Chapter 159

Chapter 159

In the deepest part of the West District, there was an alley called "Black Street," more chaotic than the surrounding neighborhoods, like a rotting sore embedded in the map of the West District. The road on Black Street had never been repaired; potholes in the muddy ground collected rainwater, mixed with garbage and sewage, emitting a pungent, sour stench. The houses on both sides were mostly cobbled together from discarded wooden planks, their walls covered in graffiti and scratches. Some windows had no glass, only rags or wooden boards as cover, creaking noisily in the wind like low wails.

This was a gathering place for thugs. During the day, men in black short jackets with tattooed arms could always be seen loitering on street corners, either squatting by the walls smoking or huddled in small groups, whispering, their eyes warily scanning passersby. Once they spotted a stranger approaching, they would cast hostile glances. At night, Black Street became the thugs’ domain—taverns echoed with drunken clamor and fighting, gambling dens glowed with dim yellow light from their windows, and occasionally the cries of women and shouts of men could be heard, with shadows darting quickly through the alleys, carrying packages hiding who knows what illicit goods.

Besides thugs, Black Street harbored countless people without identities—perhaps fugitives fleeing their hometowns, traitors hunted by para-human organizations, or gamblers hiding from debts under assumed names.

Here, law and order had long ceased to exist. Mugging, stealing, and scamming were everyday occurrences. A vendor setting up a stall on the corner yesterday might be beat to a pulp today for failing to pay enough "protection money." Neighbors who once got along could come to blows over a moldy piece of bread. The air was perpetually thick with the smell of smoke, alcohol, blood, and rotting garbage, blending into a nauseating stench, as if even sunlight refused to illuminate this land.

Evan, Louis, and Ista stood side by side at the entrance of Black Street, their shoes already caked with mud halfway up the sole from the dirt path. The moment they stepped in, their noses got hit with a mix of sour and rotting odors. The sunlight here seemed filtered, dim and murky, barely enough to illuminate the twisted alley ahead.

As soon as they stopped, gazes around them pierced them like ice-cold needles. By the left wall, a few men in black short jackets with snake tattoos on their arms paused their smoking, squinting as they sized up the trio, their eyes full of scrutiny and ill intent, as if assessing whether they were "pushovers." At the window of a dilapidated wooden house on the right, a wrinkled old face flashed by, its eyes hiding greed and vigilance. Even the stray dog at the alley’s entrance, carrying garbage in its mouth, stopped, raised its head, and stared at them with green-glowing eyes, letting out a low growl.

Evan’s brow furrowed involuntarily, and his fingertips tightened slightly. During the entrance exam, he had indeed been to an abandoned factory in the West District, which, though rundown, lacked this suffocating malice. Now, being stared at like this felt like being targeted by a pack of hungry beasts, instinctively irritating him and making his Supernatural Factor stir a little.

Not just Evan; Louis’s relaxed demeanor also faded. He subconsciously touched the short knife at his waist, his eyes warily scanning the surroundings. Ista straightened her back, her right hand resting on the hilt of the longsword behind her, giving off a faint pressure, clearly uncomfortable with these hostile gazes. Yet none of them showed much emotion; they simply stared straight ahead, their steps steady, heading deeper into Black Street—they knew that in a place like this, the more you back down, the more they'll walk all over you.

Just as they reached the middle of Black Street, a grimy guy suddenly crawled out from a nearby pile of garbage. The man wore tattered clothes stained with oil and unknown grime, his hair matted into clumps, his face covered in thick grime, only his cloudy eyes glinting with a creepy light. He staggered toward the trio, his steps unsteady, as if drunk or deliberately picking a fight.

As he brushed past Evan, the man suddenly reached out, trying to grab Evan’s collar, mumbling vaguely, "Kid... give me some money... or you’re not leaving..."

Evan’s eyes turned cold. Without hesitation, he quickly raised his right leg and kicked the man in the abdomen with a sharp, forceful motion. With a dull thud, the man flew back like a ragdoll, crashing heavily into the garbage pile, splattering filth and letting out a painful howl.

Louis and Ista immediately looked at Evan, surprise flickering in their eyes—they knew Evan was capable, but they hadn’t expected him to act so decisively, without any hesitation.

Evan glanced down at the pocket of his school uniform jacket. When the man had reached out, he had accidentally brushed against it, leaving a dark stain. Frowning, Evan lightly flicked the dirt off the pocket, his mood souring further. This uniform had been specially sewn for him by Martha, and he always treasured it. Now that it was dirty, his disgust for Black Street deepened.

More importantly, Evan had killed before. Provoked like this, the killing intent lurking within him unconsciously seeped out, a faint scent of blood mingling with the fluctuation of his Supernatural Factor, quietly spreading around.

The gazes that had been fixed on the trio immediately retracted after sensing Evan’s killing intent. The men by the wall looked down, resuming their smoking, no longer daring to stare. The old face at the window vanished completely, never reappearing. Even the stray dog tucked its tail and slunk away. The air on Black Street seemed to quiet, leaving only the man’s wails from the garbage pile and the steady footsteps of the trio.

Evan withdrew his killing intent, glanced at Louis and Ista, and said calmly, "Keep moving. Find a tavern to ask for information."

Louis and Ista nodded, their steps not faltering. They knew that Evan’s kick and that burst of killing intent weren’t just for retaliation—they were to show who's boss. On Black Street, only by showing enough strength and ruthlessness could they deter lurking malice and reduce unnecessary trouble for their mission.