Chapter 3: A Knock Before Vengeance

Eli looked devastated. “Coach, I just can’t. He didn’t try to kill him, so why should I kill him?”

“Aren’t you afraid that if you let him go, he’ll hurt someone else?”

Eli sighed. “You can’t say that. Anyone could hurt someone in the future. Are we supposed to kill everyone?”

Damn it. I cursed silently.

So I quit arguing, grabbed the blade from the table. From across the room, swept it across the man’s neck—blood spilling out.

The man’s eyes went wide, knees buckling as he hit the floor, dead.

A corpse on the floor—panic broke out in the diner.

“Coach!” Eli sighed, helpless.

His voice was soft, almost lost in the chaos. In the chaos, the manager showed up, face grim.

“Do you know who owns this place, pulling a stunt like that?”

I tossed my sword on the table, picked up my mug, and drank. “Would I be here if I didn’t know? I just killed his guest and plan to skip out on the check. Go tell him.”

Eli was stunned and whispered, “So, Coach, you really did plan to dine and dash…”

The manager’s expression soured, his voice taunting. “So you want me to call out Mr. Easton?”

I slammed my mug down, coffee splashing. I doubt he’ll show.

“I damn well hope he comes out.”

After the manager left, a middle-aged man in a sharp purple suit strode over, his face unreadable.

He moved with the weight of someone who’d seen too much. “Jack Tennyson, long time no see,” he said.

“Cut the crap,” I replied.

I picked up the sword from the table, gripping it tight.

“You killed Sam Quinton, didn’t you? Own up.”

Easton paused, then nodded. “I did.”

I sneered. “My friend of over ten years, and you killed him just like that.”

Easton sighed. “Didn’t have a choice, Jack. In the underground, everyone’s fighting, and in business, everyone’s competing.”

I nodded. “If business can’t be settled, just kill? Then I’ve got nothing to say—except to kill you.”

“Jack, think about this. You and I both work for the Monroe family, for Mr. Monroe. Isn’t it stupid to go at each other?” Easton pleaded.

“Trying to use Monroe against me?” I sneered.

“I’ve always worked for myself. At most, I’ve got ties to Monroe. You’re a dog, so you think everyone else is too?”

I stood up, sword in hand, sliding it into my coat.

“Besides, Monroe always believed in paying back kindness and revenge. I’ve got a reason to kill you, and he won’t care.”

Easton wanted to say more, but I turned to the stunned Eli. “Eat up, kid. Don’t waste the food. After I kill this bastard, we’re out of here.”

“Coach…” Eli started, but I glared. He closed his mouth, eyes worried.

Easton sighed again, hand drifting to the hilt at his belt. “Jack, my diner still needs to make money. If we’re gonna fight, let’s do it outside.”

“No need. You’ve got no future, and this place won’t be yours much longer.” I slid my sword from my gray coat.

I stepped forward, drew my blade, and slashed at Easton’s chest.

He jumped back, drew his own blade, and swung at my side.

I sidestepped, swung my sword, and cut his chest—blood spraying like a thread.

Easton scrambled back, knocking plates off the table toward me.

He hurled dishes at me, but I raised my sword and shattered them midair, shards raining down.

A plate was still falling—I kicked it up and flicked it with my sword, sending it flying at Easton.

He dodged, but it grazed his shoulder—blood and porcelain flying together.

Before Easton could react, I was on him, blade coming down hard.

He blocked with his own sword—steel clanged on steel.

I twisted my wrist, pulled back, and my coat sleeve flicked out, sending a flurry of silver light at him.

The sword flashed, soft as a drifting cloud, then gathered at Easton’s chest.

In a heartbeat, the light became a blade, slicing his chest open, blood spraying.

Easton coughed blood and stumbled back, but I pressed in, stabbing again and again.

He could only defend, but out of ten strikes, he missed seven.

Blood spattered everywhere, staining the burgers and fries.

Sword and blade danced, splinters of table and chairs flying.

In the chaos, I didn’t stop. I gathered my strength and slashed at his right shoulder.

The blade, soft but deadly, landed on his shoulder like a gentle breeze, then turned sharp, severing his right arm at the shoulder.

Easton’s blade fell with his arm, blood pouring onto the floor, pooling at our feet.

I stepped into the blood, and with a last, light sweep, cut his throat.

Blood arced like drifting clouds, splashing down into the bloody puddle.

Easton collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.

The diner was silent except for the hiss of the kitchen grill and the distant wail of sirens.

I wiped the blood from my forehead, then turned to Eli. “You done eating? If not, grab another fry.”

Eli looked at me, sighed softly. “I’m done, Coach. Let’s go.”

He stood up slowly, the weight of the violence sitting heavy on his shoulders.

After leaving the diner, I took Eli toward Maple Heights. On the way, he kept looking like he wanted to say something.

Finally, I said, “If you’ve got something to say, spit it out. Who’s stopping you?”

He hesitated, glancing at the passing cars and the glow of the setting sun. “Coach, I was just thinking... is killing really the only way?”

“What else? He killed my friend. Letting him die quick was already a mercy.” I snorted.

“Everyone in the underground knows how to fight, but why does it always end in killing?” Eli sighed, looking helpless.

“Stop talking like you’re my coach.”

Seeing him like that, I got annoyed for no reason.

“Everyone’s got skills. If not for fighting, what—chop onions?”

Eli turned to me, stubborn as ever. “Coach, I think the point of learning to fight should be to save people, not kill.”

I was stunned, frowned, and asked, “Who told you that? You find another mentor?”

He shook his head. “I’ve always thought so. From the first day I picked up a sword with you, I told myself—I want to use this to help people.”

His voice was quiet, but there was no doubt in it. I mulled it over. Didn’t have a comeback.

I thought about it, couldn’t argue, so I shrugged. “Some people should be saved, but some are meant to be put down. You can’t save everyone.”

Eli thought for a moment, wanted to say more, but I didn’t want to argue, so I told him to zip it and keep moving.

The evening glow stretched our shadows as we walked through the gates.

At the door, a man in a gold jacket led us into a big room.

Inside stood a man in yellow, calm and steady. When he saw me, he turned and spoke.

“Jack, long time no see.”

His posture was perfect, every movement controlled. He looked like a man who’d spent his whole life playing by the rules—and making sure everyone else did, too.

“I’m not doing well.”

I gritted my teeth. “And it’s not just me.”

Derek Lansing fell silent for a moment, then finally said, “I heard about Miss Yates.”

“Yeah, you heard. So what? You gonna do anything?” I said, cold as ice.

Derek stayed quiet. Seeing him like that, I snapped. “Over ten years ago, she crossed half the country to find you medicine, then gave up her own skills for you. You still wouldn’t marry her. Later she married Ed Monroe, became stepmom to his brat, and last month…”

My chest ached with anger. “Last month, that brat turned twenty and tried to force himself on her. She used to know how to fight, but because of you, she couldn’t even defend herself. In the end, she couldn’t take the shame and killed herself in her room!”

“And Ed? He knew what his son did and acted like nothing happened…”

I laughed bitterly. “She was a good woman. Why did she only meet heartless men?”

Derek sighed. “I told you all back then—justice and personal feelings don’t mix. When I became head of the Liberty Hall, I could only give her that answer.”

“Derek, save me the speech.”

I jabbed a finger at his chest. “Just tell me: are you coming with me to find Ed Monroe and get justice for her?”

Derek’s eyes flickered, his face shifting, but he stayed silent a long time.

Just as I was about to curse him out, there was a sudden knock at the door.

The sound echoed through the room, sharp and unexpected. We both turned, the moment broken, but the anger in my chest burned hotter than ever.