The Cheat Seed

Chapter 36

"Exactly," Marcus nodded. "So what will it be? Die here as failed assassins, or live as my eyes and ears in Krozon's underworld?"

All three of them stopped moving, their expressions frozen between terror and disbelief.

"It isn't like I want to kill you guys," Marcus continued, his tone suddenly conversational. "Why don't we just start a guild then?"

He grabbed another chair from his house and sat on it within an eyeblink, the wooden legs creaking slightly under his weight. The casual display of impossible speed made the assassins flinch in unison.

The trio stared at him, then turned their heads in perfect synchronization toward the piled body of their comrade—the man Marcus had buried headfirst into the earth.

Marcus followed their stare and burst into laughter when he saw the pile-driven body.

"Hahahaa... You seriously thought I wouldn't know?"

He stood up and made his way to the body with unhurried confidence. Gripping one of the protruding legs, he pulled. The limb came off with an electric zap, disintegrating into ashes that scattered in the gentle breeze. He turned back to the three assassins, who were staring at him in disbelief, eyes wide with shock.

It had been a 'Shadow Dummy' all along.

"Whoever controlled this had some amazing shadow magic affinity," Marcus remarked, examining the ashes coating his fingers with genuine appreciation.

"How... did he know?" the sniper whispered, her voice barely audible to normal ears.

Marcus's head tilted sideways, his innocent chuckle completely at odds with the destruction he'd caused moments before. "Ah, I simply just took a quick peek inside your memories."

The sniper blushed and kept her head low, mortified by the invasion of her mind as much as by their failed mission.

"We are discussing very important matters here and it won't go as planned if we're missing someone, righty?" Marcus smiled, turning to lock eyes with the masked assassin. "So, I'll just go bring the fifth member in a jiffy."

His gaze lingered on her, penetrating through flesh and bone to the thoughts beneath. "Read your memories," he added with a childish grin. "XD!"

*FLASH*

Marcus vanished, leaving nothing but swirling dust where he'd stood. The three assassins exchanged bewildered glances, the same thought passing silently between them:

'Who is this boy?'

Their silent question hung in the air for only moments before a powerful gust of wind made them cower. Marcus stood before them once more, but he wasn't alone. Beside him was a man in a wheelchair—matching exactly the appearance of the shadow dummy he'd destroyed.

The newcomer appeared to be in his forties, with his left eye covered by a patch. Claw marks ran from his left forehead down to his cheek, suggesting a violent encounter with some beast. He was completely bald but sported a medium-length beard, perhaps two weeks past a clean shave. His slim mustache connected to the beard, forming an 'O' around his mouth. His brown skin contrasted with the pale scars visible on his crippled legs, which bore the same telltale claw marks as his face.

Marcus placed the wheelchair carefully beside the other assassins. The man looked vacant, his expression hollow. Marcus understood immediately—the shadow user was still partly trapped inside his destroyed clone. Controlling a shadow dummy required transferring 75% of one's soul into it, a dangerous technique but effective for remote operations where the dummy could acquire some of its user's intelligence.

Without hesitation, Marcus reached for the remains of the shadow clone and broke it open completely. A black misty substance escaped from its shattered head, hovering in the air like sentient smoke. It swirled momentarily, as if scanning for its master, then shot toward the man in the wheelchair once it located him.

The crippled man jerked backward as the mist struck his temple.

"f**k!!" he shouted, covering his face with trembling hands.

Marcus and the trio watched impassively as the man processed his situation.

"I am alive..." the man whispered, breaking the awkward silence. He lowered his hands, his gaze moving from his crew members to Marcus. Their eyes locked, a silent assessment passing between them.

The wheelchair-bound man slowly brought his palms together and pressed them tightly in supplication.

"Please let us go," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "We'll leave this Continent and never come back. We promise to stop taking contracts. Please let us live... At least let them go."

Tears rolled from his right eye as he begged, the weight of truth evident in every word. For the first time since confronting these assassins, Marcus felt a pang of genuine pity. These weren't evil people—just professionals who had chosen the wrong target.

But...

"You should've thought that before," Marcus replied, his expression hardening into a grin that promised nothing good.

He approached the wheelchair and grabbed the man's shoulder. His right hand drew back, coiling with deadly intent. The bald man closed his good eye tightly, cowering in expectation of his head being separated from his body. The other assassins closed their eyes as well, unable to watch their leader's execution.

A second passed. Then another. The expected impact never came.

Instead, the man felt a gentle touch on his empty eye socket.

"Beep-Bop," Marcus chuckled, pressing his index finger against the scarred tissue where the left eye had once been.

The silence stretched for a heartbeat before the crippled man felt a peculiar warmth spreading through his face. Miraculously, his vision began to return on the left side. He touched the newly restored eye with trembling fingers, disbelief written across his features.

Not stopping there, Marcus tapped the man's useless legs with his foot. In one fluid motion, he pulled the assassin from the wheelchair and kicked the empty chair with such force that it vanished into the distant sky. For a moment, the man wobbled unsteadily, then caught himself as realization dawned—his legs worked again.

The other three assassins watched in stunned amazement, gasps escaping their lips at the impossible healing. What seemed to them a divine miracle was merely another perk of the Emperor's Cheat Seed: the ability to regenerate instantly and heal others with a simple touch.

The newly recovered man stood trembling, caught between fear and overwhelming gratitude. After two long years confined to that wheelchair, he could walk again. After years of partial darkness, he could see completely.

"I—" he began, but words failed him as he took his first shaky steps.

Marcus watched with undisguised satisfaction. Perhaps these assassins would prove useful after all. More importantly, they now owed him a debt greater than any Soul Binding contract could enforce—the debt of a second chance at life.