The Forsaken-Grade Cultivator
Chapter 40: Andersen

Chapter 40: Andersen

"Hey! You two!"

The shout tore through the stagnant night air like a blade, sharp and jagged.

"Get back here you scum bags!!"

"Give us back our money you cheating swindlers!!"

A group of men roared as they galloped down the desolate streets, wielding dim wittedness and broken beer bottles. They were about five in number, their boots pounding against cracked asphalt littered with shattered glass and discarded syringes. Moonlight glinted off the broken beer bottles clutched in their fists, their faces twisted into masks of drunken fury.

Ahead of them, two figures wove through the labyrinth of crumbling buildings—a lanky man in a dirt-brown windbreaker frayed at the seams, and a wiry teenager in a faded ski mask that clung to his sharp jawline.

*Tap! Tap! Tap!*

Their footsteps echoed, sharp and frantic, bouncing off graffiti-stained walls plastered with peeling concert posters and yellowed missing-person flyers. The scent of mildew and urine hung thick in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of rust from exposed pipes snaking up the buildings.

A stray cat yowled, darting into the shadows as the older man yanked the teenager into a narrow alley choked with overflowing dumpsters.

"Oi, Kid! Over here!" The man hissed, his voice hoarse from years of cheap cigars.

He jerked his chin toward a rusted fire escape ladder bolted to the side of a tenement building, its paint flaking like diseased skin. The teenager nodded, his chest heaving beneath his threadbare hoodie as he adjusted the bulky duffel bag slung over his shoulder. The strap bit into his collarbone, heavy with stolen cash.

But,

The alley dead-ended at a moss-eaten cement wall.

"Tch," the man clicked his tongue, eyes darting upward. With a well-practiced kick, he slammed his boot against the ladder’s corroded hinges. Rust flakes rained down as the metal groaned in protest before collapsing with a shriek that set the teenager’s teeth on edge.

The ladder crashed down.

"Climb aboard," The man tossed two bulging duffel bags at the teenager’s feet. "I’ll stall them.... Also, don’t drop my cut." He pulled a pistol from his waistband, the matte black metal swallowing what little light seeped into the alley.

With a quick roll of his eyes, the younger wasted no time, shopping up the additional load, before scaling the untrustworthy ladder.

"Huu... watch the shadows..." The older muttered to himself as he monitored the flickering shadow of the alley way’s junction, his gun pointed in the same direction. And as soon as he caught sight of his pursuers, he yelled;

"Don’t come any closer!*Click*" Then yanking off the pistol’s silencer, he fired a warning shot at one of his pursuer’s feet – click!

"Aaaargh!!! My leg, bastard!!" The man groaned, cursing the slender shooter’s nine generations, but the latter couldn’t care less.

Killing five men with a single hand gun was foolish and unrealistic, but if he could use it as an object of deterrence then... Just as he finished the thought, a gentle knock game from above. His partner had made the climb, now it was his turn.

Clang!

A low clangour sounded as he approached the dilapidated stepladder, obviously due to rust, but two more close-shave shots would discourage the opposition from coming any closer. The man climbed, his gun trained at the intersection.

He was quick, yet cautious. But just as he was about to reach for his partners hand...

WHIRRR!

"Fuck!" The slender yelled as the step ladder’s hinges loosened, the metallic framework let out a deafening cry as it fell backwards, before ending in a short ’Clang!’ with a jerk.

Thankfully, it didn’t totally collapse, as that would have meant instant death. However, his gun fell, and the drunken chasers took that as the cue to storm the alley.

Realizing that they had been duped, the group were about to go on a rampage, but they were stopped by... firecrackers?

Sput Sput! Boom!

The fire crackers fell – about half a dozen of them – from the sky, already lit as they were, they crashed and exploded into a dangerous flurry of coloured lights and smoke. The old men shouted as the crackers exploded, barring them from getting any further.

"Here! Take my hand!" The perpetrator of the rain of fire crackers—the kid, said as he stretched out his hand, and pulled his adolescent partner over the corroded railings.

