Gordon inspected the new prototype barrel that came out from the factory floor, checking the engravings. “It’s a bit rough around the edges, so the efficiency isn’t extremely high. Maybe if we modified the engraving to be more spaced out, that would result in less interference between the traces…”
He quickly stepped over the mess of books left open on the carpeted floor of his office, trying to find a related text, but not before passing the barrel over to Kyle, who inspected it as well.
“The rifling is too uneven; the ball projectile would not have the stability I need. You have to redo this barrel at least.” Kyle remarked.
“I can do that, but this barrel design is completely different from all the other guns in Raktor right now. I’ve never seen anything like it before – did you design it yourself?” Gordon tried to probe.
Kyle didn’t reply, instead focusing his attention on the remaining parts laid out on the table. He examined the muzzle brake as well as the stock of the gun, checking their mechanical tolerances.
Kyle still could not get over the fact that the gun did not have any sort of firing mechanism, as it was powered by arcia energy instead of gunpowder. While it acted similarly to a particle rifle, the mismatch in technology still threw him off slightly.
Just Kyle was about to point out a few more mistakes; the door banged open to reveal a clearly flustered Damian. “Kyle, they got him! They kidnapped Keith!”
“Who?”
“Who else? The Ilysian Punks, those fuckers! We need to form up and strike back immediately, I’m going to call everyone into the main base-“ Damian frantically explained, clearly in turmoil.
“No. Don’t make a single move. I will call Adrian first to understand the situation. We will not move now.” Kyle retorted, shocking Damian into silence.
Soon the shock on Damian’s face was slowly replaced with anger. “What are you saying? Are you telling me to let my younger brother get tortured to hell?!”
Gordon was frightened by the sudden tension in the room, his eyes frantically glancing between Kyle and Damian. “No, we will save him. But now isn’t the right time.”
“The ‘right’ time?” Damian’s eyes narrowed. “Why do I feel like you were expecting this all along? Were you using Keith as bait?”
“Don’t be stupid.” Kyle didn’t reply any further, taking out an arctech radio and calling Adrian. “Did you track who kidnapped Keith?”
[Yes, but too many of our scouts are being marked by their observers. We can’t move around much, but we managed to pinpoint the rough location of their hideout.]
“Then we need to go now! What the fuck are we waiting for?” Damian was about to leave when Kyle suddenly walked up and grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Don’t make any rash moves; they are watching our every move. The moment our forces leave the district, it’s game over for us.”
[Damian, he’s right. The observers are tracking the boundaries of the districts and they got snitches among the locals. That’s how they were able to snatch Keith in the first place!]
Damian was obviously not listening. “Then we just sit here like ducks? I’m going to save my brother, with or without you guys!” Damian scoffed, trying to slap Kyle’s arm away. However, Kyle’s grip was like iron, crushing Damian’s shoulder.
Damian threw a fist at Kyle, who easily caught it with his other hand. With a swift kick from Kyle to the shins, Damian was brought onto the ground, dropping onto his knees as Kyle continued to grip him.
“And what are you going to do when you go over alone? Get yourself kidnapped? I didn’t make you the underboss to be emotionally manipulated. Take a deep breath.” Kyle ordered.
Damian wanted to retort, but the words were stuck in his throat. I still can’t beat Kyle; what hopes do I have alone against an entire gang? He inhaled deeply, letting out a long sigh. “You can let go now; I’m fine.”
“Good. There will be time for revenge, but for now, we stay put.” Kyle returned to the gun parts on the table, assembling them with the barrel into one of the longest rifles Damian and Gordon had seen. A weird-looking telescope was mounted to the top of the gun as well.
“But then who is going to save Keith if we can’t move?” Damian asked in exasperation. “The Red Lions? The enforcers?”
[ANNDDDD HE’S KNOCKED DOWN! CAN HE GET UP A SECOND TIME?!]
