The abandoned industrial district of East Street was eerily silent, save for the distant hum of the city beyond. Blake sat atop a rusted van, one leg dangling over the edge, the other propped up lazily. He looked utterly at ease, as if he were simply waiting for a late-night rendezvous rather than an impending bloodbath.
At his feet, the two surviving Black Blade members knelt, their hands bound with makeshift cloth restraints. Kouzou stood nearby, his face pale, shifting uneasily as if he might bolt at any second.
Blake's fingers idly tapped against the hilt of his Ice Whisper Sword, a ghost of a smirk playing at his lips.
The low growl of engines, growing louder by the second.
Blake's crystalline blue eyes lifted slightly, his smirk widening. They're here.
A convoy of vehicles roared into view, their headlights slicing through the darkness. At the front was a sleek black sports car, its aggressive design screaming wealth and power. Behind it, ten armored vans followed like a pack of wolves, their tires screeching as they came to a halt.
The moment the engines died, the doors burst open.
A tide of Black Blade enforcers spilled out, clad in dark clothing, armed to the teeth with machetes, baseball bats, and hunting knives. Their faces were hardened, their eyes glinting with violence.
Blake barely paid them any attention. His gaze was fixed on the man who stepped out of the sports car.
The Black Blade's kingpin. A man whose name carried weight in the city's underworld. His face was lined with old scars, a testament to battles fought and survived. Dressed in a tailored black suit, he radiated menace—a predator in his domain.
Two towering bodyguards flanked him, each wielding machetes nearly as long as a man's arm. Their sheer size made them look more like walking tanks than men.
Then, without warning—
A system notification flashed across Blake's vision.
Destroy the Black Blade Gang.
Reward: 100 Fortune Points.
Blake blinked once, then dismissed it. Like I needed more reason to wipe these bastards out.
Hideki strode forward, his gaze locked on the young man standing defiantly before him.
"Kid," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, "you've got some nerve."
Blake didn't respond, watching him with an unreadable expression.
Hideki continued, stepping closer until only ten feet separated them. "You think kidnapping my men was a smart move? I'll give you one chance. Hand them over, kneel, and beg for mercy. If you do that, I might—might—let you live."
The Black Blade members behind him grinned, expecting to see Blake crumble.
Instead, Blake let out a quiet chuckle.
"Arrogant?" He tilted his head slightly. "No. You're overestimating yourself."
With a single, fluid motion, he leaped down from the van, landing with cat-like grace. His Ice Whisper Sword gleamed under the flickering streetlights.
"To me, you're nothing but ants," Blake said coldly. "And I brought you here to crush you."
Before anyone could react—
A heartbeat later, the two bound men and Kouzou collapsed, their heads rolling across the concrete.
Instant. Precise. Merciless.
The air was thick with the scent of blood. The severed necks gushed crimson, staining the ground beneath them.
For a moment, the hundred gangsters stood in stunned silence.
Even Hideki's face darkened. He had ordered Blake to release his men—not slaughter them like cattle. The blatant disrespect, the utter disregard for his authority—this was an open challenge.
Hideki's laughter echoed through the lot, rough and unhinged. He wiped a hand across his scarred jaw, eyes burning with fury.
"Good. Very good." He exhaled, his nostrils flaring. "It's been a long time since anyone dared pull something in front of me."
The grin vanished from his face.
"Kill him. Tear that bastard to pieces."
The moment the words left his mouth, the Black Blade gang surged forward like a tidal wave.
Blades gleamed. Boots thundered. Murder filled the air.
A single step forward—one, two, three—and the first three men fell, clutching their throats as blood poured from deep, precise cuts.
The fourth barely had time to scream before Blake twisted around him, sword carving through his ribs like a hot knife through butter.
Blake darted between them, a phantom among men. His movements were flawless, fluid—an artist painting death with every stroke.
The ground became slick with blood and bodies.
They outnumbered him a hundred to one, yet not a single blade touched him.
To Blake, these thugs moved in slow motion. His Perceptual Distortion ability, his enhanced Aether energy, his unnatural stamina—they made him untouchable.
And the gangsters realized it too late.
Their numbers didn't matter.
Their weapons didn't matter.
They were sheep in a slaughterhouse.
From the sidelines, Hideki watched, his fingers twitching.
The men he'd spent years training—his most loyal killers—were being butchered like they were nothing.
He wasn't even breathing hard.
The blood on his sword wasn't a hindrance. The corpses piling up around him weren't slowing him down. If anything—
For the first time in years, a cold chill ran down Hideki's spine.
What the hell is this kid?
As if sensing his fear, Blake turned his head slightly, locking eyes with him across the battlefield.