Mystery: Mr. Witch and Ms. Hunter

Chapter 65 Street Fight
The two bodyguards burst into laughter, but the lead bodyguard waved them to keep quiet.

"Now, listen to me."

He said calmly,

"Your request will not be granted, for do you see these two gentlemen? They have generously engaged the services of my two colleagues and I, to see that no harm comes to them, especially while they are touring the less wholesome aspects of this great capital of the country."

"If you know what I mean, you have to get through us before you can hurt them. I think you know that, don't you? It's impossible."

Altaïr did not reply. The two wealthy merrymakers laughed even more, exchanging bottles of wine as if it were some cruel ritual. Altaïr could easily have dealt with these two drunks even if he had tied his hands, except...

He needs to spend some time on his bodyguard.

The third bodyguard's coat was unbuttoned, and his hands were still tightly behind his back. He was either carrying a pistol or a dagger. This was a little threatening to Altaïr, who was a Sequence 8, but only a little.

The same was true of bodyguard number two, who wore an ankle-length coat that was buttoned tightly, and although his left hand stretched and moved in his pocket, his right hand was motionless, which meant that he was holding a knife or a short stick.

The first was much more cautious, keeping his hands folded across his chest, and Altaïr was not sure if he was wearing an underarm holster, compared to the other two rookies who had unknowingly revealed the location of their weapons to Altaïr.

However, he also made mistakes.

Seeing that Altaïr did not respond, he finally could not help but say: "I'll give you another chance, kid..."

And Altaïr is very good at seizing opportunities.

As Bodyguard No. 2 tried to get his hand out of his coat, Altaïr smashed his forehead into his nose. It was a dirty move, but Altaïr didn't care. It was effective in inflicting severe pain, instant traumatic blood loss, and temporary blindness.

Moreover, Altaïr chose him as a breakthrough point because he needed a weapon to quickly end this farce. Although it can be done with bare hands, it will be a bit troublesome.

Altaïr spun quickly and delivered a backward elbow strike that knocked the breath out of Bodyguard No. 2, before reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a short stick - Altaïr had intended for a rapier.

But it doesn’t matter, at least this thing is not light.

Altaïr drew out his short stick and swung it backwards, hitting the opponent's temple and almost breaking his skull.

The third man had his hands behind his back, too, though Altaïr never saw what he was holding. With his hands still behind his back, he staggered to the side under the blows of the club, his mouth wide open, reminiscent of a catfish on land. The ball bearing on the club had opened a deep, long gash in his head, and blood gushed out. If not treated properly, this gentleman might spend the rest of his life lying in bed, drooling, and being fed mashed liquid food with a spoon.

Just as Bodyguard No. 1 was about to draw his knife, the whole process was over. The fallen Bodyguard No. 3 and the staggering Bodyguard No. 2 were between him and Altaïr, but Altaïr did not intend to end it like this. He swung his short stick and hit Bodyguard No. 2's jaw, then kicked No. 2's leg hard. It would be difficult for this man to stand up again, and a broken jaw meant that few people would understand what he was saying in the future.

Altaïr landed on one foot and kicked up the other, making his movements look like dancing. He kicked the burning lamp into Number One's face, causing him to scream in frustration as he attempted a sneak attack, only to be able to knock the lantern flying. Altaïr then steadied himself and switched the baton to his other hand.

The bodyguard perked up, raised his dagger, moved between Altaïr and the two men he was protecting, and called out to the two wealthy men:
"Gentlemen, run."

The two rich men needed no further instructions; they ran, tripped over each other, and crashed into the stones of the alley, disappearing noisily into the night, leaving behind only the bottles of wine they had just quaffed.

"You don't have to risk your life for this guy."

Altaïr twirled his baton. He only had a minute to take down the man in front of him, and then he would catch up with the two before they reached the streets where the patrolmen were.

"But I need it, my child." The other chuckled. "Dying for guys like them is what people like me do, all over the world."

Although he had never served in the army, Altaïr understood why this was happening. The wealthy would pay for commissions to help them quickly rise through the ranks of the Rhun army, ensuring that they would stay away from the bloody battles in most cases and enjoy the most comfortable life.

"Based on your knowledge, there is no need to do this."

Altaïr said.

"But I need it, boy. When you understand the ways of the world as well as you do in a fight—and Storm above, I must say you are a very good fighter—you'll understand it then."

Well, I'm wasting time. Altaïr suddenly felt annoyed. He knew that if he knocked this guy down quickly, he would have a chance to catch up with the two culprits and not be late for his meeting with Ian.

But he suddenly felt a little disappointed. Even if he knocked down this poor guy who was paid to do the job, it would not help in this damn environment.

"It doesn't matter, sir. Anyway, my target is not you, but those two guys."

"I still can't let you touch them, son," the bodyguard said regretfully. He raised his dagger, pointing it at Altaïr. In his eyes, Altaïr saw the expression of a man who knew he had already lost.

"It seems you have no choice, sir."

Altaïr replied, and before he had finished speaking, he had already leapt out, like a black phantom.

For the bodyguard, Altaïr was too fast, too mobile, and too smart to fight with as a Beyonder. Although he had received formal training from Loon, and had been hardened like an old boot, and had become tough in countless overseas operations, he was still no match for Altaïr. The short stick stained with the blood of the previous victim hit him on the back of the head, and he fell to the ground with his eyes rolled back.

An hour later, he would wake up with a splitting headache, but otherwise be fine, and perhaps then he would ponder why his two fellow veterans, both seasoned veterans, had been knocked down by an unarmed young man.
"I hope Red Moon will give you the answer." Altaïr picked up his fallen cap and bowed slightly to the three unconscious people.

(End of this chapter)