The crowd roared the thunderous cheers and boos simultaneously echoing off the walls of the expansive underground boxing arena. It was another rowdy night as usual, with hundreds of viewers and betters trying to claw back their winnings.
On the side, there were indebted alcoholics drinking non-stop, hijackers trying to hustle their stolen goods, fencers making connections and even millionaires nervously glancing around with their bodyguards, hoping to get a good word in with the district leader, Makoa.
Makoa was at his usual table in the VIP viewing section. He motioned with his hands towards the ring, getting the attention of the coach.
The coach nodded in response, conveying the signal to the knocked-down boxer, who began to get up slowly but painfully, wincing as he could barely see out of his eyes. The boxer stared across the ring at the jubilant rookie, who was already on the verge of celebrating his win.
The round proceeded as normal, with the limping boxer somehow being able to avoid a knockout till the gong rang.
[WHAT A SPECTACULAR FIRST ROUND! COULD WE SEE A COMEBACK? BETS FOR THE NEXT ROUND ARE OPEN NOW!]
The bookies were swarmed in an instant, with the crowd clamouring for tickets as young boys yelled out odds. Makoa didn’t care; his attention was now focused on the bound man kneeling down next to the table, his face swollen from multiple beatings. “Enforcer Staten, this is the third time we’ve met.”
“Fuck off, punk. Kill me and get it over with. Isn’t that what you’re best at?” Staten sneered through the blood dripping down his face.
A low chuckle rose from Makoa, while the six girls laughed along with him. “Don’t devalue yourself. You’re much more useful to me alive than dead. For now.”
Staten grimaced, knowing what he was implying. From the view of the VIP section, he could already make out more than two dozen local enforcers as part of the crowd, already trapped in the never-ending cycle of gambling and debt.
“Didn’t know you punks knew anything about business acumen.“
“Staten.” Makoa interrupted. “This is the third time you’ve interfered with our businesses. We’re usually nice to our fellow citizens, especially those who keep the public peace here in our beautiful Raktor.”
“You’re just a gang of thugs, match-fixing is hardly a proper business.”
“Perspective. I’m in a dilemma as to how to… change your view of us. No family, no relatives. You’re the perfect enforcer, with no weaknesses. However, I believed I have a solution…” Makoa motioned to a guard, who brought a Euria-Infused Stamina Recovery Potion stolen from the Red Lions.
“You’ll never get anything out of me.”
“The human body begs to differ.” Makoa grabbed the potion and walked over to Staten, forcibly opening his mouth with his large hands. “Drink up!”
Staten tried to resist, but soon involuntarily drank the potion, coughing wildly as Makoa slammed him onto the ground. “Tell me why are the enforcers increasing their raids into Ilysian Punks’ territory!” Makoa roared into Staten’s ears.
“Fuck you!” The retort from Staten earned him another punch, causing Staten’s mouth to bleed internally.
“Another tough nut. When does the effect kicks in?” Makoa asked the guards.
“Three days later, assuming three potions are drunk in a single day.”
“Good. Listen here, Staten. You can leave anytime you want. As long as you follow the rules around here.”
“The inquisitors will never let you-“
Makoa delivered a fearsome kick to the enforcer’s stomach, causing him to gag. “Your narcissistic emperor is not going to help you. Get him the fuck out of here.”
The next round had begun, with the previously limping boxer suddenly regaining strength out of nowhere and fighting back hard. It was still a close match, but the boxer managed to knockout the rookie just before the end of the round. As the gong rang thrice, the crowd roared in response, no doubt having won or lost their entire life fortune.
[AND THAT’S IT FOR THE END OF THE FIRST MATCH. THIS SECOND MATCH HAS A NEWCOMER, AND IT’S A LADY AT THAT!]
A loud wave of ooh’s and aah’s went through the ground, as an unknown lady stepped out onto the ring from the sides. Her eyes were dead, showing no signs of emotions as people around her continuously catcalled her.
