Ch 21. Crimson Reign

The silence before the storm shattered as a thunderous explosion rang out — Kaboom!Grenades hidden in the stairwells erupted as a squad of soldiers unknowingly crossed the trip wires. In an instant, body parts were flung across the corridor like discarded toys. Screams of agony, blood, and debris filled the air as chaos claimed the upper floors.

The once-pristine walls and staircases were now painted a grotesque shade of red. At least five or six mercenaries were torn apart in the blast, and the few who remained were left crawling in agony, their bodies gushing blood. Soon, they too would be nothing but experience points for the one-man army they dared challenge.

A calm, familiar chime rang in Rahul's ears — the system was registering each kill.

The mercenaries had always suffered from one fatal flaw — lack of close-combat adaptability. Many were foot soldiers armed with archaic weapons like swords and spiked clubs. The archers, while effective at range, were worthless in tight corridors and urban warfare.

"They say a pen is mightier than a sword," Rahul muttered, grinning darkly, "but right now, nothing is mightier than my STG44."

Two surviving mercenaries attempted to turn the tide. They ducked behind the ruined walls flanking the staircase and hurled daggers. One blade landed near Rahul's feet, the dull clink giving away their position.

He didn't hesitate.With precision, he let out controlled bursts from his rifle. The bullets punched through the weakened walls, ending their futile ambush with a spray of blood. The rest of the hiding mercs, having seen the brutal result, decided against imitating the same mistake.

Meanwhile, outside the arena, the world had come to a standstill. Civilians scattered as the sound of automatic gunfire echoed down the streets. The few who stayed back hid behind walls or peeked through cracked window panes. Adrenaline surged through them as they witnessed a lone man — a monster with a strange musket — mow down mercenaries as if they were insects.

Inside, the second wave of mercenaries hesitated. The path behind them was closed — fleeing would mean certain death at the hands of their employer for desertion and breach of contract. The only way left was forward.

Then came another explosion.

It ripped through the advancing troops, far worse than the first. A wave of fire and shrapnel transformed men into nothing more than twisted limbs and blood mist. Shock and confusion paralyzed the survivors. They couldn't comprehend why every step forward triggered such unholy devastation.

Rahul watched calmly, knowing well the difference between a hand grenade and a strategically placed landmine. The fools never stood a chance.

By now, only nine or ten mercenaries remained — the final lot. All that was left of their comrades were torsos and limbs strewn across the staircase, walls soaked in crimson.

Rahul grew bored of the silence.

He raised his rifle and fired a few taunting rounds into the broken walls where the last survivors took shelter. The bullets sparked and echoed, daring them to make their final move.

And they did.

With a desperate roar, the last few charged. Just as they neared, one final anti-personnel mine detonated.

The explosion was poetic. Most were shredded instantly, but one man — trailing behind — was merely grazed. As he turned to flee, Rahul squeezed the trigger.

BLAM. BLAM. BLAM.

The man collapsed in the middle of the blood-soaked floor. The STG44 purred as its barrel cooled. System notifications popped up, confirming the wipeout. Rahul reloaded and began collecting the bodies for later sorting, satisfied with the carnage.

But then—

"STOP!"

A commanding voice thundered from the direction of the main street.

Rahul turned and saw a mounted officer atop a dark stallion. He was tall, well-groomed, and dressed in refined battle gear unlike the others — clearly a ranking official. Behind him stood eight or nine imperial guards armed with swords and spears, flanked by the local police chief and his men.

"You will cease immediately!" the officer barked. "You've caused enough destruction — public property destroyed, civilians harmed!"

"By order of the Empire, you're under arrest. Drop your weapon. Now."

Fifteen or sixteen men in total stood before him, weapons drawn, righteousness gleaming in their eyes.

Rahul weighed the possibilities. A chance patrol? Unlikely — the presence of both imperial and local forces indicated coordination. Perhaps the noise drew them. Or maybe someone tipped them off.

It didn't matter.

Rahul's arrogance was now peaking. He had bathed in blood and glory. After so many kills, his heart was no longer filled with dread. It throbbed with power — that surreal sense of godhood that only killers feel.

Without a word, he crouched and rolled two Mk2 grenades toward the formation.

BANG! BANG!

The officer and the police chief fired their muskets in panic. Two bullets struck Rahul — one in the chest, the other in his stomach. His HP bar dipped, but he barely flinched.

[-57 HP], [-49 HP]

The system displayed the damage values. It stung, but only mildly.

Then came the real show.

The first grenade exploded beneath the officer's horse, sending the beast into a frenzy. It crashed down, crushing its rider to death and taking a few soldiers with it. The second grenade detonated seconds later, vaporizing what remained of their ranks.

Those who survived by sheer luck were quickly dispatched by Kai's STG44.

Ratatatat.

No mercy. No escape.

Once the final body hit the ground, Rahul stood alone once more. Smoke drifted through the battlefield. The walls bore the signatures of war — embedded bullets, scorched stone, and smeared entrails.

He reloaded calmly and advanced toward the betting house. The path was now clear, but the message was loud.

This was no longer just vengeance.

This was divine retribution.

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