Judul: "DEATH MORTGAGE: The Hunter's Liquidation"

Chapter 9: A Cripple's Dance

Ten minutes before the steel swing that cracked a skull.

The numbness that had imprisoned Jihan's body began to fade, replaced by the sensation of a thousand invisible needles stabbing every one of his muscle tissues. The pins and needles were agonizing, spreading from his groin to the tips of his toes.

Jihan lay on the bed. A nurse had moved him from the floor a few hours ago, injecting him with a sedative that, unfortunately, had no effect because his metabolism had already been wrecked by the Death Bank. He wasn't asleep. He was just closing his eyes, focusing all his remaining energy just to move his little finger.

Scrape.

Jihan's ears caught a very soft scraping sound from the corridor outside his room.

The sound was almost drowned out by the raging storm outside the window. However, the street instincts he had honed over years as a porter reacted automatically. Jihan knew exactly what the soles of a hurried nurse's shoes sounded like, and that sound didn't belong to a nurse. Those were tactical steps. Slow, precise, and placed to avoid putting too much pressure on the floor.

"That bastard Bagas. He couldn't even wait until tomorrow."

Jihan's mind ran through the worst-case scenarios. He was now an isolated liability with the status of a suspect. The easiest target imaginable.

He forced his brain to send a command to his spine. Get up, you dog! Get up!

The muscles in his left arm twitched. Jihan had regained about ten percent of his motor control. With the jerky movements of a broken mannequin, he rolled his body to the right side of the bed.

THUD.

He fell face-first onto the cold marble floor. A sharp pain tore at the stitches in his chest. He didn't have time to whimper. Jihan grabbed two pillows, arranged them lengthwise on the bed, and then pulled the thick comforter over the mound. It was a stupid decoy, but it was enough to buy him a second.

Jihan dragged his body, crawling toward the medical cart in the corner of the room. His breath came in ragged gasps. He grabbed an empty glass IV bottle from the medical waste bin, then smashed it against the bed's steel frame.

Crack. The sound was covered by a clap of thunder from outside.

Jihan gripped the neck of the glass bottle, which now had a jagged, sharp edge. His left hand fumbled under the medical cart, finding a portable defibrillator. He wrapped the thick cable of the heart-shocking device around his right wrist, which was still half-paralyzed.

He needed a high position. Jihan glanced at the teak wardrobe in the dark corner of the room, right next to the bed.

Jihan dragged a spare thirty-pound steel oxygen tank that was leaning against the wall. Lifting it would be a challenge even in a healthy state, let alone with only ten percent of his physical strength restored. His triceps screamed. A cold sweat poured down his forehead. He bit his lower lip hard, tearing the already dry skin until he tasted blood again, redirecting the pain in his body.

Hugging the tank with one arm, his trembling legs supporting his own weight, Jihan climbed the nightstand drawers to get on top of the wardrobe. The veins in his neck bulged as if they were about to burst.

He crouched on top of the wooden wardrobe in the pitch-darkness. He suppressed his breathing to a minimum. Blood dripped slowly from his lip onto the wooden surface.

Three minutes later, the handle of his room door was hacked. Three shadows dressed as nurses entered.

Jihan watched from above. His eyes adjusted to the minimal light. He saw the curved knives reflecting the flashes of lightning. Poison. They weren't even bothering with magic, so they wouldn't trigger the hospital's mana alarms.

The three men surrounded his bed.

"One…" whispered the one holding the knife.

"Two…"

"Three."

STAB!

Jihan didn't waste a single second. He pushed himself off the top of the wardrobe, swinging the thirty-pound oxygen tank by using pure gravity.

Time caught up with reality.

CRAAACK!

The base of the steel tank slammed into the top of Bravo's head with full force. The sound of a skull cracking against steel was disgusting. Bravo's neck collapsed into his own shoulders from the impact. Blood and brain matter sprayed into the air. Bravo was dead before his brain could even register the pain, his body slumping to the floor like a wet sack of rice.

Jihan hit the floor along with the tank. His still-weak legs couldn't handle the landing. He tumbled, his knee slamming hard into the marble, dislocating his kneecap.

"He's gone, damn it! Fall back!" Alpha shrieked, seeing his comrade fall with a crushed head in an instant. His calm killer's instinct collapsed into panic.

Charlie, who was standing closest to where Jihan had landed, reacted instantly. He reversed his grip on his knife and lunged downward, aiming for Jihan's neck as he gasped for air on the floor.

Jihan didn't parry. His arm was too weak to match strength with a trained killer. He used his falling momentum to roll forward, crashing directly into Charlie's shins. A dirty, street-fighting tactic. Charlie lost his balance, his knife slashing through empty air.

As Charlie stumbled forward, Jihan swung his left hand, which was gripping the broken IV bottle.

SLASH!

