Valion approached the construction site at an unhurried pace. From the left came the low murmur of voices. He glanced that way and spotted Tahuuk, Sakura, and Haruko near the outer scaffolding.

  They didn’t interest him—not yet.

  He was looking for the one who had dodged his bullet.

  Jason remained on the ground floor, half-hidden among concrete pillars and stacked crates. Stationary machinery loomed nearby, dust clinging to its edges. Every solid object in the room was a potential shield—or a liability.

  Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.

  Valion had reached the entrance.

  The mercenary stepped inside, revolver already in hand. He scanned the space once, then smiled faintly.

  “Talk about being lucky,” he said, casually slotting rounds into the cylinder. “I was standing in line to enter the city, looking for you—and you show up right in front of me.”

  Jason pressed himself tighter against the pillar, controlling his breathing. His eyes flicked across the room until they landed on a crate beside him.

  A box of nails.

  Valion’s eyes flared orange. Data streamed across his irises as his gaze swept the room—then stopped.

  Fixed on the pillar.

  Jason waited for the smallest opening and lunged for the box.

  The crack of a gunshot split the air.

  Jason yanked his hand back as a bullet screamed past, grazing his skin and punching into concrete. He sucked in a sharp breath.

  “I need to bring you in alive,” Valion said calmly. “So my neutralizer rounds won’t pierce that pillar. Step out slowly. Hands where I can see them. It won’t even hurt.”

  Jason shook his hand, pain pulsing through his fingers.

  “Do you even know why you’re after me?” he shouted.

  Valion continued scanning, his gaze briefly lingering on a metal plate mounted to the wall.

  “I don’t like my guild’s new direction,” he replied. “Too greedy. But a contract’s a contract. That’s all that matters.”

  Jason leaned just enough to confirm Valion’s position.

  The shot came instantly.

  The bullet struck the metal plate, ricocheted, and screamed toward him. It skimmed his cheek before slamming into the far wall.

  “Dammit,” Jason muttered as he snapped back into cover.

  “Final chance,” Valion said evenly as he reloaded the two empty chambers. “Or you’ll feel your bones break.”

  Jason glanced once more at the box of nails—then shifted his body the opposite way.

  Valion adjusted his aim.

  A feint.

  Jason twisted back and grabbed the box.

  Valion exhaled, almost bored, and fired into the wall beside him. The bullet ricocheted cleanly toward Jason.

  Jason dodged at the last second and broke into a sprint, diving for another pillar. Hyperfocus ignited, the world narrowing to angles, trajectories, and timing.

  Another shot. He rolled beneath it.

  Another. He vaulted over a crate.

  The next bullet clipped his foot.

  Pain flared, sharp and immediate, nearly dropping him—but he forced himself onward and slid behind another pillar. He risked a glance.

  Valion was reloading.

  Jason pushed through the pain and charged.

  The revolver snapped back up, barrel glowing orange.

  Jason hurled the box of nails.

  Valion swatted them aside, irritation flashing across his face as he chambered the second-to-last round.

  The gun charged.

  Jason’s focus locked onto the barrel.

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  The instant it fired, he drew his sword and met the bullet midair, deflecting it aside in a shower of sparks.

  Valion’s eyes widened.

  For a split second, memory surfaced—a young knight, his blade, his abnormal swordplay.

  Valion pivoted back, narrowly evading the sword as Jason closed the distance. In one smooth motion, he spun, recalculating.

  The same shot wouldn’t work again.

  He adjusted—center mass.

  The revolver barked.

  Jason tried to deflect the bullet, but this time the angle was wrong. The round struck the blade head-on, the force shuddering through his arms and slamming him backward onto the floor as he felt a jolt of pain from his injured foot, making him lose balance.

  Hyperfocus shattered, ripped away by surprise and impact.

  Their eyes locked, focus narrowing to each other.

  Jason sat braced against the floor, his injured foot pulsing with dull, relentless pain. Valion stood opposite him, revolver trained squarely on his chest. Jason felt a cold certainty settle in—this was the shot that would end him.

  Valion didn’t fire.

  Instead, he flicked his tongue and snapped the cylinder open.

  Empty.

  Jason saw it and moved instantly, pushing himself up on his good foot and lunging forward, sword raised.

