Awakening Domination System: But I'm a Slave?
Chapter 57: Another One? [3]

Chapter 57: Another One? [3]

Alaric’s punch sent the man stumbling back.

The man snarled, gritting his teeth as he steadied his sword.

"What the hell—"

Alaric didn’t give him time to finish.

He surged forward, quicker than before, slamming his shoulder into the man’s chest and forcing him back into the wall with a dull thud.

Steel scraped as the man slashed wildly.

Alaric ducked under it and delivered a brutal elbow to the ribs. Then another.

Crack!

"Argh!"

The man let out a strained gasp, twisting away to swing again, but Alaric was already past the blade’s arc.

He stepped in, grabbed the man’s wrist, and jammed his palm into the inside of his elbow, bending the arm backward with a sharp snap of motion.

Ctrrr!

The sword clattered to the ground.

The man’s eyes went wide.

Alaric drove a knee into his stomach, then shoved him back with one hand.

"Come on," Alaric said, voice low, as he raised his fists. "Still think I was just bluffing?"

The man coughed and spit to the side, but his footing was unsure now.

He lunged again, out of desperation more than strategy, throwing a punch, straight at his face.

Alaric caught the wrist mid-air, twisted it, and slammed his forehead into the man’s nose.

Crunch!

Blood sprayed. The man staggered, dazed, his knees faltering.

Alaric didn’t stop. He threw a hook to the liver, then an uppercut that snapped the man’s head back.

[6 seconds left!]

The man raised his arms to guard, backpedaling into a stack of crates.

Alaric followed, relentless, he punched low, then high, then drove his boot into the man’s thigh to knock his stance off-balance.

The crates toppled behind him as he stumbled, falling onto his hands and knees.

[3 seconds left!]

Alaric stepped forward, boots crunching over gravel and dirt in the narrow, dim alley. His shadow fell across the man, who was now hunched with one knee braced on the ground.

Alaric stood over him. "If I wanted to put you down," he said, voice low and edged, "You wouldn’t been breathing right now."

His tone wasn’t angry, just matter-of-fact.

Though he knew he couldn’t do that, but still...

The man gritted his teeth, sweat trickling down his temple.

His grip on the sword remained, but his breathing had shifted, now more cautious and aware.

"I’m not here for blood," Alaric continued, as if he were simply clarifying a point in passing. "So don’t give me a reason."

The man didn’t move.

Then the glint in Alaric’s eye flickered, and in the next moment, the temporary strength left him like sand slipping through fingers.

The fire in his veins faded. Muscles lost that bite of surge. He blinked once, and his breathing subtly deepened as fatigue crept back in.

[Adrenaline effect expired!]

The man noticed.

He exhaled sharply and forced himself upright in a fluid push, sword raised once more with renewed edge in his posture.

He spat and charged.

Alaric’s eyes narrowed, he didn’t even flinch.

[Fireball!]

The spell flared in his hand and lashed out, but wobbled, aiming off and exploding harmlessly against the far wall with a dull boom and a shower of sparks.

The man smirked, raising his sword to strike—

And paused.

But...

Alaric had already conjured another in his palm.

This time, he held it steadily, right in front of him. The glow cast eerie light across his face, outlining sharp cheekbones and deep crimson eyes.

"Next one," Alaric said quietly.

"Won’t miss."

The alley fell silent save for the faint crackle of fire ball.

The man’s expression shifted. His blade stopped mid-swing. Then he let out a slow breath through his nose.

His jaws clenched.

"What do you want?" he asked in a voice low.

The fireball still floated, pulsing faintly in Alaric’s palm.

Alaric tilted his head. "A conversation."

The man clicked his tongue and sheathed his blade, jaw tense.

He didn’t break eye contact as slowly wiped the blood from the corner of his lip.

Why the hell is someone like him doing here?

I didn’t offended any bigshots, did I?

He clenched his fists, but didn’t draw his weapon again.

Alaric smirked, tilting his head slightly.

"Funny thing about mercy, it’s only mercy if I can still take your life after."

The man’s brow twitched.

Alaric let the fire vanish in a puff.

The man hesitated again. Then finally asked in a low and rough tone.

"What you wanna know?"

Alaric paused for half a second, studying him like a puzzle.

Then, spoke smoothly.

"Do you work with Gavin?"

The man’s eyes flickered, but he quickly masked it.

That was all the answer Alaric needed.

Yet the bastard didn’t fold. He straightened up, dusting his coat like nothing happened.

"Suppose I do," he said, eyes unreadable. "Suppose I’ve worked with Gavin. Suppose I’m just another rat chewing through rotted walls. What then? You planning to kill me here, in this alley?"

Alaric raised a brow. "No."

"I think, people only go still when they’ve something to protect. Or something they fear being found out."

The man didn’t answer.

Alaric turned slightly, letting his gaze linger on the alley’s shadows. "You’re not the loyal type, you’re paid, fed and used. I know you’re clever enough to realize a ship with rats sinks faster."

Silence.

Then.

"So?"

"So..." Alaric turned back to face him fully. "I can offer you something he can’t."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Like what? Money? Protection?"

Alaric smiled faintly. He took a step forward, "A way out."

The man didn’t move, but the crack was forming.

Alaric saw it just the smallest twitch in his jaw.

So he pressed on.

"You tell me how Gavin’s people are moving, who’s helping him in the town, how he stays ahead of the patrol sweeps, how your network avoids scrying, who the fence is? And I’ll make sure no blade touches your throat."

The man glared at him, and just as he was about to say something.

"He’s going to get caught in a few days," Alaric spoke first.

"I’m just here to speed things up... and make sure no innocents get dragged into the mud with him."

The man froze for a beat. Just as he opened his mouth to retort, Alaric bent down, picked up a broken piece of a mirror and slashed a shallow cut across his palm.

He clenched his fist and held it out.

Drip! Drip!

Blood began dripping.

Then he spoke.

"In the name of Ashurael... If you give me the names, I’ll walk away. And won’t talk of this to anyone. You won’t even see me again."

As the words left his mouth, a dull-red flame surged from the cut, swirling once over the wound like a serpent and then vanished.

The man’s eyes widened, then he exhaled and spoke in a serious tone.

"There are three people. Guard Captain Hollen. The clerk at the east gate, Wesk. And Frel, he’s the warehouse overseer. They handle the flow."

Alaric’s eyes narrowed. "And you?"

"I just move goods. I don’t ask where they go."

Then Alaric smiled faintly, his expression unreadable.

He gave a small nod and turned away, footsteps echoing softly against the alley walls as he left the man behind.

For a few breaths, the man simply stood there.

His breathing slowed. Muscles still tense. Mind racing.

Then he finally exhaled and shook his head, muttering, "Bastard nearly had me..."

He turned to leave.

But...

"Where do you think you’re going?"

His blood froze, as a low and cool voice echoed behind him.

He turned sharply, hand instinctively moving to his weapon, but—

There was no one there.

Before he could make sense of anything—

His eyes rolled back, legs gave out.

Thud!

And body collapsed, unmoving, though still breathing.

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Chapter End

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