[Hydrargyrum] Chapter 14

“Goodbye, James.”

“See you on the first of September, Miss Granger. As an apprentice, how could I not see off my mentor on such an important day?”

“Oh, come on, that’s unnecessary. People will laugh at me again.”

“Well, that’s their loss. Fools who fail to recognize the importance of the bond between master and apprentice won’t get far in our craft.”

“You know, you take this way too seriously…”

“We’ll meet again next week, Miss Granger.”

Leaving Hermione to wrestle with her sense of responsibility—which wouldn’t let her outright refuse this “honor” and avoid what she considered an awkward situation—Kayneth slowly walked down the quiet corridor of the library toward the exit. It was already August 23rd, marking the last of his “lessons” with the first-generation witch, at least until December. The information he’d gathered about the school and the magical world in general was sufficient for now, and Hermione had largely served her purpose in his plans. However, she remained a valuable source of current information about wizarding society.

Earlier that day, he’d casually inquired about the latest news and rumors in magical Britain. To his quiet satisfaction, there was no mention of Wells or heightened security measures like those in the spring. Additionally, the response to his letter to Tonks, which he’d sent covering a range of topics, had arrived within the usual timeframe. This indicated no new panic or Ministry alerts involving heightened Auror patrols or cadet deployments.

In other words, the recent operation he and Albert had conducted to summon a spirit for the healing of another wealthy yet hopeless patient had gone unnoticed—or at least the investigation hadn’t progressed beyond Cardiff (assuming the Aurors even had a branch there). 

More than a week had passed without the kind of frenzied and poorly explained Ministry response that had accompanied their earlier work. Operating in the countryside, far from urban centers, had proven to be a wise choice. This time, Albert had handled the logistics and preparations at a steady pace, leaving Kayneth to focus solely on the medical and magical aspects. After analyzing a patient’s anonymized file, conducting his own diagnostic rituals, and adjusting the summoning to match local “pricing” for sacrifices, the process had gone smoothly, with no incidents or rushing. He’d left his fees unchanged and was confident Albert would deliver the promised sum in a month and a half. Judging by the skimming MacDuggal likely did, Kayneth suspected Albert’s cut was significantly higher. Perhaps next time, it was worth charging more himself…

A soft cough interrupted his thoughts as he approached the exit.

Kayneth turned, irritated at being disturbed—and froze in near shock. The hallway wasn’t as empty as he’d assumed. Sitting against the wall in one of the visitor chairs was an Asian man dressed in black, pointing a revolver directly at him. For a split second, Kayneth felt a pang of sheer panic—it almost seemed like him.

But the rush of fear quickly dissipated when Kayneth realized this man was shorter, clean-shaven, and wearing a standard dark business suit rather than a dramatic coat. The gun in his hand, however, was very real. Meeting Kayneth’s gaze, the man nodded slightly, gestured with his free hand for silence, and pointed toward the door.

As if on cue, another man entered—this one of Pakistani descent, also in a dark suit. Unlike the first, he didn’t draw a weapon but positioned himself in front of the exit, one hand casually resting in his jacket pocket.

The irrational fear subsided, leaving only a calculated sense of danger. These weren’t Aurors or police; no, these were the gangsters MacDuggal had warned him about. That meant they didn’t need to be spared. Unfortunately, their timing was perfect. Caught off guard, Kayneth hadn’t anticipated an open confrontation in a public place and had no contingency plans prepared.

Hypnotizing both men simultaneously wasn’t feasible without engaging them in conversation or keeping both in sight at all times. Killing them outright wasn’t particularly difficult, even in his current weakened state, especially since he’d started carrying several mystic codes on trips into London after Albert’s warning. Among them were a bracelet that could block bullets and his illegally obtained wand—a potent weapon on its own.

But eliminating them quietly and without leaving evidence was another matter entirely. Gunshots would draw attention, and bloodshed would raise countless questions. Even if Hermione somehow managed to erase the memories of every staff member, visitor, and passerby—a near impossibility—she’d undoubtedly ask why gangsters were after a boy and, more importantly, how that boy had killed two armed adults without a wand.