  As Valion reached for his first round, Jason arced the blade upward, aiming for Valion’s chest. Valion recoiled in hurried surprise, stepping back just in time. The strike missed by inches—his lean frame and quick reflexes saving him.

  Jason flowed with the momentum, spinning on his good foot and bringing the blade around in a horizontal sweep, aimed cleanly across Valion’s centerline.

  Valion ducked under it, breath hitching. The close calls rattled him; his hands fumbled as he tried to reload while dodging, focus split between survival and precision.

  Jason’s follow-through overextended him. His balance slipped, and his weight came down on his injured foot. Pain flared, sharp enough to stall him for a fraction too long.

  Valion seized the opening.

  He rolled the cylinder up against his chest, bullets sliding from the bandolier into his palm. His thumb pressed against the primers, snapping them into the chambers in one smooth motion as magnetic locks pulled the final millimeters into place.

  Jason saw it—felt it.

  One chance left.

  He drove forward and kicked with his injured foot.

  Agony tore up his leg—but the impact landed with far less resistance than he expected.

  Valion took the kick squarely, his expression flashing from panic to irritation before his body was launched backward. His light frame made him fast and agile—but it also made him vulnerable.

  He slammed into a crate several meters away, shattering through it. A sharp grunt escaped him as he hit the ground hard, back twisted awkwardly, body refusing to respond.

  Jason remained standing only barely, chest heaving as the pain in his foot surged again.

  Then a low purring hum filled the air.

  Sand and dust trembled on nearby crates. Jason’s attention snapped to the open, unfinished window behind Valion.

  Security and cargo ships streaked overhead, all moving in the same direction—the same ships he’d seen at the checkpoint.

  Eastern Dominion.

  He needed to move. Now was the moment.

  But his foot wouldn’t obey.

  A groan sounded from the wreckage.

  Valion stirred, dragging himself upright. His hand went instinctively to his side—then froze.

  The gun wasn’t there.

  It lay between him and Jason.

  Their eyes met again.

  The first to reach it would end this.

  They lunged.

  Both stumbled, both grimaced, every step uneven and painful. Jason’s hand closed around the revolver—along with Valion’s fingers a heartbeat later.

  Jason yanked hard, pulling Valion up with him. Valion refused to let go, and they staggered into each other, crashing through crates and equipment as they wrestled for control.

  More ships roared overhead.

  This time, the sound didn’t fade.

  It drew closer—then stopped.

  Valion glanced upward, understanding settling in. He sighed, annoyance plain on his face as he looked back at Jason.

  “They really are greedy…”

  Jason barely had time to register the words before footsteps echoed from above—down the stairs, onto their level.

  Five figures entered, spreading out in practiced formation. Rifles came up. Shields locked. One stepped forward—the captain.

  “How’s it going, Valion?” he called from behind a pillar.

  Valion wrenched the revolver from Jason’s grip while his attention was elsewhere and retreated into cover.

  “I was nearly done completing the contract,” he replied coolly.

  The captain grinned.

  “Heh. I guess you know why we’re here. Seeing as you’re already loading that gun…”

  Jason’s eyes snapped to Valion.

  The neutralizer rounds were gone—slid into a side pouch. Valion reloaded his bandolier and revolver with lethal ammunition instead.

  “Well,” Valion said evenly, “they don’t call you greedy for nothing. I suppose you finally decided you don’t want me in the guild anymore.”

  Jason ducked into cover beside him as the mercenaries advanced.

  “You have to admit,” the captain said, signaling his people forward, “this is the best moment. You’re both hurt and exhausted. We’ll finish this and deliver the target ourselves.”

  Valion tilted his head as more ships arrived overhead, flicking his tongue while counting silently.

  “What’s wrong?” Jason whispered.

  “More bodies than bullets,” Valion replied, snapping the cylinder closed.

  “Well. First-come, first-served.”

  He fired sideways.

  The bullet ricocheted off the wall and tore into the mercenary on Jason’s flank.

  The others hesitated—just long enough.

  Valion leaned out and put a round cleanly through the head of the mercenary on the opposite side. The rest scattered for cover as gunfire erupted.

  “Two down,” Valion muttered as he reloaded the empty chambers,

  “Eleven to go.”