"Thanks," The older man puffed between hard breaths,

He had really thought he was going to fall. But his partner did not respond. He was already busy as work, loosening the bolts of the ladder while his partner caught his breath.

In under a minute, the bolts came off and the ladder whirred once more, this time to fall for good,

But tl

I’m a truly super human display of speed, the kid’s hands moved faster than gravity, and he caught it.

"Ugh... a little help here." He groaned as he called to the other, who soon joined him and pulled the ladder up to their floor – the second floor. They dragged its steel frame into the residence and set it down somewhere close to the living room.

The duo unanimously took a quick second to catch their breaths, then they burst into a race, streaming through the house and into its corridor.

"Hey, over he—*Boom!* Argh!"

One of the pursuers, who had taken the initiative to climb the stairwell, yelled as a bunch of lit firecrackers exploded in his face. The younger of the strange duo seemed to have particularly nimble hands, taking mere instants to light the knockouts—preemptively sending them down the stairwell.

Soon enough, the two escaped the building, and booked it to their hideout, not forgetting the big bags of cash they’d swindled.

"Huff huff... Haha! Who knew the casino could be so fun! *Rustle Rustle* ahh, the sweet sound of affluence~~" The older man laughed as he shook his bags, relishing the rustling of the Credit notes.

He turned to his accomplice, expecting him to share his sentiments.

But he did not.

"Fun? What fun? You got us BOTH banned from the den! We won’t be able to get more money any time soon. Also, what if we got caught by those old bastard huh? You just HAD to cheat, even though i told you that we’d already won the game, didn’t you?"

The young boy chided, his black eyes scrutinizing the older man.

"Oh come on, don’t give me that look, it’s all part of the Andersen experience. How do you think I got the nickname ’The Gambler’ eh?"

"Andersen experience? You mean that failure of a book you wrote? Also, nobody calls you that, expert gamblers don’t live in houses held together by duck tape and denial."

"Tch... ever the parcel tongue eh Vincent? Fine, be like that, but you ain’t getting a lick of my share of the loot ya hear?" Andersen "The Gambler" taunted as he moved to his tent.

"Knowing you, it’s going to be the other way around." Vincent – the kid responded bluntly, sitting close to his own tent he started counting his money. They were partners, but he couldn’t trust a chronic drunk and smoker to not try to steal his share.

Andersen clicked his tongue once more, but just as he was about to disappear through the tent’s curtain, he turned to Vincent.

"Oi kid, great job today," he said.

"..."

Vincent didn’t respond immediately.

The open fire gave light to the surroundings, since there was no electricity in the slums, and a breeze blew by, lifting the hairs of the uncanny duo. Andersen didn’t return to his tent, so Vincent reckoned he wanted some sort of response.

In the end, he simply sighed and said: "Go to sleep, old man."

Hearing his words, Andersen smirked, and proceeded to do the exact opposite.

"Hmm? Aren’t I the one that’s supposed to be sending YOU to bed? Also, I meant what I said. Your sharp wits and nimble fingers really saved us... Speaking of that, you’re really quick with your hands aren’t you? You know, I’ve been thinking of a codename for you for a while now, so how about.... Quick Fingers, or, Quickie for short." Andersen said with a taunting grin.

Vincent flushed, his face turning a bright red as he hurled a lump of his own cash at Andersen, all the while yelling:

"What the hell kind of name is Quickie, go to your room old man!!"

In response, Andersen grinned, then picking up the heap of Vincent’s notes on the floor with a ’don’t mind if I do’ sort of expression, he disappeared through his curtain.

For a split second, Ying was dazed.

At a loss with what just happened.

But as soon as he came to, he did what any REAL man of culture would do...

"Andersen!!! Get back here you swindling bastard!!!"

.

.

.

Truly, those were good times.

Life was just.... Better, then.

Not easier, not in the slightest easier. But better. It felt much more wholesome, to Vincent.

But now,

"Brother Ying.... what happened here? Why... why is Xian Shan dying."