The training hall of the Black Blade Gang was massive, designed for sparring and combat drills. It could easily accommodate over three hundred members, and tonight, it was packed.
At the front of the room, four men sat on elevated chairs, their presence commanding immediate respect. These were the gang's four hall masters—seasoned criminals who had fought and bled for the gang's leader, their authority second only to his.
Everyone else stood, waiting.
"Hey, Godou, any idea why the boss called us in?" One of the hall masters leaned in, irritation clear in his voice. "I was about to seal the deal with a fine little thing when you dragged me out."
Godou scowled. "No clue. But it sounded urgent."
"I heard he took nearly a hundred men out earlier. Maybe it's got something to do with that?"
"Could be those punks from the last turf war trying to claw their way back."
None of them had any idea that their boss had sent those hundred men after a single target—Blake Silva. And that every last one of them was now dead.
The heavy wooden doors groaned as they swung open. All eyes turned toward the entrance, expecting to see their leader, Hideki Nozaki.
Instead, a lone figure stepped inside.
His silver hair shimmered under the dim lights, but it was the blood-streaked sword at his hip and the quiet storm of killing intent radiating from him that sent a chill through the room.
"Is everyone here?" His voice was calm, but the cold edge in his tone cut through the silence like a blade.
Godou frowned. "They're all here. Did the boss send you?" His gaze flicked to the sword, unease settling in.
The other hall masters weren't as slow to realize the danger. Their eyes narrowed, their hands subtly drifting toward the weapons at their waists.
Blake didn't answer. Instead, he reached back and shut the doors, locking them with a quiet click.
A blur of motion. A flash of silver.
Godou gasped, his hands clutching at his throat as blood spilled between his fingers. His knees buckled, and he collapsed without another word.
"Shit! He's an enemy!" one of the hall masters roared, ripping a pistol from his jacket.
The others followed suit, weapons drawn in an instant.
But it didn't matter.
Gunfire erupted, the sharp cracks echoing through the hall. The gangsters fired wildly, bullets tearing into walls and shattering lights, but none found their mark.
Blake weaved through them like a phantom, his sword an extension of his will. Every strike was precise, every movement effortless. One by one, they fell—throats slashed, chests punctured, lives snuffed out before they even understood what was happening.
The battle lasted no more than ten minutes.
The air was thick with the scent of blood. Corpses lay in heaps, the floor slick with crimson.
In less than two hours—including travel time—Blake had wiped out one of the city's most dominant gangs. If it weren't for the trip, he could have done it in thirty minutes.
Reward: 100 Luck Points.
Current Luck Points: 225.
The system's notification echoed in his mind, but Blake barely reacted.
He exhaled sharply and dropped into a chair, finally allowing himself to rest. His muscles ached, his strength nearly spent. Between the relentless combat and the continuous use of his sensory-dampening ability, exhaustion had begun to creep in.
Still, he felt no remorse. No guilt.
Killing this many in a single night might have shaken most men. But to him, it was just another step forward. These scumbags had chosen their fate the moment they crossed him.
More importantly, they had dared to threaten Airi.
That alone had sealed their doom.
A sudden vibration cut through the silence.
Blake glanced down and spotted it lying beside one of the corpses. He reached over and picked it up.
Recipient: Silver-Haired Lord
Subject: A Humble Request
We are members of the Tiger Gang, former enemies of the Black Blade Gang. We humbly request your protection and acceptance.
Blake's lips curled slightly.
"Well, well," he muttered, nudging the corpse of a hall master with his boot. "Looks guy was playing both sides... or maybe the Tiger Gang set him up."
Either way, it wasn't his problem.
He tapped the screen and dialed the sender's number.
The call was answered almost instantly. "H-Hello?" A nervous voice stammered on the other end.
Blake leaned back, his tone unreadable. "It's me."
A sharp inhale. "L-Lord! Will you accept us?"
"I'm calling for one reason. Handle the police for me, and I'll give you the Black Blade Gang's territory."
"W-What?! Are you serious?!"
"Believe it or don't," Blake said flatly. "I can always give it to another gang."
"No! No, we'll handle it! You won't hear a peep from the cops!"
Blake hung up without another word.
Becoming a gang boss in this mundane world? That held no appeal.
But using gangs to clean up his messes?