Chapter Ten: The Reckoning

Gunfire roared incessantly inside and outside the house, yet in the corridor and the junction just outside the washroom, time seemed to stand still. Ethan stood there alone, a single gun in his hand, sealing off everything.

A single set of footsteps approached. Fred.

He walked slowly to the junction at the end of the washroom corridor. His men started to speak, but he silenced them with a gesture. He pressed his index finger to his lips, signaling them to be quiet, while his ears strained to catch the movements on the other side of the wall.

Time froze once more.

The atmosphere shifted, reminiscent of the southwestern frontier of the kingdom. There, cowboys in wide-brimmed felt hats would settle life-or-death disputes by standing at opposite ends of a main street, hands hovering over their holsters, locking eyes under the setting sun, waiting for the wind to whip up the yellow sand before drawing their weapons in a blur of motion.

The corridor outside the washroom had become that dusty main street, but the wind had not yet begun to blow. Everyone was waiting. Heartbeats seemed to slow to a crawl.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

"Boom!"

The house shuddered as if Villon had used an improvised explosive to breach the door. In that very instant, the wind picked up.

A figure suddenly flashed into the junction. A gunshot rang out—the fastest possible response. Before the sound of that shot had even faded, another figure followed closely behind. It was Fred.

Fred gritted his teeth, his body coiled in peak readiness. As the subordinate he had shoved forward to take the bullet fell, Fred reached the end of the corridor and leveled his gun down the hallway.

However, he saw only Ethan and his pistol. Ethan’s gun barrel was clear of smoke; it was Anya’s weapon that drifted with the haze. She had appeared silently from the side, and it was she who had fired that first shot.

"Bye."

Fred saw the shape of Ethan’s lips and watched him pull the trigger. He knew it was a point-blank exchange with no time for anything else, so he fired back.

The shots rang out almost simultaneously. Seeing the bullet screaming toward him, Fred instinctively tapped into the power of his True Name to dodge. He had performed this maneuver countless times over his bloody career; it had saved his life more times than he could count. It was the reason he had never lost a gunfight.

But in the next heartbeat, he realized with horror that the power of his True Name, which usually flowed through him like blood, had vanished, leaving him utterly hollow.

In that moment, he finally understood what Joan had experienced before his death. The terror that had sent him cowering under a table after Joan died erupted once again, uncontrollable. Even though his instincts allowed him to shift an inch, letting the bullet graze his neck, he let out a piercing shriek. Unable to hold his gun, he turned and fled.

Ethan easily sidestepped the incoming shot. Under the influence of his authority, the trajectory of the bullet seemed to slow down. He merely tilted his head, his body barely moving, and the bullet whistled past.

"Let's go." Ethan stood up and signaled Anya.

This little setup for the confrontation with Fred had been based on a brief, pre-emptive warning he had given Anya with a glance. To his surprise, she had followed his lead without a single question. In hindsight, their synergy was terrifying, despite them having known each other for less than a day.

With Fred’s collapse, his men were no longer a threat. Some fled with him, while others rushed out to intercept, only for the latter to be gunned down by Ethan without incident.

Moving quickly toward the junction, they were now close to the main hall. Fred, however, did not flee toward the hall; he scrambled upstairs. After Ethan and Anya coordinated to kill two more gunmen, they split up. Ethan pursued Fred upstairs, while Anya headed to the hall to break the stalemate and help Villon and his team enter.

They passed each other without a word.

Fred’s screams continued, making it easy for Ethan to track him even without using his authority. Fred’s psychological defenses had completely shattered; his wailing wasn't just from the pain of his neck wound, but from the realization that his long-held sense of superhuman superiority had been utterly destroyed. He ran erratically, falling and scrambling back to his feet—a true broken man.

Ethan was in no rush, deliberately treading slowly up the stairs. He knew that even in this chaotic environment, Fred would hear his footsteps.

The result confirmed this. Fred’s screams grew louder. "No! No! Don't come near me! Stay away!"

Reaching the second floor, Ethan found Fred. He had collapsed on the open-work mezzanine. Down in the hall, his men had already been overwhelmed by Anya. She was truly the sharpest blade Alberto had left for Leonardo; even without the power of a True Name, her combat prowess was fearsome. The main door had been breached, and Villon’s forces were pouring in.

Fred’s defeat was accelerated by the fact that everyone in the hall could clearly see his pathetic state on the mezzanine. He had stopped caring about his men, struggling only to crawl forward. Eventually, he stopped even that, sensing the footsteps of death closing in.

He rolled over to face Ethan and gave a hollow laugh. "I never expected my end to come at your hands."

He had imagined a hundred ways to die—at the hands of Leonardo, Alberto, another member of the Poleta family, or perhaps even Joan. He never imagined it would be Ethan, the inconspicuous youngest son of the Poleta family who had been studying art in the capital just days ago.

"I didn't expect it either," Ethan said, stepping forward and pressing his gun barrel against Fred’s forehead.

"A miserable era, isn't it?"

Fred didn't finish his sentence, for the bullet had already pierced his skull.

Ethan turned away, leaning against the railing as he looked down at the people in the hall. Looking tired and languid, he revealed the signet ring on his left ring finger, entwined with black mud and thorns.

"Fred is dead, and the hatred is ended. Those who wish to serve me, offer me your loyalty."