A Path of Blood

Chapter Two: Four Million Credits

Chapter Two
Four Million Credits

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No other city could ever be as polluted, crowded, and morose as Corona, or at least, this part of the city. Even in the middle of the day, the dark pillars of smoke, looking like stark and bold strokes of gray paint against an otherwise blue backdrop, almost blocked the sunlight, bathing this sector of the city in perpetual grayness. The culprits to blame for this were the factories the Elite Houses owned. The smog made the environs look as if a thick film of ashes was over it.

The only color I could see was the bloodstains flaking under my nails.

Corona was a huge industrial sovereign city-state with colonies in the south, a war front against the Empire of Liangzhou in the west, an ally in the north, and the Faros Sea in the east. The manufacturing industry provided jobs for most of the citizens, giving them meager wages to barely go through the passing days.

The rain had stopped moments ago, and the crowd thinned a bit compared to the jam-packed situation during the rush hours. I wrinkled my nose at the awful stench of petrichor and stared at the sky. The clouds blocked the stars still, meaning another rain would pour at any moment.

Everyone wore a mask. They needed it to protect themselves from whatever microbes living in the air. I drew mine from my chin, and despite it being made of leather and silk, the smell still permeated through.

A thin body bumped my shoulder, and a string of apologies immediately followed. Looking at whoever that was, I found myself staring at a scrawny boy—barely sixteen—wearing a crimson overall. The emblem of the House that owned the factory he worked at was embroidered on his left chest pocket in black threads.

A winged sun with swords pointing outward as its rays. The coat of arms of the Elite House of Verginbolt.

The boy scuttled away. I smiled at the irony of it because the boy and I were working for the same family.

The Verginbolts, one of the ruling Elite Houses of and the wealthiest family in Corona, since its patriarch, Kalixtro Verginbolt, had been a member of the governing board, owned most of the factories here in the Southern Sectors, allowing his family to have considerable control over the financial state and affairs of the city. Even though he was no longer a member of the Supreme Council, his wife was still there, securing their power and position in Coronian politics.

A swarm of people wearing their dull-colored jumpsuit uniforms filled the sidewalks. Exhaustion from the day's work wore their faces down and grease smeared their cheeks. I pulled my hood down my forehead and blended in the throng of wearied Coronians. Whether it be because of working their asses off that would only give them enough for a day or of knowing the truth that they were born to be capitalists' slaves and would die as one.

To my left, the factories began closing, their lights dying off one by one, and the smoke coming from their chimneys faded as they dumped all their wastes into the barren Kristal River to my right. The water was as black as the night sky not because the stream reflected it, but because the river had long since been dead. Funny that its name sounded like "crystal" but then it was as opaque as obsidian. The watercourse snaked its way through the city, carving its path into the heart of Corona, like veins flowing with poison. Its horrible stench was a violation of my senses, and it would have flipped my stomach if I had not been used to the gory images of the bodies I had mutilated.

Another person—this time a lot more smaller: a child—bumped into me, and muttered an apology under her breath. She was polite enough to look me in the eye, but when she caught a glimpse of the purple orbs of my pupils flickering into steel gray, she averted her gaze and hurried away.

I could not blame the little girl for being afraid of a Wielder. Her parents must have told her a thing or two about people—that is if they did not refer to us as mere "creatures"—like us. A lot of different prejudiced and biased judgments swirled around Wielders like a heavy fog around a thick, gloomy forest. People had various perceptions about us and some of them were absurd (they said we were the result of an unknown alien race's attempt to create an entirely new species through the process of injecting their male sperm into the human female ovum) while some were nothing but the truth (they said most of us were criminals).

The Southern Sector rose like jagged teeth, block after block of crowded buildings from Manilva down to Estancia, one of the districts of the Southern Sector where all of the House Verginbolt's employees were housed. The Verginbolts had long since dominated this part of Corona, claiming it as their own, where most of their pharmaceutical facilities were built into vast industrial complexes. Each compound bore one of the names of the previous leaders of their house. The crimson and black walls surrounding the network of factories stood a good ten feet from the ground up, and they were extremely smooth, making it impossible to climb without any special equipment. On all of the automated metal gates of their factories, their family crest stood out.

I did not have to look at a map to see where my target was going to be. Among the stout, boxy pharmaceutical plants, a single tower soared at the nexus of all the manufacturing complexes. The Nucleus.

The mob of workers making their way home started thinning out as the curfew approached. My lightweight cloak swooshed behind me like a cape, and after taking a few more turns, I reached the block where the tower loomed like a giant, girthy needle. Someone somewhere on a specific floor out there was bound to die.

Thisselea Verginbolt. A member of Kalixtro's Elite House.

As if on cue, a crimson limousine with a ridiculous amount of entourage in black cars stopped in front of the tower. I slowed my steps, waiting to see who could it be.

The bodyguards disembarked from the black cars and surrounded the limousine. One of them opened the door of the limo and a woman in her early-forties with brown skin and a lithe body stepped out, her dyed red hair flowing on her back like a waterfall of red wine.

Or blood.

Her escorts took their formation like a swarm of black wasps protecting their queen as she made her way into the wide steps before the tower's entrance. Distinct against her small army of sentinels, her white trench coat made her a bright target.

The guards' heads darted here and there, as though already anticipating the worst. They did not even try to hide the pistols holstered on their hips, brandishing them like talismans enough to drive away those who wished to harm her.

Her—Thisselea Verginbolt.

I had thought she was already in the building. But it turns out she just arrived, and maybe it had something to do with her paranoia. She knew someone was out for her. For that, she no longer felt safe in her own house.

What made her think she was safe and sound here? What would be the difference if she was at her huge mansion in the Core Sector or here in the Southern Sector?

As I estimated the number of her armed escorts—there were some twenty-odd of them, a bit excessive, if you asked me—I memorized their positions, keeping in mind that I would have to do this mission with stealth. Avoiding their attention would be crucial. Getting it would make this job require more effort—feasible, but tiring.

Pressing my back against the wall in an alley I had found fifty yards away from the entrance, I watched if the guards would change positions. They did not. They stood like statues on the steps and on the large glass doors of the building. I waited another ten minutes to make sure.

If they did not follow Thisselea inside, it only meant there were more guards inside. She must have feared for her dear life so much her House must have been spending more than it should to pay her entourage.

Sighing, I decided to go ahead with the task. Thisselea would not rip her own heart out of her chest herself. Someone else had to do it.

After she's dead, I'm gonna be four million credits richer.