Novel Full Chapter 837: 837: Out of the Ordinary
Chapter 837: Chapter 837: Out of the Ordinary
Ronan wiped at the counter again, though the wood gleamed from how much he’d already scrubbed it. He kept sneaking glances toward the man by the window.
The container of soup sat in front of him, untouched. The Knight didn’t move. He simply rested his chin against one hand, those grey eyes fixed unblinking on Ronan. Nearly half an hour passed in that suffocating silence.
Ronan’s legs ached from standing so stiffly, and his shirt clung to him with cold sweat. ‘Eat already,’ he begged inwardly, though at the same time he prayed the man would simply get up and leave.
Finally, as if deciding that Ronan’s lack of death was proof enough of nothing being wrong with the soup, the Knight stirred. He placed his palm over the soup container. A faint heat shimmer rippled off his hand, the cooled soup began steaming. Spiritual fire. Just to warm his lunch.
Ronan breathed a tiny sigh of relief at seeing him begin to eat. ‘This store boss should patent this recipe,’ he thought. ‘It’s damn good if even a suspected terrorist comes back again and again…it’s even good enough to make him still eat despite being suspicious instead of just throwing it away.’
The Knight raised the container, took a slow spoonful, and ate.
Ronan’s stomach twisted. He forced himself to keep wiping down the counter, each stroke mechanical. He didn’t dare look too closely, didn’t dare search for signs. Was the poison working? Was he about to collapse? Or was he immune and all of this was pointless?
Minute after minute ticked by. The Knight kept eating. His expression remained unchanged.
Finally, he finished. He stood, gathered his trash neatly, and walked toward the door.
Ronan’s knees almost buckled with relief. ‘Guess that settles it. The poison doesn’t work. I—’
The thought died.
At the threshold, the Knight’s body jolted violently. His legs gave way and he collapsed forward, striking the doorframe with a dull thud before crumpling to the ground. His limbs spasmed in convulsions.
Ronan’s breath caught in his throat. For a heartbeat, he stood frozen, but the sound of approaching footsteps snapped him to attention.
Then, with a strangled grunt, he lurched forward. His weak, trembling muscles screamed as he grabbed the man’s arms, dragging him inch by inch across the floor. Every scrape of boots against wood sounded deafening.
“C’mon, c’mon, move!” he hissed at himself, hauling the body toward the cleaning closet. Just as a pair of customers pushed the front door open, he managed to slam the Knight inside and yank the closet shut.
The chef poked his head out from the kitchen. “What was that noise?”
Ronan’s mind raced. “Dropped… dropped something into the soup. Need to throw it out.”
The chef’s eyes widened in outrage. “You idiot! I got up early to prepare that broth!” He grumbled, storming back into the kitchen. But already he was clattering pots, beginning a fresh batch.
Ronan slumped against the counter, heart hammering. Somehow, somehow, he’d pulled it off.
The two customers, having decided what they wanted, ordered. Then more arrived. The lunchtime rush has come. Ronan forced himself to move, wiping down tables, ladling bowls, taking orders. But every second his mind screamed with one thought: ‘He’s in the closet. He’s in the closet. He’s in the closet.’
At the first chance he got, he fumbled for the token hidden in his apron. He injected spiritual power and sent a hurried message:
“Target collapsed. Hidden. Come quickly.”
No reply.
He swallowed hard, sweat prickling his neck. The shop grew busier. Tables filled, chairs scraped, conversation buzzed. For a fleeting moment, it almost felt normal.
Then everything stopped.
The sound cut out in an instant. The laughter, the chatter, the clink of spoons—all gone.
Ronan looked up from wiping the counter. His breath caught.
Every person in the shop sat stiff, faces blank, eyes unfocused. Slowly, mechanically, they rose from their chairs. In perfect unison, they turned toward the door and walked out, their footsteps eerily synchronized like puppets being controlled.
Ronan’s jaw fell open. “What the hell—”
The last of them filed out. Silence pressed down heavy.
And then, from that silence, a figure appeared.
He wasn’t masked, yet Ronan couldn’t make out his face. His features blurred, indistinct, as if Ronan’s brain simply refused to hold the image. Every time his eyes tried to focus, something slipped away.
Beside him, however, stood someone Ronan knew: the masked man who had recruited him.
Relief crashed into him like a wave. ‘What happened wasn’t due to the Knight waking up. Reinforcements. Thank god.’
The masked man inclined his head in deference toward the blurry faced figure. The respect was sharp enough that even Ronan felt it. Whoever this was, he outranked the members Ronan already knew. This man may even be ranked the highest.
Ronan didn’t need to point toward the closet. The faceless man—Kain, though Ronan didn’t know the name—strode unhesitatingly toward it. The spiritual power emanated by the Knight, was easily sensed by Kain, drawing him in that direction. He opened the door and glanced down at the convulsing Knight.
“Stay back,” Kain said, his tone quiet but absolute. His gaze didn’t leave the body. “The ‘poison’ can spread person to person.”
Ronan’s breath stuttered. Spread?! His insides turned to ice.
Kain crouched and slung the Knight’s body over his shoulder with casual strength. Even as he did, Ronan saw him tense, felt the faint ripple of resistance in the air. Perhaps the ‘poison’ was trying to spread to this powerful man.
Kain turned his head sharply. “What did you do with the contents of the vial?”
Ronan stammered. “N-not down the drain! Too chunky! I—I left the pot—on the floor.”
Kain exhaled, relief flickering across his otherwise cold features. He swept a hand and the pot vanished, swallowed into his storage ring. A moment later, several other items in the shop shimmered and vanished as well—everything contaminated, gone in an instant.
“Good,” he muttered. “Else the whole city would be infected by morning if it reached the sewers and then the water treatment plant.”
Ronan’s knees nearly gave way. He hadn’t even realized. He’d nearly doomed the city.
Kain grasped his shoulder. His hand was firm, taking no refusal. “You’re coming with me.”
“But my—my shift—” Ronan started weakly.
Over by the door, Darius flipped the sign to CLOSED without a word.
Ronan swallowed the rest of his protest.
They moved quickly, ducking into an alley several blocks away. The faceless figure finally stopped, lowering the Knight’s limp body to the ground. He turned his gaze toward Ronan, sharp enough to pierce through bone.
“Until sterilization is complete, no one else can be near us.”
Before Ronan could ask what that meant, a low buzzing filled the air.
He jerked his head upward—and screamed.
Three enormous wasps, each the size of a horse and with stingers bigger than his head, descended into the alley.
One lowered before Ronan. Another before Kain and the unconscious Knight. The third hovered for the masked recruiter.
Ronan’s legs shook so hard he nearly collapsed. His entire body screamed to run. But then a strange exhilaration sparked in his chest. His first time flying. His first time stepping beyond the mundane.
He climbed on with trembling limbs. The world tilted.
With a shrill hum, the wasps lifted into the air, rising fast, the city below shrinking into a patchwork of rooftops and streets.
One thought echoed in his mind, louder than all the rest:
‘I don’t know if I can go back to ordinary life again.’