Hakan the Junkie, ruler of the landfill.

Najin knew little about that figure. After all, nothing about the Junkie was known—not gender, age, background, or appearance.

“Do you know who I am?”

In other words, all Najin knew about the Junkie was that they were an alchemist and powerful enough to rival Ivan.

'It isn't much to go on, but...'

Those few facts were enough. More than enough to connect the woman before him to the Junkie.

“The Junkie.”

The oppressive weight bearing down on his shoulders and his sharply heightened senses were telling Najin the answer.

“Hakan the Junkie.”

Calling out that name, Najin steadied his stance.

The woman grinned at the sight. The corners of her mouth stretched upward, and her eyes narrowed. Fixing Najin with a half-lidded stare, she spoke.

“Good instincts. Quick on the uptake, too. But I don't much care for the conclusion you've come to.”

She did not deny his guess.

Hakan the Junkie extended a finger toward the blade Najin was pointing at her.

“Not running? You look pretty certain. If I'm Hakan the Junkie, as you say, shouldn't you run?”

Someone powerful enough to rival Ivan and Horse.

She was asking whether fleeing wasn't the right choice when faced with an opponent he couldn't handle.

“Ivan's rule is that if another gang's boss enters our territory, we fuck them up first.”

“But Ivan himself isn't here, is he?”

She knew he was away?

The backer Horse had been relying on. Had that been Hakan the Junkie? Though, remembering how Horse's officer had exploded and died a short while ago, their relationship seemed far from cooperative.

... Whatever the case.

Najin tightened his grip on the sword Ivan had entrusted to him.

“Rules are rules.”

“What a needlessly dutiful brat.”

Hakan shrugged and snapped her fingers.

BZZZZZZ.

The noise rang out again. The people standing behind Hakan with their heads drooping, as though drugged, reacted to it.

They looked at their master, Hakan, then followed her outstretched finger.

She was pointing at Najin. Soon they began charging him—dozens of drugged addicts. Staring at the blood flowing from their eyes and ears, Najin let out a long breath.

Najin hadn't stayed merely because of Ivan's rule.

He had sensed it instinctively: the farther he moved away from Hakan the Junkie, the greater the danger would become.

2.

There were too many.

Najin's eyes darted rapidly.

Even a rough count put the addicts surrounding Hakan and forcing him back at over twenty. And those were only the ones he could see right now...

'Looks like there are more back there.'

This was only the first wave.

He sensed more people behind Hakan. And that wasn't all. Judging by the screams ringing throughout the city and the explosions he had heard earlier, there might be over a hundred.

Ivan and Offen were away. He couldn't expect support from the gang, and he knew little about his opponent to begin with.

It was as bad a situation as he could ask for, one that could very well get him killed. And all he held in his hand was a single sword.

'But it's no ordinary sword.'

The sword Ivan had tossed him before leaving.

It was a masterwork in an entirely different league from the swords Najin usually used, and proof that he had demonstrated his worth to Ivan.

Najin's darting eyes came to a stop. His gaze settled on Hakan, standing beyond the addicts.

The addicts moved at her command, and she was the one responsible for this situation. Ivan always said that the first person to fuck up on a battlefield was the one in command, the one responsible. For a moment, Najin's sunset-colored eyes gleamed.

BANG!

Najin kicked off the ground and charged.

A sudden burst of speed. Closing the distance in an instant, he swung his sword at the neck of the addict blocking his path.

SHING.

Blood sprayed along the smooth arc of the blade.

A violent shudder.

The moment the addict's neck was severed, his body convulsed and began to swell. Without hesitation, Najin kicked the decapitated corpse away.

BOOOOM!

Several addicts were caught in the blast. Even with arms torn off or a leg blown away, they charged Najin as though they felt no pain. He frowned slightly at the sight.

'It's like looking at undead out of a fairy tale...'

Were they alive or dead?

The stench of rotting corpses stung his nose, and the people before him were decomposing. Some of them were corpses. But he couldn't tell whether they all were. This was hardly the time to ponder things he couldn't know.

Rather than dwell on it, Najin assessed the situation and acted.

'The blast radius is about three steps.'

How long before they exploded?

Within two seconds of the convulsions.

What triggered the explosion?

Severing a neck and killing one for certain had made it explode. But there was no guarantee they wouldn't explode while alive, either. He would have to keep at least three steps between them.

Assess the situation. Organize the information.

All that remained was to move.

Najin lowered his sword. Fighting multiple opponents was one of the first things Ivan had taught him.

「No matter how talented you are, or how good your instincts are,」

「until you really learn to use mana, you'll still get stabbed and fucking die like anyone else. So what should you do?」

Lessons he had put to use time and again. Tactics carved into his body through his work as an executioner.

