Chapter 12

Chapter 12
## Chapter 12: Black Hammer Gang (2)

Despite being a disorganized rabble without formal martial training, these men were no strangers to the visceral reality of violence. The sight of their comrade’s blood acted as a trigger, causing the bandits to instinctively brandish their steel.

“You filthy brat, damn you!”

“You’ve lost your mind! You have no idea the kind of hornet’s nest you’ve kicked. You’re a dead man!”

“Kill him! All of you, swarm the bastard!”

It was a tactical blunder of the highest order.

*Thud!*

“Wh—what…?”

A bandit stared blankly as a hand axe suddenly appeared, embedded deep in his skull. He couldn’t comprehend how the weapon that had been resting atop his own head a second ago was now buried in his brain. His legs gave out, and his eyes rolled back as he slumped over.

“Wait, what just happened…?”

“Gavin? Why did you—?”

The rest of the outlaws weren’t permitted the luxury of a post-mortem. The barbarian had already closed the distance, his blade raised for the harvest.

Kadim focused his initial strike on the lead spearman. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he batted away the clumsy lunge. In the same motion, he drew a jagged line from the man’s sternum down to his groin.

*Slash!*

“Gah…!”

The spearman attempted a desperate counter, but his nervous system had already disconnected. A freezing sensation took hold as his sliced abdominal muscles retracted into his torso. The spear slipped from his trembling fingers, clattering uselessly against the stones.

“Son of a bitch!”

*Whoosh!*

Heavy clubs whistled through the air from multiple angles. When a fighter prioritizes raw impact over technique, they leave themselves wide open. Kadim shifted his weight, stepping back just enough to let the wood pass by. Then, with the grace of a predator, he lunged forward and opened a deep furrow in a bandit’s flank.

*Slash!*

“Aaaagh!”

The man dropped his weapon, fruitlessly trying to hold in the thick coils of viscera that began to slide from the wound. Kadim didn’t pause, spinning to the other side to strike again.

*Slash!*

“Eeeeeek!!!”

The second incision doubled the man’s agony. No matter how hard he pressed his arms against his ribs, he couldn’t stop the internal organs from spilling out. Screaming in a high-pitched wail, the bandit collapsed into the dirt.

Sensing a moment of vulnerability, another attacker tried to take Kadim from the rear. It was a futile effort. Kadim rotated his torso and swung his blade in a sweeping semicircle.

*Clang!*

“Wh… how…?”

The bandit watched in shock as his own sword was ripped from his grip, spinning into the darkness. How had the barbarian sensed him? And what kind of monstrous strength was required to disarm a man with such violence?

*Crunch!*

Kadim silenced the questions by carving through the man’s throat.

The bandit died with a look of profound confusion. Even as his life ebbed away through his mangled neck, his wide eyes seemed to be searching for an explanation that would never come.

“G-Gavin…? Meden, Horsel… is everyone… gone? Dammit… someone say something! Ugh…!”

The rest of the gang had been slaughtered. The sole survivor had lost all stomach for the fight. Kadim ignored the whimpering man for a moment to inspect his gear.

The blade of his sword, Mosquito, was busy drinking the fresh crimson droplets. True to its nature, the weapon required no cleaning; it had performed its function perfectly. Kadim slid the pristine, shining steel back into its scabbard.

His hand axe, however, was finished. The bit was jaggedly chipped, and the head wobbled precariously on the shaft. It was a tool, not a weapon of war, and his brutal use of it had finally broken its spirit.

*‘I’ll need to find a proper battle-axe once I reach civilization.’*

He realized there were more immediate ways to restock his arsenal. Kadim turned his attention to the survivor he had intentionally left alive.

“Hah… haaack! Guh, guuuuh…!”

The man was hyperventilating, dragging himself backward on his elbows. The face that had been full of arrogance moments ago was now a mask of pure, unadulterated dread.

Kadim brought his boot down on the man’s spine, pinning him to the earth. The bandit flailed like an insect under a heel, letting out low, guttural moans.

