Brad sat inside a noisy private booth at a nearby tavern, a tall glass of cold ale raised high in his hand. Surrounded by five of his loyal cronies, the heavy atmosphere in the room was filled with loud laughter, clinking glasses, and constant praise.
"Boss Brad is incredible! Booking a slot in an Iron-Ranked Dungeon after just two months of saving is insane!" one of the cronies shouted, slamming his hand onto the wooden table.
"Yeah! Once Boss Brad clears the Goblin’s Lounge and reaches Level 5, those medium-sized guilds will be begging you to join them!" another added with a wide grin. "Don’t forget about us when you become a big shot!"
Brad let out a booming laugh, taking a long gulp of his drink. He was in an unusually great mood today. The long, frustrating wait was finally over, and his dream of entering a government-regulated dungeon was just around the corner.
"Don’t worry, boys," Brad said, leaning back against his chair with an arrogant smirk. "When I hit Level 5 and secure a spot in a solid guild, I will make sure all of you are recruited as my personal squad. We will rule the lower sectors together."
The group cheered, but Brad noticed Ronin sitting quietly near the end of the table, staring down at his untouched glass with a gloomy expression.
Brad reached over and slapped Ronin on the shoulder with a heavy thud. "What is with that depressing face, Ronin? Stop worrying so much. That little orphan weirdo will never escape us. He lives in the same dormitory block. Where else could he possibly hide?"
Ronin didn’t say anything. For some reason, he felt a sense of impending doom. That guy... he didn’t look like a scaredy-cat anymore.
Rather, he was like a predator hiding in the dark.
Just as Brad finished his sentence, his phone chimed on the table with an incoming notification. He picked it up and read the text message sent by two of his scouts who had been stationed near the academy entrance.
Text Message: Boss, we spotted the kid! He just left the market sector carrying a heavy leather bundle on his back. He is heading down the old alleyway toward the dorms right now.
Brad’s smirk turned into a cruel, ruthless grin. He stood up from his chair, cracking his knuckles loudly.
"Looks like your revenge time has arrived, Ronin," Brad announced to the room, though his own teeth were gritted tightly behind his smile.
While he claimed it was for Ronin, Brad’s main motivation was burning rage. The throbbing pain in his groin from the heavy alarm clock was still very real.
He could not wait to personally break every bone in Oscar’s arms for what he had done.
Meanwhile, in a dimly lit, narrow alleyway two blocks away from the dormitories, two figures stepped out from the shadows, blocking both ends of the stone path.
They were Brad’s lackeys, two tall, muscular teenagers who usually handled the physical bullying for the group.
Both of them grinned as they saw Oscar standing calmly in the middle of the alleyway with his hands in his jacket pockets.
"Look at this, he didn’t even notice us," one of the lackeys mocked, his eyes instantly drifting toward the heavy, expensive-looking leather sack slung over Oscar’s shoulder. "Hey, look at that bag. This fucker seems to have purchased something from the market sector."
"Haha, you’re right! He must have spent whatever little savings he had," the second lackey laughed, stepping closer. "How about we take it for ourselves before Brad gets here?"
Neither of them paused to consider whether they could actually defeat Oscar. To them, Oscar was still the same weak, defenseless orphan who had spent years getting pushed around.
Instead of cowering or begging for mercy, Oscar simply stood there and smiled.
The two lackeys froze for a second, stunned by his complete lack of fear. In all the months they had known him, Oscar had never looked at them with such cold, amused detachment.
"Do you want to see what is inside?" Oscar asked, his voice calm and unbothered.
Without waiting for an answer, Oscar unclasped the leather strap and unbagged the object. The dark cloth fell away, revealing the Ironbite Crossbow in all its glory.
The dark iron frame gleamed under the dim streetlight, its reinforced steel string tightly coiled and ready for combat.
The two lackeys gulped simultaneously, their laughter instantly dying out.
’This looks so damn expensive... Whose weapon is this?’ both of them thought at the same time, a sudden wave of hesitation washing over them.
The weapon clearly belonged to the Common quality tier or higher. A weak orphan could never afford something like this.
Their first instinct was that Oscar was running a high-priority errand for a powerful Host or a wealthy store owner.
"Is this yours?" one of them blurted out cautiously.
"It is mine," Oscar replied plainly.
The two lackeys looked at each other, processing his words before bursting into loud, hysterical laughter to hide their initial panic.
"You—haha! Don’t tell me you actually plan to become a Host with that?" the first lackey sneered, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Plan?" Oscar laughed softly. He raised his arms, aiming the heavy dark iron crossbow straight at the first lackey’s chest. "I am already one."
The sight of the dark iron barrel pointing directly at them made both lackeys instantly stop laughing. The atmosphere in the narrow alleyway turned dead silent.
"Hey... boy, give that to us and remain silent if you don’t want to—"
Click!
Before the lackey could finish his sentence, Oscar pulled back the heavy string and loaded a steel bolt into the groove with a sharp mechanical sound, pointing it right between the boy’s eyes.
The lackey took an involuntary step back, his face turning pale as sweat broke out on his forehead.
"What are you scared of?" the second lackey shouted, trying to regain control of the situation. "Do you really think this idiot knows how to aim to hit us? He is just trying to bluff!"
"You’re right! Let’s take him down before Brad arrives so we can take the credit!"
Both lackeys charged forward at full speed from two different directions, closing the gap quickly.
Even though they talked tough, they were still cautious enough to run in a sharp, irregular zigzag pattern across the narrow alleyway, trying to throw off Oscar’s line of sight.
They were confident that an inexperienced beginner holding a heavy crossbow would never be able to track two fast-moving targets moving in a zigzag formation.
Looking at their erratic movements, the corners of Oscar’s lips curled up into a cold, mocking smile.
’Do they really think moving like that will help them?’ Oscar thought, amusement floating in his mind.
Aimbot activated.
A bright blue reticle locked firmly onto the chest of the leading lackey, completely ignoring his zigzag movements and predicting his exact trajectory thirty meters away.
Oscar pulled the trigger without a moment of hesitation.
TWANG!