Striking first often means securing an advantage in battle. In the heat of life-or-death combat, notions like chivalry and politeness are nothing but folly. Ash was certainly not one to indulge such impractical ideals. Though he wasn’t entirely sure if this ragged group was here to target him, their approach exuded enough hostility to trigger his instincts. Ash had always believed in neutralizing potential threats before they became actual dangers, and today was no exception.
The group fanned out into a loose semi-circle, clearly attempting to encircle him. Such a blatant maneuver would have been laughable if Ash hadn’t already seen the disciplined formations of the Oakleaf Squadron or the ruthless tactics of the Crimson Eagles. To Ash, their clumsy positioning was an invitation for slaughter.
He raised his left arm and fired the first shot directly into the densest part of the mob.
The sharp hiss of his high-powered thermal rifle, a five-megawatt weapon salvaged from his trusty Golden Sentinel, startled the crowd. Ash’s abrupt attack threw the group into chaos. Some of the more seasoned thugs hesitated and instinctively retreated behind their less fortunate comrades. They clearly hadn’t expected such an immediate and lethal response.
The crimson beam from the rifle streaked through the air, warping it with intense heat. The first target’s arm was instantly vaporized at the elbow. The wound seared shut almost instantly, the exposed flesh sizzling from the intense energy. As the unfortunate man screamed in agony, the shot continued its trajectory, punching clean through another man’s torso, leaving a gaping, charred hole. It wasn’t until the third man collapsed that the group fully erupted into panicked chaos.
Screams filled the air as the surviving attackers scrambled to distance themselves from their fallen comrades. The mob, once so eager to advance, now devolved into an uncoordinated stampede.
“Monsters like this guy make pirates seem downright merciful,” muttered Billy, Ash's reluctant ally, as he dove for cover behind Ash’s towering mech.
Inside the cockpit, Ash allowed himself a cold smile. He unleashed another volley, but despite the density of the mob, his shots weren’t as precise as he hoped. He silently cursed his lack of real-world marksmanship. Though he’d spent hours in the Consciousness Training Centre, the simulation couldn’t perfectly replicate the physical nuances of aiming. Even so, in the chaos, missing entirely was almost an accomplishment.
The leader of the mob, a burly, bald man known as Mack, was drenched in sweat. His initial confidence had evaporated. “Damn it! Don’t just stand there! Summon your mechs! Now!” he bellowed.
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His men scrambled to comply, but the panic and tight space only worsened their predicament. Summoning their mechs in such a cramped area caused instant havoc. The sheer size of the mechs resulted in collisions, and some of the more desperate fools were crushed underfoot by their allies’ summoned machines.
Watching the disaster unfold, Mack could only groan in despair.
“Perfect timing,” Ash muttered as he unsheathed his High-Frequency Vibroblade. With a burst of speed, his Golden Sentinel darted into the fray like a predator among sheep.
The battle quickly turned into a bloodbath. Ash’s left arm held a defensive buckler, deflecting clumsy attacks, while his right-hand wielded the blade with surgical precision. The vibroblade made quick work of the summoned mechs, each strike sending shockwaves through their frames, reducing them to mangled scraps.
Against the unarmored men, the vibroblade was devastating. Its frequency-induced vibrations caused bodies to rupture violently, leaving nothing but shredded remains. Blood sprayed in all directions, painting the battlefield in gruesome crimson.
The panic only worsened. Some fled, but others, too slow or too confused, became victims of Ash’s relentless assault. Among them was Mack, whose shiny bald head rolled across the ground, his eyes forever frozen in an expression of disbelief.
Billy, now trembling uncontrollably, turned pale as he surveyed the carnage. He clutched his stomach and retched uncontrollably.
From a distance, two silent observers stood frozen.
The younger man, nicknamed "Monkey," murmured in horror, “Is this guy even human?”
Beside him, a burly middle-aged man, the actual leader of their group, grimaced. “He’s ruthless. No hesitation, no mercy... definitely not someone we should cross.”
Monkey nodded fervently, his earlier bravado replaced with raw fear. “Boss, it’s a good thing we let Mack go first. Otherwise…”
The older man shivered. “If it were Mack’s brother, the real leader of the Renault Syndicate, things would’ve been different. But Mack... His arrogance and lack of discipline got the better of him. This fool never understood the weight of command. A mistake like this was bound to happen eventually.”
Monkey asked hesitantly, “So... does this mean we’re going to war with Renault?”
The man shook his head. “Not yet. Mack’s forces were just middle-tier grunts. Renault’s real power lies with his elites. Still, this will cripple their operations for a while, and we’ll use that to our advantage.”
“But what about him?” Monkey gestured nervously toward Ash, who stood amid the carnage, calm and unshaken.
The older man narrowed his eyes. “Avoid him at all costs. Men like that follow no rules, and their unpredictability makes them dangerous. For now, lay low and stay out of sight. I’ve already transferred your payment—take a vacation until this blows over.”
Monkey nodded quickly, eager to put as much distance between himself and Ash as possible. “Understood, boss. You won’t see me till it’s safe.”
As the two slipped away, Ash surveyed the wreckage one final time before moving on, his mech’s gleaming armour streaked with crimson.
Billy, still quivering, whispered hoarsely, “That... That wasn’t a battle. That was a massacre.”
And in the silence that followed, Ash’s cold, unyielding expression was the only answer.
