Jera's new purpose was clear: gain overwhelming power and uncover the truth of the "Torn Dimensions." The Midnight Auction was a key step, but it was a week away. His contract in Chicago was the perfect way to spend that time, grinding his level higher and getting far away from Captain Elara Kane.
He had just accepted the B-Rank contract for the A-Rank nest in Chicago. As he was plotting his route out of the city through the deep subway tunnels, a new message flashed on his private comm.
It was from The Vault. It was flagged as [URGENT: PERSONAL].
Jera paused, his interest piqued. The Vault had, until now, been a model of cold, professional greed. This was new.
To: C.W.
From: The Vault
Subject: Hostile Interest
Mr. Walker. A warning, off the books. This is not a business transaction. This is... a professional courtesy.
The Iron Hand Guild just placed a 50 million credit 'discreet retrieval' bounty on you. That's code for a wetwork (assassination) team.
They are not happy about their... losses... from your mining runs. And your new fame is bringing the Bureau down on them. They want you either 'recruited' or 'retired.'
The team is A-Rank. They know you're at the Bureau. They're waiting for you outside.
Be careful. Your value as a client is too high to lose.
Jera read the message twice.
His first reaction was a cold, flat annoyance at the Iron Hand Guild. They were an insect buzzing in his ear.
His second, more calculating reaction was interest. The Vault had just betrayed a major client—the Iron Hand Guild—to warn him. This was not the act of a simple broker. This was the act of a man making a long-term investment.
The Vault wasn't just a fence anymore. He was proving himself to be a reliable partner.
Jera sent a one-word reply.
To: The Vault
From: C.W.
Understood.
He clipped his comm to his belt. He had intended to leave the city quietly. Now, he had to take out the trash first.
Jera walked out the front doors of the Hunter Bureau. The midday New York sun glinted off his black helmet. He ignored the usual crowd of reporters and fans, his sensors already active.
He felt them immediately.
Three of them.
One, a large man in a heavy coat, stood by the stairwell to the subway. He was the muscle, blocking the primary escape.
One, a thin, fast-looking woman, leaned against a pillar, pretending to be on her phone. She was the rogue, likely armed with a poisoned blade.
One, the leader, with cold, cybernetic eyes, sat on a bench, reading a newspaper. He was the strategist, and his mana signature was the highest.
They were all A-Ranks. A team powerful enough to take down a mid-sized Guild.
Jera did not change his path. He did exactly what they expected him to do. He walked calmly down the stairs into the crowded subway station, as if he hadn't noticed them.
The three shadows followed, forming a perfect, tactical triangle around him on the busy platform. They were waiting for the train. The noise and the push of the crowd would be the perfect cover for a quick, silent kill.
The leader with the cybernetic eyes stepped up behind Jera, his newspaper folded.
"Cain Walker," the assassin murmured, his voice low. "The Iron Hand Guild sends its regards. You've become a... complication. Your fame is drawing too much attention. The Guild Leader made a simple offer. Either you join us, and all your 'miracle' hauls belong to the Iron Hand... or you disappear. We're here to see which you prefer."
Jera's helmeted face remained facing the tracks. A low rumble came from the tunnel. The train was approaching. The crowd surged slightly.
"Now," the leader whispered, and his hand moved inside his jacket, reaching for a mana-infused blade.
"I've made my choice," Jera said.
He did not turn around. He did not draw a weapon.
He simply acted.
[Action: Spatial Anomaly. Agility Multiplier Roll: $\times 212$.]
To the three assassins, Jera Murphy was standing in front of them.
In the next microsecond, he was gone.
The leader lunged forward, his poisoned knife stabbing the empty air where Jera had been. He stumbled, confused. "Where—"
CLANG.
Jera was now behind him. He had moved so fast that the human eye couldn't track it. He tapped the leader on the back of the neck with one finger. It was not a multiplied strike. It was a simple tap, using only his new, compressed base strength.
The A-Rank assassin's high-tech, armored spine snapped like a dry twig. He dropped to the ground, dead before his body even registered the command to fall.
The crowd screamed, seeing the man collapse, but they didn't know why.
The woman by the pillar and the man by the stairs reacted, their training kicking in. They drew their weapons.
Jera was already moving.
He faced the large man by the stairs. The man raised a heavy, A-Rank mana-shotgun, its barrel glowing.
Jera didn't attack him. He used his Unlimited Inventory.
The man pulled the trigger. Click.
He pulled it again. Click.
He looked at his gun in panic. It was fully loaded. Why wasn't it firing?
Jera had targeted the firing pin inside the gun. A tiny piece of metal, smaller than a fingernail. He had simply thought Store, and the gun was now a useless block of metal.
Jera walked past the stunned assassin, grabbed him by the throat, and broke his neck. It was silent, efficient, and took less than half a second.
Two down.
The woman was the last one. She was fast. She saw her two partners die, and she didn't hesitate. She activated her A-Rank skill, [Plasma Dart], and fired a bolt of white-hot energy at Jera's chest.
At the same time, she turned to run.
The plasma bolt hit Jera's chest.
And vanished.
Jera hadn't dodged. He hadn't used his shield. He had simply opened his Unlimited Inventory. The S-Rank-level plasma attack hit the "event horizon" of his inventory and was instantly stored, neutralized in a pocket of empty space.
It was the absolute, perfect, and most insulting defense.
The woman's eyes went wide with terror. She had just seen her ultimate attack get eaten.
She took one step to run.
Jera was in front of her. He had crossed the 30-foot platform in an instant.
"You are all... messy," he said, his voice cold.
He didn't kill her. He grabbed her by the arm, his grip crushing her bones. He looked at the screaming, panicking crowd, who were now running for the exits. He looked up at the station's security camera.
He knew Elara Kane was watching.
He leaned in close to the terrified, crying assassin. He said nothing. He just held her, a silent, black-helmeted judge.
Then, he threw her.
He didn't throw her hard. He threw her up. She flew 30 feet into the air and crashed into the station's concrete ceiling, before falling back to the platform, a broken, unconscious heap.
The train screeched to a halt, its doors opening to a scene of chaos: two dead bodies and one shattered woman.
Jera stood in the middle of the platform. He looked directly at the main security camera. He knew Kane was on the other side, her mind racing.
He had just dismantled an A-Rank assassination team in five seconds.
He had used no discernible magic.
He had used impossible speed.
He had eaten an A-Rank attack.
He had left one survivor, deliberately, as a message to the Iron Hand Guild.
He calmly walked to the edge of the platform, away from the bodies. He stepped off the edge and onto the tracks.
He looked back at the camera one last time. Then, he walked into the darkness of the subway tunnel, disappearing from sight.
In her office, Captain Kane watched the feed go blank as Jera entered the unmonitored tunnels.
Her hands were shaking. Not from fear. From rage.
"He's not just a monster," she whispered, slamming her fist on her desk. "He's an Overlord. He doesn't even see us as a threat. He's just... swatting flies."
She knew the two dead Hunters were from the Iron Hand Guild. She knew Jera had just openly declared war on one of the most powerful Guilds in the city. And she knew he had done it to send her a message:
Stay out of my way.
Miles away, in his hidden office, The Vault received a new message.
To: The Vault
From: C.W.
Cleaned.
The Vault leaned back in his chair and smiled. This was not a client. This was a partnership.
To: C.W.
From: The Vault
Understood. Chicago should be quieter. Good hunting, Mr. Walker.