Chapter 6: Dealer

The next two hunters staggered as the blast hit them head-on.

One was hurled into a vendor's cart, splintering it on impact.

The other slammed into an alley wall, groaning as he crumpled to the ground.

The final two hunters hesitated, eyes wide.

That moment was all the buyer needed.

With a sharp pivot, he bolted off, his long coat whipping behind him.

The Guild Hunters snapped back to reality, their focus locking onto the fleeing buyer.

"Go! After him!" one of them on the ground shouted.

And without hesitation, the two took off in pursuit, their boots pounding against the wet pavement.

Cain barely spared them or the buyer a glance.

His eyes were already on the real prize.

The dealer… who ran towards the opposite direction.

Cain's heart pounded.

This was his chance.

He didn't think.

The moment the dealer turned to flee, Cain was already in motion.

His feet pounded against the wet pavement, splashing through puddles as he tore through the alleyways in pursuit.

Broken crates, rusted fences, narrow gaps—he navigated them with ease.

The dealer glanced back, eyes widening when he saw someone closing in.

He gritted his teeth and pushed harder, weaving through the labyrinthine streets in a desperate bid to escape.

A sharp left.

Then a right.

Another turn...

Dead-end.

The dealer skidded to a halt, nearly slipping on the slick ground.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he whirled around, frustration burning in his eyes.

But what he saw wasn't a Guild Hunter.

Just some random guy his age in a hoodie.

"You?" he spat, eyes narrowing. "Who the hell are you?"

Cain's chest rose and fell with deep, steady breaths.

He ignored the question, stepping forward as he extended his hand.

"The serum," he said, voice cold. "Hand it over."

The dealer's frown deepened.

Then he scoffed. "What the hell are you talking about?"

His fingers twitched, flexing. "I ain't handing over shit. I don't know who you are, but you've got no clue who you're messing with."

His voice darkened. "So reconsider whatever stupid idea you've got in your head—and walk away."

Cain didn't respond.

There was no point.

He simply raised his fists.

This wasn't going to end without a fight.

Cain's ribs still throbbed from Adrian's earlier beating, but he forced the pain aside.

Didn't matter now.

The dealer clicked his teeth in annoyance, then lunged first, his mana flaring—and Cain barely had time to react before the air around him warped.

His vision twisted—and his balance faltered.

"Shit!"

The world lurched sideways, and before he could fully process it, a fist reinforced with mana blasted past his head—missing by inches but smashing into the brick wall behind him.

BOOM!

The impact was devastating.

The wall exploded into shards of stone and dust.

Cain staggered back, gritting his teeth.

That wasn't just brute force.

The dealer was using an ability.

Which was called [Spatial Distortion].

It was a tricky and deceptive ability—one that manipulated the perception of distance and positioning within a limited range.

This meant that when the dealer attacked, his strikes appeared either closer or farther than they actually were, forcing Cain to misjudge his dodges.

A punch that seemed meters away could suddenly land point-blank, while an incoming strike that looked imminent might be just out of reach.

This meant Cain would have to react on instinct alone.

And if he miscalculated even once, it would be him shattering instead of the bricks.

Another strike came.

And the air wavered.

Cain ducked, barely avoiding the fist that would've caved in his skull.

He had no mana. No abilities. Just training.

But he still had an edge.

And that was his ability to adapt.

Cain exhaled sharply, focusing—not on the distortions, but on the dealer's movements.

The way his shoulders tensed before a punch, the slight shift in his stance before a kick.

He let go of what his eyes told him and trusted his instincts, as no matter how much the space distorted, body mechanics didn't lie.

When someone throws a punch, their shoulder naturally shifts before the arm extends. Before a kick, their hip and stance adjust to generate power.

By focusing on these cues instead of the illusion of distance, he could anticipate attacks and dodge correctly—even if his vision told him otherwise.

The next time the dealer lunged, Cain sidestepped—not reacting to the false distance, but the real one.

His fist shot forward, slamming into the dealer's ribs.

Thwack!

A wheezing gasp escaped the dealer.

Cain pressed the attack.

A sharp elbow to the throat. A kick to the knee. A brutal strike to the side of the head.

The dealer staggered, eyes wide in disbelief.

Who the hell is this guy?

He knew he was stronger. He should have been stronger. That was why he had been so confident. But this…

Cain had adapted—too fast, too well. A lower-ranked opponent shouldn't have been able to keep up, let alone shut down his ability.

Cain charged at him once again.

He didn't give him time to recover.

He tackled him, dragging him to the ground.

And the dealer thrashed, trying to warp the space between them—but Cain stayed close, too close, leaving no room for distortions.

A flaw of spatial distortion was that it required room to manipulate perception. 

And Cain had managed to figure that out in such a short time.

With a sharp twist, Cain forced the dealer's arm behind his back and then slammed his head into the pavement.

Once.

Twice.

Then three times

And the body went limp.

Cain let go, and the Dealer's body fell to the ground, his face bloodied.

Then he exhaled, his limbs shaking.

"I won."

Cain exhaled sharply, trying to steady his breath.

His muscles ached, his ribs throbbed, and a thin trickle of blood slid down his forehead, warm against the cold night air.

He wiped it away with the back of his palm.

His fingers trembled as he reached for the package.

This was it.

The serum.

The key to everything.

But as he tore through the wrapping, what he found wasn't a vial.

It wasn't even a container.

It was a rock.

Cain's brows furrowed.

The stone was pitch black, its surface laced with intricate, glowing veins—like something alive, breathing.

Strange runes spiraled across it, shifting ever so slightly, as if they weren't carved but growing.

His stomach twisted.

This wasn't normal.

Then, he felt a pulse.

Soft at first.

A faint hum, barely noticeable.

But the moment Cain's bloodstained fingers brushed against the rock—

It came to life.

A sharp jolt tore through his veins, white-hot and consuming.

And Cain screamed.

His vision blurred.

His body seized.

It wasn't power filling him—it was something pulling.

Dragging him in.

The last thing he saw was the black veins flaring to life—spreading, crawling over his skin like a brand.

And then...

Darkness.

A minute later, a Guild Hunter stepped into the alleyway, his boots splashing against shallow puddles.

His gaze swept over the unconscious dealer, barely stirring on the ground, and he frowned.

Something felt… off.

His head turned. His eyes narrowed.

There was no sign of Cain.

Just the discarded package lying in the dirt.

The wrapping was torn open.

And the stone?

Gone.