When a Hitman Gets Haunted by a Ghost
Chapter 29: Turbulence

Chapter 29: Turbulence

Kant took another step back instead, inching closer to the forest. Just a bit more...

"If you catch a stray, it’s on you," Hunter muttered and aimed. He fired another shot at the cult leader, the bang causing both Hale and Gabriel to flinch.

Luck was on Kant’s side. Or rather, experience was. Some of Hunter’s habits hadn’t changed in years. His brow would twitch subtly right before he pressed the trigger, which gave Kant time to react.

The second shot flew loose, hitting a tree behind them.

No more words were spoken. Hunter barely moved from his spot, eyes locked on Hale, intense with determination.

The ghost winced at the third click of the gun, panic rising. "Kant, let’s stop here! I-It’s not worth it! Step aside! Please!"

It seemed that he had made up his mind in favor of running away. However, Kant didn’t budge.

The ghost looked around wildly. He picked up a tree branch to throw at Hunter.

Another gunshot echoed through the forest.

The branch in Gabriel’s hands snapped with a sharp crack. After that, the atmosphere shifted.

The wind shrieked through the trees as if doomsday had come. The clouds filled with gloom, bloating like misshapen balls of yeast.

What horrible timing.

"Not now," Kant whispered under his breath.

The wind carried the scent of rotting leaves, pine needles, and cold earth. Wisps of loose snow mixed into the brewing disaster.

The fourth shot flew loose, but missed its mark. Hale had long paled to a near-fainting shade, not daring to utter another word.

The ghost threw the broken branch at Hunter. A handful of dirty leaves followed, striking him in the face.

"Run, Kant!" Gabriel’s voice echoed as if the skies screamed his words.

Kant turned and pulled the cult leader into the trees, towards the river. Damn it, it was terrifying. This evil spirit business was no joke.

Behind them, the sound of the approaching guards grew louder.

More gunshots rang out, followed by a pained wail.

Kant felt the ghost’s worry like a physical force as the wind slammed into his back, almost knocking him over.

"Did you get shot?!" Gabriel’s voice cracked.

"No."

Kant huffed as more shots fired off behind them. Would a hitman ever wail like that? Clearly, it wasn’t him who got shot.

He straightened, keeping the cult leader on his feet. The man’s face was warped with terror and pain as he stuttered some prayers while clutching his bleeding leg.

The sound of their shoes crunching over a thin layer of frost-covered leaves was barely audible over the winds. Kant’s shoes slipped occasionally.

What an unfit weather for a kidnapping.

Gabriel’s disturbed energy didn’t seem to recede, making the forest seem more alive. As if the trees would uproot themselves and fall down at any moment.

"Calm down," Kant tried to tell Gabriel. They were so close. If he turned into an evil spirit now, it would be straight-up absurd.

Gabriel glanced back with wide eyes, his face painted with fear. "I-I’m trying!"

"We’re almost there," Kant told the ghost, tightening his grip on the cult leader’s arm. "Keep it together."

Naturally, Victor Hale thought Kant was talking to him.

"Why are you doing this? It’s not too late to turn back!" Hale’s voice trembled, desperate as he stuttered prayers and promises. "You can earn forgiveness and learn faith—No, just tell me what you want! I can give you anything! Is it money?"

Kant’s jaw clenched, tuning out the cult leader’s pleas. The man was dead weight, and with every stumble, every misstep, they lost ground to the approaching guards.

It wasn’t long until Hunter emerged from between the trees, the guards on his heels.

"Kant!" the ghost exclaimed in warning, looking like the air had left his soul.

The stirred snow and leaves polluted Kant’s line of sight. It was hard not to feel frustrated. On top of the relentless chase, the storm created by Gabriel’s distress was making it difficult to see.

If there had been any streetlights around, the bulbs would’ve popped like balloons.

"Enough running!" Hunter yelled. "You’re not getting away."

Kant was torn between focusing on Hunter’s figure in the fog and trying to hear the footsteps of the guards closing in.

Victor Hale’s eyes were full of primal need to survive. He called out in full throat, "Here! Guards!"

Kant cursed under his breath.

Before he could react, Hunter was already moving—his gun rising. But his hand jerked as a gust of wind slammed into him. His shot went wide.

Kant ducked, feeling the burn of displaced air as the bullet barely missed his shoulder. He shoved Hale to the ground as one of the guards lunged at him.

Sidestepping, he slashed the knife across the guard’s arm. Blood sprayed onto the frost-covered leaves, and the man howled in pain.

Gabriel had gone quiet, but his presence crackled like static against Kant, who was torn between worrying over the ghost and focusing on dodging the guards that tried to grab him from all sides.

Hale’s eyes darted frantically from Kant to the approaching guards, beads of sweat forming on his forehead despite the cold. His fingers clawed uselessly at the icy ground, dragging his injured leg behind.

Hunter approached the cult leader and aimed down.

Click.

Kant’s heart jumped at the sound, but the gun hadn’t fired.

Hunter’s brow furrowed. Out of bullets, he discarded the gun and went to finish the cult leader with bare hands.

In the moment of distraction, a guard knocked the knife out of Kant’s hand. The blade glinted like a lost star, landing too close to Hunter’s feet, who quickly picked it up.

"No!" Kant surged forward, but a guard yanked him back, locking his arm around Kant’s neck. He slammed his elbow into the guard’s ribs, but the man held firm.

Hunter loomed over Hale, knife raised to his neck.

Kant struggled, trying to break free, but as the knife plunged downward, a violent gust knocked Hunter back.

The winds howled, but Gabriel’s voice boomed above them. "Everyone, stop!"

Everything went white, swallowed by rushing snow, shadow, and storm.

And then, silence.

A deafening stillness swallowed the forest whole.

For a moment, everything felt surreal, as though time had stopped.

Slowly, the fog began to clear, and the storm’s fury ebbed. Shadows grew in the thinning mist, revealing a shape crumpled on the frost-covered ground—Victor Hale.

Hunter stood over Hale, the bloodstained knife still gripped in his hand, his expression twisted in a ruthless frown. The blade had found its mark.

"Damn it..." Kant muttered under his breath, watching as blood stained Hale’s white robes on his waist.

The cult leader’s lips moved in what could be a final prayer. But it sounded odd, as if he were making an appeal to someone.

The guards released Kant in a moment of shock.

Meanwhile, Gabriel reached out with a strange look before his form flickered and was pulled away.

Kant’s hand twitched, his eyes darting around in search of the ghost. But he was nowhere in sight. Gone, as if vanished.