Mong felt as if an invisible iron fist had struck him square in the chest, all 27 of his ribs cracking with a brittle snap.
"Reinō (Psychic power)?!" Mong blurted out.
But he quickly regained his composure, gritting his teeth as he swung his dagger, which was slick with his own corrupted blood.
A spray of sizzling blood arced from the blade toward the stern-faced man.
Yet the man's figure suddenly disappeared from where he'd stood, leaving the blood to spatter harmlessly onto a nearby pipe.
The metal hissed and bubbled as white smoke rose from the corroding holes.
The man's figure then reappeared behind Mong.
Mong bit through his tongue, filling his mouth with more blood, and spun around violently, spitting it at the man.
The mechanical hand atop the man's whimsical hat opened into a palm.
In an instant, an invisible wall materialized before him, blocking the caustic spray.
"Where the hell did a Reinōsha (Psychic) this strong come from in the underhive?" Mong growled, his voice low.
The man said nothing, only tilting his hat as the mechanical hand once again pointed straight at Mong.
Mong dove and rolled to the side just in time to see a half-meter-wide crater open in the ground where he'd stood, as if smashed by a massive unseen hammer.
Mong's eyes were bloodshot now, realizing the sheer power of his foe. He spat out another mouthful of blood, wetting his lips as he began to chant.
"Defile my blood, let the flies dance…
Itch unceasing, feed the maggots with blood…"
His voice fell to a harsh whisper as the blood pooled on the ground began to foam, countless tiny maggots writhing within it.
"Wait! Mong, stop!"
Markit's sharp rebuke cut through the tense air as he stepped between his younger brother and the cold-faced man.
"We mean no harm!" Markit declared.
Shirou—still wearing his lion-like face and imposing presence—looked at the tall hooded man, then at Mong gripping his bloodied dagger.
Really now? You call this 'no harm'? he thought.
What, does my righteous Lion visage scare you that much? Do you have something against my noble face?
And seriously, what normal person has blood that corrosive?
Shirou cast a glance at the bubbling, smoking blood on the ground. That kind of blood would peel your skin off in seconds.
Definitely cultists, he thought grimly.
"I'm Markit, and this is my younger brother Mong. We… are scrap scavengers. Yes, scavengers," the taller man quickly explained, seeing the distrust in Shirou's eyes.
"Mong must've mistaken you for one of the gang patrols and lashed out. I apologize on his behalf."
"Brother…" Mong muttered, obviously unhappy.
But Markit shot him a hard look.
So they thought I was with the gangs, huh? Shirou's gaze stayed skeptical as he recalled the Emperor's Tarot drawn earlier by the winged figure in white light.
Still, better to avoid unnecessary trouble. He waved his hand, signaling that he'd let it slide.
The hat on his head granted him powerful abilities, sure—but the drain on his energy was significant. If things escalated, who knew what kind of disgusting Nurglite tricks these two might still pull?
"You seem to be a Reinōsha (Psychic)," Markit called after him as he turned to leave.
Shirou glanced back at him without answering.
He had no desire to waste time here—not only because it was dangerous, but because the old Eighth District was vast and maze-like, and he still had PDF weapon caches to find.
He didn't want to be delayed.
"No, we truly mean no harm."
Markit smiled faintly, his tone mild.
"I just thought… we're all unwelcome here in our own ways. Why not cooperate?"
He patted Mong on the back, adding, "You saw for yourself—we can corrode rock and metal to dig down. That's how we uncovered the buried PDF outpost."
"And you? You moved in a blink. Your Reinō (Psychic) power might let us actually get inside."
"…You're talking about a PDF outpost?" Shirou asked, pausing.
"Of course. We can work together—"
But Shirou cut him off with a shake of his head, starting to walk away again.
"Wait," Markit called once more.
"Better than lies, deceit, and betrayal… I trust in tradition, inevitability, and the love of family," he said warmly.
"I spoke no lies. I can show you exactly where the PDF outpost is."
Shirou frowned slightly.
Indeed, these two were clearly cultists—but not all cultists were the same. Tzeentch's followers thrived on lies and manipulation, but followers of the Plaguefather were often sincere, earnest even, and treated each other like family.
Dangerous, yes—but less likely to lie outright.
With the instant movement from his Superpower Hat and the Any-Ring, he could always escape if things turned south.
And then… there was that Emperor's Tarot card. It had foretold "a cooperation requiring patience and communication."
If the Tarot was truly connected to the Emperor's will…
"This is on you if this goes sideways, Emperor," Shirou muttered under his breath.
"I can get you into the PDF outpost," he said aloud, glancing back at the pair with guarded eyes. "Lead the way."
"I'm glad we can trust each other." Markit's smile was mild to the point of eeriness.
"Believe me—what we're doing will benefit everyone."
"I don't care about your agenda," Shirou cut him off. "I assume you don't care about the weapons. You take what you want, I take what I want. Simple."
"Of course."
Markit's gentle smile never faltered as he said, "As a gesture of trust… may I know your name?"
"…My name?" Shirou frowned.
"Yes," Markit nodded. "As partners, we should at least know each other's names."
Shirou gave a little shrug.
"Fine," he said at last.
"You can call me… Rain Rusu (Lion Russ)."
(End of Chapter)
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