The Asian man, seeing Kayneth’s hesitation, slowly pulled a grenade from his jacket, slipping his thumb into the pin. He made an exaggerated motion toward the open door farther down the hallway.

Kayneth froze again, momentarily caught off guard. A grenade? He hadn’t expected common gangsters to wander the streets of London with such weapons, unconcerned about the police. The threat was clear: the man had overheard the tail end of Kayneth's conversation with Hermione. If the grenade went off, it would be aimed at the hall where the girl remained.

The blast might not kill her outright—the library’s size and the distance to the librarian’s desk could minimize the damage—but the explosion would still cause chaos. The noise and ensuing questions would be impossible to avoid. Hermione herself could be injured, even if she survived…she is still useful.

Calling Hermione for help was out of the question. Though armed with a wand, she was unlikely to kill two men; she wouldn’t have the skill or resolve. And if these gangsters were willing to detonate a grenade in central London, they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot her to tie up loose ends.

Looking the Asian man directly in the eye, Kayneth nodded, clasped his hands behind his back, and began walking toward the exit. The "Pakistani" opened the door, then grabbed his shoulder firmly and guided him toward a van parked at the curb. The second man followed close behind, preventing any attempt to slow his steps. Within thirty seconds, they’d shoved him into the van, climbed in after him, and the vehicle started moving.

Before Kayneth could take in his surroundings, his mouth was taped shut, a black sack was thrown over his head, and his hands were cuffed behind his back. He was then pressed onto the hard floor and subjected to a rough search.

“Don’t move,” one of the men advised as he pulled Kayneth’s wand from its concealed holster beneath his sleeve and a small knife from the inner pocket of his coat. “We’re taking you to the boss. He’ll get answers out of both of you.”

He then turned to his partner. “Did you see the way that rich kid bossed us around before this? ‘Don’t let him speak, watch his hands’—seriously, what a drama queen. And this one? Just an ordinary brat, cocky for his age. Didn’t even realize the grenade was fake.”

“As if he’s the first,” the other replied.

“Yeah, it always works on these rookies. Bet he nearly wet himself thinking we’d blow up his girlfriend.”

Kayneth ignored their chatter, lying motionless on the van floor. First, speaking wasn’t an option with his mouth taped shut. Second, fury burned in his chest from the humiliation, and he’d already cursed his decision to cooperate a dozen times over. In such a state, any words he managed would likely be invocations of combat spells or mystic code activations. Lastly, the rational part of his mind reminded him that if they were taking him to meet their boss instead of dumping him in the countryside or the sea, it likely involved the crime lord whose son had been injured by their "products." That meant Albert would likely be present too if the gang had taken their warnings seriously. It might be possible to resolve the situation all at once—one way or another.

For now, Kayneth refrained from taking action, focusing instead on running through potential scenarios in his mind and reviewing the arsenal of spells and tactics at his disposal if the main plan fell through. He also made a point to memorize every detail about his captors' appearances. He intended to revisit this meeting with them under very different circumstances in the future.

The journey didn’t take long—less than half an hour. Judging by the steady noise of the streets, they were likely still in the city center. Kayneth was hauled out of the van, dragged through silent corridors, and even yanked down a flight of stairs by the scruff of his neck. Eventually, they deposited him on a hard plastic chair in a windowless room. Only then was the sack pulled off his head, and Kayneth squinted in the dim light of the bare bulbs hanging in the large, cluttered space that resembled a storage room.

The first thing he noticed, after his eyes adjusted, was Albert MacDuggal sitting on a chair beside him, also cuffed and looking worse for wear. A large bruise marred his face, and his suit was filthy—clear signs that his capture had been even rougher. Kayneth’s gaze swept the room and the people in it.

The space resembled a smuggler’s den. Piles of miscellaneous goods—electronics, tools, counterfeit porcelain vases, rolls of fabric, paintings, furniture, even a bundle of cheap souvenir katanas—were scattered across the concrete floor, filling shelves, crates, and tables. The air reeked of mildew and old oil.