「One: keep them from closing in.」

His low sweep carried the sword through the addicts' ankles.

SHING.

Some ankles were severed outright; others were cut so deeply they could no longer stand. Four addicts fell, blocking the way.

「Two: funnel them into a narrow space.」

The alley was narrow, and the way behind him was wide open.

His enemies were coming only from the front, and the four fallen bodies slowed those in the rear as they tried to get past.

「Once you've done that, well, the rest...」

「You know, don't you? You've already learned it.」

Do what you do best.

Judge each moment and drive home the best move.

As the rear ranks tried to advance over the addicts sprawled on the ground, Najin's sword swept through the neck of one they were trampling. Immediately after the swing, he leaped far backward.

BOOOOOOM!

Those caught in the explosion at close range lost legs or ankles. Their fallen bodies piled up, blocking the way again. A deafening roar, spraying blood, and chunks of what had once been human flesh.

It was not a sight anyone would want to see.

Even Najin, who had seen more than enough people die since childhood, found it sickening. Wiping the blood from his face with the back of his hand, he kicked off the ground.

Najin's sword flashed in the narrow alley. Cutting or kicking away anyone who came within three steps, he tried to close the distance to Hakan.

But that distance stubbornly refused to shrink.

'They're coming. They just keep coming.'

Their numbers kept growing.

No matter how often he pushed them back, they bore down on him through sheer numbers. Najin had kept stepping forward, but at some point he began retreating instead.

One step, two steps, three...

At this rate, he would be driven out of the alley.

Into an open space. Somewhere they could surround him. That would be the end. Najin gritted his teeth. Ivan wouldn't have let this happen. Ivan would have been faster, more decisive...

So.

TAP.

Like this.

SHING.

Najin darted in and swung his sword like Ivan. His body followed the ideal path he had only pictured in his mind, and his blade flashed. His eyes widened.

'This again.'

That strange sensation of something propelling his body.

It wasn't something Najin could control. It emerged unconsciously, reflexively.

'But...'

He needed that movement to break through this situation.

Najin glared at Hakan, standing beyond the surging crowd of addicts.

“...”

She was merely looking up at the sky in silence. In other words, she didn't even recognize him as a proper enemy.

She wasn't giving this her all. Her eyes were on what came next, not on him.

That angered Najin, if only a little. Irritation welled up at the sight of this powerful opponent who didn't even take notice of him.

'Let's see how long you can stay so relaxed.'

Najin moved, consciously recalling the sensation from moments before. He pictured the ideal path in his mind and stepped forward. Then, just as the flow pushed against his back—

Something caught.

He felt something snag sharply inside him.

“...!”

The flow propelling him vanished.

His accelerating body returned to its ordinary speed. In that instant, a gap opened between the movement he imagined and the movement of his body.

He had pictured darting in, swinging his sword, and stepping back. But with the acceleration gone, his body froze the moment he swung.

The corpse shook violently, spilling blood. The warning signs of an explosion. Najin hastily threw himself backward, but he was a moment too late.

BOOOOOM!

The explosion sent Najin rolling across the ground.

He had barely escaped the blast radius, but the narrow margin had left him caught in the shock wave. Rolling to his feet, he gasped for breath. His entire body ached.

'What went wrong?'

That sensation of something catching.

It hadn't been a physical obstruction. It was closer to something psychological. The moment he realized that, a voice echoed in his ears.

Don't cross the line.

Live the life you've been given.

Don't reach for things beyond your grasp.

Words Ivan had always said.

Words Najin had repeated to himself time and again whenever he resigned himself to his lot and gave something up. Now they had become shackles gripping his ankles.

... Shackles Najin himself had fastened.

Mana and sword aura were things he must not wield.

Even if he could see how to use them, he must not reach for them. That was what Najin had always believed. They existed beyond the line Ivan had drawn.

Even though he had the ability to cross that line, his fear of Ivan had kept him from doing so.

He had unconsciously restricted his own actions.

Things he could grasp if he only took one step forward and reached out. Things he could never reach without crossing the line. Those were what Najin needed now.

What the boy needed was the courage to cross the line.

But shackles did not break easily.

After so many years, they had become almost a part of him. Najin felt the scar etched into his shoulder throb. He stepped back and let out a breath.

“...”

As he retreated, Najin suddenly looked at the sword in his hand.

The sword Ivan had left him.

“... Ha.”

A laugh escaped him before he knew it.

What had he been hesitating for?

Receiving this sword was permission in itself.

'Permission to cross the line.'

Najin lifted his foot. Then he stamped down hard on the line he had unconsciously drawn. Shattering the shackles he had fastened around his own feet, he took a step forward. In that instant, his body accelerated.

