His gaze swept the cracked walls and uneven stones.
“Perhaps,” he thought, “he hides for reasons of his own.”
Meanwhile, Ramses roared and thrust both palms forward, releasing a compressed sphere of ether that crackled with violent force.
The blast shot toward Zion like a cannonball.
Zion calmly raised both hands.
The sphere struck the center of his palms.
Instead of exploding outward, the energy recoiled as if it had collided with an invisible spring, deflecting downward and smashing into the ground where it carved a shallow crater without harming a single bystander.
Kiara blinked.
From the system, she knew Zion possessed a passive rebound mechanism that activated when attacks struck the exact center of his palms, yet seeing it function repeatedly with such precision stirred suspicion.
“Is that my increased luck?” she wondered.
[Your luck points do not affect the Android.
The result is due to the target’s reduced luck.]
“Ah,” she realized instantly.
“So it is his misfortune, not my fortune.”
Relief flickered across her face.
That meant once the temporary luck boost expired, Zion would not weaken.
Meanwhile, Ramses’ face darkened with mounting frustration.
For three full minutes he had failed to gain even the slightest advantage, and the fact that Zion had not once used visible ether energy felt like mockery.
“Damn you!” he snarled.
“Stop playing with me!”
With a furious motion, he summoned a heavy gold-grade sword from his storage card.
Ether surged into the blade until it hummed with lethal intent.
He lunged forward in a descending slash meant to cleave through defense entirely.
Zion stepped forward to intercept.
Just as the blade neared his raised hands, three streaks of energy sliced through the air.
They struck Ramses squarely in the chest.
Thud.
The heavy sword slipped from his fingers.
His body staggered, then collapsed flat onto the stone.
Silence swallowed the alley.
His eyes remained open.
But the life inside them had already vanished.
Zion lowered his arms and turned toward the direction from which the arrows had come.
Kiara’s head snapped sideways in shock.
The masked man she had ignored until now stood with an exquisite bow in hand, fingers resting lightly on the string.
The weapon radiated refined craftsmanship far beyond his tattered appearance.
He lowered it casually.
“Miss Kiara,” he said in a calm, almost bored tone, “will you open the store?
It is becoming late.”
“Eh?”
Kiara stared at him.
“You wish to purchase something?” she asked carefully.
“Yes,” he replied simply.
“Those pistol weapons are unique.
I want to order in bulk.
At least one hundred pistols.
And one hundred bullets per pistol.”
Kiara nearly lost her footing.
“What did you say?”
Her mind calculated automatically.
“One hundred pistols… ten thousand bullets…”
She swallowed.
“Two thousand five hundred gold coins…”
For a moment, she could not reconcile the figure.
That sum could purchase a top-tier gold-grade weapon or rent a luxurious residence in Brighton District for an entire year.
“You are serious?” she asked, forcing steadiness into her voice.
Inside her mind, a miniature version of herself danced wildly.
“A whale has surfaced!
Goddess of Luck, you are truly generous!”
The archer nodded without a hint of excitement.
“If you have stock, I will pay immediately.
However, I have one condition.”
Kiara’s internal celebration halted.
“What condition?”
“I need to meet the manufacturer.”
The air seemed to cool.
Now she understood.
This was not a simple buyer seeking weapons.
This was someone tracing the source.
Whether for partnership, coercion, recruitment, or elimination, his interest lay beyond retail.
Her gaze flickered to Ramses’ corpse.
“Oh, wonderful,” she thought bitterly.
“As if killing House Silver’s security chief was not sufficient complication.”
She exhaled slowly.
“Hello,” the archer prompted lightly.
“You drifted away.”
Kiara returned to the present and shook her head with a practiced sigh.
“Impossible,” she said with a regretful expression.
“I signed a confidentiality agreement.
The manufacturer insists on anonymity.
If I breach it, I lose both business and life.”
Her tone carried just enough sincerity to sound convincing.
The archer studied her for several long seconds, eyes unreadable behind the mask.
“Confidentiality agreement?”
The masked archer repeated the words slowly, as if weighing them against his own instincts.
At first, he had assumed Kiara was offering a convenient excuse, a merchant’s shield to guard a hidden supplier.
However, after watching her expression and recalling the efficiency of the weapons already circulating, doubt crept into his earlier suspicion.
In truth, he had time to spare.
That was why he had waited outside the store for nearly half an hour without complaint.
The only interruption to his quiet observation had been Ramses’ unfortunate arrival.
If the fallen security chief had belonged to any faction other than House Silver, perhaps the archer might have allowed him to walk away.
Unfortunately, the nobles and soldiers of the Phoenix Empire were enemies in his ledger, and he had long since stopped granting mercy where opportunity presented itself.
His earlier intention had been simple.
Display overwhelming power, eliminate a nuisance, apply pressure, and secure cooperation.
What he did not expect was Kiara’s calm refusal even after witnessing the execution.
His gaze shifted briefly to Zion.
A five-star warrior, perhaps even a six-star, was stationed in this district where most people struggled to earn four gold coins a week.
Such an imbalance was unnatural.
No common storefront warranted such protection unless something deeper was at play.
He adjusted his approach.
If intimidation failed, trust might succeed.
Taking a measured breath, he spoke again.
“Very well.
How many can you sell right now?”
Kiara replied without hesitation.
“A little over twenty pistols and a few hundred bullets.
With advance payment, the remainder can be arranged within three days.”
The archer’s heart jolted.
Three days?
To manufacture nearly a hundred firearms with consistent quality in that time frame required infrastructure, manpower, or backing from a powerful guild.
Dwarven craftsmanship, perhaps, or a secret workshop operating at scale?
He nodded slowly.
“I will pay five hundred gold coins upfront.
The rest upon collection in three days.
I expect the quality to match what you sold to Merchant Harrison.”
“Merchant Harrison?” Kiara’s brows lifted slightly.
He remembered that fatty merchant who purchased bulk items back a while ago.
The archer inclined his head.
“He informed me of your store.”
Inside, Kiara silently thanked Harrison for being greedy enough to advertise.
Then her eyes flicked to Ramses’ corpse lying in the middle of the alley, blood darkening the stones.
An unpleasant complication.
“Wait here,” she said.
“There is something I need to do.”
Spectators lingered at a distance, their expressions tangled between awe and fear.
Some had already begun scattering to alert the Prefects, the law enforcers under the authority of House Vale.
Given that Arceus Silver was betrothed to Francis Vale, Minister of Law and Justice, this incident could spiral legally if mishandled.
Kiara stepped toward the body.
The archer frowned slightly, curiosity stirring.
Looting?
Perhaps.
Ramses’ equipment alone was worth a small fortune.
Kiara crouched beside the corpse.