The obvious leader was a man of about forty, Chinese, dressed in an expensive suit, sitting in a plush chair behind a metal table. His cold, disdainful gaze was locked on the new arrivals. Next to him stood a young man, European, clad entirely in black. Though seemingly unarmed, the aura of menace he exuded was palpable to Kayneth, even if its source remained unclear. The rest of the room’s occupants were a dozen armed thugs, most of Asian or South Asian descent, carrying pistols and shotguns.

One of the two men who had abducted Kayneth stepped forward, placed the boy’s confiscated wand and knife on the leader’s table, then left the room without a word. The leader nodded and cast a significant glance at the man in black, before hiding the mystic tools under the table. Noticing Kayneth’s gaze, he offered a polite, almost accentless explanation.

“I’ve seen Return of the Jedi, you know. I’m not stupid enough to leave weapons in your sight. Take the tape off him,” he ordered one of his men. Then, with a sharp bark, “Not the kid, you idiot—the redhead.”

“Got it, boss.”

“Good day, Mr. Cheng,” Albert greeted as though they’d bumped into each other at a formal event. “A pleasure to see you in good health.”

“And you as well, Al,” Cheng replied, as if exchanging pleasantries at a dinner party. “How’s the family?”

“Quite well, thank you.”

“Glad to hear it. My own son, however, is in the hospital. No idea when he’ll get out, and I haven’t even calculated the cost yet. But more than that, it’s just disgraceful when a high-end establishment on neutral territory allows some gutter monkey to pull a knife on you. That’s bad for business, Al. Surely you agree?”

“I don’t think my insignificant opinion matters here,” Albert said humbly. “I’ve paid all my dues to Patrick, and I believe he sent representatives to resolve this unfortunate misunderstanding.”

“Oh, he did,” Cheng said with mock regret. “Unfortunately, we failed to reach an understanding.”

Cheng reached for a pistol resting on his desk—one Kayneth recognized as Albert’s—and approached them with unhurried steps.

“Their offer was frankly insulting. Under normal circumstances, I’d call it humiliating. But what else can you expect from the Irish? Your actions didn’t just harm a member of my crew or even one of my lieutenants—they hurt my own son. My eldest son. Family, Al, is everything, as you know. Your people have a history of blood feuds, don’t they? So tell me, how am I supposed to settle for such a pathetic apology? A token share in a minor operation? A shop on some borderline territory? Monetary compensation? Offering me money for my son’s blood—don’t you think that’s vulgar, Al?”

“With all due respect, Mr. Cheng,” Albert began carefully, mustering every ounce of his rhetorical skill while staring up at the man, “I must point out that it wasn’t I who gave the reckless order to attack your heir. Nor was I the one who carried out that dreadful act, brazenly violating the agreements among honorable individuals. You’re a man of great stature, Mr. Cheng, and I’m just a humble man trying to provide for my family as best I can. I deeply sympathize with your loss and would gladly offer, free of charge, several special formulations that could alleviate your son’s pain and quickly heal his injuries, even scars, if he so desires.”

“You’re not getting it, Al,” Cheng said coldly, his tone both patronizing and threatening. “It’s precisely because of the goods you sold that this attack was even possible. Every other option was sealed off. Don’t take me for a fool. You handed those scum a chance no one saw coming—one that broke agreements and nullified every safeguard in place. Do you still not get it?”

Cheng stepped closer, his voice dropping into an almost conversational tone, though the menace behind it remained clear. “And now, as compensation, you’re offering me ointments and powders? My people sell ‘miracle remedies based on the Emperor’s healers’ recipes’ on every corner in the West End—most made from crushed cockroaches and rat droppings. Don’t tell me I don’t know the worth of a snake oil peddler. I’m glad you’ve carved out a nice little business for yourself, but it’s causing problems for decent people. Wouldn’t it be fairer for everyone if your pitiful trade went back to following the rules and stopped interfering in others’ affairs?”

