Fantasy Agent

The weather was clear, with no wind; sunlight streamed down, and visibility was excellent.

Morning in S City was just as usual, with nothing out of the ordinary. Office workers went about their daily routine, numb from the relentless nine-to-five grind, yet unwilling to embrace any change in their lives.

Please, let it be clear: there is no magic here, no cultivation of immortality—just the mundane reality of the world.

No one noticed, as the city bustled with the morning rush, a black sedan quietly slipped away from the busy streets and turned into a shadowy alley. The car came to a halt, several burly men emerged, and finally, a middle-aged man stepped out, carrying a pitch-black case in his hand.

Deeper in the alley, five or six people were already waiting. They quickly gathered together.

“Lust, are you sure the Hunting Squad isn’t on to us?” a voice asked from the darkness.

The middle-aged man with the case spat on the ground. “Damn it, the ‘Godslayer Division’ almost had me. If they hadn’t messed up our route, you wouldn’t be seeing me now.” He glanced around. “Looks like we’re on the ‘Doom Crew’s’ turf. Best be careful.”

“All right, enough talk. Let’s hurry up with the exchange. If the Hunting Squad shows up, we’ll be in trouble. This time—”

A muffled sound broke the tension. Before anyone could react, Lust collapsed into a pool of blood, a bullet hole clean through his head.

“Damn, it’s the Hunting Squad!”

…

Five minutes earlier.

A black-haired young man lay prone atop a building, a sniper rif