“Gaaaaah! Gaaaaaaaah!”

“Control yourself and talk. Unless you want me to snap your back like a dry twig.”

“Guh… guuuh…!”

“Who are you people? What is your business with those two cowards who fled? And who is this ‘Agon’s Furious Horn’?”

The answer came from behind him instead.

“‘Agon’ is the capital of the Free City Alliance, sir. It’s home to the greatest arena on the continent, a place where mercenaries and killers go to chase gold. ‘Agon’s Furious Horn’ is a legendary barbarian who has dominated that pit for years.”

Duncan, the merchant, had crept closer to watch. Kadim looked back at him.

“They took me for him.”

“Undoubtedly… but it is quite odd, milord. A man of that stature wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this. There’s no profit for a champion here.”

Both men looked down at the trembling bandit. He looked up at Kadim with desperate eyes.

“No, you’re wrong! Our leader was a gladiator too—he said they were brothers in arms! He said if we called, the Horn would come to crush our enemies! When he gets here, you’re all going to burn… Gaaaaah!!”

Kadim shifted his weight, putting just enough pressure on the man’s vertebrae to bring him to the brink of paralysis. The bandit went limp, his defiance replaced by total submission.

The story he eventually babbled was pathetic.

“We… I’m all that’s left of the Blood Cave Gang… those two who ran are from the Black Hammer Gang…”

The Blood Cave Gang had once ruled these roads, but the rising Black Hammer Gang had used superior numbers to dismantle them. With his men dead or deserting, their leader had lied to the survivors, claiming his “best friend” ‘Agon’s Furious Horn’ was coming to save them.

“Well, friend. You’ve been sold a fantasy.”

“…What?”

“If a warrior of that caliber were truly his friend, would he leave his comrade to rot in a hole as a petty highwayman? He would have set him up with a shop or a guard post in the city.”

The merchant’s logic was undeniable. The bandit went silent, his last hope extinguished as his eyes began to fill with tears of realization.

“…!”

Kadim, meanwhile, had already reached a conclusion.

He might have walked away if this hadn’t turned into a bloodbath, but he was committed now. With six of their men dead, the gang’s leader would never stop hunting them.

Leave no loose ends. That had been Kadim’s mantra since his very first journey. It was always safer to hunt the hunter than to wait for an ambush.

*‘Besides, they’re outlaws. Taking their loot is just cleaning the streets.’*

Kadim removed his foot but reached down to seize the man’s arm in a crushing grip.

“We’re going to finish this. Lead me to your camp.”

“Wh-what? I-I won’t—”

*Crack!*

The man’s elbow joint gave way with a sickening pop as Kadim twisted it.

“…!!!”

The bandit let out a soul-shattering scream and began to crawl in the direction of the hideout.

—

Torches cast long, dancing shadows against the wet stone of the cavern. Now that he was away from his men, the leader of the gang didn’t bother to hide his anxiety.

“Haaaah…”

Graham, the head of the Blood Cave Gang, ran a hand through his hair and groaned.

*‘Gods, what a mess… how did I end up here…?’*

Graham had indeed set foot in the arena of Agon. He had been a gladiator, though far from a legend. His career had consisted of one lucky win and four devastating losses.

In Agon, losing usually meant a trip to the morgue, so surviving four defeats was his only real talent.

He never told people about his talent for running away, though. Instead, he told tales of his glory days and his supposed kinship with ‘Agon’s Furious Horn’.

Because he knew the layout of the arena, people believed him. It was enough to gather a group of fools and form the Blood Cave Gang. He had hoped to live out his days as a big fish in this small pond.

That dream was over.

*‘The Black Hammer Gang… those bastards…’*

They were ruthless raiders who had moved into his territory. They were faster, stronger, and more numerous. Every skirmish left Graham with fewer men and more fear.

*‘Boss, do something! Are we just going to let them take everything?’*

*‘Why don’t you send for ‘Agon’s Furious Horn’? You said he’d help!’*

*‘I… well…’*

He’d made excuses for weeks, but the desperation was mounting. With fewer than twenty men left, he knew they would abandon him soon.

