Chapter Thirteen: What other tricks have you got? Use them all—don’t make me kill you this easily!
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Flames spat from the muzzle of the submachine gun.
The bullets tore from the barrel and burrowed into the hearts of numerous peripheral members of the Black Organization.
Amid the relentless gunfire, not a single living person remained standing before Nara Hikaru. Everyone lay sprawled across the ground—some had already lost their pulse, while others were still screaming in agony.
Clatter.
He casually tossed aside the empty submachine gun in his hand.
Then, as though taking a leisurely stroll through a garden, he walked toward the fallen members of the Black Organization. Along the way, he took a cigarette case from inside his coat, drew out a cigarette, and held it between his lips. Instinctively shielding the flame with his hand, he lit it.
Sizzle.
Smoke curled from the newly lit cigarette.
Nara Hikaru’s gaze swept over the fallen men before he spoke bluntly.
“Stop pretending to be dead and get up. I’ve already seen you.”
“If you don’t stand up now, do you want me to put a bullet through your forehead so you can see your own brains?”
The instant he finished speaking, a figure abruptly rose behind him.
Blood stained the man’s body, and a bullet had torn through his shoulder.
Yet the injury had not hampered his movements. He still had one arm with which to fire.
As a highly trained operative of the organization, Ireland was far superior to ordinary peripheral members in both hand-to-hand combat and marksmanship. The moment the gunfire began, he had instinctively seized one of the peripheral members and used him as a shield.
Afterward, he had immediately lain on the ground and pretended to be dead.
All for this moment.
“Didn’t expect that, did you, urban legend? I’m still alive!”
Ireland aimed his gun at the back of Nara Hikaru’s head and declared with certainty,
“Because I’m still alive, it’s your turn to die!”
To Ireland’s surprise, the black-clad man before him showed no sign of panic. He merely took another drag from his cigarette and replied with utter calm,
“Why is it that people always think they can kill me?”
“How foolish. A mere handgun isn’t enough to kill me.”
Nara Hikaru turned around and looked at Ireland.
Only now did Ireland finally see the true form of the urban legend who had single-handedly slaughtered every peripheral member of the organization in this area within ten short minutes.
He was a man dressed in a black overcoat and wearing sunglasses, utterly composed.
Ireland still did not know the man’s name or what he truly looked like, but that was beside the point.
“What matters is that I can kill you right now!”
Ireland placed his finger on the trigger and said with absolute confidence,
“No human being can move faster than a bullet.”
“You have to accept one fact—you’ve been defeated by me, and I’m going to kill you right now!”
“You can’t kill me. No one can.”
Nara Hikaru dropped his cigarette beside his foot and crushed the ember beneath his heel.
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His hand moved toward his pocket, and the gesture immediately put Ireland on edge. However, Nara Hikaru did not draw a weapon. He merely took out a coin.
Ireland could not understand what he was doing.
A coin? What use could a coin possibly have?
“Ireland, I’m going to play a game with you. Let’s make a bet.”
“We’ll bet on whether your handgun still has bullets in it. The wager is this one-hundred-yen coin. If you pull the trigger and the gun fires, the coin is yours.”
“But if you pull the trigger and the gun doesn’t fire… then you lose.”
Nara Hikaru spoke in an even tone.
“I’ll make you watch your own brains spill out!”
Hmph. As if that were possible.
As a professional assassin, Ireland was certain that the handgun was loaded.
He remembered how many times he had pulled the trigger and how many bullets remained. He even knew the weapon’s weight well enough to tell whether it was loaded simply by lifting it.
“Obviously, there are bullets in this handgun!”
He sneered and pulled the trigger.
But the gun did not fire.
Ireland’s expression changed at once.
Impossible. Why hadn’t it fired? Could it really have been empty?
Before he could think further, Nara Hikaru’s figure had already appeared before him like a specter.
He drove one foot into Ireland’s body.
The tremendous force sent the burly adult man flying like a stuffed toy before he crashed heavily onto the ground.
The handgun Ireland had been holding flew from his grasp as well, landing several feet away.
It spun several times before finally coming to rest.
“Looks like I won the game. Your gun had no bullets in it.”
Without even glancing at Ireland as he struggled to his feet, Nara Hikaru bent down and picked up the handgun. He removed the magazine, and Ireland could clearly see that it was indeed empty.
“You’re even more foolish than I imagined. You picked up a gun that had fallen on the ground and used it without even checking it.”
He released his grip, allowing the empty magazine and unloaded handgun to drop to the ground.
Then he began walking toward Ireland, one step at a time.
The pressure forced Ireland, one of the organization’s elite operatives, to retreat instinctively.
The bullet wound in his shoulder throbbed faintly, and the pain sharpened his awareness.
That handgun… Most likely, the black-clad man had tampered with it while passing by him as he pretended to be dead.
The urban legend of Beika Town had seemingly never regarded him as a threat. Even now, he was being toyed with as effortlessly as a cat playing with a mouse.
This man… was terrifying.
“I have a habit of killing anyone who points a gun at me, even if the gun has no bullets.”
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“Ireland, use whatever tricks you have left. Don’t make me kill you just like this!”
Nara Hikaru’s voice was low.
Ireland suddenly drew the dagger strapped to his calf.
He charged at the terrifying black-clad man with two guns, intending to stake his life on a final struggle for survival.
His powerful arm gripped the dagger and slashed toward Nara Hikaru’s throat.
In the next instant, Ireland let out a terrible scream.
The arm holding the dagger had been broken by Nara Hikaru in an instant.
Ireland’s hand could no longer maintain its grip and involuntarily opened. But in the very next moment, he gritted his teeth, endured the pain from the gunshot wound in his other arm, caught the falling dagger, turned, and thrust it toward Nara Hikaru’s heart.
The Black Organization’s style was simple: every move was meant to kill.
But to Nara Hikaru, such an attack posed no threat whatsoever.
His speed far exceeded anything Ireland had anticipated.
Nara Hikaru seized Ireland’s wrist. With a powerful jerk, he tore the dagger from his grasp.
As it fell, Nara Hikaru caught it in one hand and, with a reverse grip, instantly severed the tendons in Ireland’s hand.
“Ah!”
Ireland had only enough time to cry out before Nara Hikaru kicked both of his kneecaps apart, forcing him to collapse onto his knees.
The dagger pointed at his throat.
“In this world, good people do not die, and bad people do not die. Only one kind of person dies—the foolish. And you, Ireland, are foolish enough.”
Nara Hikaru’s voice was no longer indifferent. His emotions continued to rise, until his words carried unmistakable anger.
“Answer me! How is someone like you supposed to change? There is only one answer—death!”
The dagger flashed across Ireland’s throat.
The elite operative of the Black Organization collapsed to the ground in unwilling defeat as a torrent of crimson poured from his wound.
The warmth drained from his body together with his blood. As consciousness faded, he remembered something Nara Hikaru had once said.
“In my eyes, you people aren’t even as threatening as the bandits in the mountains.”
Perhaps the man had been telling the truth.
But… where in the world could there be bandits with abilities equal to—or even greater than—those of the Black Organization’s members?
Leaving Ireland’s corpse where it lay, Nara Hikaru turned and walked toward the stairwell.
Next came the true target of this operation.
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