"Here, take this." The old man flashed a crooked smile while holding out a dented stainless mug. "Don’t worry. The water’s clean. I boiled it."

Francis almost laughed. They still found small ways to enjoy what little they had, which was amusing in its own way.

It was different from the kind of individuals he dealt with in his past life, the ones who were always guarded, always hiding something behind their words.

"Thanks," he accepted the kind gesture.

He had been killing nonstop since coming to this world, so a short break wouldn’t hurt.

Besides, it wasn’t like he had anything better to do at the moment. Being hungry for more power was good, but one must also learn how to restrain themselves when needed.

’Control is power,’ he muttered to himself before focusing on the coffee.

It was lukewarm at best. Thin. Bitter, like the grounds had been used more than once.

He drank it anyway. A long, slow sip. Let it settle before handing the mug back.

The talk went on after that. He listened, asked a few questions, and gathered enough to pass as a local.

Information was a strong tool in any place. Having basic knowledge and common sense would help him build a more solid disguise.

Roughly thirty minutes later, the sound of helicopters faded into the distance.

Military trucks stopped passing through the streets. They might have changed the search elsewhere, or simply given up.

Either way, the pressure dropped.

Civilians started filling the streets again. From their faces, he could tell they were afraid, but it was obvious they had grown used to it.

"Thank you for your time. I’ll take my leave now." He stood up. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

The old man smiled, a little disappointed to see him leave.

"No worries. Come back here if you ever want someone to talk to. We could all use a friend during our darkest times."

’Darkest times, huh...’ Francis smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Their version of it was completely different from his. Or maybe it was, just processed in different ways.

Back in his past life, no one talked to him after his daughter’s death. Not because they didn’t try, but because he never let anyone close.

He buried himself in thoughts of revenge. That was what kept him moving. What kept him alive.

Did he regret it? No. If given another chance, he would probably do it even more brutally.

"I hope your days stay peaceful. I’ve got a feeling the monster the Defense Force is looking for won’t come here," Francis said before turning away.

About a hundred meters away, the crowd stayed light.

People hurried through quick errands. A few vehicles rolled slowly through streets never built for heavy traffic.

Two men walked side by side ahead of him, deep in their own conversation.

He timed it cleanly and let his shoulder catch the nearer one as he passed.

"Hey, watch where you’re going, dumbass," the man snapped. Then he looked up, saw the jacket’s logo, and apologized.

"Sorry. My bad."

Francis said nothing and kept walking.

The old man under the overpass was generous with warnings too, not just coffee. The jacket belonged to a well-known local biker group.

Wear it too long in the wrong part of town, and it would attract the kind of attention that came in numbers.

Francis turned the next corner and slipped into a narrow gap between a shuttered laundry and a hardware store. He pressed his back against the wall and angled himself away from the street.

He lifted his hand.

The wallet he pickpocketed sat open in his palm. Worn leather, one side darker from years of being kept in the same back pocket.

He flipped through it without rushing.

An ID card. A transit pass. A folded receipt he didn’t bother reading.

Then the cash.

He counted it once, then again out of habit.

It was enough. More than enough, actually — enough for a change of clothes that wouldn’t get him stared at, and a bus ticket out of this district with some left over to spare.

He closed the wallet and tucked it away.

’This place is a dead end.’

The population was too sparse and too spread out. Striking here meant long gaps between targets, high visibility, and slow payoff.

What he needed was density. Noise. The kind of place where one more face meant nothing and one less face meant even less.

His mind moved to the Defense Force bases near the urban area.

If he was going to put effort into hunting, he might as well go after targets that gave more points and carried innate talents.

’I’ll just spend a night here, get the spear, then take the bus to the city.’

He stepped back out onto the street and moved toward the sound of traffic.

A thrift store sat on another street so he headed that way.

However, he only made it halfway before the sound of small engines reached him.

Not one or two, but several, moving together in lose formation.

He clocked them the moment they turned onto the street.

Twelve bikes, maybe thirteen, spread across the road with the arrogance of men who had never needed to share space with anyone.

At first he thought they were just passing through.

Then he felt their gaze lock onto him.

’I don’t want to waste my time, but I also can’t openly end them.’

Killing them brought no real benefit, only a few low-quality livers.

Francis kept his pace and turned into the nearest alley without any change in expression, as if he had always intended to go that way.

The engines didn’t fade.

They slowed.

By the time he was twenty meters in, the mouth of the alley was already filling behind him.

Bikes rolled to a stop in a loose arc, blocking the exit without anyone needing to say a word about it.

A couple more came around from a connecting side street, cutting off the far end.

The man who climbed off the lead bike was large.

At least six-foot-six, his frame looked overbuilt, like someone kept adding mass without ever deciding when enough was enough.

He didn’t rush. He kept walking until the distance between them closed enough for a hand to reach.

"Hey." His eyes dropped to the jacket, then came back up. "Where did you get that?"

"I just found it in a dumpster. I’m not from around here, so I didn’t know it belonged to your group." Francis explained.

The man studied him for a few seconds without saying anything.

Then he turned and walked back to his companions, speaking loudly.

It wasn’t just about the jacket. The tone alone told him they were up to no good.

After a minute, the man returned. "Come with us."

Francis let out a tired sigh and didn’t resist.

Although he planned to stay low profile and avoid killing in this area because it was inefficient, he wouldn’t shy away from those who were digging their own graves.

"Oh, you look pretty calm. You’re not scared of what we might do to you?"

Francis didn’t answer. There was no need to waste his breath.