The lady glanced around the crowd, noticing a few random audience members who nodded back in response. They were spread out among the crowd, somehow inching closer to the Ilysian Punk arena guards that covered the exits of the arena. They all made a discreet sign with their hands, nodding towards the lady.
The lady then looked up, noticing the VIP section and Makoa’s visage at the edge of the viewing platform. A small tattoo on her neck glowed red, with a clear voice entering her mind like a wireless connection.
[Sasha, report in. Any signs?]
[Makoa, local leader spotted. Beginning mission.]
Sasha stared at the rabid crowd, who were catcalling and jeering her for showing up. The arena was open to all and every fighter regardless of experience. People just wanted to see blood, who cared who it came from?
“Did you end up in the wrong place, little girl? Shouldn’t you be in the kitchen?”
“Where’s your husband? He’s looking for you outside, go home! You don’t stand a chance here!”
The jeers barely registered in her mind as she focused on communicating telepathically with Kyle. Kyle had used the Designate Follower skill on her, enabling him to converse with her despite her being mute.
Sasha did not show any outward reaction, acknowledging it internally. At the other side of the ring, the arena organizers were jubilant.
“I knew it, she’s driving our view count up! Most of the audience sincerely believes that she won’t win, so they are going to bet against her.”
A guard quickly reported to Makoa, who grinned widely. “Interesting. Stage a win for her, and send a fighter who can take a few hits. Seems like this girl can deliver a few.” He continued to plan his attack on the Seven Snakes, unaware that Sasha was right in his nest.
The announcer’s voice was barely audible in the boxing ring, but a loud cheer went up as Sasha’s opponent appeared. [GIVE IT UP FOR MASON!]
Apparently a popular fighter, Mason was not overtly muscular but had the right weight and body for fleet movements in the ring. Known for his footwork, Mason waved happily to the crowd, while the coach gave him a cryptic hand sign.
Losing to this girl? Fuck... Mason internally groaned, but he accepted the job. He wasn’t doing this for the fame, though. None of the fighters was. Let’s just make this an easy loss, she doesn’t look like she can deliver really strong hits.
The bookies were overwhelmed with bets riding on Mason, with Makoa ordering the Punks to match bets on the lady, aiming to sweep up the entire round. Money was easily earned that way, with Makoa being more than happy with the appearance of the lady.
The referee lined the both of them away from each other, beginning the match. They circled each other as the crowd cheered non-stop for Mason.
“Sorry, lady. I might not know your reason, but I’m here to win.” Mason grinned, side-stepping and feinting, throwing a few probing punches.
Sasha simply matched his footwork, like a dance, somehow able to keep up with him. Mason was content with this pace, acting cautious but soon the coach signalled with a sign to attack more.
Mason nodded, beginning to attack more seriously. He threw a few jabs and hooks, while continuously cornering the lady, forcing her near the edge of the ring.
Sasha only dodged, never retaliating with her own attack so far. This meant Mason would not be able to lose the match as planned. “Stop dodging and fight back!” Mason goaded Sasha on, increasing the speed of his punches.
Finally, as a single right hook was about to land on Sasha’s face, Mason suddenly felt a cold shiver run through his entire body, forcing him to back off immediately as though he was eyed by a predator far beyond his means.
However, it was far too late. Sasha’s right fist was already in front of his own face, the punch landing right on his nose and crushing his face in with a resounding crunch. The force was completely unexpected, with Mason toppling over onto the floor, his hands grabbing his nose that was profusely bleeding.
The crowd was equally confused by the sudden force shown by Sasha, which did not match her body stature. Before the stunned referee could stop them, Sasha leapt forward and delivered a strong kick to the side of Mason’s head, the bone-cracking echoing over the ring. Mason’s body immediately went limp, as a mush of blood leaked out the back of his head.
The sudden increase in skill shocked Makoa, alarm bells ringing in his head. He locked eyes with Sasha, fully comprehending what she was here for. “Grab her now!” Makoa ordered, with the Ilysian Punks immediately leaping onto stage and trying to restrain her.