RIIIING.

The flow propelled Najin's body.

Nothing caught inside him anymore. His body moved smoothly and swiftly. The motion he pictured in his mind and the motion of his body aligned perfectly.

SHING.

The sword swept in along a clean arc, opening a path. The falling corpses shook, about to explode, but by the time they showed those warning tremors, Najin was already gone. Yet he hadn't retreated, either.

He had leaped.

With a bang, Najin kicked off the wall of the narrow alley and sprang upward. No human's leg strength could accomplish such a movement. Mana made it possible.

He swung his sword as he landed, then kicked off the wall and leaped again the moment the addicts began to shake. Never once retreating, Najin cut down the oncoming addicts and drew closer to the Junkie.

CRUNCH.

Najin kicked off the wall and leaped high.

At the height of his leap, he raised his sword straight toward the sky, as though imitating Ivan's sword salute.

The boy who has crossed the line reaches out.

Where he reaches, there is light.

Something he had unconsciously believed he must not grasp, something he had refused to take hold of even though he could see it.

He seized it.

The instant he reached out and grasped it, Najin's grip tightened around his sword. The flow that had been propelling his body traveled through his fingers and settled into the blade.

A flash.

Najin's sword flickered fiercely.

The light gathered on it was pure white.

It had yet to acquire a color of its own, and it did not fully envelop the blade... but the white radiance inhabiting the sword was unmistakably a fragment of sword aura.

Najin had drawn it out consciously.

A light kindled solely by his own will—not unconsciously, not by chance, not through an instinctive movement.

In the dark alley, where even the ore lamps' light did not reach, the white sword aura on the boy's blade shone brilliantly.

3.

Hakan the Junkie sneered.

The boy who had charged at her had finally disappeared behind the mass of addicts. His movements had been rather impressive, but he seemed nowhere near capable of breaking through her army.

He would resist for a little while, then fall.

Rumor had it he was a novice Ivan was fond of. Surely Ivan would be delighted if she brought him the corpse.

'The plan is proceeding without a hitch.'

She had gathered the corpses that fell into the landfill or were discarded there and made them into living, moving bombs. Over a long period, she had swallowed up Horse's territory and brought him under her control by addicting him to her drugs.

And at last, she had succeeded in using Horse as bait to lure out Ivan and Offen.

It was a plan she had spent a very long time preparing. But Hakan didn't believe a trap of that caliber alone would finish Ivan. Ivan didn't know Hakan, but Hakan knew Ivan.

'Ivan, knight of Atanga.'

Hakan knew how relentless and tenacious the knights of Atanga were. He would surely break through the trap and return here.

'So I'll finish occupying it before he does.'

She would seize the central district where Ivan lived and force him into a war of attrition. Then victory would be hers. Every district of the underground city of Atman would fall under her rule.

Something she had prepared for over so many years.

If only she could bring that plan to fruition...

“...”

Hakan silently raised her head.

She looked at the underground city's ceiling. Though she had been expelled from the workshop at a young age and cast down into the underground city, she had once been called a genius, a candidate to become the next workshop master.

Like so many who lived in this city, she could not forget her days of glory.

Hakan the Junkie wanted to shine once more as an alchemist of the alchemy workshop. Seizing the entire city was merely a step along the way, not her final destination. Looking farther ahead, she smiled.

It wouldn't be long.

It wouldn't be long before she escaped this city filled with nothing but discarded things, things no better than trash. Just as she was gazing upward—

TAP.

Najin kicked off the alley wall and leaped. Hakan had been looking at the passage leading to the world above, but Najin blocked her view. Before she even had time to feel displeased—

A flash.

Najin's sword shone.

In a place filled with discarded things, in an alley steeped in darkness, in this city filled with nothing but trash, the sword in the boy's hand scattered pure white radiance.

Like a star hanging in the sky.

Hakan's eyes widened the moment she saw the light. Things that shone. Things that could introduce uncertainty into her plans. She had thought she had eliminated every last one, yet a single light still remained here.

“... I didn't see this coming.”

To think he had kept something like that hidden.

Thinking that Ivan had gotten one over on her, Hakan let out a hollow laugh.

Until moments ago, the boy had been worthless trash.

Now, having kindled that light, he was an undeniable variable.

Hakan the Junkie no longer looked at the sky, or at the next stage of her plan. Staring straight at the boy before her, she drew a dagger across her forearm. The blood running down her arm dripped to the ground and vaporized with a hiss.

A pungent odor filled the alley in an instant.

It meant Hakan had played a card she had kept hidden—and acknowledged the boy before her as an opponent.