Two days had passed since Trevor claimed the contract at Solheim Town Hall, and progress had ground to an agonizing halt.
His funds were running dangerously thin. After paying for basic lodging, daily rations, and extra fuel oil, he was down to a paltry thirteen silvers. Without concrete intelligence on where the Axe Gang operated, he had spent forty-eight hours dragging his boots through Solheim’s freezing rain and mud with nothing to show for it.
Stepping out into a congested avenue, Trevor barely avoided colliding with a young street urchin weaving through the crowd.
The boy, carrying a thick bundle of ink-stained broadsheets under his arm, collided squarely with Trevor’s waist. The kid bounced right off Trevor’s broad torso like he had struck a steel pillar.
“Watch it, mister!” the boy blurted out, steadying his pile. He looked up, taking in Trevor’s towering frame and dark French coat. “Extra! Extra! War on the horizon! Buy a paper, mister? Only two copper!”
Trevor glanced down at the kid, who couldn't have been older than thirteen. He tossed a couple of coppers into the boy's palm and took a broadsheet.
The front page carried massive, bold headlines warning of continental ruin. The grand alliance of Roth Re'Gahr, Ashen, Ravinia, and Seraya was mobilizing along the borderlands, bracing for full-scale war against the opposing coalition of Elyria, Azhuria, Taoren, Siamara, and Shinsei. Now spiraling toward total continental domination.
Trevor stared at the ink print for a silent second before flipping the page past the geopolitical madness, uninterested in political squabbles that didn't pay his way home. He flipped through page after page of commercial advertisements and local gossip.
“What are you looking for, mister?” the boy, Paulie, asked, tilting his head with natural curiosity.
“News on the Axe Gang,” Trevor replied flatly, folding the paper.
Paulie let out a dry, knowing laugh. “You won't find those bastards in the morning paper. They don't leave notices. But if you're hunting them, check the red-light district Low Town. All the whorehouses.”
Trevor raised an eyebrow, adjusting his coat collar. “How would a kid like you know that? You're far too young to be hanging around pleasure houses.”
“My big sister works in one of the parlors,” Paulie said, shifting his bundle to his other arm. “She sees them all the time. They spend their extortion money on liquor and women.”
“Fair enough.” Trevor reached into his pocket, pulled out five silver coins, and flipped them to the boy. “Thanks for the tip, kid.”
Paulie caught the silver, his eyes going wide with disbelief. He quickly pocketed the coins before any nearby thugs noticed.
A small source note: NovelPhoenix is where the author posts this chapter, while this copy was made without consent.
“Hey, mister—one more thing!” Paulie whispered loudly, leaning in. “If you wanna make sure it's really them, look at their left neck. Every full member wears a branded axe tattoo right below the jawline.”
“Good to know.”
An hour later, Trevor was navigating the damp, narrow alleys of Solheim's red-light district. Rows of wooden brothels and pleasure dens stood wall-to-wall, their red glass lanterns casting long, bloody shadows across the cobblestones.
Trevor leaned against a stone pillar in the shadow of an overhang, his eyes scanning the foot traffic.
Hours crept by until a burly man staggered out of a gilded doorway, clutching a bottle of cheap spirits. As the man turned to spit into the gutter, the red lantern light caught his left neck.
Stenciled clearly against his skin was a dark, jagged axe tattoo.
[TARGET IDENTIFIED]
Affiliation: Axe Gang (Full Time Member)
Status: Intoxicated
“Target acquired,” Eelon whispered along Trevor's auditory link.
The gang member stumbled down a quiet side street toward the outer municipal wall. Trevor trailed him silently, taking care not to let his heavy combat boots scuff the stone.
Once the bandit entered a completely deserted alleyway, Trevor made his move.
He rested his hand on his rusted iron briefcase. With a sharp mechanical click, the case shifted, reconfiguring itself instantly into Mode 8: Chain Grappling Hook.
Trevor launched the weapon.
CLANG!
The heavy iron chain whipped through the dark, wrapping tightly around the bandit’s throat and torso with violent precision. Before the man could even gasp, Trevor yanked the chain backward with terrifying force, dragging the thrashing thug directly into the pitch-black alley shadows.
Trevor slammed the man face-first into the brick wall, pinning him by the throat.
The bandit thrashed, reaching up to claw at Trevor's arms, but Trevor's frame didn't give an inch. Underneath his synthetic skin lay high-density cybernetic muscle fibers and titanium-alloy bone plating. To the bandit, it felt like trying to bend solid iron.
“Where is the hideout?” Trevor demanded, his voice dropping into a dangerous, metallic rumble.
“Go to hell, you—”
BANG.
Trevor slammed a heavy metal-hard fist straight into the bandit’s ribs, shattering two of them instantly. The man let out a wet, strangled scream.
“Wrong answer,” Trevor said coldly, raising his fist again. “Try again.”
Three quick punches later, the bandit’s face was bruised and bloody, his resolve completely broken by Trevor's unyielding strength.
“Alright! Alright! Stop!” the thug wheezed, coughing up blood. “The main supply hub... it's the old timber warehouse... at the very end of the northern city exit road! We run distribution from there!”
“Distribution of what?”
“Illegal contraband... Moon Sugar, Frenzy Mushrooms, Taoren Opium... everything we smuggle into the city!”
Trevor dragged the half-conscious thug out of the alley and marched him straight to the local magistrate's guard post. He tossed the battered gangster onto the floor, produced the wanted poster, and claimed the 25 silver coins for the confirmed member's head.
Later that night, the rain had stopped, leaving a heavy fog rolling off the mountain slopes.
Trevor stood atop a grassy ridge overlooking the northern city exit road. Below him sat a sprawling, fortified wooden warehouse surrounded by high timber fences. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter, carrying crossbows and heavy iron hatchets.
Inside, the Axe Gang was actively moving crates of illegal narcotics.
Trevor pulled out his tablet cyber-computer, scanning the heat signatures through the timber walls.
[TACTICAL RECONNAISSANCE]
Hostiles Detected: 55 Active Members
High-Value Target: Asmund (Leader)
Threat Level: Medium-High
Eelon slithered out from Trevor's coat collar, its emerald optics sweeping across the fortified compound.
“Now this is a serious fight,” Eelon noted dryly.
Trevor unslung his briefcase, resting his fingers over the transformation mechanism as a faint smirk touched his lips.
“These guys are just small fish...” Trevor muttered softly, his eyes locking onto the center building. “I'm hoping they can bring me a life-thrilling experience.”