The cool night air of Solheim carried the sharp tang of burning coal and wet timber.
Trevor walked up to the perimeter of the Axe Gang's timber warehouse at the very end of the northern exit road. Two guards stood by the heavy wooden doors, leaning on crude iron hatchets as they eyed the lone stranger approaching through the low-hanging mist.
“Place is closed, mister,” one guard grunted, stepping forward and resting his hand on his weapon. “Turn around if you know what's good for you.”
“Open it for me then,” Trevor said flatly.
Before the guard could react, Trevor's left hand darted forward with blinding speed. He gripped the bandit's face in a vice-like squeeze and slammed him backward into the outer wooden wall with enough force to splinter the thick planks.
The second guard shouted, swinging his hatchet in a desperate arc toward Trevor's neck.
Trevor didn't even bother dodging. He raised his rusted iron briefcase in a swift counter, smashing the heavy metal edge directly into the bandit's temple. Bone cracked, and the man collapsed instantly into the mud.
Trevor kicked the main warehouse doors open with a thunderous CRACK.
Inside, the sprawling timber yard was ablaze with oil lanterns. Dozens of Axe Gang members were scattered across rows of stacks, packing crates of illegal contraband—Moon Sugar, Frenzy Mushrooms, and Taoren Opium. At the sound of the door splintering, instant panic erupted.
“Intruder!”
“Kill him!”
Nearly fifteen men drew their blades and charged down the central aisle.
Trevor didn't flinch. He triggered the mechanical latch on his briefcase with a quick flick of his wrist.
[CONFIGURING WEAPON SYSTEM]
[Organ Gun Mode]
The briefcase unfolded into a heavy, six-fold barrel assembly. Trevor braced his feet against the floor as the weapon hummed with concentrated mana energy.
BOOM!
A blunderbuss blast of magic missiles erupted from all six barrels simultaneously. The severe recoil jolted up Trevor's cybernetic arms, but his titanium frame absorbed the force instantly.
The concentrated volley tore through the narrow aisle. Fourteen bandits were struck down in a single second—some killed outright by the blast wave, others tumbling onto the stone floor, gasping for breath through shattered ribs.
Without skipping a beat, Trevor snapped the mechanism again.
[CONFIGURING WEAPON SYSTEM]
[Gunblade Mode]
The weapon shifted seamlessly into a long, single-edged blade fused with a high-caliber firearm mechanism. Trevor stepped straight into the chaos, beginning a relentless, non-stop hack-and-slash push through the remaining thugs.
A bandit leaping from a stack of timber threw a hatchet at point-blank range.
CLANG!
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The heavy blade struck Trevor directly in the ribs, but the Kevlar vest underneath his dark coat effortlessly deflected the force. Trevor spun around and drove the tip of his gunblade through the attacker's chest.
“Hey, you bastard! Do you know who you're picking a fight with?!” a booming voice roared from the upper balcony.
Asmund, the leader of the Axe Gang, came bounding down the wooden steps. He was a towering, heavily scarred brute wielding a massive two-handed great axe.
Trevor wiped a streak of dark blood off his gunblade, his cold eyes locking onto the giant.
“Your face was on the bounty posters,” Trevor replied casually. “I'm just here to collect. Nothing personal.”
“I'll chop you into pieces!” Asmund bellowed, swinging his great axe downward with terrifying, wind-splitting power.
Trevor didn't dive or dodge. He raised his left hand and caught the heavy iron axe blade bare-handed.
The wooden floorboards beneath Trevor's boots cracked under the sheer downward pressure, but his cybernetic arm remained locked like an immovable steel pillar. Asmund's eyes widened in sheer horror.
Before the gang leader could pull his weapon back, Trevor thrust the gunblade mechanism straight into Asmund's hip and pulled the trigger.
BANG!
A concentrated magic missile fired at point-blank range. Asmund screamed in agony, dropping his axe as he collapsed onto his knees, clutching his bleeding hip in utter defeat.
“Wait! Wait!” Asmund gasped, his voice trembling as the remaining gang members froze in terror. “Don't kill me! I'll double the bounty! Whatever the guards are paying you, I'll pay double in gold!”
Trevor lowered his blade, staring down at him with an unyielding glare. “Show me where the gold is.”
Asmund dragged himself across the floor toward a hidden vault behind a row of opium crates, pulling open a heavy iron chest.
“Here! Take it! One hundred Ravinian Gold!” Asmund stammered, holding up a heavy pouch. “Just spare us!”
Trevor looked past him into the massive chest, his eyes narrowing. “How much gold is in that entire vault?”
“Roughly... roughly 3,000 Ravinian Gold,” Asmund wheezed, trembling under Trevor's cold gaze.
“Good,” Trevor said, unslinging his large canvas pack. “I'm taking 2,500 Gold. I'll leave you 500 for your troubles... selling illegal drugs is a serious crime, after all.”
Minutes later, Trevor stepped out of the timber warehouse back into the quiet night, carrying a massive sack of gold slung effortlessly over his left shoulder. He left behind a shattered gang, walking away completely unscathed.
Eelon poked its metallic head out from beneath Trevor's coat collar, its emerald optics flickering as it calculated the weight of the sack.
“You can afford the flying junk boat now,” Eelon noted softly.
“Yes,” Trevor replied, adjusting his collar against the chill. “That's exactly where we're going.”
Trevor strode into the central marketplace, heading straight toward the shipbroker's yard where the flying junk boat was displayed. The iron gates were locked, and a heavy wooden garage door blocked the main hanger.
Trevor knocked sharply on the door.
No answer. He knocked again, harder this time.
After a long pause, a small side window slid open, revealing an irritated middle-aged shopkeeper wearing round spectacles.
“We're closed! Come back tomorrow!” the owner barked. “It's past 11 PM!”
Trevor didn't argue. He raised his heavy combat boot and kicked the garage door's locking mechanism with brute, cybernetic force.
BOOM!
The heavy wooden door smashed off its tracks and crashed inward, showering the hangar in wood splinters. The terrified shopkeeper fell backward onto his rear, staring up at Trevor in shock.
Trevor stepped over the ruined door, setting the massive sack of gold down with a heavy, metallic clink.
“You are open now,” Trevor said coldly, stepping into the dim light. “You have a customer, and I have the gold. Now, if you don't sell me that boat right now, I'm going to take it by any means necessary. Make your choice.”
The shopkeeper swallowed hard, his eyes darting between the towering man in the dark coat and the overflowing sack of Ravinian Gold.
“R-Right away! Right away, sir!” the owner stammered, scrambling to his feet and pulling out a stack of transfer papers.
Within ten minutes, the legal ownership papers were signed and stamped. Terrified by Trevor's presence, the shopkeeper hastily offered a discount, dropping the original 2,000 Gold asking price down to 1,800 Ravinian Gold just to get Trevor out of his shop.
Trevor walked up the wooden gangplank of his new vessel.
It was a weathered, entry-level wooden flying junk boat—fitted with a blue canvas canopy, dual glowing mana fuel thrusters on the hull, and an old, brass-rimmed radio transmission receiver mounted near the helm.
Trevor fired up the mana core. The prop-rotors hummed to life, lifting the vessel smoothly off the wooden supports and into the night sky.
Standing at the helm with 700 Ravinian Gold remaining in his stash, Trevor looked out over the shrinking lights of Solheim as the boat ascended past the cloud line, charting a course across the open continent.