Grasping and Shaking Weaknesses (5)
Asking if I was called in this situation was meaningless. After all, it was just me and them here.
The three exchanged glances at my blunt retort. The man who had first called me to a stop opened his mouth.
“It’s just as I thought.”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought you had quite a bit of guts.”
“From earlier at the gambling den?”
At my lazy reply, the man’s lips stretched into a wide grin.
“If you know, then this will be quick.”
The three men pulled out the weapons they had hidden in their clothes.
A club and a bat. While they lacked sharp edges and were less lethal, that didn’t mean those weapons couldn’t kill.
If they struck hard enough to break bones and crush flesh, they would ultimately lead to death.
Tsk tsk.
I clicked my tongue inwardly, realizing which group they belonged to.
‘They’re the ones who catch the runaway prostitutes.’
Their weapons told the story. Blunt tools meant to subdue without causing permanent damage—at least, not to the “merchandise.” But that wasn’t the worst of it.
One man held a weapon embedded with nails, the metal crusted with dark, dried blood.
‘It must be from her lover.’
They would have beaten him within an inch of his life, his blood staining the ground as a grim warning. Run again, and this is what you’ll get.
The wounds left by that weapon wouldn’t just cripple the body—they’d crush the spirit, leaving nothing but fear and resignation in their wake.
"Why is it always the lowest of the low who crawl out in moments like this??"
Anyway, it was a fortunate turn of events.
I could finish this without any guilt. Not that I had any to begin with.
Thud!
The man in the lead raised his club and brought it down onto his palm.
“You seem like a pampered young master, so I’ll be generous and give you a special favor.”
“What kind of favor?”
“Leave behind all the money you brought initially, and just hand over the money you’ve won today.”
Clang!
The man next to him struck the floor with the club he was holding. A sharp metallic sound rang out from the nails at the end.
“If you leave it here, we’ll let you go nicely.”
Thud!
The third man made a rough sound with his fist. The scars around his eyes were noticeable.
‘He seems very familiar with threats.’
Of course, it didn’t affect me in the slightest.
“What if I don’t want to?”
I chuckled softly.
“……”
The three of them exchanged glances, each wearing a look that said they had seen their fair share of crazy people. The man in the lead replied,
“If you don’t want to, then you’ll have to take a beating.”
“Go ahead and try.”
I flicked my finger with an arrogant gesture, a blatant smirk spreading across my lips.
“If you can.”
It was a display of bravado that stemmed from having some confidence in my abilities.
“That bastard!”
The last man charged at me, swinging his club.
Whoosh!
His club swung toward me with great force.
I slipped my hand into my pocket, my eyes gleaming.
‘Down.’
In the same instant, I bent my knees and lowered my body. Given the size of his movement, dodging was not difficult.
I felt the dagger I carried for self-defense at my fingertips.
‘What should I do?’
My hesitation was brief, and the decision came in an instant. My body moved almost instinctively, as if drawn by something.
Swish!
With the same motion of pulling out the dagger, my hand shot forward toward his defenseless lower body.
“Aaaagh!”
Quick and precise, the dagger sliced through the man’s ankle in one swift motion. A crimson arc of blood followed, spraying across the ground.
The man yelped in pain, clutching his ankle as he crumpled to the floor.
“Gah! Damn it!”
Swearing under his breath, he tried to push himself up, planting one knee on the ground—no, trying to stand.
“Ah…!”
It was just a cut behind the ankle, but the pain had him writhing as if his entire foot had been severed. He couldn’t even put weight on it.
“Ugh...”
Leaning heavily on his club, he struggled to rise. Even limping seemed beyond him.
“...”
I worked to keep my surprise hidden.
‘This body...’
In the original story, Abel had never trained in swordsmanship. Yet this body—his body—carried the expertise of someone who had cut through human flesh more than anyone in the estate.
It knew precisely where to strike to inflict the most pain or render someone helpless. That knowledge was there, embedded deep, grim and unflinching.
‘Cutting others... feels disturbingly natural.’
An uncanny instinct for finding weaknesses. A terrifying lack of hesitation when cutting someone down. Movements so precise, they made my skin crawl.
Abel... was a genius of murder.
‘No wonder he’s destined to become the most infamous killer in the empire.’
The dagger felt heavy in my grip, its metallic scent mingling with the acrid tang of blood.
“Ugh…”
The man’s attempts to move only caused more blood to pool on the floor, painting it a dark, spreading red.
Thump. Thump.
My heart pounded so hard it hurt. I frowned, pressing a hand to my chest.
‘What is this feeling?’
It wasn’t fear. It felt closer to... exhilaration. Abel’s heart was practically leaping with joy.
‘So this… is it.’
The memory of Abel’s father suddenly came to me—the reason he had refused to teach Abel swordsmanship.
Abel relished the sight of blood. He was consumed by a relentless, cyclical bloodlust. This madness fueled him, driving him deeper into violence.
‘That’s why Diego always tried to suppress him.’
Crunch.
I bit the inside of my cheek, hard.
Faint whispers echoed at the edge of my consciousness, seductive and persistent. They urged me to tear the man apart, to carve open his chest and rip out his heart.
Their pull was almost overwhelming, promising ease, power—everything.
‘…No. Don’t listen.’
I clung to my reason, forcing myself back to reality. Giving in now would mean crossing a line I couldn’t return from.
