Realizing he had beco the focus of the dark undercurrents swirling through King's Landing, Luke's heart tightened sharply.
The low murmurs in the tavern, laced with greed and calculation, coiled around his spine like cold snakes.
He had to leave imdiately, return to the relatively safe Blackwater Riverside Inn, then go back to Blue Star and lie low for a while.
He pulled his soft hat low, the black noble outfit helping him minimize his presence, and hurried into a relatively quiet side path leading toward the inn.
Far from the lanterns of Silk Street, only a few scattered windows emitted faint yellow light, barely illuminating the uneven stone slabs underfoot.
Thick clouds blocked the moonlight. Darkness filled every corner of the alley like thick ink.
His mind raced with plans: suspend all public trading, hide on Blue Star for a few days, find a way to cash out the gold, stock up on self-defense tools…
Just as his attention was fully occupied with scheming and his vigilance had slightly relaxed because he was in a relatively familiar area—
"Hey! Stop right there!"
A hoarse shout ca from the shadows ahead.
Three burly, ragged n suddenly erged like ghosts from behind a pile of abandoned wooden barrels, blocking his path.
They held clubs of varying lengths, their eyes gleaming with malicious intent in the dim light.
Luke's heart lurched. Without thinking, he spun around to run.
But as soon as he moved, a tall, skinny man holding a short knife blocked the way behind him as well.
The four n ford a crude but effective encirclent, trapping him in the middle.
"Hand over all your money! Behave yourself and you might suffer less!"
The scar-faced leader waved his thick wooden club threateningly, but still seed willing to settle for robbery.
Luke's mind buzzed. Fear seized him instantly.
He tried to speak, hoping to buy them off with money — even offering so gold dragons or promising more.
But under extre tension, his poor language skills completely fell apart. He could only stamr a few broken syllables: "Gold… I give… let go…"
At that mont, one of the dull-looking accomplices missing a front tooth excitedly interrupted: "Boss, didn't soone offer a hundred gold dragons to kidnap this kid? Why waste words on him! Tie him up and deliver him — we'll get way more!"
The scar-faced man glared at his toothless underling for blurting out their real intention, but greed burned even brighter in his eyes.
Kidnapping! One hundred gold dragons!
This was far riskier than simple robbery, but the reward was much higher.
Luke understood the words "one hundred gold dragons" and "kidnap." His last bit of hope shattered.
If it was just robbery, he might still negotiate. But kidnapping… the outco would be unpredictable!
He suddenly ramd backward, trying to break through the skinny man, while reaching for his waist.
"Trying to run?!"
The skinny man reacted quickly and kicked Luke hard in the stomach.
Sharp pain made him grunt. He staggered back, only to be smashed in the shoulder by a club from the side. The dull thud of bone made his teeth ache.
The Bluetooth earphone flew out during the impact and landed in a puddle of filthy water. Gone!
The bridge of communication was severed!
"Hold him down!" the scar-faced man growled.
The other two lunged forward. Fists and feet rained down like a storm.
Luke fought desperately, roaring and using every curse and struggling move he could think of.
But his combat skills were practically zero, and his strength was far inferior to these hardened bottom-dwellers.
His resistance only earned him more brutal beatings.
A heavy punch smashed into his cheek, splitting his lip. The tallic taste of blood flooded his mouth.
Clubs struck his back, ribs, and thighs… each blow bringing piercing pain.
He was knocked to the ground, curling up and futilely protecting his head and face.
His pleas for rcy were drowned out by the sounds of beating and the thugs' cruel laughter.
"Beat him! Beat him until he's obedient! Saves trouble on the road!" the scar-faced man said viciously, clearly excited.
Consciousness began to blur. The intense pain and fear nearly paralyzed Luke's mind. Was he going to die here?
Die in this filthy, dark alley in another world? No! He couldn't!
Just as another kick was about to strike his abdon, the despair of near-death fused with a frantic will to survive, granting him a burst of savage strength.
With a force he didn't know he possessed, he rolled away, temporarily escaping the center of the blows. He backed against the cold wall and half-sat up.
Before him were four blurry, grinning figures closing in.
They seed ready to beat him half to death before dragging him away like a dead dog.
Darkness. Despair. And… the hard rectangular object in his pocket.
Phone!
A near-instinctive thought flashed through his chaotic mind. Blue Star's… light!
Using his last strength, he propped himself up with one hand while the other tremblingly reached into his pocket and grabbed the phone.
The screen was locked, but he rembered the shortcut — flashlight!
Just as the scar-faced man raised his club for a final heavy blow—
Luke suddenly aid the phone forward and slamd the side button with his thumb!
WHOOSH—!
A blinding, snow-white beam of light — sothing that absolutely did not belong to this era — tore through the thick darkness like a sudden lightning bolt, shining directly into the four thugs' faces!
"AH!!!"
"What the hell is that?!"
"My eyes!"
Caught completely off guard by the incredibly intense light they had never seen before, the four n scread in terror.
They instinctively closed their eyes or covered their faces, falling into montary blindness and extre panic.
What kind of magic is this? Or divine punishnt from the Seven?
Now!
