Chapter 87: The Mercenaries

Chapter 87: Chapter 87: The Mercenaries

The second attacker lunged from the dust cloud, his face twisted in panic.

A jagged tactical knife flashed in his hand, aimed directly at Derrick’s exposed neck.

Derrick did not even turn his head.

Too Slow.

He tilted his head back a fraction of an inch, letting the blade cut through empty air.

Before the attacker could pull his arm back, Derrick’s hand moved as a blur.

A gleaming steel throwing knife appeared instantly in his palm straight from his inventory.

FLASH!

With a swift, downward sweep, the blade carved through skin, muscle, and bone.

The attacker’s left leg separated at the knee.

"AAGHH! MY LEG!"

The man screamed, collapsing onto the concrete road before torrent of blood spilled over the cracked pavement.

Derrick stepped over the writhing man without a single shred of mercy.

He flipped the knife upside down in his grip, bringing the butt of the hilt slamming down into the man’s wrists and ankles with terrifying precision.

CRACK!

CRACK!

Every major tendon snapped like dry twigs.

"GRRRR...." The man’s screams choked in his throat as his limbs went entirely limp, leaving him paralyzed in a pool of his own blood.

Derrick shook the crimson drops off his blade with a light flick of his wrist.

His pitch-black eyes turned toward the third attacker, who was frozen in place, trembling uncontrollably as he stared at his mutilated comrades.

"Cassie, you should go home." Derrick said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "I will come back after finishing up here."

Cassandra stood frozen on the sidewalk, her wide eyes locked onto Derrick.

Her heart hammered violently against her ribs.

Since they were twins, Cassie had spent most of her time with Derrick.

She had grown up with him, shared meals with him, and watched him laugh, jump, cry, but looking at him now felt like looking at a complete stranger.

The cold distant man who did not even blink at the sight of the blood, this was not the man she knew.

But despite how unfamiliar he seemed, Cassandra shook her head.

"No," she said, her voice trembling slightly before finding its footing. "I’m not going back alone."

Derrick glanced back over his shoulder, his pitch-black eyes fixing on her. "It’s going to get ugly, Cassie. Go home."

"I said no," she insisted, stepping closer despite the overwhelming pressure suffocating the air around him. "If people are coming after us... after you... then I need to see this. I’m staying right here."

Derrick stared at her for a long second, measuring the fierce, stubborn resolve in her eyes.

He let out a short, quiet breath and turned back toward the last standing mercenary.

Before the terrified man could utter another word of plea, Derrick vanished from his line of sight, reappearing directly behind him.

BOOM!

A brutal, lightning-fast strike from the pommel of his blade slammed into the man’s neck, dropping him instantly into unconsciousness.

Derrick grabbed the paralyzed man whose tendons he had shattered by the collar and dragged his limp, bloody body into the dark alley, tossing him beside the hoodie-clad leader and the knocked-out scout.

With a silent thought, he stored the bloody knife back into his system inventory.

Derrick kicked the guy with severed tendons into unconsciousness to keep the noise down, leaving only the leader in the hoodie awake.

Cassandra followed him into the shadows, leaning against the damp brick wall.

Her stomach churned at the thick metallic smell of blood filling her nostrils, and her pulse raced wildly, but she forced her eyes to stay wide open.

She refused to look away.

Derrick crouched down in front of the bleeding leader.

"Who sent you?" He asked softly, his deadpan voice echoing in the narrow space.

The leader lifted his head, his face pale from massive blood loss, yet a twisted, defiant sneer ripped across his lips.

"Go to hell, kid—"

The leader spat a mouthful of dark, crimson blood straight toward Derrick’s face.

Derrick didn’t even blink. He simply titled his head and let it splash on the brick wall before.

"Can’t you guys do something original? Ambushing my family to draw them out and then trying to act tough when the situation is reversed..."

In the same fluid microsecond, Derrick grabbed the leader’s remaining arm and twisted.

CRACK!

RIP!

A horrific scream tore through the leader’s throat as Derrick tore the limb clean from its socket, severing the nerve clusters and tossing the arm onto the alley floor like trash.

Cassandra gasped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth.

A cold sweat broke out across her forehead. She felt her leeg going weak at the sheer ruthlessness of her brother.

But she could feel it.

Derrick was angry.

He enraged because someone tried to attack her and that somehow made all the fear in her heart disappear, filling it with familiar warmth.

Derrick wiped a drop of red off his cheek with the back of his hand, leaning down closer to the hyperventilating leader.

"I’ll ask one more time," Derrick whispered into his ear. "Who gave the order?"

"Screw you." The man wheezed while staring at him in hatred.

"Trying to act tough? Don’t worry, you are not the only one who can speak here."

Derrick turned his head slowly, his pitch-black gaze locking onto the third man trembling in the corner of the alley.

Without breaking eye contact, Derrick plunged his combat knife straight down through the leader’s collarbone.

THWACK!

The leader choked out a wet, gurgling gasp before his body went entirely limp against the wet pavement.

Seeing this, the last conscious attacker started thrashing around, collapsing on his knees with tears and snot streaming down his face.

"DON’T KILL ME! PLEASE, DON’T KILL ME!" he sobbed, his voice cracking as he slammed his forehead repeatedly into the blood-stained concrete. "I’LL TELL YOU EVERYTHING! EVERYTHING I KNOW!"

"Speak," Derrick said coldly. "

We... we don’t know his name! I swear on my life we don’t!" the man babbled, shaking so violently his teeth rattled against each other. "It was a cash job booked through an offline proxy! We only met him once in a dark parking garage in the lower district!"

"What did he look like?" Derrick asked.

"He wore a mask! A plain gray mask! I couldn’t see his face!" the man gasped, wiping his nose with his sleeve in sheer panic. "But... but when he handed over the advance credits, his sleeve pulled back! I saw a tattoo!"

Derrick’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Describe it."

"It was a W—"