The moment the command left his lips, the air around them buzzed.
A sudden, unnatural chill swept through the alley, making the gang members tense instinctively.
Then—
Whoosh!
A gust of cold wind howled through the narrow street, carrying with it the stench of decay. The ground beneath them vibrated ever so slightly, sending an eerie tremor up their spines.
Then, from the darkness, a figure materialized beside Igaris.
The figure appeared to a knight in silver armour. But what was astonishing as that there was no flesh in its body.
Its eyes were hollow, lifeless, except for a red ominous light.
It was undeniably a Undead Knight, which they had seen on the Ruined Citadel.
Dred had arrived.
The thug who had stepped forward froze mid-stride. His bravado evaporated in an instant, his face draining of color.
"W-what the fuck—?!" he stammered, stumbling back.
Even Ranger, for all his arrogance, took an involuntary step away, his fingers twitching near the hilt of his blade.
"Y-You...You're a dark summoner?!" he gasped.
Igaris tilted his head slightly, his cold gaze locking onto them like a predator sizing up prey.
"And you.... have just realized your second biggest mistake," Igaris said, his voice smooth and deadly
"Kill them!"
The cold, emotionless command escaped Igaris's lips, reverberating through the air like a death knell.
In the next instant, the ruffians saw only a blur of shadow and steel—followed by the unmistakable slice of a blade cleaving through flesh.
Slash!
Ranger's head was severed clean from his shoulders, flying through the air before landing on the dusty ground with a dull thud. His eyes were still wide open, frozen in disbelief.
The body stood motionless for a second longer, then collapsed like a broken puppet.
At the center of the storm stood Dred, the Undead Knight, his rusted blade dripping with fresh blood. His posture was poised, regal even, with a grace that belied the brutality he had just unleashed.
"Ba-dum... ba-dum..."
The hearts of the remaining thugs pounded in their chests like war drums. And cold sweat poured down their foreheads, their legs trembling uncontrollably as Dred slowly turned his head toward them.
Those hollow sockets, lit with a ghostly light, stared straight into their souls.
"R-RUN!"
Fear. Uncontrollable fear.
Panic overtook them.
Without a second thought, the gang turned tail and bolted, tripping over themselves in a frantic scramble. Their limbs flailed wildly, legs pumping like pistons, as if the fear alone might manifest claws at their backs.
At this time, they wished they had four legs—no, wings—to carry them away from this nightmare, if possible.
They no longer cared about their pride, or their boss's fate. All they could think about was survival. Every step felt like it could be their last.
All of them had the same thought racing through their minds:
We should've never come here.
Nevertheless, no matter how unwilling they were, fate would take its course.
A dash. A flash. Then a scream—cut short. Another body hit the ground, lifeless.
One of the fleeing ruffians barely had time to glance over his shoulder before his clothes were shredded, limbs sliced away in a blur, and his skin flayed with surgical precision. The speed was so terrifying that to any onlooker, it appeared as if his body simply unraveled in the air.
One by one, they all fell.
Some tried to scream. Others tried to beg. But the Elite Undead Knight showed no mercy. His movements were like a symphony of slaughter, precision, elegance, and absolutely lethality.
Eventually, the trail of gore came to an end. Every one of the ruffians lay torn and mangled, reduced to little more than piles of flesh and ruined bone.
Only then did Igaris's eyes regain their color, the haunting hollowness fading as he surveyed the aftermath.
He stood still amidst the carnage, blood splattered on his clothes, the scent of iron heavy in the air.
His cold voice was echoed in the quietness,
"That's the price... for messing with me."
"Dismiss!"
With that single command, the Undead Knight vanished in a whisper of dark mist, slipping back into the depths of Igaris's body like a shadow returning to its master.
Silence followed.
Igaris remained still for a moment, scanning his surroundings with sharp eyes. The growing darkness around him was a blessing as it shrouded the blood-stained path and the mutilated bodies under its cover.
In the far-off horizon, faint silhouettes of distant homes flickered with light, but no witnesses were nearby.
So, for now, he was safe.
Still, he couldn't be careless.
Ranger's gang might have been trash, but their confidence had come from someone powerful lurking in the background. Killing them might bring a storm. Retaliation was inevitable, and Igaris knew it.
He crouched beside Ranger's mangled corpse, checking the body swiftly and thoroughly.
Amidst the blood and scraps of leather, he found a small iron blade—its edge sharp, its grip well-worn. It was just the thing Igaris needed.
He also discovered a set of crumpled, blood-stained papers stuffed inside a hidden pocket.
They were maps which was crudely drawn with messy ink strokes and rough lines, but unmistakably of the Forsaken Land's important landmarks.
The markings, symbols, and half-erased notes littered the surface, perhaps hints to ruins, dungeons, or hunting grounds.
"Great, they had something good after all."
Igaris muttered, folding the papers with care and slipping both the knife and the map into the inner pocket of his clothing.
If anyone recognized the knife, they'd instantly connect him to Ranger's death. And once the news spread tomorrow, there would be questions. Angry, dangerous ones.
He stood up again, eyes cold but calm.
To be safe from suspicions, precautions were necessary.
From this point on, everything needed to be planned.
One wrong move, and he and his family might be hunted next.
Without wasting a second, he continued on his path, blending into the creeping darkness of the evening. And of Course, the boar was with him too.
His boots crunched softly on the gritty sand as he neared the edge of the slums, where his makeshift home waited.
But just as he passed a narrow alley, something unusual caught his attention.
He paused.
His gaze lifted to the sky, squinting through the thick clouds tinged with twilight.
There, high above the clouds, partially veiled by cloud, something strange flickered.
Red and blue lights pulsed faintly in the sky, unmoving, almost hovering in place.
At first glance, they could've been dismissed as stars. But they were too bright. Too artificial.
And most importantly; they hadn't moved an inch for several minutes.
"Was that an aircraft? Or something more?"