Chapter—3
After killing the boss, he didn't celebrate. Power meant nothing without control, and control required loyalty. If he was going to build a new gang, he needed new members—strong ones, fearless ones.
So he revealed his location.
High above the world, his house stood alone on the mountain, wrapped in cold mist and silence. The wind howled through the cliffs as he arrived, boots crunching against stone. For a brief moment, everything seemed calm.
Then the air shifted.
They appeared one after another, filling the mountain like a plague—one hundred thousand contract killers, surrounding the house from every direction. Their weapons glinted beneath the gray sky, killing intent thick enough to choke the air.
One of them stepped forward, opening his mouth to speak.
The hero moved.
In a blink, the man was split cleanly in half, his body collapsing in two pieces onto the rocks. Blood sprayed across the ground.
Shock rippled through the army.
The hero slowly turned, eyes burning with madness, and laughed.
A loud, unhinged laugh echoed across the mountain.
"I'll kill you all!" he screamed, laughing even harder.
Darkness answered his voice.
"I summon my guardian—the Black Servant."
Shadows erupted behind him, twisting into a monstrous form that radiated pure death. In response, ten thousand killers raised their hands at once, chanting as they summoned their own guardians. The mountain shook as countless entities emerged, clashing light and dark, steel and magic.
The hero didn't wait.
He charged.
He tore through the killers like a storm, moving faster than screams could follow. One by one, they fell—throats torn open, chests crushed, bodies thrown aside like broken dolls. He grabbed one killer by the head and crushed it in his hand, bone snapping, blood spilling between his fingers.
Above him, the Black Servant slaughtered the summoned guardians effortlessly, ripping them apart as if they were nothing more than shadows pretending to be gods.
The hero leapt across piles of corpses, boots splashing through blood. The mountain turned red, rivers of gore flowing between shattered rocks. The stench of death filled the air, heavy and suffocating.
Ten minutes passed.
Then—silence.
Every killer lay dead. Not a single one remained standing.
The hero stood alone at the peak, blood dripping from his clothes, eyes calm once more. He looked around at the ruined mountain and smiled faintly.
"Nice try."
The wind carried his words into the distance,
and the mountain became his throne.
After slaughtering the killers on the mountain, he went to a mall as if it were an ordinary day. Bright lights flickered overhead, music played softly, and people wandered through the wide corridors with shopping bags in their hands.
Then he suddenly stopped.
And laughed.
The sound was loud, sharp, and completely out of place.
Shoppers stared at him like he was insane. Some whispered. Some stepped back.
He looked around slowly, his smile widening.
"You all think I'm dumb?" he said, his voice echoing through the mall. "I know why you're here."
The atmosphere changed instantly.
"I know every one of you came to kill me," he continued calmly. "But that's impossible."
The killers froze.
Their eyes widened in disbelief. How does he know? Fear spread through the crowd disguised as civilians.
One man stepped forward—their leader. His jaw tightened.
"Attack!" he shouted.
The hero vanished.
In the next second, he reappeared midair and sliced straight through one killer. The body split apart before it even hit the ground.
The public finally understood.
Screams erupted. Panic exploded through the mall as people dropped their bags and ran for the exits. Alarms blared. Glass shattered. Within moments, only blood and killers remained.
Five thousand of them.
The hero stood alone in the center, blood dripping from his hands.
"You really think you can defeat me?" he said, laughing. "Yesterday, I killed one hundred thousand."
His eyes burned with madness and
certainty.
"I am a god."
Then he charged.
He ran straight into the killers, cutting them down without slowing. Limbs flew. Blades flashed. He grabbed one man by the head and crushed it like a fruit, bone snapping beneath his fingers. Blood splattered across the marble floor, turning it slick and red.
Bodies piled up. The smell of iron filled the air.
Two… three minutes passed.
Silence returned.
Every killer lay dead, their corpses scattered across the mall floor like discarded trash. Blood covered the tiles, pooling beneath broken bodies and shattered glass.
The hero looked around once more, bored.
Then he turned and walked away.
He went home.