Luke's eyes had already adjusted to the darkness, and the beam wasn't aid at him.
Using this brief one-to-two-second window, pure survival instinct overpowered all fear and hesitation. There was only one thought left in his mind: Eliminate the threat! Survive!
His will surged frantically.
The waterlon knife he had bought on Blue Star and kept deep in his storage space as a final insurance appeared instantly in his blood-stained right hand.
Heavy. Ice-cold. The blade glead with a cold blue light under the phone's remaining glow.
No hesitation. No ti to consider consequences.
Like a cornered wild beast, Luke let out a hoarse, inhuman roar and leaped up from the ground.
Pain seed temporarily blocked. He charged at the closest target — the toothless man still swinging his club blindly while covering his eyes — and swung with all his strength!
Squelch!
The sickening sound of blade cutting flesh rang clearly in the quiet alley.
Warm liquid splashed across Luke's face.
"Ugh—!!"
The toothless man scread shrilly, clutching his spraying neck as he staggered backward.
The other three were shocked awake by their companion's scream and the flying blood. They stared in horror at Luke — now standing like a blood-soaked demon, face twisted with rage, gripping that strange, impossibly sharp blade that had appeared out of nowhere.
"He… he has a knife! Magic knife!" the skinny man's voice trembled.
The scar-faced man snarled in shock and fury: "Together! Kill him!"
But Luke had already gone completely berserk.
Fear, excruciating pain, and the despair of near-death had all transford into pure killing instinct. He didn't wait for them to regroup. He lunged at the second target — the skinny man with the short knife.
The phone fell to the ground, its flashlight beam casting erratic, grotesque shadows on the wall.
The skinny man barely managed to raise his knife to block. With a clang, his crude iron blade was chipped by the strange, razor-sharp weapon!
The trendous force numbed his wrist.
Luke was just an ordinary person, swinging and stabbing wildly!
Squelch! Squelch!
Two more sounds of blade sinking into flesh.
The skinny man's chest and abdon burst open with horrific wounds. He scread and collapsed.
The scar-faced man and the last thug were terrified.
This was no longer the helpless lamb they had been beating monts ago.
This was a demon that had crawled out of hell! Especially that blade that had appeared from thin air and its unbelievable sharpness…
"Monster! He's a monster!"
The last man scread and tried to flee.
But in Luke's eyes there was only bloodlust and threat.
He chased after him and stabbed the man through the back, piercing his heart.
The man collapsed, twitched twice, and went still.
Seeing the situation turn hopeless, the scar-faced man abandoned the hundred gold dragons, dropped his club, and fled desperately toward the other end of the alley.
But Luke had no intention of letting any of them escape.
He picked up the phone — the flashlight still on — endured the agony across his body, and staggered after him for a few steps. He aid the beam at the scar-faced man's back again and hurled the waterlon knife with all his remaining strength!
The blade spun through the darkness and thunked deeply into the man's shoulder blade.
He scread and fell, struggling to get up.
Luke walked over, breathing heavily, pulled out the knife, and under the man's despairing gaze, delivered the final blow.
The world suddenly fell silent.
Only heavy panting remained, along with the nauseating stench of blood and four gradually cooling corpses on the ground.
The flashlight beam slanted across the wall, illuminating a scene of utter chaos and sprayed blood.
Luke stood motionless, gripping the dripping knife, staring blankly at the sight before him.
The cold night wind brushed his burning cheeks, bringing a violent shiver.
I… killed people.
Four of them.
This realization stabbed into his brain like an ice pick, yanking him out of his frenzied killing state.
He used to mock those idiot authors who always wrote about protagonists vomiting after their first kill.
If it were him, he definitely wouldn't…
However.
His stomach suddenly spasd violently. He bent over and dry-heaved, only spitting out so bloody acidic water.
Fear — not of the enemies, but of what he had just done — hit him belatedly. It chilled him to the bone far more than the earlier beating.
Distant footsteps and voices seed to be approaching, probably residents or patroln alerted by the screams and commotion.
He couldn't stay here!
This thought overrode everything.
Luke didn't even bother retrieving the translator that had fallen into the filthy water, nor did he carefully clean the scene.
Staggering, almost crawling, he rushed deeper into the shadows of the alley.
Leaning against the cold, damp wall, trembling, he used his blood-stained hand to gather the last remnants of his will — nearly swallowed by fear and chaos.
Go back! Back to Blue Star! Back to my rental room!
The intense desire was like a drowning man grabbing the last straw.
The familiar weightless sensation arrived on schedule. The bloody darkness before him was instantly replaced by a familiar sight.
Thud!
He crashed heavily onto the hard concrete floor of his rental room. The impact tore open every wound, sending heart-wrenching pain through his body.
But he didn't care. He only greedily breathed in the dry, slightly dusty, yet incredibly safe air of the room.
In his hand, he still tightly gripped the waterlon knife.
Thick, dark-red blood slowly dripped from the blade tip onto his cheap floor covering, blooming into eye-catching little flowers.
So of it was his own blood. So of it belonged to others…
The rental room was deathly silent. Only his ragged, bellows-like breathing and the tiny but terrifying sound of blood dripping remained.
Drip.
Drip.
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