Six months later
A shady-looking figure strolled through town, dragging a heavy bag over his shoulder, one hand buried deep in his pocket. His white, slicked-back hair stood out in the sea of people, drawing curious glances from the crowd.
"That's him... the infamous bounty hunter—Knife, the Sharp," someone whispered.
The murmurs followed him like a trail of smoke. What a ruckus, Knife thought, ears ringing from the noise.
He came to a stop outside a worn-down building and stepped inside. The door slammed shut behind him with a bang that echoed through the room. It was empty, save for the man at the counter, who greeted him with a sharp glare that said more than words ever could.
"Hrmph," Knife smirked, dropping the heavy bag onto the counter with a loud thud.
"Order delivered," he joked, trying to lift the room's damp mood.
The clerk didn't so much as twitch. He leaned over the bag, unzipped it, and peeked inside. The body was shriveled—drained of all blood, practically mummified.
"...How the hell am I supposed to know who this is?" the clerk asked, annoyance lacing every word.
Knife casually slid a bounty poster across the counter.
"Bandit. 1,000 Gold bounty."
The clerk glanced at the poster, then back at the corpse.
"What happened to him?"
"I got a little thirsty," Knife said with a shrug, "Figured I'd take a sip."
"…This is a sip?" the clerk scoffed.
"Well, you know how it is—blood's expensive these days. And everyone knows the free stuff tastes the best."
The clerk grunted and dragged the bag to the back room. A few minutes later, he returned and slammed a stack of money on the counter.
"Here's your reward."
Knife's eyes narrowed as he thumbed through the bills.
"Five hundred? The bounty said one thousand." His voice sharpened. "
In a flash, he grabbed the clerk by the throat and lifted him off the ground like a rag doll.
"You trying to scam me?"
The clerk gasped, caught between shock and panic.
"The body was beyond recognition!" he choked out. "The client's gonna be furious! You should be glad you're getting anything at all!"
Knife closed his eyes and let out a slow sigh, clearly restraining himself. Then he dropped the clerk to the ground. "Man… what a bother."
The clerk coughed, rubbing his throat and shooting a glare back at him.
"So... any other jobs?" Knife asked, like nothing had happened.
"Absolutely not! Don't ever come back here!" the clerk snapped.
"Tch" Knife muttered, walking toward the door. "Now I won't even have enough to buy myself into Level 3…"
The clerk watched him go, seething. Knife was reckless, arrogant… a total pain. But terrifyingly efficient. Fifty jobs in three weeks. The man is a monster.
Still… there was one job.
"Wait!" the clerk called out.
Knife stopped, head turning slightly.
"There's one job I think you'd be interested in."
That got his attention. He walked back as the clerk pulled out a wanted poster.
An escaped prisoner.
5,000 Gold.
The Gravedigger
Known for digging the graves of his enemies after killing them, knife continued to read
"Five thousand!?" Knife repeated, surprised. "That's the highest bounty I've ever seen. What's the catch?"
"He's a fugitive," the clerk said. "Wanted by the government for one of the most hideous crimes imaginable."
Knife tilted his head. "What crime?"
"He… owns an Artifact."
Knife blinked.
"…Huh?"
"You seriously don't know what Artifacts are?!" the clerk shouted, exasperated.
"Why should I?" Knife yawned, picking his nose. "Sounds stupid."
The clerk slammed his hand on the counter. "Artifacts grant special powers. Therefore the government grants it illegal owning one. If you find one, you turn it in—or you die. Only the 'worthy' are allowed to use them."
Knife's eyes lit up slightly.
"Special powers, huh…?"
He snatched the poster.
"Sounds fun."
He turned, waving lazily as he walked out.
"Fine. I'll take it."
The clerk called after him, "Don't mummify the corpse this time!"
SLAM. The door shut behind him.
The clerk rubbed his neck, then smirked to himself.
"Five thousand Gold… and maybe I finally get rid of that psycho."
He leaned back in his chair.
It was the perfect setup.
Either Knife kills the fugitive... or got himself killed chasing that monster.
Either way... I win.
***
Knife strolled down the street, casually sipping from a freshly restocked bottle of blood juice. The sun was high, and he felt confident—this job was going to be quick.
As he walked, he flipped through the worn sheet of paper he'd just received from the clerk. His eyes scanned the details, completely unaware of the wary stares trailing him.
A married pirate… brown hair… carries a shovel.
"okay.." he muttered, raising an eyebrow. "
The note mentioned the target was seen latest around District 4
"Should be easy," Knife said with a shrug, slinging his bag over one shoulder.
He paused.
"…Now where the hell is District 4?"
He glanced around, clueless.
Then he spotted a little kid standing nearby—barefoot, runny nose, just watching the world pass.
Knife approached, crouching down to the boy's level, hands still buried in his pockets.
"Hey, kid. You know where District 4 is?"
Before the boy could answer, gasps rippled through the street.
"That's Knife—the Sharp!" someone hissed from behind a stall.
"He's the ruthless killer! They say he's taken out over a hundred people!"
"Is he threatening that child?!"
Villagers peered from behind crates and doors, eyes wide with panic.
The kid blinked slowly, then lazily lifted one arm, pointing in a completely random direction—his other hand still picking his nose.
Knife looked where the kid pointed.
"…That way, huh?"
He nodded once, completely unfazed, and stood up as if everything was going exactly according to plan.
The villagers looked at him dumbfounded, when he crouched down again looking for stones on the ground.
"This one should be fine" Knife thought, standing up.
Stone in hand. He took a sharp inhale. His grip tightened, muscles coiling as he drew his arm back. With a sharp twist, he hurled it forward, every ounce of force snapping through his body. The stone flew, vanishing in an instant. .
Without wasting a second, he also vanished from sight, his incredible speed propelling him forward in a blur. In an instant, he caught up with the rock, seizing it mid-flight. Instead of halting its motion, he used the force of his throw to his advantage, gripping the rock and letting its momentum carry him forward. Together, Knife and rock surged through the air like a single unstoppable projectile.
The onlookers looked in shock at the man in front of them who disappeared from sight in an instant. How's that even possible?
It would take seven days to travel by normal means, so that means I'll arrive in seven to eight hours, doing this.
He put one hand back in his pocket.
"Guess I'll sleep for a bit"
***
A lone figure walked steadily along the worn path, the dust of travel clinging to his boots. Up ahead, an old wooden sign creaked gently in the breeze.
"District 1" it read, the paint faded but still legible.
He stepped past it without slowing, eyes fixed ahead.
With every step, he drew closer.
He glanced down at the ring on his finger, its surface catching a glint of sunlight.
"I'll definitely get it done, Grandpa," he whispered, voice firm with purpose.