Ch 97: Warning

The first wave had come fast.

Too fast.

Mira had expected a pitched battle, something drawn-out and bloody, but what she got was a massacre. A bunch of idiots charged in, firing wildly, without cover or strategy. They got scared quickly—and died even quicker.

Kael stood at the edge of the ruined street, the fires still smoldering from his makeshift alchemical bombs. The air reeked of burning flesh, acrid chemicals, and blood. A corpse near his feet twitched, some merc barely clinging to life.

Kael kicked him in the ribs, rolling him onto his back. The man's eyes were wide, unfocused, his breaths ragged. Poisoned.

Mira, standing beside him, flicked blood off her knife. "Who are these idiots charging in while open firing?"

"Rookie mercs," she muttered, nudging another body with her boot. "Sent to test the waters. They know we're investigating."

Kael exhaled through his nose, the gears in his head turning. A probing attack. That meant more were coming.

"I see," he said simply.

Mira glanced at him, narrowing her eyes. "Kael… why are you looking like you want to kill everyone?"

Kael adjusted his grip on his sword, his expression unreadable. "Because I'm tired of being attacked over and over, just because no one knows what I did previously."

A flicker of unease crossed Mira's face. "You're not going to recreate the Massacre of Thorn's Men, are you?"

Kael didn't answer immediately. His gaze flicked to the bodies, then to the ruined street beyond, where shadows moved. More were coming.

"No," he finally said. "I'll make this one big enough and public enough that it'll make them have nightmares even in daylight."

Mira stiffened. "Wait, wait, wait—you can't just turn an entire part of land to ash because you're annoyed at being attacked!"

Kael ignored her.

Instead, he grabbed a pouch from his belt and tossed it into a nearby puddle of water. The mixture began to fizzle and hiss as toxic vapors curled into the air.

Then, from the darkened alleys ahead, more figures emerged. These weren't rookies. Heavily armed mercenaries. Shields. Proper formation. More controlled movements.

A leader among them barked an order:

"Keep spread out! Watch for traps! Smoke them out!"

Kael flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders. Good.

Now the real fight began.

The Battle Begins

The mercenaries advanced cautiously, their boots crunching against broken stone. One of them took a step forward—

Click.

An explosive trap, buried in the rubble, ignited a column of flame, consuming three men in an instant. Their screams were drowned out by the explosion, sending shrapnel and burning oil splattering onto their comrades.

The remaining mercs didn't panic. Trained. Disciplined.

A commander shouted, "Hold ranks! Shields up! Suppressing fire—move!"

Crossbows and gunpowder rifles barked, sending rounds ripping through the air, forcing Kael and Mira into cover.

Mira gritted her teeth, pressing her back against a half-collapsed wall. "Damn it, Kael, these guys aren't playing!"

Kael calmly reloaded one of his makeshift gas grenades. "Good. Neither am I."

He lobbed it over the wall.

It cracked open mid-air, releasing a dense cloud of choking gas that rolled over the street.

The mercenaries backpedaled, some coughing violently as the chemicals burned their lungs. One of them, desperate, grabbed a torch and threw it at the gas.

A mistake.

The entire street erupted in a firestorm as Kael's carefully placed alchemical pockets ignited one after another—a chain reaction of explosions that tore through their ranks.

Mira shielded her face from the blast. "Holy shit—"

Kael was already moving.

He vaulted over the wall, cutting through the smoke like a phantom. His curved blade flashed, finding a throat—then another. He flowed through them like a dancer in death, weaving between attacks, his blade carving through armor gaps with surgical precision.

A mercenary swung a heavy war axe at him. Kael ducked low, stepped inside the arc, and drove a dagger into the man's armpit, twisting it deep.

The merc collapsed, gurgling.

Kael yanked the blade free and moved to the next.

Mira, now in motion, fired her pistol, dropping a gunner trying to take aim at Kael. Another rushed her, and she met him with a knife to the ribs, twisting up into his heart.

The fight turned into a slaughter.

The remaining mercs broke ranks. The gas, the fire, the precision attacks—it was too much.

They ran.

But Kael wasn't done.

Making a Statement

Kael grabbed a wounded survivor by the collar, dragging him toward a burning pile of wreckage.

The merc coughed, struggling. "P-please—"

Kael pressed a vial into the man's hands.

"Take this back to your employer."

The merc looked down at the sealed glass container—inside, a swirling black liquid.

"A warning," Kael said coldly. "I'll only make one."

He let the man stumble away, barely able to run.

Mira, wiping blood off her gloves, watched him go. "That's your message?"

Kael sheathed his blade. "They'll get it."

Mira let out a breath, shaking her head. "And if they don't?"

Kael glanced at the flames still raging behind them, at the charred corpses left in the aftermath.

"Then I'll make sure they do."