Chapter 78: The Duty of an Assassin

Boom!

The ground-shaking vibration shattered the city’s night.

The people of the slums hurriedly fled from their shelters.

They ran as far away as possible from the source of the explosion.

No one was curious about the cause of the explosion.

Curiosity had long since gone extinct in the slums.

Some mutants-like individuals showed a brief moment of curiosity, but—

Boom!

Another explosion rang out, killing their curiosity and sending them running with all their might.

As a result, no one saw the figure emerging from the explosion.

***

‘Where did this guy suddenly pop out from?’

Amon grumbled, brushing the dust off his shoulders.

Even though he’d grown stronger, he had never let his guard down.

Before attacking the gang, he had thoroughly investigated their entry routes and personnel deployment.

He even looked into the mega-corp supplying them with manpower.

The gang had ties to the corporation, but they didn’t seem close enough for the corp to send reinforcements.

Reality, however, differed from his expectations.

That axe-wielding brute had shown up, and Amon had to fight him.

If he had come as reinforcements, Amon could have accepted his miscalculation.

But the man wasn’t helping the gang.

In fact, he didn’t care about the gang members or their facilities at all.

Moments ago, his axe’s shockwave had swept away several gang members.

Instead of aiding their fight against Amon, the gang members were busy running away from him.

Amon couldn’t understand the situation at all.

‘I guess I have no choice.’

He called for a temporary truce and attempted to converse with the axe-wielding man.

It wasn’t the wisest move in the middle of combat, but in a world where information was as vital as life, it was worth the risk.

Remaining ready to dodge the axe at any moment, Amon asked, “Who are you affiliated with?”

Fortunately, the axe-wielding man seemed to enjoy a bit of banter during fights.

Lowering his axe, he replied, “I live on the payroll.”

“What’s your position?”

“Head of Security.”

The man’s answer left Amon dumbfounded.

“Head of Security? Did I hear that right? Are you sure you didn’t mean Director of External Intelligence or Special Ops Chief or something like that?”

“Believe it or not.”

‘…Why?’

‘It made no sense.’

‘Based on his combat skills, being Head of Security was plausible. But why was he here?’

The Head of Security was supposed to be a company’s last line of defense, its shield.

Such a figure only appeared during direct assaults on their company.

This was like a soccer goalie suddenly playing as a striker.

An external Head of Security in the middle of the slums was an anomaly.

“Why is a Head of Security here?”

The axe-wielding man, seemingly bored with the conversation, retrieved his axe.

“I told you already! I came to see who the hell you are!”

Amon wanted to retort that he hadn’t said anything of the sort, but the axe-wielding man began swinging his weapon again, ending their banter.

As Amon dodged the strikes, one thing became clear.

‘I’ve got myself tangled with a lunatic.’

***

‘Sigh…’

Amon couldn’t help but let out a deep breath.

He considered himself to be living a relatively decent life.

So why did all the people he crossed paths with turn out to be maniacs?

‘No, maybe it’s just that the world has gone crazy, and I’m the one failing to keep up.’

He dodged the axe again.

Blocking it was out of the question.

Each swing caused explosions akin to dynamite going off.

Trying to stop it would be suicide.

If the man exerted a little more force, his shockwaves could blow away half the factory.

Betting on his adaptability and regeneration to take him head-on would only result in a flattened corpse.

The only consolation was that, by Amon’s standards, the axe was slow.

Granted, to an average person, it would be too fast to follow with the naked eye.

‘Yeah, this is what it takes to be Head of Security.’

The strongest people Amon had encountered thus far were never at full power.

The security head of the Hexen Group didn’t need to unleash his full strength to subdue Amon.

Another head during a corporate recapture mission had been hacked and couldn’t even fight.

The only one who came close was a mage security head recently encountered, but even then, their power had been restrained by the indoor environment.

Fighting at this level—destroying a few buildings and tearing apart a district—was standard for true combatants.

The axe-wielding man was no different.

“Was Amon scared?”

“Not anymore.”

The old Amon might have run, but now, he didn’t see a reason to.

Calmly dodging the axe, he searched for an opening.

He still had a trump card up his sleeve.

When the axe came sweeping horizontally toward his waist, Amon leaped into the air.

His gaze locked onto the axe-wielding man’s face.

The man was smiling.

His grip on the axe tightened.

The weapon, which had been moving horizontally, defied inertia and swung upward in a vertical slash.

But Amon also smiled under his mask.

‘A horizontal slash followed by an upward strike.’

He had predicted this.

An ordinary fighter could never resist attacking an airborne opponent—one of the most vulnerable positions.

But this was exactly what Amon had been waiting for.

He hadn’t revealed his Sky Step ability throughout the fight, saving it for this moment.

Kicking off the air, Amon avoided the axe.

The man reacted quickly, raising his left hand to strike.

However, Amon propelled himself once more, landing behind his opponent.

With all his strength, he swung his sword at the man’s exposed nape.

Ting!

A barrier appeared, deflecting the blade.

“Dammit!”

The curse slipped out unconsciously.

‘Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy.’

‘My sword’s no slouch either.’

The thought was fleeting as he quickly pushed it aside.

There was no time for regret.

The fact that the enemy’s body was enhanced with better procedures and equipment than a mere sword was something Amon had to accept.

While Amon quickly adjusted his plan, the axe-wielding man scratched his neck as if amused.

“Seems like you were hiding some tricks up your sleeve all along, considering you dared to charge in alone.”