He raised the Browning pistol and pressed the barrel against Kayneth’s forehead. “Maybe then you’ll realize not to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong or take on more than you can handle.”

“Mr. Cheng,” Albert interjected, his voice calm yet firm, “everyone knows you’re a man of business, respected for it. Wouldn’t it be shortsighted to turn away truly exclusive services and rarest items, even after such a regrettable incident? I understand the value of family honor and avenging one’s own, but unique opportunities—unavailable anywhere else—could bring far greater benefits to your family and your enterprise than the blood of someone only tangentially involved, with no ill intent toward you or yours. Yes, a mistake was made—a tragic one—but mistakes can and should be turned to greater advantage, don’t you think?”

“I don’t think so,” Cheng replied coldly. “My reputation is worth more than your money, and your ‘special services’ won’t erase the disgrace.” He cocked the pistol with a deliberate, audible click and pressed it harder against Kayneth’s head. “Blood must be paid with blood. Perhaps remembering this pathetic scene will teach you to think twice next time. And your attempts to buy my forgiveness are laughable…”

The sentence ended in a guttural gasp as Cheng suddenly convulsed, choking and jerking violently. Thin, gleaming metal wires, now slick with blood, had erupted from his throat and neck in multiple places.

“Bloody hell, James! We were practically there!” Albert groaned in genuine exasperation as the triad boss gurgled and twitched, struggling to breathe.

Kayneth had endured long enough. He had tolerated the farce of their negotiation, the strutting theatrics of a self-important thug waving a gun like a badge of power. Even the moment when the barrel of the gun was aimed directly at his head had not pushed him to act; their survival had seemed to hinge on the bluster and pretense of bargaining.

Perhaps Cheng hadn’t intended to kill him—merely to use the threat as leverage in the deal, perhaps even to angle for a cut of their business. All the talk of honor and revenge could have been nothing more than posturing. It made sense. But the sound of the cocking pistol brought back too many memories of betrayal and loss—the image of Sola’s fate, his own death. It was the last straw.

By sheer force of will, Kayneth activated his magic circuits, reshaping the molecular structure of the steel handcuffs binding his wrists. The metal liquefied, pooling into his right palm as a dense, cold drop. Timing it perfectly as Cheng resumed taunting Albert, Kayneth sprang from the chair and thrust his hand forward, simultaneously swiping the pistol aside.

Cheng reflexively pulled the trigger. The gunshot roared near Kayneth’s ear, deafening him temporarily on one side as the bullet whizzed past his head. But it was too late for the triad boss. The steel drop had shot forward, elongating and dividing into fine, sharp threads. They pierced Cheng’s throat, twisted inside his neck, then burst out again, forming a half-dozen tight spirals of metallic wire, each wound multiple times.

“Don’t move!” Kayneth snarled, ripping the tape from his face with a sharp hiss. “Right now, I’ve avoided damaging any nerves or arteries, but one wrong move and your ‘boss’ will lose his head—literally. If you try to shoot me, the steel will extend and do the job without my control. And you,” he added icily, locking eyes with the young man in black, who had whipped out a wand from under his coat, “try casting mental magic, and I’ll boil your tiny brain inside your skull. Afterward, I’ll reanimate your corpse and send it as a gift-wrapped ghoul to your family.”

The black-clad wizard froze, his wand still trained on Kayneth. While his calm demeanor suggested experience, Kayneth noted the subtle twitch in his hand. He wasn’t as unshakable as he pretended.

With no one making sudden moves—aside from the occasional shout of indignation, which Kayneth ignored—he reached out with his free hand to retrieve the pistol from the trembling hand of Mr. Cheng. Tossing the gun dismissively into a pile of rolled-up carpets in the corner, Kayneth then extracted a pocket watch from his coat. The oversized watch barely fit in his hand, but its surface gleamed faintly with embedded enchantments. He pressed a bloodied finger against its sharp edge, letting a drop of crimson seep into the grooves before flipping it open.

