A short while later, Brad arrived at the dark alleyway, accompanied by Ronin and his remaining three cronies.
He adjusted his leather jacket, cracking his knuckles in anticipation. His groin still throbbed with a dull pain, and his heart burned with a deep desire for violent retribution.
He slowed his pace as he turned the corner into the stone path, expecting to see his two scouts holding Oscar down on the floor, waiting for his grand arrival.
The alleyway was completely empty.
The flickering yellow streetlight illuminated only bare stone walls and discarded trash. There was no sign of Oscar, nor was there any trace of his two scouts.
"Where are they?" Brad gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching in anger. "Those useless fools. Did they manage to lose a defenseless orphan in a dead end alley?"
"Boss... look over there," one of the cronies said, pointing a trembling finger toward the center of the path. "There is blood on the ground."
Brad stepped closer and frowned deeply. A dark red stain was clearly visible on the damp concrete, along with faint smear marks indicating something heavy had been dragged away.
"I explicitly told those two idiots not to break him before I got here," Brad spat, kicking a nearby wooden crate in frustration. "Damn it. I wanted to personally break every single bone in his arms. If they ruined my fun, I am going to beat them up too."
It never even crossed Brad’s mind that his two scouts might have lost the fight. To him, the idea of Oscar defeating two trained, athletic teenagers was an absolute impossibility.
Ronin stood quietly behind the group, his face pale under the dim streetlight. He bent down and picked up a crushed cola can lying right next to the bloodstain.
The sharp, painful memory of an unopened soda can flying through the air and smashing into his nose instantly resurfaced in his mind. Cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck.
Ronin stared at the blood on the ground and shook his head, quickly dismissing the rising panic in his heart.
’No... there is no way,’ he thought to himself. ’Those two are the strongest fighters in our group after Brad. Even Brad would struggle to take both of them down at the same time without taking a hit. That bastard Oscar must have slipped past them, and they are probably dragging him somewhere else.’
Just as Brad was about to call his scouts to berate them, his phone vibrated in his hand with a new text notification.
He unlocked the screen and read the message sent from one of the missing scouts.
Text Message: Boss, we moved the kid. We are on the roof of the school right now. Come quick.
A wide, approving smile immediately returned to Brad’s face. He put his phone back in his pocket and chuckled softly.
"Look at that, my boys know how to think," Brad boasted to his group, waving his hand for them to follow. "Taking that bastard to an abandoned area where no civilians or patrolling guards will disturb us is a great move. My teachings aren’t for naught after all."
Without wasting another second, the group moved quickly toward District 4 High.
District 4 High was an old, dilapidated three-story school building located on the edge of the residential block.
It had been abandoned for years after the government consolidated the local schools, leaving behind broken windows, rusty gates, and cracked concrete walls.
It was the primary gathering spot for Brad’s bully ring whenever they wanted to handle their business away from prying eyes.
The five of them entered the quiet schoolyard and marched up the dark, dusty stairwell inside the main building. The silence inside the abandoned hallways was heavy and suffocating.
As they reached the third floor and approached the heavy metal door leading out onto the open roof terrace, a thick, metallic smell began to drift through the air.
Brad’s eyebrows furrowed once again. The iron stench of fresh blood was far too strong.
"Did those bastards actually kill that orphan?" Brad muttered under his breath, a faint trace of worry finally crossing his mind.
Although maiming an unregistered orphan in a dark alley rarely drew heavy investigations, committing outright murder inside the city limits was a completely different story.
Government regulations provided absolute legal protection to ordinary humans from Host violence.
If a Host murdered an ordinary citizen within city walls, the enforcement units would hunt them down without mercy.
Brad pushed open the heavy iron door with a loud screech, ready to yell at his scouts.
"You bastards, I told you not to beat him until—"
His voice froze instantly in the middle of his sentence. The words died in his throat as the scene on the open terrace came into full view under the pale moonlight.
The two scouts were kneeling on the hard concrete floor, their heads bowed low.
Both of them had deep, bloody wounds on their upper bodies, and their foreheads were oozing fresh red blood that poured down their pale, bruised faces, pooling onto the floor beneath them.
They were shivering in pain, completely broken and unable to lift their heads.
In the center of the terrace, resting on the worn wooden bench where Brad usually sat to rule over his cronies, sat another person.
Oscar was leaning back casually, resting his chin lazily on the palm of his hand. He wore a quiet, completely unbothered expression, looking at the arriving group with eyes full of absolute boredom.
Slung across his back was the dark iron frame of the Ironbite Crossbow, its steel string loosely resting, ready to be drawn in an instant.
Oscar glanced at Brad, his voice calm and slow. "What took you so long to come? I was getting so bored waiting here."
"WHAT!" Brad shouted involuntarily, his eyes widening in complete shock and horror.
His brain struggled to process the scene before him.
The weak, timid boy who had spent years being pushed around was now sitting comfortably on his throne, holding a lethal weapon while his two strongest lieutenants bled out at his feet.
Brad took a frantic step backward, his instinct screaming at him that something was terribly wrong.
He turned around instantly, shouting to his cronies at the top of his lungs, "Holy fuck! This guy is a Host now! And he is a higher level! Run!"
Brad pushed past Ronin, attempting to bolt back down the dark stairwell as fast as his legs could carry him.
But the very second he tried to take a stride, an invisible, crushing weight slammed down upon his body.
It felt as if a pair of massive, unseen hands had reached out from the darkness, gripping his waist and locking his joints in place.
His legs refused to move an inch, as if they had been instantly welded to the concrete floor.
Brad stood completely rooted in place, his heart pounding violently against his ribs in sheer terror. He strained his muscles, trying with all his strength to lift his feet, but his body remained entirely immobile.
The three cronies behind him froze in equal terror, unable to take a single step.
In the dark he managed to hear Oscar muttering, "so this is how banning agility works?"