"MUWAHAHAHAHAHA!"
"HYAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Drake blinked through the smoke and debris, bruised, bleeding slightly, and still somehow half-aroused from his earlier mission.
He looked from the psychotic twins to the destroyed lingerie section to Bartholomew's cracked monocle to his own clone still clinging to the curtain rod.
"...Okay," he said finally. "Definitely not the kind of peek I was expecting."
Bronns hefted his axe with a grin that promised violence. "Hope you enjoyed your little shopping trip, pretty boy. Because it's about to get a whole lot more... educational."
---
THUD! THUD!
A voice called from behind a collapsed wall of mannequins and high-end fashion debris.
"Drake? Bartholomew? Are you guys okay?" Elsa's voice rang out, slightly muffled.
Drake twisted toward the sound. "Elsa?! You good?!"
"Can't see squat in here! Something's blocking the door!" THUMP! THUMP! "And what in the seven moons was that explosion?!"
Bronns' eyes lit up like a predator catching scent. "Well, well, well... fresh meat. Been too long since I carved up something that screams pretty."
"You sure it's a girl?" Havoc drawled, adjusting his cannon. "All I see are two dudes and a pile of broken plastic. Could be some squeaky-voiced kid."
"Trust me, that's grade-A feminine terror," Bronns snickered, licking his lips. "And I do love my work."
THUD! THUD!
Elsa slammed into the jammed changing room door again. "Would someone please move these stupid mannequins?!"
"Yup. Definitely prime material," Bronns purred, his axe gleaming with malicious anticipation. "Been ages since I've had proper... entertainment."
Havoc's cannon whirred to life with a satisfied hum. "Let's make this efficient. Kill the men, grab the cash, snatch the girl. I've got appointments later—can't spend all day playing with our food."
Drake's eye twitched. *Okay, I thought I was the only pervert here—but this is next-level psycho evil!*
"Dibs on the pretty boy," Bronns said, pointing his axe at Drake. "I'll carve him up real artistic-like. Make it last."
"And I'll ventilate the butler's skull," Havoc added, powering up his cannon with clinical detachment. "Clean. Quick. Professional."
Bartholomew rose from the rubble, one eye squinting behind his cracked monocle, blood trickling from his temple. Despite his injuries, his voice carried aristocratic disdain. "What business do you savages have in a respectable establishment?"
Bronns' grin widened, revealing teeth filed to predatory points. "Well, if it isn't our dear old friend Ba-tho-lo-mew. How's business? Booming, I hope—because we're here to collect our monthly... consultation fee."
Drake blinked. "Wait—you know these psychopaths?!"
Bartholomew dusted off his coat with dignity intact despite the blood. "Unfortunately. They masquerade as 'heroes'—adventurers who terrorize shops, stalls, entire districts."
The twins preened at the description.
"They claim that in exchange for 'protecting Sidonia from Monsters,' they deserve financial... appreciation," Bartholomew continued, disgust dripping from every word.
"Aw, Bartholomew," Havoc chuckled with mock hurt, "why paint us as villains? We're just honest businessmen providing essential services."
"Honest?" Bartholomew's monocle flashed. "You're parasites. Bottom-feeding scum."
Bronns' expression darkened, his playful demeanor evaporating. "Now that's just plain rude. Tell me, Barty—what exactly do we do for this pathetic kingdom?"
Bartholomew's jaw clenched, sweat beading on his brow.
"I asked you a question," Bronns growled, stepping closer. His axe scraped against marble, leaving gouges. "We fight monsters. Soulwretches. Keep you sheep safe while you sleep. And all we ask is a modest donation to keep the wheels of justice turning."
The temperature seemed to drop as Bronns' tattooed runes began to glow with sickly green light.
"But people like you," he whispered, "treat heroes like criminals."
Drake crouched behind a broken mirror stand, mind racing. *This went from panty-raid to hostage situation real fast. These guys are rogue adventurers, running protection rackets under the guise of heroism. That's sick.*
*I need to act before they wreck the whole store—or worse, get to Elsa.*
He glanced around frantically. *Wait... where's my clone?*
Bartholomew turned to Drake, voice low but resolute. "Sir Lorenzo... you must flee. Take Lady Elsa and escape through the service exit. Contact the Solar Knights immediately."
His eyes hardened. "These aren't mere criminals—they're ranked felons with substantial bounties."
Drake's jaw clenched. *Right. Operation: Panty Peek just got upgraded to Operation: Save Everyone's Ass.*
*Hey system, show me these creeps' stats. Now.*
DING!
[SHADOW ARSENAL SYSTEM]
" you can at least say please? Thought you'd forgotten I existed—too busy being perverted with Elsa and your feline friends."
