A loud crash split through the narrow alleyway. A woman was thrown against a cracked stone wall, her back hitting hard before she slid down, coughing up blood. Her trembling fingers pressed against the wound at her side, but her eyes—wide, terrified—went straight to her two children.

A boy and a girl, no older than eight, struggled in the hands of three burly men. They looked just like her—same amber eyes, same soft brown curls—and right now those eyes were filled with tears and fear.

The leader of the three, a man with messy spiky hair that made him look like a half-plucked pufferfish, smirked as he kicked the woman square in the face. The same drunken idiot that had brushed Luther.

"Thought you were tough, huh?" he spat, wiping his boot on the ground. "What happened to that fire you had, sweetheart?"

His two companions howled with laughter, their black gloves glinting faintly. Embedded in the backs of their gloves were black crystals, each one pulsing faintly with darkness—an unmistakable sign of corruption.

The woman groaned, trying to push herself up. "Leave… my children alone…"

Her voice cracked, but her glare was still sharp. She lunged forward with what strength she had left, aiming a desperate kick at the puffer-haired man. He caught her leg midair, sneering.

"Nice try," he said before slamming her down into the dirt. She hit the ground with a painful thud, air escaping her lungs.

"Mother!" her children screamed.

The girl tried biting the hand that held her, while the boy clawed wildly at the thug's arm. One of the men, annoyed, lifted the boy up by his collar.

"Brat," he growled, "I'll toss you into the river if you don't shut up!"

"Put him down," the leader ordered. "Those two are worth more alive. Gotta make sure the merchandise breathes well, eh?"

He grinned, showing a row of yellowed teeth.

The crowd gathered in silence, fear thick in the air. No one dared to move, though disgust twisted their faces. Someone whispered, "It's them again—the Black Fang gang."

Another muttered, "Someone should stop them…"

"Someone?" came the reply. "Then you go ahead. Those gems—they say anyone wearing them's got the nobles backing them. You really wanna cross that?"

The people fell silent again.

From the back of the crowd, a voice muttered, "Pathetic."

Luther's blue eyes were shadowed beneath his hood as he stepped closer, Alina following beside him. She looked up, frowning. "Saint, are you—"

"I see it," he said quietly. "Cowards. Three men, against a bleeding woman."

The sword vibrated faintly, its voice dripping with disdain.

"Cowards indeed! Disgraceful! If I still had a tongue and teeth, I'd bite them myself!"

Luther sighed. "You do have a mouth. Unfortunately, it's the loud kind."

"You're just jealous of my conversational skills."

"Conversational?" Luther's brow twitched. "You call screaming at me every five minutes conversation?"

The sword hummed, pretending to think.

"Well… it's a two-way exchange. You complain, I insult you. That's balance."

Before Luther could retort, a hand grabbed his shoulder. A nervous man from the crowd whispered, "Don't get involved, traveler. Those men—those black crystals mean they've got a powerful backer. Even knights don't touch them."

Luther turned his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "A powerful backer?"

"Yes! You'll die for nothing. They say the stones were gifts from the dark trade—no one messes with them."

"Hmm." Luther's gaze flicked to the thugs again. "So, if I understand correctly… everyone here is afraid because those idiots wear shiny rocks?"

The man blinked. "I—well—"

Luther sighed and stepped away. "Relax. I'm not planning to die today."

"Hah!" the sword snorted. "You never plan to, you just invite death with open arms!"

"Quiet," Luther muttered.

Before he could take another step, the sound of boots striking stone cut through the tension.

Four figures stepped forward from the crowd—mercenaries by the look of them.

Their leader, a tall man with a polished spear, pointed it directly at the gang. "That's enough! Unhand the woman and her children!"

The crowd stirred.

"The Ravens?" someone gasped.

Luther blinked. "The what now?"

Alina whispered, "They're a well-known mercenary group. They hunt down illegal traders and thugs."

Luther frowned, unimpressed. "The Ravens? Not even wearing black. That's false advertising."

"Agreed," the sword chimed in. "You can't call yourself a raven and dress like a fruit vendor."

The spear leader barked, "You heard me! Step away from them, or face the consequences!"

The three thugs turned slowly.

The puffer-haired leader smirked, resting his hand on the hilt of his dagger. "Consequences? You think your little playgroup can take us?"

Behind him, the woman groaned weakly as her children tried to shake her awake. Luther's eyes softened for a moment. He could see her aura flickering faintly—life barely hanging on.

"Damn it…" he muttered. "She won't last long."

Alina turned to him. "Then we should help—"

"Not yet." His tone hardened. "Let's see what kind of idiots we're dealing with first."

The Ravens tightened their formation. The archer notched an arrow, the mage began chanting, and the swordsman stepped forward. The crystals embedded in their weapons glowed faintly purple—a sign of their power.

The crowd murmured, "Look! They've got crystal on their weapons!"

Luther raised a brow. "Purple? That's mediocre at best."

"Still better than those black lumps those thugs are flaunting," the sword said. "If corruption had fashion sense, it'd still lose to that."

The leader of the thugs cracked his neck. "You're making a mistake, mercs. You don't know who you're messing with."

The spear-wielder smirked. "Maybe not. But you'll find out who we are soon enough."

Luther sighed. "Ah yes. The classic pre-fight banter. Humans really love announcing themselves before dying."

Alina elbowed him lightly. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

He shrugged. "A little. It's like watching a bad play before the curtains catch fire."

The sword hummed in amusement.

"You know what I love about mortals? The overconfidence. Always shouting threats like it's a contest of who can sound dumber."

The woman on the ground weakly lifted her head. "Please… my children…"

Her words barely carried, but they hit Luther like a weight. His jaw tightened. "That's enough waiting."

He stepped forward, but before he could move further, the puffer-haired man raised his hand, his glove glowing black. The crystal flared, sending a pulse of dark energy across the cobblestones.

The air thickened—people gasped, stumbling back.

Luther narrowed his eyes. So it's not just decoration… that stone reacts to bloodlust.

The spear leader didn't hesitate. "Formation!" he shouted.

The archer released his arrow; it streaked through the air, splitting into three glowing shots. One thug dodged, another blocked with a burst of black smoke. The third charged, his crystal hand swinging like a hammer toward the mercenary swordsman.

Clang! Sparks burst.

The fight erupted into chaos—steel, smoke, and mana light mixing violently in the street.

Luther watched for a moment, his hand resting on his sword's hilt.

And from behind him, Alina muttered softly, "Here we go again…"

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