyes were fixed on Arjun, and a hundred minds were racing to the same impossible conclusion.
Arjun, for his part, was oblivious. He was still staring at the dagger in his hand. It felt cold, unnaturally so, a piece of winter in the humid Varundal evening. It was also, he noted with a surge of panic, probably very expensive. And very illegal. And very much not his.
Property of the Night Viper Syndicate, he thought miserably. And I just blew up their clubhouse. My life insurance doesn't cover 'acts of accidental terrorism'.
He needed to get rid of it. And then he needed to run. Not a dignified jog. A full-blown, arms-pumping, screaming-for-his-life sprint.
He took a shuffling step forward, intending to drop the dagger and melt into the crowd.
That one step sent a fresh wave of terror through the onlookers. The silent, soot-covered demon was moving.
"H-Halt!" a voice boomed, though it cracked with fear. The City Guard had arrived, forming a shaky, spear-pointed semi-circle around him. The captain, a barrel-chested man whose impressive mustache was trembling, stood at the forefront. "In the name of the Maharaja, identify yourself!"
Arjun blinked. He was surrounded. His escape route was gone. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.
He did what any cornered, terrified person would do. He told the simple, unvarnished truth.
"It was an accident," he said, his voice flat with exhaustion.
The captain's eyes widened. He and his men exchanged horrified glances. An accident? To him, the man wasn't making an excuse. He was making a statement. A declaration of such profound power that the annihilation of a notorious syndicate was a mere triviality, an afterthought. It was the most terrifyingly arrogant thing he had ever heard.
"He... he says it was an accident," a guard whispered, his knuckles white on his spear shaft. "Like swatting a fly."
Arjun, seeing their terrified faces, tried to clarify. "The slime... it just... exploded."
Worse. So much worse. He wasn't just claiming it was an accident; he was giving them a cryptic, nonsensical explanation. A riddle. Was "the slime" a code word for the syndicate's leader? Was the explosion a metaphor for his overwhelming power?
Just then, a figure pushed through the crowd. She moved with a liquid grace that parted the sea of onlookers. Clad in light, practical armor and carrying a magnificent crimson-tipped spear on her back, she radiated an aura of sharp, disciplined energy. Her eyes, the color of fiery topaz, scanned the scene with an analytical gaze.
It was Kavya Deshmukh, the "Crimson Spear Valkyrie," one of the guild's few SS-Rank adventurers. She had felt the surge of chaotic energy from two streets over and had come to investigate.
She saw the gaping hole in the wall, the lingering scent of dark magic, and the petrified city guards. Then, she saw him.
A man, standing in the center of it all. His posture was... relaxed. Almost slouched. His eyes were dull, unfocused. He held the legendary Crimson Tear not with a warrior's grip, but with a loose, careless pinch of his fingers, as if it were beneath his notice.
Kavya's breath caught in her throat.
Incredible, she thought, her mind racing. This isn't the arrogance of a victor. This is the profound calm after a storm. There's no tension in his shoulders, no residual battle-lust in his aura. His control over his own energy is absolute. He's already achieved a state of perfect tranquility. A state I've only read about in ancient texts.
Arjun decided he couldn't hold onto the dagger any longer. It felt like holding a live coal. He looked around for a place to put it down. There was a nearby merchant's crate, its surface covered in sawdust. Perfect.
He walked over to the crate. The guards flinched back. Kavya's eyes narrowed, tracking his every move.
Such economy of motion, she analyzed. No wasted steps. His footwork seems random, almost clumsy, but it follows a pattern I can't decipher. Is this the 'Drunken God's Path' style? I thought it was only a myth!
Arjun carefully placed the cursed dagger on the crate. He set it down gently, making sure not to scratch it. He didn't want to be billed for damages on top of everything else. He then turned to face the crowd, raising his hands in a gesture of placation.
"Look, I just want to go home," he pleaded.
To Kavya, this was the final, staggering piece of the puzzle. He had placed the legendary weapon aside, a clear message: This tool is beneath me. My work here is done. And his words? They weren't a plea. They were a dismissal. He was bored. The fight hadn't even been a challenge for him.
She felt a shiver run down her spine. It was a thrill she hadn't felt in years. A mix of awe and a burning desire to challenge him.
Seizing the moment of stunned silence, Arjun saw his chance. A narrow gap had opened in the crowd to his left. Without a second thought, he darted into it, ducking behind a fruit cart and disappearing into the labyrinthine alleys of Varundal.
He didn't vanish with a wisp of smoke or a blur of speed. He just scurried away like a frightened rat.
But nobody saw that.
What they saw was a mysterious, god-like figure who, after performing an impossible feat, simply turned and faded into the shadows, leaving behind a legend and a cursed blade as his calling card.
The guard captain finally found his voice. "Secure the artifact! Send a runner to the Guild! I want every available man searching for him! Find out who that man is!"
Kavya didn't move. She stared at the alley where he had disappeared, her heart pounding with a warrior's fervor. Her spear felt heavy on her back, inadequate. For the first time since she'd earned her rank, she felt like a novice.
"His discipline..." she whispered to herself, her knuckles clenched. "It's perfect."
A new goal ignited in her soul, brighter and hotter than any she'd had before.
"That man," she vowed, her voice a low, intense hum. "I will find him. And I will learn his name."