Gordon inspected the new prototype barrel that came out from the factory floor, checking the engravings. “It’s a bit rough around the edges, so the efficiency isn’t extremely high. Maybe if we modified the engraving to be more spaced out, that would result in less interference between the traces…”
He quickly stepped over the mess of books left open on the carpeted floor of his office, trying to find a related text, but not before passing the barrel over to Kyle, who inspected it as well.
“The rifling is too uneven; the ball projectile would not have the stability I need. You have to redo this barrel at least.” Kyle remarked.
“I can do that, but this barrel design is completely different from all the other guns in Raktor right now. I’ve never seen anything like it before – did you design it yourself?” Gordon tried to probe.
Kyle didn’t reply, instead focusing his attention on the remaining parts laid out on the table. He examined the muzzle brake as well as the stock of the gun, checking their mechanical tolerances.
Kyle still could not get over the fact that the gun did not have any sort of firing mechanism, as it was powered by arcia energy instead of gunpowder. While it acted similarly to a particle rifle, the mismatch in technology still threw him off slightly.
Just Kyle was about to point out a few more mistakes; the door banged open to reveal a clearly flustered Damian. “Kyle, they got him! They kidnapped Keith!”
“Who?”
“Who else? The Ilysian Punks, those fuckers! We need to form up and strike back immediately, I’m going to call everyone into the main base-“ Damian frantically explained, clearly in turmoil.
“No. Don’t make a single move. I will call Adrian first to understand the situation. We will not move now.” Kyle retorted, shocking Damian into silence.
Soon the shock on Damian’s face was slowly replaced with anger. “What are you saying? Are you telling me to let my younger brother get tortured to hell?!”
Gordon was frightened by the sudden tension in the room, his eyes frantically glancing between Kyle and Damian. “No, we will save him. But now isn’t the right time.”
“The ‘right’ time?” Damian’s eyes narrowed. “Why do I feel like you were expecting this all along? Were you using Keith as bait?”
“Don’t be stupid.” Kyle didn’t reply any further, taking out an arctech radio and calling Adrian. “Did you track who kidnapped Keith?”
[Yes, but too many of our scouts are being marked by their observers. We can’t move around much, but we managed to pinpoint the rough location of their hideout.]
“Then we need to go now! What the fuck are we waiting for?” Damian was about to leave when Kyle suddenly walked up and grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Don’t make any rash moves; they are watching our every move. The moment our forces leave the district, it’s game over for us.”
[Damian, he’s right. The observers are tracking the boundaries of the districts and they got snitches among the locals. That’s how they were able to snatch Keith in the first place!]
Damian was obviously not listening. “Then we just sit here like ducks? I’m going to save my brother, with or without you guys!” Damian scoffed, trying to slap Kyle’s arm away. However, Kyle’s grip was like iron, crushing Damian’s shoulder.
Damian threw a fist at Kyle, who easily caught it with his other hand. With a swift kick from Kyle to the shins, Damian was brought onto the ground, dropping onto his knees as Kyle continued to grip him.
“And what are you going to do when you go over alone? Get yourself kidnapped? I didn’t make you the underboss to be emotionally manipulated. Take a deep breath.” Kyle ordered.
Damian wanted to retort, but the words were stuck in his throat. I still can’t beat Kyle; what hopes do I have alone against an entire gang? He inhaled deeply, letting out a long sigh. “You can let go now; I’m fine.”
“Good. There will be time for revenge, but for now, we stay put.” Kyle returned to the gun parts on the table, assembling them with the barrel into one of the longest rifles Damian and Gordon had seen. A weird-looking telescope was mounted to the top of the gun as well.
“But then who is going to save Keith if we can’t move?” Damian asked in exasperation. “The Red Lions? The enforcers?”
[ANNDDDD HE’S KNOCKED DOWN! CAN HE GET UP A SECOND TIME?!]