The pocket watch’s mechanisms clicked into place, activating its secondary function. The space within expanded, unfurling into a small, contained dimensional rift. From it emerged a gleaming yellow spear, nearly four feet long—almost as tall as Kayneth himself.

“Verite ad me, bellator,” Kayneth intoned the aria of the spell. It seemed the young wizard who had organized this ambush had done a remarkably poor job of preparing his men. Otherwise, they would have confiscated more than just his wand and knife—any object capable of serving as a mystic code, no matter how inconspicuous. Neither his pocket watch, medallion, nor bracelet had been taken. Their incompetence was their undoing.

As the familiar presence stirred at the edge of his consciousness, the magus began to move, relying entirely on the instincts of Diarmuid while directing them toward his immediate goals. First, he released the steel wires. In his possessed state, he couldn’t use other spells anyway. As the coiled springs of metal unraveled, tearing through Cheng’s neck in what seemed slow motion, Kayneth snatched the falling spear. Without missing a beat, he kicked Albert’s chair into the corner near the discarded pistol. The landing wouldn’t be soft or painless, but the squib needed to be out of the line of fire if Kayneth wanted to avoid finding a new business partner.

The medallion designed for summoning the shadow of a heroic spirit was only half as effective as the prototype, barely reaching an E-rank, but even so, it temporarily enhanced Kayneth’s physical abilities to five times those of an ordinary human. With this amplification, he could easily kick an adult man a dozen feet across the room. Assuming everything went as planned, he had at least thirty seconds of real-time to act.

Continuing his motion, he grabbed his chair with his left hand and hurled it at the head of a thug near the far wall. Without waiting to see the result, Kayneth launched himself toward an Indian man standing behind him with a shotgun. His body moved instinctively, guided by Diarmuid’s honed techniques, polished over thousands of repetitions.

Three quick steps closed the distance. He halted abruptly, channeling his momentum into a thrust that drove the spear through the man’s liver. Wrenching it free in one swift motion, he pivoted, gripping the spear closer to the blade to use the shaft as a club. The end of the pole smashed another thug’s pistol-wielding hand aside before a follow-up jab collapsed his windpipe. Without hesitation, Kayneth shifted focus to the next enemy.

“Ex… pel-li…”

The shouted incantation rose above the cacophony of screams and clattering weapons, forcing Kayneth to spin toward the sound mid-stride. A wizard was finishing an aria while gesturing sharply with his wand. In his other hand, he clutched a pendant glowing with magical energy, shrouding him in a faint conceptual aura. The young wizard moved twice as fast as any of the others in the room, far beyond mere reaction speed. Kayneth had seen something like this before—in his previous life—and the memory didn’t bode well.

“…ar-mus!”

The disarming spell shot from the wand with uncanny precision, but Kayneth darted toward the nearest thug, using his small stature to thrust the spear upward. The blade tore through the man’s throat and shattered his jaw. Twisting violently, Kayneth used the collapsing body as a shield against the incoming spell. The thug’s arm snapped backward, dislodging the sawed-off shotgun and likely breaking a few fingers in the process. However, the wizard, the gun was flying towards, didn’t bother to catch it. Instead, he stepped to the side and made his next wand motion.

Ignoring the fallen weapon as well, Kayneth yanked his spear free and smashed its shaft into another thug’s kneecap, splintering the joint. His second strike sent the man flying backward with a sickening crunch. But these actions were perfunctory; his primary focus was now on the wizard—far more dangerous than the hired muscle.

“Incarcero!”

The binding spell shot toward him, but Kayneth evaded with inhuman speed, sidestepping and closing the gap. The wizard shouted his arias, his wand movements sharp and deliberate, despite the clear signs of fear on his face.

“Impedimenta!”

Kayneth snagged a nearby roll of fabric with his spear, tossing it into the air to block the spell. The bolt froze the cloth mid-flight, creating an impromptu barrier. Exploiting his diminutive stature, Kayneth slid beneath the suspended roll, executed a quick roll, and sprang to his feet. But the wizard had already repositioned.