*Sorry, system. Look around! These maniacs are about to murder everyone! I need intel!*
[System Response]
*What could possibly be more important than your hormonal adventures?*
*THESE GUYS CALL THEMSELVES THE FEARSCAR TWINS AND THEY'RE ABOUT TO COMMIT MULTIPLE HOMICIDES!*
[System Response]
*Fine, fine. Unfortunately, I can only scan monsters, not humans. However... I can detect their approximate threat levels. The cannon user registers around Level 20. The axe maniac is Level 18.*
Drake's stomach dropped. *They're way above me—I'm still Level 5! Sure, my skills are powerful, but they drain mana like crazy. I could pass out mid-fight!*
[System Response]
*Should I remind you that your last level-up drastically increased your shadow magic capacity and base stats? Mana depletion shouldn't be an issue anymore. Though caution is still advised.*
*Say what now?*
[System Response]
*How you possess 180 IQ yet fail to utilize it properly astounds me. Observe your current statistics.*
---
[SHADOW ARSENAL SYSTEM]
Class:Shadow Gunslinger [Lvl: 5]
Name: Drake Lorenzo
Race: Human
Height: 6'6"
Status:
• Health: 150 / 150
• Mana: 150,000 / 150,000
• Endurance: 100 / 150
Attributes:
• Strength: 2,000 • Agility: 100
• Intelligence: 180 • Speed: 150
• Stamina: 60 • Precision: 200
• Charm: 100 • Adaptability: 100
Abilities:
• Shadow Step – Ready
• Phantom Shots – Ready
• Stealth – Duration: 40s
• Eclipse – Cooldown: 40s
• Black Vortex – Cooldown: 10s
• Skill Craft – Ready
• Weakness Perception – Cooldown: 2 min
• Parallel – Duration: 2min | Cooldown: 50s
---
Drake's eyes widened. *Holy shit... you weren't kidding. My stats are insane now. When did this happen?*
[System Response]
"Natural restoration through proper nutrition and rest. Meals and sleep work wonders—mana potions merely accelerate the process."
*Noted. Thanks, system.*
"Yo, Bartholomew!" Havoc called out, his voice carrying the casual menace of someone discussing the weather. "Solar Knights ain't coming, so quit stalling and produce our fee."
Bartholomew remained silent, blood trickling down his chin. *Hold on just a little longer... surely the authorities will arrive...*
"My partner asked you a question," Bronns snarled, lunging forward and seizing Bartholomew by the throat. "You deaf, old man?"
"G-Guh..." Bartholomem gasped, feet barely touching the ground.
"I'm not surrendering my life's work to thugs," he wheezed through Bronns' grip.
Havoc and Bronns exchanged predatory grins.
"In that case," Bronns purred, "time for a practical demonstration of consequence."
BAM!
CRASH!
Bronns drove his fist into Bartholomew's gut, then hurled him into the wall with bone-jarring force.
*Damn it! He's getting murdered and I'm hiding like a coward!*
Drake's mind raced. *I can't use my pistols—too many witnesses. If civilians see my shadow weapons, they'll know I'm not normal.*
"Stubborn barberians," Bartholomew groaned, struggling to rise as blood painted the expensive wallpaper.
"What was that?" Havoc inquired with deadly politeness, strolling over.
He crouched down, grabbed Bartholomew by the hair, and pressed his cannon's barrel into the butler's mouth. His voice dropped to a whisper that promised death.
"Repeat that. One syllable, and your brains redecorate this boutique."
Bartholomew's gaze remained defiant, though terror flickered behind his cracked monocle.
*If he pulls that trigger, Bartholomew's finished. Think, Drake, think!*
He scrolled through his abilities frantically. *Wait... Skill Craft! If I can't use guns, I'll create something that doesn't need them!*
"Skill Craft, activate! Create new ability!" Drake whispered urgently.
[SHADOW ARSENAL SYSTEM]
Skill Craft activated. Name your creation.
"Martial Arts Mastery."
[System Response]
"Define its function."
"When activated, grants expert hand-to-hand combat skills and experience."
[System Response]
"Activation phrase?"
Drake grinned despite the situation. "AWAKEN: KUNG FU MASTER!"
[System Response]
Processing...
"SKILL 'MARTIAL ARTS MASTERY' SUCCESSFULLY CREATED!"
"RANK: E (EVOLVES THROUGH USE)"
"ACTIVATION PHRASE REGISTERED."
"READY FOR DEPLOYMENT."
"Well, Bartholomew," Havoc taunted, "cat got your tongue? Oh wait—my cannon's occupying your mouth."
Bronns laughed, a sound like grinding metal. "Finish him already. My axe is getting lonely."
Drake's eyes blazed with determination.
*Time to field-test this baby...*
"By the shadows of ancient warriors," he whispered, power building in his voice, "AWAKEN: KUNG FU MASTER!"
Energy exploded through Drake's body like liquid lightning. His muscles reconfigured, his stance shifted to perfect fighting form, and suddenly he possessed the accumulated knowledge of a thousand martial arts masters.
His clone, still dangling from the curtain rod, caught his eye and grinned. "Showtime?"
Drake cracked his knuckles, each pop echoing with lethal promise.
"Time to teach these psychos about respect."