A Night of Rot and Silence

After hitching a ride on the truck for a while.

The cold night wind howled past Lucas’s ears, whipping against his battered body as he clung to the metal frame like a stubborn ghost refusing to fall.

His fingers were stiff.

His grip shaky.

But he held on.

Below him, the asphalt blurred into streaks of dull gray and black, the city lights stretching into long smears like bleeding stars.

Behind him—

Nothing.

No headlights chasing.

No footsteps.

No killing intent.

Seeing that Julian D’Aurelius and Yana Tyson hadn’t caught up, Lucas had no intention of getting off the truck to hide.

A crooked smile slowly crawled across his pale face.

"Fools."

Lu—no, Lucas—sneered with a two-word evaluation, his voice hoarse yet dripping with contempt.

His chest rose and fell heavily, each breath dragging against the fire in his lungs.

"If it were me..." he muttered to himself, eyes narrowing into slits, "I would have crushed the throat clean. No escape. No second chance."

He let out a faint, bitter chuckle.

Letting him escape—

That would become the biggest regret of their lives.

However...

His expression shifted slightly.

Reality returned.

His condition—

Was terrible.

Inside his body, blood surged violently, clashing against his nervous system like waves against a crumbling shore. Every movement sent sharp pain radiating through his limbs.

The poison.

The injuries.

The backlash.

Everything was stacking.

If he hadn’t taken an antidote...

If he hadn’t cultivated that specialized technique from the Obsidian Wing—

He would already be a corpse cooling on the pavement.

His grip tightened slightly.

"...Still alive," he whispered, almost in disbelief. "Hah... barely."

The truck rolled forward.

Minutes passed.

Or maybe seconds.

Time blurred when pain took over.

When the truck reached a park nearby, its speed slowed.

A red traffic light flickered ahead.

Lucas’s vision dimmed slightly at the edges.

He knew—

He couldn’t hold on any longer.

His strength was slipping.

Fast.

Taking advantage of the truck stopping at a red light, he released his grip and dropped down.

THUD.

His knees buckled as soon as his feet touched the ground.

Pain exploded upward.

But he forced himself forward.

Step by step.

Unsteady.

Dragging.

He staggered into the park.

The night there was quieter.

Darker.

Trees loomed like silent watchers, their shadows stretching long across the paths.

This park was relatively secluded.

Empty.

Cold.

Perfect.

Running to a hotel or hospital right now? 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

That would be suicide.

A trap waiting to close.

"...Here... is enough..." he muttered, voice fading.

Reaching a bench deep within the park, Lucas collapsed onto it, his body finally giving in.

His vision swayed.

Breathing shallow.

He fumbled for his phone.

His fingers trembled as he unlocked it, tapping out a short message.

Coordinates.

A request.

To the Scythe Division.

"Come... pick me up..." he whispered under his breath.

Send.

The message disappeared into the void.

A thin, relieved smile flickered across his lips.

"...Just hold on... a little longer..."

But his body—

Didn’t listen.

The moment the phone slipped from his hand—

Darkness swallowed him whole.

He passed out.

Meanwhile—

Far from the quiet decay of the park—

The Scythe Division was somewhere else entirely.

Music pounded.

Lights flashed.

Bodies moved in rhythm.

Inside a high-end club, indulgence ruled the night.

Hemil—leaned back lazily on a leather couch, a glass in one hand, the other resting comfortably against the soft thigh of the woman beside him.

The air smelled of alcohol and perfume.

Desire and distraction.

His phone buzzed.

He glanced at it.

Brows furrowed slightly.

"Boss, that guy Lucas sent a message."

The other three looked over, expressions curious.

"What does he want now?" one of them scoffed.

"Probably got himself into trouble again," another added with a lazy grin.

"Ignore him, pretend we didn’t see it."

Hemil didn’t hesitate.

He tossed his phone aside without another glance.

His hand slid lazily, patting the young lady’s thigh beside him, while another hand casually squeezed the soft curve of her chest.

"Hottie," he said with a crooked smile, voice thick with amusement, "let’s have seafood together tonight."

The girl giggled softly, leaning closer, her lips brushing his cheek in a teasing kiss.

"Of course, darling," she whispered, eyes half-lidded. "But you better not disappoint me tonight~"

Hemil chuckled.

"Oh? Then I’ll have to make sure you can’t walk out of here."

The group burst into laughter.

Lucas’s message—

Forgotten.

Ignored.

Left to rot.

Back in the park—

Silence ruled.

Cold wind drifted through the trees.

And on that lonely bench—

Lucas lay unconscious.

Still.

Vulnerable.

It didn’t take long.

Two figures emerged from the shadows.

Young.

Rough-looking.

Eyes sharp in a different way—

Not of strength.

But of survival.