“Depulso!”

A gaudy vase painted with dragons hurtled toward Kayneth’s head. He sidestepped it with ease, preparing for a final lunge. The next spell, Reducio, missed its mark entirely, detonating the vase instead. The explosion sent shards flying, tearing through Kayneth’s robes and leaving cuts and bruises across his shoulders and neck. Enhanced endurance from the heroic spirit mitigated the worst of the injuries, but the attack left him staggered—a window the wizard exploited.

“Stupefy Tria!”

With no time to dodge, Kayneth hurled his spear as a last-ditch effort. The throw didn’t hit the wizard’s throat as intended, grazing his shoulder instead. But it disrupted the spell, sending the stunning bolt off course. A thug screamed as the errant spell slammed him into a wall, and chaos erupted as bullets ricocheted wildly.

Unfazed, Kayneth lunged forward, snatching a decorative sword and flinging it at the wizard’s head. The man deflected it with a spell just in time, but the distraction allowed Kayneth to leap over a table, reclaim the spear, and aim a thrust at the wizard’s face. The wizard managed to dodge, jerking his head to the side. Kayneth, however, didn’t repeat the same attack. Instead, he swung the blade in a downward arc, slicing through the pendant around the wizard’s neck.

The enchantment broke with a crackling snap, and the wizard staggered, his movements visibly slowed. Smirking, Kayneth drove the spear into his abdomen, twisting the blade before yanking it free. Preparing to end the fight with a decapitating strike, he raised the spear again.

At that moment, a bullet struck Kayneth square in the chest, slamming him into the wall as the sharp crack of gunfire filled the air. The first shot was deflected by the air shield from his bracelet, the shockwave amplifying the destruction in the room. Two more bullets hit the wall, but the fourth lodged itself in his ribs. The force disrupted his intended strike; instead of hitting the wizard’s neck, the blade grazed his face. With a cry, the wizard collapsed to the floor.

Kayneth survived only because the reinforcement of his body by the heroic spirit prevented the bullet from penetrating his lung. It merely embedded itself in his rib and left a painful fracture. Even so, the impact was brutal.

Subjectively, the entire fight had lasted less than a minute, but that meant over ten seconds had passed in real time. Even the remaining dimwitted thugs had enough time to stop gawking at the "miracles" unfolding before them and open fire on the man who had killed their boss. Unfortunately, with his current level of synchronization with the heroic spirit, Kayneth couldn’t replicate Diarmuid’s feats from the Grail War. Deflecting bullets with a spear was out of the question.

He had two options: close the distance and force another melee engagement or be riddled with bullets. No magic would save him if that happened.

Staying low, he darted through piles of scattered junk. Bullets and buckshot tore through rolls of carpet, smashed boxes, shattered televisions, and exploded ceramic vases, but none hit their target. The gunmen weren’t skilled enough to lead their shots against his speed. Sliding behind the gang leader’s desk, Kayneth placed his spear on the floor. Summoning all his strength, both his own and borrowed, he heaved the desk into the air. It arced ten feet and crashed down into the thugs, scattering them. A couple were thrown aside with broken bones. The momentary chaos gave Kayneth the opening he needed.

With three rapid strides, he reached them and impaled the nearest opponent.

The next ten seconds felt like an eternity. For Kayneth, the fight became a relentless, deadly dance. He wielded the spear with brutal precision, guided by Diarmuid’s battle instincts. A strike with the shaft here, a dodge from a knife thrust there. A kick to unbalance one opponent while absorbing a grazing bullet to his shoulder. A swift twist of the spear to knock a shotgun aside, sending its blast into one of the shooter’s allies. Seizing the red-hot barrel, he pulled it toward himself, delivering a fatal thrust to another thug’s throat.

Even with superhuman capabilities, Kayneth avoided targeting hardened areas like the chest or spine where the spear might get stuck. He focused on soft, vulnerable spots to maintain his speed and fluidity. At one point, reinforcements burst through a door, drawn by the noise. The first was immediately felled by a thrown cleaver, splitting his skull, forcing the others into close combat.