The crowd roared the thunderous cheers and boos simultaneously echoing off the walls of the expansive underground boxing arena. It was another rowdy night as usual, with hundreds of viewers and betters trying to claw back their winnings.
On the side, there were indebted alcoholics drinking non-stop, hijackers trying to hustle their stolen goods, fencers making connections and even millionaires nervously glancing around with their bodyguards, hoping to get a good word in with the district leader, Makoa.
Makoa was at his usual table in the VIP viewing section. He motioned with his hands towards the ring, getting the attention of the coach.
The coach nodded in response, conveying the signal to the knocked-down boxer, who began to get up slowly but painfully, wincing as he could barely see out of his eyes. The boxer stared across the ring at the jubilant rookie, who was already on the verge of celebrating his win.
The round proceeded as normal, with the limping boxer somehow being able to avoid a knockout till the gong rang.
[WHAT A SPECTACULAR FIRST ROUND! COULD WE SEE A COMEBACK? BETS FOR THE NEXT ROUND ARE OPEN NOW!]
The bookies were swarmed in an instant, with the crowd clamouring for tickets as young boys yelled out odds. Makoa didn’t care; his attention was now focused on the bound man kneeling down next to the table, his face swollen from multiple beatings. “Enforcer Staten, this is the third time we’ve met.”
“Fuck off, punk. Kill me and get it over with. Isn’t that what you’re best at?” Staten sneered through the blood dripping down his face.
A low chuckle rose from Makoa, while the six girls laughed along with him. “Don’t devalue yourself. You’re much more useful to me alive than dead. For now.”
Staten grimaced, knowing what he was implying. From the view of the VIP section, he could already make out more than two dozen local enforcers as part of the crowd, already trapped in the never-ending cycle of gambling and debt.
“Didn’t know you punks knew anything about business acumen.“
“Staten.” Makoa interrupted. “This is the third time you’ve interfered with our businesses. We’re usually nice to our fellow citizens, especially those who keep the public peace here in our beautiful Raktor.”
“You’re just a gang of thugs, match-fixing is hardly a proper business.”
“Perspective. I’m in a dilemma as to how to… change your view of us. No family, no relatives. You’re the perfect enforcer, with no weaknesses. However, I believed I have a solution…” Makoa motioned to a guard, who brought a Euria-Infused Stamina Recovery Potion stolen from the Red Lions.
“You’ll never get anything out of me.”
“The human body begs to differ.” Makoa grabbed the potion and walked over to Staten, forcibly opening his mouth with his large hands. “Drink up!”
Staten tried to resist, but soon involuntarily drank the potion, coughing wildly as Makoa slammed him onto the ground. “Tell me why are the enforcers increasing their raids into Ilysian Punks’ territory!” Makoa roared into Staten’s ears.
“Fuck you!” The retort from Staten earned him another punch, causing Staten’s mouth to bleed internally.
“Another tough nut. When does the effect kicks in?” Makoa asked the guards.
“Three days later, assuming three potions are drunk in a single day.”
“Good. Listen here, Staten. You can leave anytime you want. As long as you follow the rules around here.”
“The inquisitors will never let you-“
Makoa delivered a fearsome kick to the enforcer’s stomach, causing him to gag. “Your narcissistic emperor is not going to help you. Get him the fuck out of here.”
The next round had begun, with the previously limping boxer suddenly regaining strength out of nowhere and fighting back hard. It was still a close match, but the boxer managed to knockout the rookie just before the end of the round. As the gong rang thrice, the crowd roared in response, no doubt having won or lost their entire life fortune.
[AND THAT’S IT FOR THE END OF THE FIRST MATCH. THIS SECOND MATCH HAS A NEWCOMER, AND IT’S A LADY AT THAT!]
A loud wave of ooh’s and aah’s went through the ground, as an unknown lady stepped out onto the ring from the sides. Her eyes were dead, showing no signs of emotions as people around her continuously catcalled her.