"Bro, look, that guy seems drunk."

The shorter one whispered, nudging his companion as he pointed toward Lucas.

The bearded man narrowed his eyes, studying the scene.

"Drunk and sleeping in the open at night... people like that are the scum of society, contributing nothing!"

His voice was low, carrying a strange mix of disdain and twisted righteousness.

The shorter guy scratched his head.

"...So... what do we do?"

The bearded man scoffed, folding his arms.

"So we can’t be like him. We need to change our lazy ways and get back on track."

He nodded seriously, as if delivering wisdom.

"From today on, we must improve our... skills. Combine classical and modern methods. Strive to grow and achieve greatness."

The short guy blinked.

"...You mean stealing better?"

The bearded man gave him a proud look.

"Exactly."

Then his eyes shifted.

Locked onto Lucas.

"Of course, for now... our main goal is to steal whatever we can... for example—"

He gestured toward the unconscious man.

The two exchanged a look.

A silent agreement.

And moved.

Carefully.

Quickly.

Moments later—

Soon, they had already taken Lucas’s wallet and phone.

The short young man flipped through the thick stack of cash inside the wallet, his eyes widening immediately.

"Damn... this rich brat actually carries cash?"

He let out a whistle.

"Who even does that anymore?"

The bearded man grabbed the phone next, checking the expensive model before grinning.

"Today’s harvest isn’t bad."

"Not bad?" the short guy laughed. "Brother, we struck gold tonight."

As they continued searching him, the bearded man suddenly paused.

"Hm?"

He pulled something from Lucas’s coat pocket.

Two unopened boxes of condoms.

Silence lingered for a second.

Then the short guy burst into laughter so hard he nearly bent over.

"Hahahaha! This bastard came prepared!"

The bearded man examined the boxes with amusement.

"Premium brand too."

He clicked his tongue.

"Looks like Young Master planned to have himself a wonderful evening."

Lucas had bought them back in Woodland.

At the time, after planning for Bianca to be drugged and delivered to him, he had even worried that one box might not be enough to satisfy her.

But in the end, his plan didn’t work out, and the condoms remained completely unused.

The short guy wiped tears from the corner of his eyes.

"What a tragedy."

He shook his head dramatically.

"Prepared for battle, but never made it to the battlefield."

The bearded man snorted.

"Looks like heaven couldn’t bear to watch him succeed."

Both men laughed shamelessly.

The short guy stuffed the wallet into his jacket and patted it happily.

"Brother, we really hit the jackpot today."

The bearded man grinned broadly.

"Thank nature for its gifts."

This guy was quite generous.

Not many people carried thousands in cash these days.

The short guy’s eyes gleamed greedily.

"With this money, we can finally go enjoy ourselves properly tonight."

The bearded man nodded seriously.

"That’s right."

Then he raised a finger righteously.

"We’ll stimulate consumption."

The short guy instantly understood and slapped his thigh.

"Boost the domestic economy!"

The bearded man burst into loud laughter.

"And contribute to society!"

The two looked at each other—

then laughed even harder like complete idiots.

After calming down slightly, the short young man tilted his head.

"So..."

He glanced at unconscious Lucas.

"Shall we go?"

The bearded man looked down at the condom box in his hand and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

Then he suddenly snorted.

"No."

He slowly opened one of the boxes.

"We people of the underworld have principles."

The short guy blinked.

"...What principles?"

The bearded man spoke with complete seriousness.

"We can’t just take things for free."

He raised the condom box proudly.

"A drop of water shall be repaid with a surging white spring."

Then his grin gradually turned sinister.

"Our benefactor has shown us generosity."

He opened the box slowly, his grin widening.

The short guy instantly understood and nearly choked from laughing.

"Let’s repay our benefactor properly."

The short guy snorted. "Ohhh..."

The bearded man cracked his neck.

"So naturally..."

He waved the box.

"...we should repay him with a little gratitude."

The short guy pointed at him immediately.

"Got it, you first, bro."

"Of course."

The bearded man rolled up his sleeves confidently before waving impatiently.

"Go keep watch."

The short guy gave a thumbs-up while still laughing uncontrollably.

Then he turned and walked toward the alley entrance.

Meanwhile—in his unconscious state, Lucas vaguely felt something cold press against his backdoor.

The night grew heavier.

Colder.

And in his unconscious state—

Lucas faintly felt something wrong.

A dull, distant pain.

A strange discomfort spread through his lower body.

Then—

A foreign object forced its way in.

Even unconscious, his body twitched violently on instinct.

His brow twitched slightly.

But his body—

Couldn’t respond.

Couldn’t wake.

Couldn’t fight.

Only endure.

From behind him came the bearded man’s dissatisfied voice.

"Tsk... why’s this guy clenching so hard?"