So, he had doubled down on the lie.

*‘I’ve sent the word. He’s coming. My brother will walk through fire to help me. Just hold the line.’*

*‘Yes!’*

*‘We’re saved!’*

*‘I knew it!’*

*‘…’*

He was just buying a few more days before the inevitable.

He had seen ‘Agon’s Furious Horn’ from the cheap seats, of course. He’d never spoken a word to the man. But the image of the barbarian’s unstoppable power was burned into his mind.

*‘If only it were true… if he really came, I’d give anything…’*

It was a delusion. A champion wouldn’t waste his time here.

Unless, of course, a barbarian was coming to tie up a loose end.

“Gaaah, boss! ‘A-Agon’s Furious Horn’ is heeeere…!”

“…What?”

*Thud!*

The sentry didn’t get to finish his sentence. A massive barbarian wrenched a hand axe out of the man’s skull. The weapon was a jagged mess, clearly used to butcher several people on the way in.

“Gods… he… he really came…?”

In the flickering orange light, the silhouette was terrifying. For one heartbeat, Graham actually believed his own lie.

“…Hm?”

As the figure stepped closer, Graham realized it wasn’t the man from the arena.

But this man looked even more dangerous—a wall of muscle that looked capable of snapping a man’s neck with two fingers.

Graham wasn’t a fighter, but he was a survivor. His instincts, honed by four arena losses, screamed at him.

He knew immediately that he was looking at a monster. There were no sounds of combat from the tunnels behind him; his men were already dead. Recognizing the futility of resistance, he dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead to the dirt.

“Everything we have is in the iron chest under the table. Take the supplies, take the gold. If you want me to kill any of the others who are left, I’ll bring them to you myself.”

“…!”

“Just… please, let me live.”

The barbarian remained silent.

Graham felt a heavy gaze boring into his skull. The silence in the cave was thick and suffocating.

Graham squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel it—this man wasn’t interested in mercy or bribes. He was the type to finish the job completely.

*‘Please… I’ll go straight… I’ll just rob the occasional merchant… I won’t cause trouble…’*

He would have offered his soul if he thought the barbarian would take it. The stranger raised his sword and began to walk toward him, his boots heavy on the stone.

Graham refused to give up. He looked at the man one last time, searching for any weakness, any desire he could exploit.

And then he saw it: the ruined hand axe.

“Wait… sir mercenary?”

“…!”

“Do you care for ‘treasure’? I have information… a ‘treasure map’ leading to something you would want…”

“…!”

The blade paused in its descent. Kadim clearly thought it was a desperate lie, but Graham spoke faster.

“It’s a dwarven weapon! A ‘throwing axe’ forged in the deep mines! They say it never loses its edge, that it guides itself to the enemy’s throat and returns to your hand like a loyal hound! A warrior like you… you need a weapon like that!”

“…!”

The sword stopped completely. Graham gulped, watching the barbarian’s eyes. Finally, a voice like grinding stones echoed in the cave.

“Where is the map?”

“…Ah, listen… put the sword away, and we can—”

“Where.”

“I… I can’t tell you without a promise. If I tell you, you’ll kill me anyway…”

Graham actually knew where the map was. He’d hidden it for a rainy day.

But he didn’t want to give it up yet. If he did, the barbarian would make him a guide, and he’d likely die on the road. Better to send him on a wild goose chase and run.

“Interesting. A thief wants to bargain.”

“…Pardon?”

“I’m quite good at negotiating.”

*Stab!*

The blade slid into the flesh between Graham’s arm and his ribs. The steel began to soak up his blood. Graham turned the color of ash.

“Wha… no…!”

The agony was unlike anything he’d felt in the arena.

“Guh… guh… gaaaaah!”

He howled, the sound echoing off the damp walls.

“Tell me now,” the barbarian whispered, “or I start removing pieces of your heart.”

A terror far colder than the blade took hold of Graham’s soul.