The next five days were a blur of focused effort and calculated brutality. Hachiman plunged into the Dungeon routine with relentless constancy. Waking before dawn (with Aqua invariably beside him in the new bed, a habit he stopped questioning), equipping the growth armor, projecting Kanshou and Bakuya, and descending as quickly as possible to the eleventh and twelfth floors. His goal was clear: push his Rank A stats to the absolute limit of Level 1 before considering ascension. Rank SS magic was a powerful tool, but he knew the physical foundation was crucial.
The hunt became almost mechanical. Orcs, Silverbacks, Gold Armored Bicorns, Bats, Imps – all fell before the speed and strength of his Rank A stats and the lethality of his twin blades. Hephaestus's armor deflected or absorbed the few blows that got past his defense. He fought with cold efficiency, each movement optimized for quick extermination and magic stone collection. Excelia flowed, slower than before, but steadily, intending to push his Rank A numbers ever closer to the 999 limit. Each night, he returned exhausted, exchanged his spoils at the Guild (the consistently high daily values no longer caused much surprise in Misha, just a nod of professional recognition), returned home, interacted minimally with Aqua, and collapsed, ready to repeat it all the next day.
It was on the afternoon of the fifth day of this intense routine, as he ascended from the Dungeon after another productive day, that he felt it. A prickle on the back of his neck. The uncomfortable sensation of being watched, not by the usual curious glances on the surface, but by something more persistent, more focused. He kept walking towards home, but his senses, sharpened by Dungeon experience and perhaps 'A Loner's Protection', were on high alert. Discreetly, he began paying attention to his surroundings, using reflections in windows, turning corners in a calculated manner.
Yes. There were definitely followers. More than one. They moved in a coordinated fashion, trying to stay in the shadows, but their lack of subtlety was evident to someone with Hachiman's keen perception. He quickly counted – there seemed to be about seven individuals, all with average adventurer gear, nothing outstanding. He tried to estimate their strength from a distance, based on posture, equipment, the way they moved. 'Most seem like common Level 1s, maybe a few more experienced. Their leader... maybe Level 2 at best, but not a strong one.'
A pang of irritation shot through Hachiman. 'It's already started.' Unwanted fame attracting vultures. They probably saw him leaving the Guild with a full pouch of Valis the past few days and thought he was an easy target – a lucky Level 1 they could rob. He couldn't just go home; he didn't want them knowing where he and Aqua lived. And confronting them on a busy street would cause unwanted commotion. Only one option remained.
Subtly altering his course, Hachiman began heading towards a more distant industrial district, an area known for its abandoned warehouses and deserted streets after working hours. His followers kept pace, perhaps thinking he was lost or trying to shake them off ineffectively. He led them through a series of increasingly empty streets until he reached a particularly isolated alley between two dilapidated warehouses. With a final glance back to confirm they were close, he turned the corner into the alley and, using his Rank A agility, moved quickly into the deep shadows of a recess in the wall, completely concealing himself.
A few seconds later, the seven pursuers reached the corner, panting. They stopped at the alley entrance, looking around, confused.
"Where'd he go?" asked one of them, a burly man with a club.
"He came in here, I'm sure!" said another. "He couldn't have just vanished!"
"Heh, maybe the 'dragon slayer' got scared just knowing we were after him," sneered a third.
"Shut up, idiots!" snarled the apparent leader – a rough-looking man with a black bandana and a saber at his hip. "He must be hiding around here. Spread out carefully. Remember the cash we're gonna split! His earnings at the Guild must be a fortune!" He grinned cruelly. "And don't believe that dragon story. Must've used some trick or expensive item. A Level 1 like him? I'll finish him off quick."
Hachiman listened from the shadows, his expression cold. 'Steal my money... How predictable.' He had already decided. He couldn't let them go. If they attacked him and he defeated them, they might spread stories, perhaps distorted ones. If they defeated him... well, that wasn't an option. And if they fled now, they could come back later, maybe with reinforcements, maybe targeting Aqua. The only clean solution, however unpleasant, was to eliminate the threat here and now. And find out who they were.
Having made the swift, cold decision, he acted. "Trace On." Not a sword, but the image of the Thunder Blade formed in his mind. He didn't project it into his hand, but focused the unstable energy onto the stone floor amidst the group of adventurers. A single Thunder Blade, projected to detonate on environmental impact.
FZZZ-CRACK!
An arc of bluish electricity leaped from the ground with a loud snap, engulfing the nearest adventurers in a paralyzing net of shock. Five of them screamed and immediately fell, bodies convulsing, temporarily incapacitated by the electrical discharge. The sixth, who was a bit further away, was grazed but still staggered, stunned.
Before the sixth could recover, Hachiman burst from the shadows like a bolt. A single powerful punch – driven by his Rank A strength – struck the man squarely in the stomach, lifting him off the ground and sending him flying into the back wall of the alley, where he collapsed unconscious.
