A C-rank assassin stood waiting, his arms crossed as he watched Arya approach from the darkness. The faint glow of streetlights revealed Arya's figure, his clothes stained with blood, his grip firm around the sword in his hand. Each step he took was slow, calculated—like a predator approaching its prey.
The C-rank assassin's eyes darkened as he recognized him. "You… you're that bastard who killed my friend." His voice dripped with rage.
Arya didn't respond. He simply walked closer, his mask hiding any emotion.
That silence only fueled the C-rank's fury. "Tch, acting tough, huh? Let's see if you can still keep that attitude after I break every bone in your body!"
Without hesitation, the C-rank assassin lunged. His speed was far beyond Arya's—his body surrounded by a faint red aura, the sheer pressure of his strength cracking the ground beneath his feet.
