Under the dim glow of the setting sun, in the eerie stillness of the abandoned alleyway, Raizel began his grim task—cleaning up the crime scene.

Ten bodies. It was no easy feat.

But with his enhanced physique of Red Berserker, he lifted them one by one, carrying them into an abandoned warehouse just a short distance from the alley.

For now, he would hide them, but later… he would burn them.

After ensuring the bodies were out of sight, he returned to the alley and carefully wiped away the bloodstains. The crimson pools that once tainted the ground were now gone, replaced by a faint smear of dirt and grime.

To mask any lingering scent, he mixed dust with the foul liquid from a nearby drain, spraying it generously over the area. The pungent stench would make it seem like nothing more than the usual filth of the slums—enough to throw off any investigator who might come sniffing around.

He stepped back, scanning the scene. It looked natural. Ordinary.

Next, he just needed to burn the bodies.

For that he need to find some fire and oil to speed up the process.

And he needed to act fast.

Raizel traveled a considerable distance by taxi, keeping his face hidden beneath a hood. At a small, rundown shop, he purchased several containers of oil. It was cheap and unrefined, but it would do the job.

By the time he returned, evening had settled in, and the darkness thickened with each passing second. The city was alive elsewhere, but here, in this forgotten corner, silence reigned.

He slipped into the warehouse unnoticed.

With practiced efficiency, he doused the pile of corpses with the flammable liquid. The sharp, acrid scent filled the air. Then, without hesitation, he struck a spark.

Fwoosh!

Flames roared to life, consuming the bodies in an unforgiving blaze. Shadows danced along the warehouse walls, flickering in eerie, chaotic patterns.

Raizel stood there, watching. His expression was cold and silent.

Life had taught him many things across both of his existences. But this was the first time he had taken human lives with his own hands.

Guilt should have overwhelmed him. His heart should have pounded with regret.

Yet, as the fire burned, he felt nothing.

Just an unsettling calm.

After half an hour, Raizel began cleaning up the ashes as well.

It took another thirty minutes just to clear them out, but some charred marks remained on the ground like stubborn reminders of what had happened here. There was no easy way to erase them.

With no better option, he left them as they were, covering the area with dust to make it blend in as naturally as possible.

Once outside the old warehouse, he kept his Antimagic Field active. It would erase any lingering magical traces left by the dead players.

This precaution was crucial. The investigation department didn't rely solely on conventional forensic methods—they had magic.

But with Antimagic, Raizel severed any potential magical connection, ensuring they would find nothing.

Next, he made his way back to the alleyway where the massacre had taken place, cautious of whether investigators had arrived.

Alastor's phone had been on during the encounter. Given the level of technology in this era, they should have been able to trace its location easily.

Hiding behind a wall, Raizel observed the area carefully.

Nothing.

The alley remained eerily silent, just as it had been before.

With one last careful look around, Raizel headed toward his home, just a fifteen-minute walk from there.

Despite all his precautions, he knew he wouldn't be completely free from suspicion. In the slums, he was the only one with a known connection to Alastor, and many people were aware of their bad blood.

Naturally, that made him the prime suspect.

His only hope was that before the authorities came knocking, the Apex Guild would take him under their wing.

With their influence, he could at least gain some protection against any forceful prosecution—especially with someone as powerful as Alastor's father pulling the strings.

---

Back at the crime scene.

Nearly ten minutes after Raizel's departure, a convoy of sleek black vehicles rolled into the dimly lit alleyway. Their red and blue emergency lights flickered against the surrounding buildings, slicing through the darkness.

The moment they came to a stop, the doors swung open, and two figures stepped out.

Dressed in crisp formal suits, their presence radiated authority.

Their eyes scanned the eerily silent alley, their sharp gazes taking in every detail as they prepared to investigate.

The other lower-ranked officers stepped out as well.

They carried no visible weapons, yet their presence was no less intimidating. It was as if they themselves were the weapons.

"Is this the location, Zen?" a calm yet sharp voice asked.

The speaker was a woman, her expression composed and calculating.

"Yes," the male officer behind her confirmed, glancing at a small device to double-check the coordinates.

Hearing this, the female officer's eyes suddenly gleamed with supernatural energy. Instantly, her vision sharpened, cutting through the darkness like night-vision goggles—but far beyond that, she could perceive things ordinary humans couldn't.

Yet, what she saw only deepened her confusion.

"No magic particles… No signs of superhuman combat… That's odd," she murmured, scanning the area.

She turned to Zen, her gaze sharp. "Zen, wasn't the boy a player? Then why aren't there any signs of struggle like we heard in the voice recording?"

The male officer frowned. "I don't know. But the last location data points to this exact spot. We'll have to investigate further. Let's call in the forensic team."

"Ugh, more waiting…" She groaned. "Well, there goes my good night's sleep."

Despite her complaints, she got to work, methodically inspecting every corner of the alley while Zen relayed orders through his communication device.

Meanwhile, the lower-ranked officers spread out, searching for any overlooked evidence in the surrounding area.

The investigation would take time. For now, Raizel was safe.

But when they would come knocking on his door—no one knew.

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