Apocalypse: becoming the hidden Ruler[English]

Monkey and his crew glanced at each other in surprise. The old man didn’t usually interfere with these fights. He was someone they couldn’t afford to piss off, but here he was, giving a heads-up to a dying man walking?

Axel smirked. ”Good to know.”

Monkey stepped between them. ”I’ll be the witness. Both parties agree, life or death, all according to Sin City’s rules.”

He took a few steps back, raising his hand. ”Begin!”

Recharge! A sudden gust of wind howled past the onlookers.

For most of them, it was a blur—an afterimage flashing in their vision.

Then—CRACK! Pork Nine’s body slammed into the ground.

A stunned silence fell over the crowd. ”That… was fast,” someone muttered.

Axel stood motionless, his eyes cold and sharp. His ability had boosted his speed to the limit, and with his raw strength, he had sent Pork Nine crashing down before the man even realized what happened.

Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he tapped his bracelet. A silver-white Desert Eagle materialized in his grip.

Bang! The sharp crack of gunfire split the air. A massive, gaping hole—almost the size of a basketball—appeared in Pork Nine’s chest.

His body twitched violently. Then, nothing. Dead.

Monkey, who had barely taken a step back, felt his blood run cold.

Just moments ago, he had been looking forward to a good show. He had blinked—just once—and it was already over.

His jaw hung open. ”What the fuck just happened…?”

Axel holstered his gun in a blink, as if he’d never drawn it in the first place. Without a second glance at the corpse, he turned and walked back toward the tavern counter.

The room was dead silent. Every pair of eyes followed him in stunned disbelief.

Behind the bar, the tavern owner calmly added ice cubes to a glass of dark beer and slid it across the counter.

“The drink’s ready.”

“Appreciate it,” Axel replied, taking the glass without breaking stride.

The onlookers finally broke out of their trance.

But not everyone took the loss so well. Slaughter Three—Pork Nine’s woman—trembled with rage, her fists clenching at her sides. The air around her crackled with surging energy. Gabriel, feeling the shift, instinctively shuffled away.

Axel set his beer down with calm, his eyes locking onto hers. “If you want to try your luck,” he said, voice like steel, “I don’t mind killing you too.”

The room tensed. His tone was cold, absolute. And with Pork Nine’s body still sprawled on the ground, blood steaming in the cool air, no one doubted he meant every word.

Slaughter Three’s breath hitched. Fear warred with fury in her eyes, but in the end, fear won. Without another word, she lifted Pork Nine’s lifeless body and stormed out, not even bothering to wipe the blood trailing behind her.

The second she was gone, the murmurs began. “Well, that backfired.”

“They messed with the wrong guy.”

“Damn, that kid’s got ice in his veins.”

Gabriel, meanwhile, was basking in the moment. “Axel, I’m touched! You risked your life for me—”

Axel felt a shiver of secondhand embarrassment. He smacked Gabriel’s hand off his arm and scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. Just don’t be so damn careless next time.”

Gabriel pouted but nodded obediently. “Got it.”

Axel sighed in relief. At least the guy wasn’t completely hopeless. Maybe he’d finally learned his lesson. Across the counter, the tavern owner refilled his own glass and then topped off Axel’s without asking.

“Kid, you’ve got strength, but killing someone the moment you step into Sin City? That puts a target on your back,” he mused, swirling his drink.

Axel studied the man. The way the others in the bar reacted to his words, the way he’d gauged Axel’s abilities without any panic—it was clear he wasn’t just some barkeep. This guy was the strongest one in the room.

Axel lifted his glass in thanks and took another sip. “I know. I’m not looking for trouble, but I won’t roll over either.” He leaned in slightly. “Boss, you got any recommendations on where a guy can make a living around here?”

The tavern owner’s eyes gleamed with interest. Axel’s words proved he wasn’t some naive brute who thought one flashy kill meant he could rule the streets. He knew exactly where he stood—and that made him valuable.

The man smirked. “Sin City’s divided into six districts. At the top, of course, is our supreme City Lord, Morris. Below him, each district belongs to one of his six subordinates.”

He took another drink. “This one here? We call it Baird.”

“Most of the hotels and casinos belong to Lord Morris,” the tavern owner said, taking a slow sip of his drink. “We just run small businesses. Besides that, we hunt in the wilderness and trade raw stones and food with the Krythos people. Lord Morris doesn’t care about those scraps.”

Axel nodded. So Morris controlled the big game and let the smaller players fight over the leftovers. As long as they didn’t threaten his grip on power, he didn’t bother interfering.

“There are gangs in every district,” the tavern owner continued. “Big and small. The guy you just killed? He was with the Black Powder Gang.”

Axel’s fingers tightened around his glass, but he remained silent.

“If you hadn’t come to me, maybe tomorrow, or the day after at the latest, they’d be knocking on your door.” The tavern owner chuckled, his amusement laced with warning. “But you’re smart—you see how things work. With your strength, some gang will want you, but that depends on whether you’re worth the trouble.”

Axel took a slow sip of beer, waiting.

“You killed a Black Powder member,” the man went on, watching Axel carefully. “If someone recruits you now, it’s like spitting in their face. No one will touch you until you prove yourself again.”

Axel had expected as much. His eyes flicked to the still-wet blood pooling outside the tavern door.

“You’re stronger than Pork Nine,” the tavern owner admitted. “But not that much stronger. You didn’t kill him instantly just on skill alone, did you?”

Axel’s brow twitched slightly. The old man had sharp eyes. The crowd hadn’t noticed the details, but this guy had.

“He took out Pork Nine in a single hit?!” someone whispered.

Shock rippled through the crowd. Pork Nine wasn’t the toughest fighter around, but he was still an awakener—a cut above the average thug. Owning a stall in Sin City wasn’t just about business; it was a sign of strength.

And Axel just erased him like it was nothing. Gabriel, who had squeezed his eyes shut at the start of the fight, peeked up cautiously.

When he realized Axel had won—no, completely obliterated his opponent—his face lit up with excitement. “Holy shit, Axel is insane!” His heart pounded with exhilaration. “I made the right call sticking with him!” He was already imagining how he’d brag to his father about this when they got home.

Axel had used three advantages: First, he’d baited Pork Nine into underestimating him. Second, he had gone all-in from the very start, overwhelming his opponent before he could react. And third—the real difference-maker—was his custom Desert Eagle, crafted by Millers.

That shot had been even stronger than Axel had anticipated, but it also drained nearly a third of his original force.

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