The axe-wielding man bared his yellowed, grimy teeth in a grin.

“You’re not the only one who knows how to play mind games, kid.”

At those words, Amon nodded, acknowledging that he had underestimated his opponent.

‘It’s clear now; he didn’t earn the title of Head of Security by chance.’

Lowering his head slightly, Amon offered an apology.

“I apologize for my disrespect.”

“Good. Then, are we done with this warm-up? Ready to fight for real?”

“Understood. I’ll give it my all.”

Amon reversed his grip on his sword with his right hand and aimed a double-barreled crossbow in his left at the axe-wielding man.

The man’s grin widened.

“That’s the spirit! Now, this is what I call the American Soul!”

With a loud roar, the axe started vibrating like a motorcycle engine revving up.

While the man tied a bandana with a flag pattern onto his weapon, Amon bent his body into a sprinting stance.

In the blink of an eye, Amon’s figure vanished.

***

“Behind me!”

The axe-wielding man swung his axe backward without hesitation.

Boom!

The explosion this time was on an entirely different scale, sending a massive cloud of dust surging into the air over the abandoned factory site.

“Ha ha ha!”

Laughing heartily, the man swung his axe repeatedly, setting off continuous explosions.

But soon, he noticed something odd.

‘Something’s not right.’

There was no resistance—no sensation of hitting anything.

Feeling uneasy, he halted his attacks.

Despite leaving himself exposed, no counterattack came.

“Don’t tell me…”

As the dust settled and visibility returned, the wide-open space revealed only the axe-wielding man standing there.

The reality he didn’t want to accept was now in plain sight.

His face turned red with rage.

***

“O… O…”

His roar echoed across the slums.

“You coward!!!”

Enraged, he took his frustration out on the ruins of the abandoned factory before storming off.

Hoisting his axe onto his back, he mounted his Harley bike.

“Damn it. I thought I finally found a decent opponent.”

Still fuming, he ground his teeth as he revved the engine.

The bike roared angrily, reflecting its rider’s temperament, and sped away from the slums toward the city.

***

Not far from where the man had left, in a parking lot, the engine of a dump truck came to life.

On the highway leading into the city, the axe-wielding man—Hasspoon—replayed the battle in his mind.

The swordsman he had fought was skilled.

He knew he couldn’t block Hasspoon’s axe with his body and focused entirely on evasion.

Even so, his gaze remained fixed on Hasspoon’s nape, the most vulnerable spot on his body.

Though the barrier protected it, the man had still pinpointed it as a weakness.

Hasspoon liked that.

Most opponents he encountered these days froze in fear the moment they locked eyes with him.

When the masked man used his Sky Step as a trump card to target his nape, Hasspoon felt a chill—but also a thrill.

For the first time in a while, he had found a worthy rival.

So much so that he had momentarily stopped the fight to exchange words.

But when the real battle began…

‘Damn bastard.’

A man who hid behind a robe and mask, concealing his identity, had simply fled.

‘Next time, I’ll rip out his guts and hang them around his neck.’

He swore this oath to his axe.

As he entered the highway, his reckless lane-changing caused cars to keep their distance.

‘Cowards. This whole country is full of weaklings and opportunists. Where has the American Soul gone?’

His sorrowful musings were interrupted by the sight of a dump truck in his side mirror.

While other vehicles distanced themselves, the truck was gaining speed, following him closely.

‘Now that’s more like it!’

Intrigued, Hasspoon slowed down to see who was driving.

The truck switched lanes to the right.

‘Trying to overtake me?’

Amused, Hasspoon looked at the driver.

The man behind the wheel was a typical redneck with a wrinkled face glaring angrily at him.

“Ha ha!”

‘Yes! This is what I’m talking about—’

Then, Hasspoon felt it.

Something was off.

The man looked and acted American, but Hasspoon’s instincts told him otherwise.

Beneath that face lay a sinister malice.

Sensing danger, Hasspoon turned his bike sharply.

At the same moment, the truck swerved toward him.

Reacting swiftly, Hasspoon swung his axe, slicing the truck in half.

But the truck’s massive body still crashed into his bike, sending them both plummeting off the bridge.

As they fell, Hasspoon caught sight of the truck driver leaping from the cabin with unnatural agility.

The driver landed momentarily on the falling truck’s roof, and in that moment, Hasspoon realized the truth.

‘A hologram?’

His suspicion was confirmed as the driver’s form shimmered and transformed into the masked swordsman—Amon.

During the brief fall, Amon shouted, “Oh Lord, the waters have engulfed my soul!”

Splash!

Hasspoon and his bike plunged into the river, followed by the remnants of the truck.

Amon pushed off the falling truck, leaping into the air before grabbing onto the bridge railing.

Continuing his chant, he cried out, “I sink in the depths of the mire where there is no foothold; deliver me from the deep waters!”

As Hasspoon struggled beneath the water, his axe weighed him down.

Above him, Amon finished his incantation.

“Let their table become a snare; let their peace become a trap!”

Hasspoon’s vision dimmed, his strength drained rapidly.

He had no way out.

As his consciousness faded, Hasspoon clung desperately to his ideals of the “American Soul,” but the battle had already been decided.

With Amon’s final words, “Deliver me, O Lord, from the mire of evil!”

Hasspoon’s body sank to the riverbed, the water consuming him entirely.

His lifeless form resurfaced only the next day.