“Haa…”
Exhaling slowly, I steadied my breathing and fought to quiet my racing heart.
Though only moments passed, it felt like an eternity of struggle—wave after wave of unrelenting impulses crashing over me. Still, I held firm.
“…”
At some point, the whispers faded.
My erratic heart finally fell in line with my will. The hand poised to strike slackened.
‘Somehow... I managed.’
Relief washed over me, but I knew the danger wasn’t gone yet.
“Hah.”
I let out a soft sigh and turned my attention back to the man in front of me.
“Ugh… ngh…”
He was still trying to move his injured leg, his efforts futile.
“Why don’t you take a break?”
My throat was dry, and I swallowed before speaking again, keeping my tone deliberately light.
“You’re not going anywhere on that leg.”
“D-damn it…”
His face contorted with anger and fear as the last flicker of hope left him.
He wasn’t going to fight anymore. That much was clear.
I stepped past him, moving forward.
“What the hell is that guy?”
“What is going on…?”
The two remaining men hesitated, their confidence visibly crumbling.
This wasn’t part of their plan.
“So, who’s next?”
I flicked the blood from my dagger, my voice dripping with mockery.
For the first time, I realized there was no need for tricks. Right here, right now, Abel was the predator, and they were his prey.
“Anyone?”
“How dare you hurt Louis!”
One of them shouted, charging at me.
I couldn’t help but chuckle. Even thugs like these had some sense of camaraderie.
“So, his name’s Louis?”
I smirked, meeting his charge head-on. His movements, wild and fueled by rage, were clumsy—easier to avoid than I’d expected.
Thwack!
I sidestepped cleanly, leaving his back exposed.
Stab!
The dagger plunged into the back of his knee without hesitation.
Gaaaah!”
The man collapsed to the ground, clutching his leg.
“If you get cut there, you won’t be able to walk.”
“Ugh, grrr…”
He writhed, trying desperately to get up. But his body betrayed his will.
Like the failing body of an old man on the brink of death, no amount of effort could make it rise.
“Grr…”
Tears began to stream from his eyes.
“…”
I stared blankly at the man sprawled on the ground.
The human body is more fragile than one might think. A single decisive blow to the right spot, and it’s rendered useless.
In Abel’s world, there were occasional victims who found a chance to escape. Sometimes, their chains would break by chance, or their bindings would come loose.
In those moments, Abel would disable them with a single stroke of his weapon—just like now.
Of course, the fact that they even got the chance to attempt escape…
‘...was because he let them.’
Letting prey escape, watching them flail desperately, only to tighten the noose in their final moments.
That was Abel’s game—his pleasure.
“Damn it…”
The remaining man gripped his club tightly. His anxious, trembling eyes darted between his fallen comrades and the dagger in my hand.
“What are you waiting for? Move.”
I urged the hesitating man, deliberately licking the blood off the blade.
A perfect move to terrify him even further, making me look like a madman.
“-!”
His eyes quaked even more violently, as if he was calculating every possible scenario in his head.
I lazily continued licking the blade, giving him all the time he needed.
‘Ugh, this tastes terrible.’
What’s the appeal in this for vampires, anyway?
That thought crossed my mind, though my face betrayed no emotion. Outwardly, I remained calm and indifferent, almost nonchalant.
“Raaahhhh!!!”
Finally, the man made his decision and charged at me, letting out a loud roar to mask his fear.
‘Isn’t the last one supposed to be the strongest?’
His clumsy movements suggested otherwise. Clearly, he didn’t rise to leadership because of his fighting skills.
“Hiyah!”
Unlike the others, he wielded a lighter, thinner club and kept his lower body well-guarded.
‘Ah.’
It seems he’s trying to counter what happened to the others. He’s probably the smartest of the bunch.
Not that it would help.
Thwack!
I instantly closed the distance between us.
“Eek!”
As expected, he let out a pitiful scream, flailing his arms in panic.
‘There.’
My eyes gleamed coldly.
Slash!
The dagger sliced through his armpit.
“Gahhhh!”
He dropped the club and crumpled to the ground.
“My arm, my arm!”
His arm hung limply, like a broken doll’s limb. I kindly explained his predicament to him, despite his sobbing.
“You can’t use it, can you? If you don’t get it treated soon, you’ll never use that arm again.”
Fear crept into his eyes, and he summoned all his remaining strength to beg.
“Please, please let us go!”
I shrugged. Fighting someone who’d lost their will was no fun.
“Ten seconds. Get out of here.”
“Yes, yes! Thank you!”
He bowed so low it was almost groveling and scrambled to gather his comrades.
“Hurry, get up.”
“Ugh, brother…”
“Move!”
They helped each other up and fled without looking back.
As I watched their retreating figures, I called out:
“I didn’t cut you too deep. If it heals, you’ll be able to walk again.”
The sound of their dragging footsteps faded, and silence returned to the surroundings.
“Hah…”
I let my arms hang limp.
As the adrenaline subsided, a wave of exhaustion swept over me.
‘Living as Abel isn’t easy.’
I clicked my tongue softly and slid the dagger back into its sheath, now clean from all the licking.
Then, raising my voice for all to hear, I shouted:
“Liam Schmidt. Isn’t it time you showed yourself?”
It was aimed at the person nearby, the one who’d been watching me.
