The next morning, Clayton woke up early as usual—only to be greeted by the sight of a bloody corpse lying motionless on his floor.
Startled, he rushed over and checked the body's face. One glance was enough.
"...It's that guy." The mory clicked instantly. Hank.
"What the hell happened? Why is he dead in my house?" he muttered, still struggling to process the situation.
Monts later, a group of miniature skeletons erged from the shadows. As soon as Clayton saw them, and the wounds that covered Hank's body, everything fell into place.
The man had been killed by his own summoned creatures—likely through their Water Pistol spell.
Seeing the extent of the injuries, Clayton frowned. "How did I sleep through this?"
He stepped outside to check. Dingo, his yellow dog, was still curled up on the porch—fast asleep. That was strange. Dingo usually woke before him.
He nudged the dog gently. No response.
That's when suspicion crept in.
He rembered a type of animal tranquilizer commonly used by hunters—especially potent against beasts.
Everything suddenly made sense. Hank must've drugged both him and Dingo before sneaking in. This showed that the other side had a high level of professionalism in executing kills.
Ironically, that level of professionalism had made Hank easier to eliminate—clean, silent, efficient.
Clayton buried the body in his backyard using a water-softening spell. With control over the viscosity and density of water, it didn't take much effort to break down the remains and blend them into the soil.
Even if soone dug it up, all they'd find was a patch of oddly colored red earth. No bones. No trace. He also disposed of the powder Hank had brought—an alchemical compound used to erase scent and blood trails.
Clayton couldn't help but respect Hank's caution. If not for the mini skeletons, he might have been the one buried.
He now viewed the skeletons in a different light. Whether due to lingering adrenaline or so deeper instinct, they seed more alive than ever—almost radiant.
After burning the blood-soaked cloth and scrubbing the floor clean, Clayton finally took a mont to inspect Hank's belongings.
Inside the spatial pouch—roughly half a cubic ter in capacity—were five low-grade magic stones, a spell scroll, two books, and a collection of assorted odds and ends.
The first book was about earth-elent training—completely useless to Clayton.
But the second book piqued his interest: Black Cat Killer Techniques.
It contained a range of assassination skills: aura suppression, silent movent, rapid-kill tactics. The core principle it hamred ho was caution—almost obsessive. Like the mythical black cat said to have nine lives, it taught how to vanish without a trace.
It wasn't a top-tier manual, but its practical value far exceeded its rank.
Given Hank's ticulous thods, Clayton was certain this hadn't been his first ti killing and robbing.
As for any loot Hank had stashed, it was likely spent on gambling—or hidden sowhere in his ho. But judging from how desperate Hank had seed, there probably wasn't much left.
Not that Clayton was tempted to look. After reading about the traps detailed in Black Cat Killer Techniques, he had no interest in triggering so posthumous revenge chanism. Dying from greed like Hank would be the ultimate irony.
With everything handled, Clayton finally had ti to think clearly. Only one question lingered: Why had Hank targeted him in the first place?
Had he or his father ever wronged Hank? No clear mory ca to mind.
The most likely explanation? He was starting to attract attention—enough to draw jealousy or irritation from soone like Hank.
Whatever the reason, Clayton knew he had to be more careful going forward. Not too flashy, not too invisible. Just... balanced.
It also felt like the right ti to begin his next breakthrough. Reaching First-Star Apprentice and starting Sky-Devouring Whale Body Tempering Technique would give him a much-needed layer of protection.
With that decided, he returned to his usual routine.
...
Days passed since Hank's disappearance. Clayton went about his life as though nothing had happened. But murmurs had begun to circulate around the village.
"Hey, you heard? Old man Hank hasn't co ho in days."
"So what? He's always out on a bender."
"Yeah, well, even his drinking buddies are starting to ask around."
"Maybe he found so new place to party. What's the big deal?"
"I heard he's deep in debt. His lenders are furious."
"Wouldn't be shocked. Word is he lost big the last ti he gambled."
As the gossip spread, a group of rough-looking n began prowling the farming district, questioning locals about Hank's whereabouts.
Eventually, one of them approached Clayton.
"Hey. You there. Co here."
Clayton walked over casually. "What's up?"
"You know Hank?"
"Yeah. I've seen him around."
"When's the last ti you saw him?"
"A few days back. I've been busy, so I didn't really notice much."
The man grunted, asked a few more routine questions, and moved on—finding nothing suspicious in Clayton's tone or behavior.
anwhile, outside Hank's house, tempers were flaring. The n wanted to search the place, but hesitated—what if Hank suddenly showed up?
After waiting for days with no sign of him, they finally snapped.
A few goons were ordered inside.
Monts after they entered, silence.
No sounds. No movent.
Frowning, the leader stepped in to investigate—and found the first group unconscious on the floor.
Cursing, he sent in a second wave. Screams erupted within seconds. The n stumbled out, bleeding and pierced with knives.
Infuriated, he barked at a third group. They hesitated—but one look at his glare, and they obeyed.
This group made it in—only to co racing back out, chased by a swarm of furious bees.
Utter chaos.
n scread, ran, and flailed as the bees attacked. Several used magic to fight back. Eventually, the swarm dispersed.
"Boss... you still want us to go in?" asked one of them, his face swollen with welts.
The leader clenched his jaw, then relented. "Forget it. We're leaving."
His n breathed sighs of relief.
From a distance, Clayton watched it all unfold and exhaled slowly.
Thank the stars he hadn't tried to search Hank's house himself. If he had, he might've ended up far worse.
He turned and walked away.
But from another road, Equus watched it all with a complicated expression.
He knew what had really happened to Hank—because that night, he had stayed behind, hidden, watching everything unfold.
He had wanted to witness Clayton's death firsthand.
Instead, he saw Hank enter the house... and never co out.
Even now, the mory made his skin crawl.
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