Chapter Nineteen: Encounter (Part One)

The Crow walked toward the small cabin outside Valencia; it was his resting place before entering the city, where he had left some clothing. The house originally belonged to an honest tenant farmer, and the Crow had rented it temporarily. Now that contact had been made with Warrenheit and he would be staying at the Prime Minister’s residence, the cabin was no longer necessary, so he planned to return the lease.

When he returned to the little house, intending to settle the remaining rent with the tenant, he was surprised to find a young girl inside. She was strikingly beautiful, though dressed in plain, ill-fitting clothes, yet around her neck hung a necklace strung with pearls—clearly valuable.

“Who are you?” the Crow asked, then suddenly gestured for silence; he sensed someone rapidly approaching.

The girl widened her eyes, about to question him, but the Crow’s hand, as if by magic, produced an exquisite musket. The Despoiler was aimed at the wooden door.

With an explosive crash, the door was smashed open by a frontal assault, splintering apart. A massive sword, riding the force of the broken door, slashed heavily toward the Crow.

“Get back!” The Crow pulled the girl behind him and fired the Despoiler, the enchanted round hurtling toward the attacker with both magical and physical force. But the newcomer was no ordinary foe; the enormous sword deflected the bullet as easily as a shield, even quelling the flames conjured by the enchanted shot.

The Crow crashed through the flimsy wooden wall of the cabin, narrowly avoiding the sword—disheveled, but unscathed. The opponent’s blade was so large it served as both weapon and shield, nullifying the enchanted round with ease.

Regaining his footing, the Crow released the unfamiliar girl’s hand. He didn’t know her, but he couldn’t stand by and see her hurt by an attack clearly meant for him.

He raised the Despoiler again. As he’d moved from breaking through the boards to steadying himself, he’d already loaded another enchanted round.

Yet now the little cabin fell silent. The human-shaped hole he’d made was large enough for a person, but the enemy’s massive sword would not fit as easily; the foe would have to make another move to break through, giving the Crow another chance to fire. Last time, his flame shot had been neutralized, but now he had loaded a different enchantment. Skillful use of various enchanted rounds, even in combination, was the specialty of those adept with magical firearms.

Still, the silence persisted, as if the intruder inside waited for something as well.

The Crow’s pupils narrowed. At that moment, the beautiful girl beside him grew impatient. “Hey, what’s your name? Who are these people, and why are they smashing up the house I rented?”

The Crow was startled. When he didn’t respond, the girl grabbed his gun arm and shook it.

Just then, a surge of murderous intent swept from behind—an assassin in black appeared from the flank, wielding two short black blades, stabbing fiercely at the Crow. Almost simultaneously, a surge of sword energy erupted from within the cabin. The wall, already breached by the Crow, shattered; the entire house collapsed in ruin, and the great sword came crashing down again.

There was no doubt these two were highly coordinated: the swordsman attacking directly to draw the Crow’s focus, the assassin lurking for an opening. The Crow reacted instantly—not by directly parrying the assassin, but by locking his arm rigid as stone, unfazed by the girl’s frantic shaking. The Despoiler roared, white smoke blooming.

The assassin’s blade struck at the Crow’s side, but there, as if by magic, appeared a three-edged stiletto favored by orc thieves, blocking the deadly thrust.

The assassin sneered, “Careful, I’m about to get serious.”

A black aura surged along his blade. He leapt insect-like around the Crow, each jump matched by a vicious, lightning-quick stab.

This time, the swordsman could not keep pace; the round the Crow fired was not fire or wind, but a variant of water magic—ice. Ice magic often lagged behind fire or wind in sheer damage or speed, but it had a unique property: it could freeze a foe in place. Unless one was highly resistant or forewarned, it was easy to be caught off guard.

So it was for the swordsman, who was frozen by the enchanted frost, turned into an icy statue.

The Crow wielded the orc’s stiletto with uncanny skill, as if he’d spent decades as an orc thief. The stiletto’s cold gleam and the assassin’s twin black blades clashed in a flurry of rapid exchanges.

The assassin was surprised. He hadn’t yet gone all out, but he’d already used his signature dark battle aura—yet the Crow remained unpressured, clearly no weaker than himself. This was not entirely unexpected; after all, the one who’d recommended the Crow had said he was a formidable bounty hunter, willing to do anything for money, making him an excellent choice to protect important figures.

But their dossier had stated the Crow specialized in magical firearms, meaning close-quarters assassins should be his natural bane. Yet the reality was otherwise—the Crow countered with techniques just like his own.

“Hey, what are you fighting for? Are you even listening to me?” The girl was furious, her patience spent. She had told herself repeatedly to endure—this was the human world, after all.

With her rising anger, moisture in the air condensed into droplets, which then formed into streamlined pellets. She reminded herself not to injure anyone; her uncle had told her on her birthday not to draw too much attention—this was not the world of the sea folk, and it was best to conceal her abilities and avoid making enemies.

So she conjured water bullets, not blades. The latter would have been far more destructive. Now, as she had matured, her water-manipulation talent had grown even more formidable. Even in a place with no obvious water source, she could form water bullets nearly as fast as a mage’s instantaneous spells—a sign of spell-like water affinity.

The water bullets, indifferent to friend or foe, hurtled toward the battling Crow and assassin, forcing them to break apart.

Luckily, the girl blamed the assassin for her troubles, believing the Crow’s silence was due to the assassin’s interference—so she sent the water bullets after the black-clad killer.