#044. Where Malice Gathers (1)
—
Ray stacked books neatly on the table using telekinesis and asked:
> “When does the bookstore open?”
Veronica, who had been watching in awe, snapped out of it and replied:
> “Huh? Oh. Probably after lunch. I thought I’d take a short break before heading down. Then I’ll do some cleaning and organize the bookshelves.”
“Then I’ll step out for a bit. Leave these books here; I’ll read them when I return.”
“Wait, where are you—”
Before Veronica could finish her question, Ray had already left the bookstore.
*Ding.*
The bell rang faintly as he quickly walked down the street.
His destination: Second Street, building 32-1, basement level.
> “Johnny at the restaurant said the man’s routine hasn’t changed. He shops at the same times every morning and evening.”
It had been five days since the basement confrontation.
Subsequent incidents had kept Ray too busy to revisit and investigate the basement.
Though Johnny had relayed updates, Ray felt it was necessary to confirm things in person.
*Tap. Tap. Tap.*
As Ray walked further, the streets grew quieter. Soon, he arrived at the outskirts of the sector and entered a restaurant with a faded hotdog sign. Taking a seat by the window, he glanced outside.
“Ray! If you were coming, you should’ve told me! Here for a meal? What’ll it be?”
Johnny, a freckled boy holding a menu and order pad, ran up enthusiastically. His eyes sparkled with admiration, almost worship, and his expression radiated unrestrained excitement.
“The usual. But what about him?”
At Ray’s question, Johnny glanced toward a building across the street. Then he leaned in and whispered:
“That guy… he left the basement at 10 a.m. today, not his usual 7 a.m. Three hours late. That’s never happened before.”
It was now 10:12 a.m.—just 12 minutes since the man had left.
“I heard there was a fire a few days ago. Could it be related?”
“Maybe. Besides the timing, did anything else seem unusual?”
“Hmm… I saw him walking, and he was smiling, muttering something to himself. I think it was ‘It’s time to leave,’ judging by his lips.”
Ray sank into thought.
A man with a clockwork routine suddenly altered his schedule.
> “Could this have to do with our fight? If he’s saying, *‘It’s time to leave,’* ….”
Ray pieced together the man’s words and the contents of a letter he had read before.
> *“Boss. It’s been… since I was exiled from the organization. Like a blazing flame in my life….”*
The man had been expelled from his organization.
> *“The bloodstone granted me power. I’ll grow stronger….”*
He sought to amplify the power of the red gem.
> *“No matter. If I kill the assassin, even the boss will have to acknowledge my strength. Hahaha!”*
His goal was to regain recognition and return to the organization.
> “*Leaving* might mean he’s ready to return. Is he waiting to report of Kedrick that he’s gathered the required sacrifices?”
The man had been using street kids as sacrifices for some sinister purpose. Based on the extraction spell on the ring, it likely involved enhancing the red gem’s magic.
The gang’s numbers were now approaching the 66 members the man had mentioned.
If Ray were in his position—
> “He’d expect Kedrick to confirm the numbers during this visit.”
*Clatter!*
Ray looked up to see Johnny placing a tray with a steak in front of him.
For now, he decided to focus on eating while organizing his thoughts.
As he reached for the knife—
*Clatter! Clatter!*
More trays began piling up on the table with astonishing speed.
“…. These dishes aren’t part of my order.”
“They’re from others.”
“Others?”
“Yeah. Kids from the hotel and other gangs. Every time you visit, they pay in advance and insist I treat you to a meal.”
Johnny explained that, for now, the number of pre-paid meals would last up to ten visits.
“….”
Ray wasn’t sure how to feel. He had lived his life as a figure of fear, never someone admired or thanked.
“Well, enjoy! Let me know if you need anything!”
As Johnny walked away with a cheerful grin, Ray sighed and began eating.
*Clink. Clink.*
Though his portions were usually small and he wasn’t particular about food, he appreciated the variety.
> “Balanced nutrition is key for growth,” one of the books from the bookstore had said.
Ray was still growing, and he knew his height and build were crucial for combat.
> “To build muscle, you need plenty of meat.”
With that thought, he methodically chewed on the tough steak, occasionally forcing himself to eat the faded vegetables.
As he ate, his thoughts on the man from the basement began to settle.
*Clink!*
Ray placed his utensils down, stood, and headed for the door.
“Leaving already? There’s so much food left!”
“I’ll be back. I have somewhere to be.”
*Ding—*
Ray exited the restaurant and walked toward building 32-1. He stood at the top of the basement stairs.
“….”
Down below lay clues about Murcred. It was 10:23 a.m.—37 minutes until the man’s expected return.
‘But there’s no guarantee that man will stick to his routine and return as expected.’
If the man were to suddenly return and they fought, could Ray win?
He shook his head.
For one, the man had two circles, while Ray had only one.
‘I still haven’t objectively assessed how well I can fight using the mana from the circle.’
As Ray scanned his surroundings, his eyes caught sight of something in a nearby alley.
Three boys, lounging about in a slouched posture, chatting amongst themselves.
