The back alleys of Zilt were ruled by gangs, each controlling its own region with an iron grip. With no law enforcement—thanks to the Baron's schemes—the gangs held absolute power over the slums. The alleys were a maze of narrow paths, sharp turns, and twisting corridors that only those born in Zilt or those who had lived there for longer times could navigate with ease.
Without proper leadership, most people fell into a life of trickery, deceit, and illegal trade. The only way to survive in the back alleys was to join a gang and carry out its dirty work—until either you died or died trying.
The adventurers of Zilt were different. They came for profit, not justice. They cared little for the slum dwellers and made sure their own residences were far from the lawless streets. Older adventurers like Frank had even managed to build stone houses for themselves, but the Rusty Axe Tavern—a hub for mercenaries and travelers—was located dangerously close to the back alleys. Many adventurers had no choice but to pass through the maze-like slums to get home or stay at the Rusty Axe, where rooms were limited and often booked by regulars.
Today, within this tangled web of alleyways, a lanky, brown-haired boy was sprinting. His breath was ragged from running for so long, and sweat dripped from his face, a clear sign that this was no ordinary sprint. He ran toward the region where he could finally catch his breath—the hideout of the gang he had recently joined with Buga and Mir.
Taking a deep breath, Wen puffed out his chest as if to fill his lungs to the limit and then yelled:
"The Storm Gang is here—!"
That was all it took.
From every corner, men and women emerged—some wielding daggers, others gripping axes, all holding makeshift weapons with hardened, battle-worn hands.
These were the men of the Cruiser Gang, under the command of their leader—Cruiser, a Level 230 superhuman who had recently crossed the Level 200 mark after fighting a lone Flame-Maned Lion. Though he had relied on the help of adventurers to defeat it, he had fought on the front lines, going toe-to-toe against the furious lion's flaming claws and fire attacks.
And then, from the darkness, he stepped forward.
His dark hair falling over his eyes, bare-chested, his scarred torso bore the marks of countless battles. Around his neck hung a collection of trophies—grim remnants of the monsters he had slain. A Flame Lion's fang. The tip of a Wildrush Boar's tusk. Trinkets of past conquests.
Today, as the members of the Storm Gang—the strongest gang in Zilt had arrived, he also stepped forward. His sharp eyes scanned the invaders who had dared to step into his territory—a blatant violation of the unwritten rules of Zilt's slums. Gangs ruled certain regions, and entering another gang's domain without permission was taboo. And yet, the Storm Gang had come armed and had attempted to sneak in unnoticed.
Cruiser walked forward, his boots clanking against the muddy ground was the only sound echoing in the tense alley. He came face-to-face with a brown-haired man with streaks of gray, a figure whose steady posture and sharp gleam in his eyes betrayed his age. This was Raka, leader of the Storm Gang.
Born and raised as an orphan in Zilt, Cruiser had always harbored ambitions of becoming a gang leader, aiming to be the king of this place. Zilt was not just a good town for adventurers; it was also an illegal trading hub for rare herbs, illicit potions, and even the rare slave trade. The income from these underground markets was immense. Cruiser had grown up watching traders amass wealth by selling intoxicating herbs that could drive people mad—profits that would take a regular shopkeeper at least ten years to earn with just one potion.
Cruiser wasn't just another gang leader—he was a former Storm Gang prodigy.
Raka had been the leader of the most powerful gang in the slums for over thirty years. Though becoming a superhuman slowed aging, he was nearing sixty. His controlling nature and obsession with ensuring everything went according to his plan were the reasons he had remained the strongest leader in Zilt. But with Cruiser's rise—a man who was not only skilled in street fighting but also had a keen mind for illegal trades like smuggling, Raka could no longer afford to sit idle. He had let Cruiser be, hoping the younger man would either return to him or that he could suppress him when necessary. But Cruiser's recent breakthrough made him a threat that had to be dealt with immediately.
Raka smirked, eyes locking with Cruiser's before speaking. "You seem to be getting ahead of yourself, brat. I'm here to reclaim what's mine."
Cruiser chuckled, his voice laced with confidence. "Or are you scared that the power you held until now will falter with me reaching the superhuman level? That I'll grow beyond what you can handle?"
Raka sneered. "Hah! You think one superhuman is enough to shake the power I've built? Don't joke with me, ya pig. I can handle your gang just fine."
"Yet here you are," Cruiser shot back, "trying to sneak attack like a filthy dark hyena. Tch No need for further talk, ain't it?"
Today had been an attempted ambush while Cruiser was resting. But a boy—Wen—had spotted them, ruining their plan. Now, the situation had spiraled into an all-out confrontation. Raka barked his orders:
"I'll handle the traitorous pig. The rest of you, catch that little brat and kill everyone else!"
With that, Raka took a battle stance, his spear crackling with gray aura as it wrapped around his body and weapon. Cruiser, however, remained unfazed, a smirk tugging at his lips as his brownish aura blazed to life.
