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Fight

  The moment I stepped back into the lounge, the noise returned.

  Men talking.

  Cards slapping against tables.

  The clinking of glass bottles.

  The smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke drifted through the air like a permanent fog.

  Several pairs of eyes turned toward me.

  Most of them carried the same familiar expressions.

  Amusement.

  Contempt.

  Indifference.

  None of them knew what had just happened in Victor Lee’s office.

  Which was perfect.

  Information is power.

  And right now, ignorance was working in my favor.

  The three men who had escorted me earlier were still near the stairwell.

  The scarred man noticed me first.

  “Well?” he asked. “Boss done with you?”

  I nodded slightly.

  “What’d he say?” the gum-chewing man asked.

  “Nothing important.”

  They looked disappointed.

  Probably hoping Victor had beaten me half to death.

  The smoker exhaled another cloud of smoke.

  “You heading back upstairs to cry or something?”

  I ignored the comment.

  Instead, I walked toward the exit of the lounge.

  The scarred man frowned.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out.”

  “Out where?”

  I held up the metal key Victor had given me.

  “Warehouse seventeen.”

  The three men exchanged glances.

  The gum-chewing one raised an eyebrow.

  “Boss sent you there?”

  “Yes.”

  The scarred man scratched his chin.

  “…That’s strange.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged.

  “Warehouse seventeen’s been closed since the robbery.”

  Interesting.

  “Then it should be quiet.”

  He studied me for a moment longer.

  Then he laughed.

  “Suit yourself.”

  The smoker spoke again as I reached the door.

  “Kid.”

  I stopped.

  “You should probably bring a weapon.”

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  I glanced back at him.

  “Why?”

  “Because if the thieves come back…”

  He smiled faintly.

  “…you’ll die even faster than usual.”

  The others laughed.

  I left without responding.

  The rain outside had grown heavier.

  Streetlights reflected across the wet pavement, turning the entire road into a shifting mirror of yellow and red light.

  David’s memories guided me through the city.

  Harbor City.

  A place where wealth and decay lived side by side.

  Tall glass buildings dominated the skyline in the distance.

  But the district surrounding the syndicate headquarters told a different story.

  Old warehouses.

  Rusting factories.

  Empty lots covered in graffiti.

  Perfect territory for criminals.

  Warehouse seventeen was only a few blocks away.

  I walked there slowly.

  Partly because the rain was cold.

  Mostly because this body still lacked stamina.

  After ten minutes, my breathing had already grown uneven.

  Unacceptable.

  But again…

  Temporary.

  Training would fix that.

  By the time I reached the harbor district, the streets were almost empty.

  The rain had driven most people indoors.

  Rows of warehouses stretched along the waterfront.

  Most of them dark.

  Most of them silent.

  The number seventeen was painted in faded white on a metal door halfway down the row.

  I stopped a few meters away.

  Then I studied the building carefully.

  In the empire, battlefield awareness was essential.

  Small details often determined whether a soldier lived or died.

  Here, the same principle applied.

  The warehouse doors were closed.

  But not locked.

  A faint line of light leaked through the gap beneath them.

  Someone was inside.

  Interesting.

  Victor said the warehouse was closed.

  Which meant whoever was inside…

  Did not want to be seen.

  I approached quietly.

  Each step careful.

  Each movement controlled.

  My ears focused on the sounds inside the building.

  Voices.

  Two men.

  Arguing.

  “…told you this place was safe.”

  “And I’m telling you it’s not!”

  “You’re paranoid.”

  “You think the boss won’t investigate?”

  “He already blamed the kid.”

  “Still…”

  Their conversation faded as I reached the door.

  So.

  Two suspects.

  Possibly the traitors.

  Or perhaps only scavengers.

  Either way…

  Information awaited inside.

  I inserted the key into the lock.

  The mechanism clicked softly.

  Then I pushed the door open.

  The warehouse interior smelled of oil and damp wood.

  Stacks of empty crates filled the center of the room.

  A single hanging lamp illuminated a small area near the back.

  Two men stood there.

  Both turned the moment the door opened.

  Their expressions shifted immediately from irritation to surprise.

  “…Who the hell are you?”

  I stepped inside.

  The door closed quietly behind me.

  “David Lee.”

  One of them frowned.

  “The boss’s kid?”

  The second man laughed.

  “You’re joking.”

  They looked me up and down.

  The laughter continued.

  “You came here alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “To investigate.”

  The first man glanced at his partner.

  Then back at me.

  “…Investigate what?”

  “The robbery.”

  Silence filled the warehouse.

  The two men exchanged another glance.

  Then the second one chuckled again.

  “This is rich.”

  “Boss sent his sickly kid to investigate?”

  The first man shook his head slowly.

  “No.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “Boss doesn’t make stupid decisions.”

  His gaze sharpened.

  “So that means…”

  He took a step forward.

  “…you came here on your own.”

  I said nothing.

  The man studied my face carefully.

  Then he sighed.

  “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

  “Why?”

  “Because now we have to deal with you.”

  The second man reached into his jacket.

  A pistol appeared in his hand.

  The barrel pointed directly at my chest.

  Normally…

  A gun would be a serious problem.

  But fortunately for me—

  The man holding it was careless.

  His stance was wrong.

  His arm too stiff.

  His attention divided between arrogance and uncertainty.

  In the empire, archers were trained for years before they were trusted with weapons.

  This man…

  Was barely competent.

  Still.

  Even a careless weapon is dangerous.

  So I adjusted my approach.

  My breathing slowed.

  My posture shifted.

  Imperial Close Combat Form.

  The first man noticed.

  “What are you doing?”

  I stepped forward.

  Slowly.

  Calmly.

  The man with the gun laughed.

  “You think you can fight us?”

  He cocked the pistol.

  “Kid, I could kill you in one second.”

  Probably.

  If he fired.

  But inexperienced fighters hesitate.

  They expect fear.

  And when fear does not appear…

  Confusion follows.

  Three steps.

  Two steps.

  One.

  The man frowned.

  “Stop right—”

  I moved.

  My body rotated sharply.

  My hand struck his wrist from the side.

  The pistol discharged.

  The bullet slammed harmlessly into the ceiling.

  Before he could react again, I twisted his arm downward.

  The gun fell.

  My elbow struck his throat.

  The man collapsed instantly.

  The second man froze.

  For half a second.

  Which was enough.

  I closed the distance.

  His punch came late and wide.

  My body slipped past it easily.

  Two fingers struck the pressure point beneath his jaw.

  His knees buckled.

  Both men were unconscious within seconds.

  Silence returned to the warehouse.

  I exhaled slowly.

  The fight had lasted less than ten seconds.

  Yet my chest was already rising heavily.

  This body truly is weak.

  Still.

  Victory remained victory.

  At that moment, the blue screen appeared again.

  SYSTEM UPDATE

  Combat Detected

  Martial Skill Fragment Acquired

  Skill Unlocked: Basic Imperial Combat Form

  Body Compatibility: 12%

  Interesting.

  A warm sensation spread through my muscles.

  Not strength exactly.

  But something closer to efficiency.

  As if the body had suddenly remembered how to move properly.

  Good.

  Very good.

  I looked down at the two unconscious men.

  “Now…”

  I said quietly.

  “…let’s find out which one of you betrayed the syndicate.”

  The real investigation had only just begun.

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