I WAS Humanity's HOPE-Chapter 18: Bucklers

For a heartbeat, Richard stood rooted to the spot, his palm still clenched around the spent bullet.

The café was in chaos—chairs knocked over, coffee cups smashed on the floor, and patrons scrambling for the door in frenzied panic.

Through the mayhem, Richard's gaze snapped to the man seated opposite the young woman he had just saved.

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John Buckler.

The Leader of the Hunter Association was the last person Richard expected to see in a cosy London café on an otherwise ordinary day. And yet here he was, as though plucked straight from the polished corridors of the Association's tower and dropped incongruously amid swirling cappuccino foam and scattered pastries.

Tall and broad-shouldered, Buckler wore a crisp midnight-blue suit that fit him like a second skin—razor-sharp lines mirroring the steel in his posture. His slicked-back dark hair never so much as wavered. Dark, unwavering eyes flicked from the bullet in Richard's hand to the jagged bullet hole in the café's window. He was a figure honed by discipline, radiating command the way a furnace radiates heat.

And yet, despite the pandemonium around him, Buckler seemed calm... almost too calm. As though he had expected everything that had happened and was now weighing the outcome like a chess master contemplates the board. The faintest twitch of his lips betrayed neither smile nor frown—just a cool, clinical assessment that revealed nothing.

Near him stood the young woman Richard had saved—long, dark hair and a shaken expression. She clutched the edge of the table, knuckles white, eyes still wide from nearly taking a bullet.

She must be Buckler's daughter, Angel, Richard thought, recalling tabloid snippets from long ago.

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself out of the momentary haze.

I can't chase the assassin now—not with this bastard here, watching. He's seen more than enough already.

He also needed to check on his own family.

He turned on his heel and strode towards them. Meredith's gaze sought his, a brief, silent question: Are you all right? He answered with the faintest nod.

"Hold," said the Leader of the Hunter Association in a voice so measured, so certain of obedience, that half the remaining patrons froze where they stood.

Richard paused, jaw clenched. Is he serious? Don't tell me he recognised the Burst Step and knows I'm Astralis. It's too soon for someone this high up—possibly part of the Paphos mission—to find out.

A single glance at Buckler confirmed that the man understood something extraordinary had happened. Richard had practically flown across the café to catch a bullet—faster than most eyes could track.

At Buckler's side, Angel remained stunned, but held a slight distance from her father. Interesting...

She looked young—late teens or early twenties—bearing the same imperious nose and proud stance as Buckler, though her eyes betrayed the raw fear she couldn't quite hide.

Buckler rose to his full height, smoothing his suit jacket with one deliberate motion. Even the catastrophic mess around him did little to dampen his commanding aura.

He used to be a C-Rank, Richard recalled, but according to the whispered rumours Meredith had uncovered, the man had climbed to A-Rank over the past decade and was rumoured to be on the cusp of S-Rank.

"One moment," Buckler said. He didn't raise his voice; he never had to. The authority in it alone cut through the café's clamour like a knife.

Richard flicked his gaze outside. "There's someone out there who just fired an enchanted bullet at your daughter."

"That can wait." Buckler's near-black eyes narrowed, lingering on Richard's cloak. "I'd prefer to know how you managed to cross the room so quickly."

Richard tensed, anger coiling in his gut. You're not my superior. But in the world's hierarchy—especially the world of hunters—John Buckler was about as high up as you could go.

"It's... an ability," Richard said curtly.

"Obviously." Buckler's lips twitched, not quite forming a smile—more a neutral tilt that revealed neither gratitude nor distrust, only cool calculation. "Care to elaborate?"

Meredith chose that moment to appear behind Richard, her barrier dispelled, posture still taut and alert. "He doesn't have to," she snapped, her glare locked on Buckler.

Even before the Hunter Association's leader, she held her ground; Richard felt a flicker of pride. Buckler turned his gaze on her, the tension in the air bristling like blades meeting in deadlock. His eyes rested on Meredith's wand and the faint, crackling sparks near her fingertips.

"Mage Guild," he remarked, voice devoid of warmth. "This city grows more interesting by the day."

Richard ground his teeth. Shouldn't he be more worried about his daughter's safety than interrogating some random hunter?

Just then, as though time had decided to catch up at once, the café door burst open. Two local police officers rushed in, breathless, hands hovering near their holsters. They stared in disbelief at the scene: overturned chairs, smashed cups, a bullet hole in the window, and civilians crouched under tables.

"Everyone all right?" the first officer called.

Buckler was the first to respond. "No serious injuries, though you should cordon off the area and search for the shooter."

The officer's mouth opened as though to protest the command, but upon registering Buckler's presence, he simply nodded. "Right. We'll... secure the premises."

His partner, a short, harried-looking woman, scanned the room, then started asking for witness statements.

Margaret, calm under pressure, stepped in to explain how someone had fired into the café, omitting any mention of abilities. She painted it as though Richard had "simply" moved fast enough to block the bullet—mundane reflexes, in other words.

Meanwhile, Buckler guided Angel to one side, speaking in low tones. Richard could only guess if the bullet had truly been aimed at her, or if Buckler was the intended target and his daughter had just been in the wrong place.

Eventually, Buckler returned his attention to Richard. "You saved my daughter's life," he said with measured politeness, though the warmth one might expect was missing. "I suppose I should thank you."

Richard nodded tersely, swallowing the bitter words rising in his throat. Don't bother.

But he stayed silent for Margaret and Andrew's sakes, aware they watched him warily.

Buckler's scrutiny sharpened, an edge of suspicion shining in his eyes. He's on to me, Richard realised, annoyance and unease coiling in his stomach. Maybe the star glyph had been too visible—maybe Buckler had sensed something amiss.

"Who are you?" Buckler asked softly.

Richard forced a stiff smile. "Just a concerned citizen who happened to be in the right place at the right time."

Buckler's expression remained unreadable, though his eyes glinted with either curiosity or wariness. "Indeed. I suspect we'll meet again... Mr...?"

"Blackwood," Meredith interjected, stepping forward. "He's my brother, but that's all you need to know."

Buckler glanced at her, then back to Richard. Silence stretched, as though he were turning every detail over in his razor-sharp mind. At last, he gave a curt nod, his slicked-back hair catching the overhead lights.

"I see," he said. He noticed the officers approaching and his mouth thinned in irritation. "I'll have my people coordinate with the authorities regarding my daughter's safety. If you'll excuse us."

He turned to Angel, murmuring something like, "You'll be all right," before adding quietly, "I wonder whether your decision to join the Mage Guild was correct after all..."

Angel half-nodded, half-cringed, offering no argument.

With that, John Buckler led Angel out of the café, leaving behind an unsettled hush. The police continued ushering out the remaining patrons, gathering statements where possible.

Through the fractured window, Richard watched as the Association's leader slipped into a black sedan, dark-suited bodyguards snapping to escort him with polished efficiency.

Meredith finally exhaled, her wand still gripped tightly. "That was... unexpected."

Richard's heart hammered from the adrenaline still coursing through him. His gaze fell to the bullet he'd dropped on the floor. Something about its gold-tipped design tugged at his mind.

Andrew and Margaret caught up to him, the confusion and fear plain on their faces. "Son," Andrew ventured, "are you all right?"

Richard's voice emerged tighter than intended. "Absolutely fine, Dad," he said after a moment's hesitation.

"Let's get out of here," he added quietly, ushering his parents towards the exit.