"I'm gonna beat you up without any weapons," Cruiser declared. "At least that should show the difference between us."
Even against a formidable enemy, Cruiser seemed unfazed as he widened his stance, left hand extended forward while his right was tucked behind his back. In Zilt's slums, gangs ruled by strength, and when superhumans clashed, entire districts could be reduced to rubble. Everyone knew that the strongest leaders weren't just fighters—they were forces of nature.
The Storm Gang and Cruiser's crew had been at odds for months, their territories carved out with blood and brutality. Most slum dwellers knew better than to wander into contested zones, but the fight between Cruiser and Raka was about to redefine the lines of control.
Raka lunged forward, his spear aimed at Cruiser's neck. The weapon gleamed with grey aura, a predatory gleam in its tip. But Cruiser, his arms wrapped in a brownish aura, deflected it with a precise motion. A sharp right hook followed, but Raka intercepted it with the base of his spear. Just this exchange sent shockwaves rippling outward, collapsing huts and makeshift shelters. Dust billowed into the air as screams echoed from the shadows of the slums.
Buga watched, his face pale. He had always known superhumans were dangerous, but this—this was destruction beyond comprehension. If two high-level fighters could shatter buildings just by blocking attacks, what would happen if they went all out?
Meanwhile, the Storm Gang members turned their attention to Buga, Mir, and Wen, focusing especially on Wen—he was the reason they'd been discovered so quickly. Without hesitation, they charged, desperate and frenzied.
But Cruiser's crew wasn't idle. They intercepted the Storm Gang with ruthless efficiency, slitting throats and driving knives deep into ribs. The muddy ground turned slick with blood, yet the Storm Gang kept coming, fear driving them forward. Their leader's wrath was far worse than death.
Realizing they stood no chance in the chaos, Buga, Mir, and Wen made a split-second decision. They ran. Through twisting alleyways and narrow gaps between buildings, they tried to lose their pursuers. But the Storm Gang wasn't letting up.
"We will split up," Mir gasped. "It'll confuse them."
Without another word, they darted in different directions.
But Buga wasn't so lucky, he barely had time to register the next moment as a wall caved in before him, wood splintering outwards. Through the dust, Cruiser's body was hurtling toward him at terrifying speed. And behind him, Raka stood, one leg outstretched, his stance skewed. He had planted his spear tip into the ground and used it as a pivot to launch a devastating kick.
Cruiser slammed into Buga, both crashing through another wall before coming to a halt. Buga lay motionless, blood seeping from his wounds. Cruiser glanced at him, his expression unreadable. Then his focus returned to Raka, his stance shifting once more.
Raka wasted no time. He charged, his spear now coiling with electric energy. The weapon was forged from the talons and beak of a Zephyr Eagle, a predator that harnessed lightning to accelerate its strikes. The spear lashed out like a serpent.
But Cruiser didn't dodge. He braced, arms crossing to guard his vitals. The spear embedded into his right forearm—but he didn't even flinch. With his left hand, he gripped the spear's shaft and yanked it free. A grin spread across his face.
"Seems like my talismans are working wonders," he said. "You're getting too old to run this town. Your speed and attacks have slowed, you know?"
Raka's eyes narrowed. Only now did he notice the trinkets hanging from Cruiser's neck—faintly emitting mana. They weren't mere decorations. They were Artifacts, forged from monster remains. They were acting as Defensive enchantments.
Raka had miscalculated. The ambush wasn't his doing—it was Cruiser who had planted the rumor, luring him into a trap. Realization dawned too late.
Cruiser's grin widened, stretching to his ears. He had drawn out the leader of the Storm Gang. Now, all that remained was to kill him and claim Zilt's underworld for himself.
But Raka wasn't one to fall so easily. He had ruled these alleys longer than Cruiser had been alive. With practiced precision, he dropped into a combat stance, his gray aura surging like a raging storm.
Brown aura flared in response, colliding with his own in a violent clash. Sparks crackled, dust swirled, and the ground trembled beneath them.
This fight would decide the fate of Zilt's back alleys.
______________
Meanwhile, Wen wasn't faring much better. He had darted through the streets, but the Storm Gang was relentless. Desperation gnawed at him, his legs burning as he pushed himself forward. Then he spotted it—the marketplace.
A place bustling with adventurers, traders, and common folk. A place where blending in was possible.
Dust and distant tremors from the slum regions had unsettled the market. Vendors whispered among themselves, glancing nervously toward the alleys. The uneasy murmurs spread like wildfire, speculation growing with each passing second.
With no other option, he plunged into the crowd.
Shouts erupted as he shoved past merchants and travelers, his breath ragged. People turned, startled by his frenzied sprint. He barely noticed any of them—except one.
Jin.
Walking through the market, supporting Ludwig, with Yuna and Lumine behind him. A familiar sight in the chaos.
Without hesitation, Wen ran toward them. Whether it was instinct, hope, or sheer desperation, he wasn't sure. But his feet carried him forward towards them, toward the only chance he had left.