Chapter 61: Escape

Florent watched as the greatsword descended and suddenly shouted, "Wait! Hold on!" before squeezing his eyes shut.

After a moment, he cautiously opened them again, steadying his nerves as he stared at the blade now suspended inches from his face.

The shorter black-clad figure stepped in front of the armored 'Pugilist', signaling for him to halt.

The 'Pugilist' withdrew his sword, grinning as he taunted, "Hey kid, got anything else to say? Maybe some money to buy your life?"

Florent exhaled sharply as he straightened up, "If I pay you, will you let me go?"

This time, the 'Assassin' answered bluntly, "I'm afraid not. We've got a job to finish, and your money is ours either way. Sure, you won't escape death, but we can make it quick and spare you the agony of losing your limbs."

Florent raised a finger and bellowed, "In that case, I refuse!"

The 'Assassinʼs' lips twitched. Though his face remained hidden, his voice dripped with amusement, "Hah! You've got some spine, huh? Ergouzi, stand down. I'll handle this."

The 'Pugilist', Ergouzi, moved aside, silently cutting off all possible escape routes while observing his companion's movements.

The 'Assassin' chuckled darkly, "You chose this, kid. Now you'll suffer for it. I'll take my time slicing off your fingers one by one. Honestly, this is my first time playing with torture... lucky you. Let's start with your heart."

In an instant, the 'Assassin' lunged like a shadow. But Florent who was already braced raised a sheet of paper to intercept the dagger's path.

The ordinary looking paper somehow blocked the assassin's full-force strike, and Florent didn't even feel the impact.

As the 'Assassin' froze in shock and Nika tensed to pounce, Florent vanished without a trace, leaving only a single phrase echoing through the alley:

"Thirty years..."

"Thirty years? What's that supposed to mean?" The Assassin blinked and then turned to Ergouzi in confusion.

Ergouzi sounded equally baffled, "Maybe it's a vow to take revenge in thirty years? That's one patient grudge..."

The alley fell silent as the two mercenaries stared at each other, utterly lost.

.....

Meanwhile, Florent materialized in his study with no portal on sight or glimpse of the spirit world.

The transition was so swift, he barely registered it.

Grimacing at the lingering pain, he forced himself up to check for injuries. A glance at the clock showed it was around 9 PM...

The maid might've just left or still be nearby, so he dragged his battered body to the door and locked it.

After stripping, he inspected himself and sighed in relief. It was just minor scrapes, something that was easily treated with alcohol and ointment.

Thankfully, all the wounds were hidden under his clothes, avoiding suspicion.

Gazing at the crimson moon outside, Florent briefly lamented the beating he'd taken for his theatrics. Then again, given the mercenaries' cruelty, staying quiet wouldn't have spared him. At least this way, they couldn't track him home.

His real regret? It was botching his cool exit line...

"Thirty years" was all he had managed... Something far from the elaborate threats of Chinese dramas. He tugged his hair in frustration.

A faint click (the villa's front door closing) confirmed his caution had been wise. If the maid had seen his injuries, those mercenaries might've somehow traced him.

He had underestimated them. Even Sequence 8 and Sequence 9 Beyonders were dangerous.

Florent exhaled sharply, rubbing his face before standing abruptly.

First, he needed to write to Quevedo, warning him to stay away for at least six months. Any sooner, and the risk remained.

'Though, six months... ' Florent smirked.

By then, he'd definitely be a Sequence 7 Beyonder...

He'll let them laugh now, but later, he'll definitely settle the score.

'Time is on my side. Even the Outer Gods kneel before patience...'

Florent had treated this world lightly, spoiled by his advantages. As a transmigrator with hopes of reviving the Abraham family's glory, he had practically felt like a protagonist.

"Such wishful thinking..." Florent prodded his wounds, now painfully wiser...

'No more delusions of invincibility. In this world, survival means staying hidden...'

Under the crimson moonlight, he lit a candle and pulled out some stationery, something that's commonplace in every study since letters were this era's primary communication method.

Dipping a pen in ink, he absentmindedly tapped the bottle's neck. Old habits made him almost bite the cap, but he reconsidered due to not wanting ink stains. Instead, he rested the pen inside.

He reached to adjust glasses that weren't there, paused, then ruffled his hair and began writing:

<...I'm in dire straits and can't repay your kindness. We must part ways for a few months until the wolves lose interest. Forgive my silence, don't even write back...>

Once done, he let the ink dry before sealing the letter with perfumed wax.

After a moment's hesitation, he pressed the Abraham family crest into the cooling seal.

Examining his handiwork, Florent nodded in satisfaction, "Classy..."