Only the bandana-wearing leader, who was closer to the alley entrance and managed to instinctively back away from the initial electrical blast, remained standing, though shocked by the speed and effectiveness of the attack. He drew his saber, eyes wide with surprise and anger. "You...! How dare you?!"
He charged, swinging the saber in a downward slash. To Hachiman, whose reflexes and perception had been forged against Level 2 monsters and chaotic hordes, the leader's movements seemed almost in slow motion, telegraphed, desperate. 'Normal,' he thought coldly. He raised Kanshou, which he had projected as soon as he left the shadows. The black blade met the descending saber. There wasn't a clang of metal, but a sharp cutting sound. The Rank SS magic reinforcing Kanshou, combined with the Rank A strength behind the block, simply snapped the saber's blade in half.
At the same time, with a fluid spin, Bakuya, in his other hand, described a precise arc. The white blade cut through the air and struck the leader from chest to stomach. It wasn't a blow meant to kill immediately, but it was deep, incapacitating. The man screamed, dropping the broken hilt of his saber, and was thrown backward by the force of the cut, falling heavily to the ground, clutching the wound that gushed blood.
Hachiman calmly approached the fallen, agonizing leader, the tip of Bakuya hovering over his throat. "Why?" Hachiman asked, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. "What reason did you have to follow me?"
The man in the bandana spat blood and insults. "Damn you... think you'll get away with this? When my god... Ikelos... finds out what you did... he'll hunt you down! Destroy your insignificant Familia!"
'Ikelos?' The name triggered a memory in Hachiman. A god known for his connections to the underworld, black market, monster trafficking... and selling Xenos. A problematic figure operating in Orario's shadows. 'So that's it. Ikelos Familia members acting like common thugs.'
Hachiman pondered for an instant. Letting this man live was unthinkable. He knew too much, was linked to a dangerous god who would certainly seek revenge or cause trouble if he knew one of his members was attacked (even if that member was committing a crime). The decision was instantaneous and pragmatic. Without further words, Bakuya descended in a quick, final cut across the leader's throat, silencing his insults forever.
He then turned to the sixth man, the one he had knocked out against the wall. The man was beginning to regain consciousness, groaning, but his eyes widened in pure terror as he saw Hachiman approaching, covered in the leader's blood, Bakuya still dripping.
"Who are you? And why were you following me?" Hachiman asked, his voice still cold.
"W-we... we're... some from Soma Familia... others from Ikelos..." the man stammered, trembling uncontrollably. "W-we saw you... at the Guild... all that money... W-we thought... we could rob you... split the cash... to buy the wine... the Soma wine..."
'Soma wine...' Hachiman sighed internally. So that was it. Low-level adventurers from two problematic Familias, teaming up to commit robbery because of addiction to Soma's divine wine, known for enslaving the will of its followers. Pathetic. But dangerous. The information about the involvement of the Soma and Ikelos Familias was explosive. If it leaked that he had killed members of these Familias, even in self-defense after an attempted robbery, the political complications would be endless. The Guild would have to investigate, Ikelos might retaliate from the shadows, Soma might not even care but would still create problems. His newly formed alliance with Hephaestus could be compromised.
An icy unease washed over Hachiman as he realized what needed to be done. It was horrible, it was wrong on a fundamental level he could barely process, but the cold logic of self-preservation in this world was relentless. He couldn't leave witnesses. He couldn't risk this information leaking.
Ignoring the knot in his stomach and the faint voice of his old conscience screaming in protest, he acted. He silenced the terrified man permanently. Then, he approached the five still incapacitated by the electricity and ended their suffering quickly, before they could fully regain consciousness.
The alley fell silent, except for his own heavy breathing. Seven bodies lay on the dirty ground. He looked at what he had done, feeling a cold emptiness, nausea rising in his throat. But there was no time for remorse now. He needed to clean up the mess.
He gathered the bodies in a pile in the center of the alley. Then, with trembling hands, he summoned the power again. "Trace On." This time, two simultaneous Thunder Blades. He didn't throw them. He focused their unstable energy and discharged them directly onto the pile of bodies. There was a blinding flash, the nauseating smell of burning flesh, and the crackling sound of intense electricity. He maintained the discharge for several seconds, spending a considerable portion of his mana, until the bodies were charred almost beyond recognition.
After the light died down, only a black, misshapen mass remained. Using a piece of metal he found in the trash and his own boots, he dug a shallow grave in the alley's dirt floor, pushed the charred remains inside, and covered everything as best he could, trying to make it look like nothing had happened there. It was a gruesome, hurried job.
When he finished, he was dirty, mentally exhausted, and had a bitter taste in his mouth that wasn't just from the blood he had spat earlier. He needed to get out of there. He needed... something to ease his mind, to push away the images of what he had just done. He wandered the streets as night began to fall, with no certain destination, just walking, trying not to think.
By chance, his feet led him to a familiar area. He looked up and saw the welcoming sign and the warm light emanating from the windows of the Hostess of Fertility. Perhaps the noise, the crowd, the forced normality of a busy tavern could drown out the echo of his actions in that dark alley. He took a deep breath and went inside.