Amid the chaos, Kayneth noticed one of the thugs glance behind him. Instinctively, he rammed his spear shaft into the man’s chest, breaking ribs, and spun around.

The wizard stood there, his polished composure now shattered. Bloodied and disheveled, he clutched the wound in his abdomen with one hand while aiming his wand with the other. He moved with the same determined precision, his spell nearly complete.

Kayneth caught only part of the wand’s movement, not enough to recognize the incantation. The magical blast was nearly invisible, which at least ruled out the Killing Curse. But the risk was too great. Trusting Diarmuid’s reflexes, Kayneth spun and hurled his spear with the force of a whirling drill, simultaneously leaping sideways to take cover behind a shelf.

The spear met the spell midair, igniting in bright flames. “Incendio,” Kayneth identified as he scrambled for something to throw.

The wizard flung a body into the air to block the burning spear, sending it and the corpse crashing to the side. Then he froze, his gaze turning inward as if focusing on something else. Kayneth, gripping a porcelain plate he’d found intact, smashed it against a table and readied a shard to throw.

Before he could act, the wizard seemed to blur, distorting the space around him.

“Apparition. Damn it!”

Three bullets struck the shimmering silhouette, disrupting the spell, but the wizard vanished before the fourth could connect. Spinning around, Kayneth saw MacDuggal standing from cover, holding his Browning. Despite his age and unassuming build, the squib had shown impressive agility, freeing himself from the chain linking his handcuffs, retrieving his weapon, and targeting the most dangerous opponent.

When the wizard disappeared, MacDuggal turned to the remaining thugs, calmly executing one who was crawling toward his gun with three precise shots.

“Revertemur,” Kayneth murmured the aria to end the mystic code’s effects, his voice tight with pain. “Damn it!” The moment the connection broke, a wave of exhaustion and agony overwhelmed him, nearly dropping him to his knees.

Cuts from shrapnel littered his back, neck, and head. Bruises and broken ribs throbbed, deeper lacerations bled profusely, and his right thigh burned from embedded buckshot. His cloak was reduced to tatters unfit for even rags. The mystic code’s power had allowed him to endure, but the price was steep.

“You’re absolutely insane, James…” MacDuggal’s voice broke through the ringing in his ears. Despite his injuries, he managed to sound exasperated. “Everything was going fine! Sure, he was showing off, and yeah, I played along, but we could’ve worked something out—this wasn’t the first time. Was it really necessary to turn this place into a slaughterhouse?” He grimaced at the sight of a thug crushed against the concrete wall, blood pooling beneath him. “You’re crazy enough not to fear death, but what the hell got into you just now? Don’t tell me you’ve got some kind of gun phobia.”

“What?” Kayneth muttered, straightening with effort. He was too focused on using spiritual healing to staunch his bleeding and mend the worst of his wounds to pay much attention to Albert’s complaints.

“Irrational fear of guns”

“Oh, you have no idea how rational my fear of firearms is,” Kayneth replied coolly.

“Seriously? That’s the whole reason?” Albert sputtered, clearly holding back a more colorful outburst. “Well, hell, what else can I even say to that?”

“Better tell me what you were shooting with,” Kayneth interrupted. “Was it my bullets or regular ones? That wizard’s taken a beating, but he might survive long enough to bring reinforcements.”

“No, he won’t,” Albert replied. “I’ve been using the ‘special’ rounds exclusively for the past month, and not one client has complained so far.” He stooped to retrieve a spare magazine that had fallen during the fight, reloaded his pistol, and slipped the half-used one into his pocket.

“Well, that’s one problem solved.” Kayneth approached the overturned table, opened a drawer, and retrieved his dagger and wand before turning to his spear. “Finite. Glacio.” With practiced precision, he extinguished the magical flames and cooled the weapon until it was safe to handle.