The lady glanced around the crowd, noticing a few random audience members who nodded back in response. They were spread out among the crowd, somehow inching closer to the Ilysian Punk arena guards that covered the exits of the arena. They all made a discreet sign with their hands, nodding towards the lady.
The lady then looked up, noticing the VIP section and Makoa’s visage at the edge of the viewing platform. A small tattoo on her neck glowed red, with a clear voice entering her mind like a wireless connection.
[Sasha, report in. Any signs?]
[Makoa, local leader spotted. Beginning mission.]
Sasha stared at the rabid crowd, who were catcalling and jeering her for showing up. The arena was open to all and every fighter regardless of experience. People just wanted to see blood, who cared who it came from?
“Did you end up in the wrong place, little girl? Shouldn’t you be in the kitchen?”
“Where’s your husband? He’s looking for you outside, go home! You don’t stand a chance here!”
The jeers barely registered in her mind as she focused on communicating telepathically with Kyle. Kyle had used the Designate Follower skill on her, enabling him to converse with her despite her being mute.
Sasha did not show any outward reaction, acknowledging it internally. At the other side of the ring, the arena organizers were jubilant.
“I knew it, she’s driving our view count up! Most of the audience sincerely believes that she won’t win, so they are going to bet against her.”
A guard quickly reported to Makoa, who grinned widely. “Interesting. Stage a win for her, and send a fighter who can take a few hits. Seems like this girl can deliver a few.” He continued to plan his attack on the Seven Snakes, unaware that Sasha was right in his nest.
The announcer’s voice was barely audible in the boxing ring, but a loud cheer went up as Sasha’s opponent appeared. [GIVE IT UP FOR MASON!]
Apparently a popular fighter, Mason was not overtly muscular but had the right weight and body for fleet movements in the ring. Known for his footwork, Mason waved happily to the crowd, while the coach gave him a cryptic hand sign.
Losing to this girl? Fuck... Mason internally groaned, but he accepted the job. He wasn’t doing this for the fame, though. None of the fighters was. Let’s just make this an easy loss, she doesn’t look like she can deliver really strong hits.
The bookies were overwhelmed with bets riding on Mason, with Makoa ordering the Punks to match bets on the lady, aiming to sweep up the entire round. Money was easily earned that way, with Makoa being more than happy with the appearance of the lady.
The referee lined the both of them away from each other, beginning the match. They circled each other as the crowd cheered non-stop for Mason.
“Sorry, lady. I might not know your reason, but I’m here to win.” Mason grinned, side-stepping and feinting, throwing a few probing punches.
Sasha simply matched his footwork, like a dance, somehow able to keep up with him. Mason was content with this pace, acting cautious but soon the coach signalled with a sign to attack more.
Mason nodded, beginning to attack more seriously. He threw a few jabs and hooks, while continuously cornering the lady, forcing her near the edge of the ring.
Sasha only dodged, never retaliating with her own attack so far. This meant Mason would not be able to lose the match as planned. “Stop dodging and fight back!” Mason goaded Sasha on, increasing the speed of his punches.
Finally, as a single right hook was about to land on Sasha’s face, Mason suddenly felt a cold shiver run through his entire body, forcing him to back off immediately as though he was eyed by a predator far beyond his means.
However, it was far too late. Sasha’s right fist was already in front of his own face, the punch landing right on his nose and crushing his face in with a resounding crunch. The force was completely unexpected, with Mason toppling over onto the floor, his hands grabbing his nose that was profusely bleeding.
The crowd was equally confused by the sudden force shown by Sasha, which did not match her body stature. Before the stunned referee could stop them, Sasha leapt forward and delivered a strong kick to the side of Mason’s head, the bone-cracking echoing over the ring. Mason’s body immediately went limp, as a mush of blood leaked out the back of his head.
The sudden increase in skill shocked Makoa, alarm bells ringing in his head. He locked eyes with Sasha, fully comprehending what she was here for. “Grab her now!” Makoa ordered, with the Ilysian Punks immediately leaping onto stage and trying to restrain her.