Judging by the street number, they were part of the Zephyr gang.
With as friendly a smile as he could muster, Ray approached and spoke.
“I’d like to have a quick word.”
“What the—? Who do you think you are—”
The gang froze as they turned and got a clear look at him.
“Th-th-the Hunter!”
“Why the hell is *he* here?”
Their delinquent posture vanished as they straightened up and folded their hands respectfully in front of them.
In panicked whispers, they muttered amongst themselves.
“He looks *pissed*.”
“D-damn it! I told you not to come to this street! This is where the Hunter walk around.”
“A-are we gonna end up like Zephyr yesterday? Hauled out on a stretcher?”
Despite their fears, Ray didn’t threaten them or use violence.
He simply led them out of the alley and gave them one clear instruction.
“Stand at the end of the street. If the man I mentioned shows up, just run and tell me.”
It was a simple enough task.
“If you do your job well before I’m done here, I’ll give you a reward.”
Ray pointed toward the restaurant window, where untouched dishes remained on the table.
“All that food you see? You’ll get to eat every last bite of it.”
The carrot and stick approach—advice from Philip.
It worked surprisingly well.
“R-really?”
“We can eat all that?”
Hearing this, the boys’ eyes lit up with enthusiasm.
Ray watched as they ran to their assigned positions with glee before he turned and descended the basement stairs.
The stairs and walls bore scorch marks, and at the bottom was an iron door.
“……”
A large lock was now attached, one that hadn’t been there before.
Ray immediately injected mana into the keyhole, just as he had last time.
But an unknown repelling force pushed the mana out.
It appeared that some form of security magic had been placed on the door.
He kept trying without giving up.
After what felt like a long while…
*Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap—!*
The sound of urgent footsteps echoed from above.
One of the boys appeared at the top of the stairs, signaling for Ray to come back up.
Though reluctant, Ray had no choice but to comply.
He cast one last glance at the lock before ascending the stairs.
Outside, he turned his head and saw the man approaching from the far end of the street.
‘He protected his body with mana when he burned himself last time.’
The man wore the same coat and shoes as before.
Ray began to walk away instinctively but then stopped in his tracks, struck by a thought.
‘During the last fight, I had my face covered with a hood and mask.’
Could the man fail to recognize him?
Now, Ray was barefaced and dressed differently.
*Tap. Tap. Tap.*
The distance between them closed quickly.
The man’s gaze remained fixed on the ground as he muttered to himself.
If he came close enough, their eyes would undoubtedly meet.
A tense moment of decision.
But Ray didn’t move.
‘He might not recognize me.’
The basement lighting had been dim, and Ray hadn’t spoken during the fight.
*Tap. Tap. Tap.*
The time to decide grew shorter.
And yet, Ray’s conviction deepened.
‘…He won’t recognize me.’
His intuition, honed by years of survival in the slums, assured him of this.
Having made up his mind, Ray leaned casually against the wall beside the entrance.
He adopted the posture of an ordinary street boy, slouching with his head down, listening intently to the approaching footsteps.
*Tap. Tap. Tap…*
The footsteps stopped directly in front of him.
Only then did Ray glance up, as if just noticing the man’s presence.
The man was looking at him, his earlier smirk completely gone.
“……”
“……”
A suffocating silence filled the air.
The man’s expression remained unreadable.
Ray’s face was equally impassive.
Seconds passed.
*Tap.*
The man turned and descended the stairs.
*Tap. Tap. Tap.*
*Clunk. Clunk. Creeeeak—Clang!*
The sound of the iron door opening and closing echoed from below.
Ray remained on high alert for several more seconds before finally relaxing.
“……”
The man didn’t recognize him.
Ray had gained an invaluable piece of information.
He looked at the iron door deep within the staircase, then turned and walked away.
—*
—*
—*
Ray’s days were packed from morning to night.
Each morning, he woke in the car, had a simple meal, and completed his exercises before heading to the bookstore to study magic.
“Theory seems to be more of a hindrance for you. Try recreating the magic I use in your own way.”
The old man’s magic involved creating various forms using gray stone, like concrete.
By manipulating gray mana, he could conjure floating stairs or erect large walls that were impossible to cross.
“It’s not particularly impressive magic. Neither flashy nor powerful.”
The old man explained that he had spent his life as a scholar.
He avoided combat whenever possible, even if it meant taking minor losses, focusing on defensive and supportive uses of his primary element instead.
“I’ve always been averse to fighting, ever since I was born. No matter how much I tried, my nature didn’t change. I’m sure there are others like me in the world.”
With a chuckle, he added:
“But that doesn’t mean they’re weak or cowards. Winning doesn’t always mean fighting and defeating someone.”
Ray didn’t understand.
To him, fighting was a clear matter of winners and losers. How could one achieve victory without winning?
Having spent his life in constant struggle on the streets, the old man’s words sounded as strange to Ray as Grandma Viola’s fantasy stories.
The last paradise story was too unrealistic to compare.
This one was about as weird as five Grandma Viola’s stories.
So I said.
“I don’t think so.”