Searching under a corpse, he retrieved his pocket watch, opened it, and began slotting the spear back into its mystic storage. The mechanism clicked shut with a satisfying snap. “We have maybe ten or fifteen minutes before the Aurors show up. I’d rather not be here when they do. If there’s anything you need from this place, grab it now, and then we’re leaving.”

“Oh, we’ve got bigger problems than your magical Men in Black,” Albert retorted. “Cheng wasn’t just some random thug—he ran a branch of the Triad. Sure, it was the fourth in size London, but it’s still not just a gang of burglars. If the higher-ups don’t see this as a calculated move on our part, I’m skipping town to Seattle tonight, and you’d better lock yourself away in your cursed elf country for at least five years. Got it?”

Kayneth shrugged nonchalantly, which Albert interpreted as agreement. Fishing a bulky phone out of his pocket—remarkably left untouched by the gang—Albert dialed a number. His tone turned falsely casual when the line connected.

“Larry, hey, long time no see. Listen, do me a favor and put Patrick on. Yeah, it’s urgent. No, I haven’t lost my mind. Larry, we’ve known each other for five years; you really think I’d ask for this if it weren’t a matter of life and death? No, it’s not just about me. Yes, I get it, but we’re on the verge of getting wiped out here…”

Kayneth ignored the exchange, focusing on his own task. He knelt and began drawing runes and a small magic circle on the floor with blood. Most of his standard rituals had already been recalculated to suit this world’s conditions, so his movements were methodical and precise.

“Praying to your Lucifer or whoever it is you warlocks worship?” Albert called out, sounding notably more cheerful. “Well, good news. Our ‘umbrella’—” he snorted at the slang—“understood the value of dismantling a leaderless pack. They’re already gathering fighters with our neighbors to take over Cheng’s territory and flush out anyone left. No coordination means no real resistance. We’ll need to lay low for a few days until it all settles. So what the hell are you summoning now?”

“Just cleaning up the evidence,” Kayneth said evenly. He moved to the wall and picked up a shattered medallion, resembling a tiny hourglass encased in a golden disk on a chain. Slipping it into his pocket—his cloak was too shredded to be of use—he returned to his circle. “The Aurors will get here before the police or any gangsters. They don’t need to see any of this. So everything will burn. Burn so thoroughly there won’t even be ashes left. The spell isn’t complicated, but the sacrifices will amplify it to that level.” He gestured to the bodies scattered around the room, some of which still twitched faintly.

“Wait…” Albert paused, visibly unsettled. “Alright, fine, I admit it. You’re completely insane. You’ve got an unhealthy obsession with erasing crime scenes down to nothing. But we’ll discuss that later. Hang on.” He crouched beside Cheng’s body, rifled through the pockets, and extracted a garishly decorated silver pistol, a notebook, some keys, and a handful of other items. Stuffing them into his own pockets, he stood. “Okay, now we can go. I’ve never been here before, but I’ve heard about this place. We’ll take the corridor, then stairs. There’s a Chinese restaurant upstairs. We cut through the backrooms to the alley, and if we’re lucky, the car they brought you in will still be there.”

“Let’s hope for the best,” Kayneth replied with a predatory smile, clearly anticipating the opportunity to settle scores with a few overeager gangsters. Extending his hand, he activated his magic circuits and began chanting a six-line Latin spell. As his voice rose and fell, the large pool of blood on the floor began to evaporate, forming a red mist that hovered nearby.

“What the hell is that?” Albert asked warily.

“Just insurance.” Kayneth smiled faintly. “Armis.” The mist condensed almost instantly, solidifying into a pinkish ice wall before him. “Haze.” The wall dissolved back into mist. “Ferrum.” This time, the mist surged toward a corpse, transforming midair into six slender icy rapiers that impaled the body. “Haze. See? Simple.”

“Actually, that’s not bad,” Albert admitted, pocketing his pistol and hefting a shotgun from the floor. “Now stick close and try not to cause any more trouble. We’ve already exceeded our quota for the next six months.”

“And whose fault is that? I had other plans for tonight too,” Kayneth shot back, still smirking. “But alas, fate had other ideas.”