The jagged glass tore through the Achilles tendon on Charlie's back ankle. Blood gushed out. Charlie let out a stifled scream, his knee immediately buckling, forcing him to his knees right in front of Jihan.

This fight was not elegant. It wasn't the display of elite swordsmanship that Hunters showed off. This was a cripple's dance. Jihan fought like a cornered stray dog, biting, tearing, and using anything he could to survive.

Charlie groaned in pain, but his right hand still tried to swing the poisoned knife at Jihan's chest.

Jihan grabbed Charlie's wrist with both his hands. Charlie's strength was far greater. The knife slowly descended, just an inch from Jihan's left eye. A drop of Manticore poison fell from the tip of the blade, hitting Jihan's cheek and causing a sharp, burning sensation.

"Open… open the system!" Jihan screamed in his mind.

But all that appeared on his retina was a small, mocking pop-up.

[Your Balance Status: Rp. 0. You do not have sufficient funds for an Emergency Loan Down Payment. We recommend you do not die before your bill is paid.]

"Fucking system!" Jihan growled through his teeth.

He had no cheat. He had no shield.

Jihan let go with his left hand, allowing the knife to get even closer to his face, then reached behind Charlie's neck. He pulled the defibrillator cable that had been wrapped around his own wrist.

With a brutal yank, Jihan looped the thick rubber cable around Charlie's neck, then kicked the assassin's chest with his broken knee. The pull of the cable instantly choked Charlie. His airway was completely cut off. The knife in Charlie's hand fell, clattering to the floor.

Charlie struggled violently. Both his hands clawed at his own neck, trying to pull the thick cable off, but Jihan's lock from below, using all his remaining body weight, was unbreakable. Charlie's face turned purple. His eyes bulged as he stared at Jihan.

Jihan met that gaze with eyes that were completely devoid of empathy.

There was no hesitation. No moral burden. Jihan's hands pulled the cable tighter until his knuckles turned white. I'm tired of being the victim. If you all want my life, you'll pay with your own.

Alpha, who had just realized his comrade was being choked to death on the dark floor, immediately cursed. He lunged toward them, raising his knife high. He no longer cared if he hit Charlie or not. The target had to die.

Alpha plunged his poisoned knife into Jihan's back.

Jihan saw the reflection of Alpha's shadow in the window glass, which was intermittently lit by lightning. He pulled Charlie's neck, using the dying assassin's body as a meat shield.

STAB!

Alpha's knife sank deep into Charlie's shoulder blade. The Manticore poison instantly entered Charlie's bloodstream. The assassin's body convulsed once, then went completely limp. His eyes rolled back.

Alpha roughly pulled his knife from his comrade's corpse. His breathing was heavy. He looked at his two dead comrades, scattered on the floor in less than a minute. Not by an elite Hunter, but by a cripple who didn't even use any magic.

Jihan released the cable. He pushed Charlie's corpse aside, then slowly got to his feet. His right knee trembled violently, blood dripped from his lip and leg. But his gaze showed not a hint of pain. He looked at Alpha like a predator analyzing its prey's weakness.

"Two down," Jihan tilted his head, spitting blood on the floor. "Just you left, scumbag."

Alpha's ego as a professional assassin was completely shattered. He felt belittled by trash. To hell with the silent protocol. To hell with the threat of the Association's radar. The man with the scar on his neck took two steps back. He threw his poisoned knife to the floor.

"You're no ordinary porter… you bastard!" Alpha roared.

Both of Alpha's palms opened. The air in the room suddenly heated up drastically. The oxygen particles around them instantly ignited. A bright orange magic circle formed in front of Alpha's chest. It wasn't high-level elemental magic, but in a closed-off hospital room full of chemicals, it was a death sentence.

Jihan's eyes widened. The intense heat seared his face. His body had reached its absolute limit. He couldn't even lift his arm anymore.

"Die, you dog!" Alpha thrust both his hands forward.

A fireball the size of a car wheel shot forward at high speed, consuming the distance between them. The light of the fire illuminated every corner of the VVIP room.

Jihan had nowhere to run. With the last of his motor functions, he dropped his body flat to the marble, rolling toward the corner wall.

BOOOM!

The fireball slammed into the VVIP bed and the giant glass window behind it. A massive explosion shook the entire fourth floor. The two-inch-thick glass shattered into pieces, thrown into the stormy night air as rain poured into the room.

The shockwave from the explosion lifted Jihan's body and threw him against the concrete wall in the corner.

Jihan vomited fresh blood. His ears rang loudly, temporarily deafening him. He coughed violently, inhaling the thick black smoke that immediately billowed up.

The mattress, blankets, and Persian rug in the middle of the room were now fiercely burning. The fire spread with insane speed, licking at the curtains and crawling toward the oxygen tank, which could explode at any moment. The once-cold VVIP room had turned into a torture oven.

Jihan leaned against the corner wall, which was already starting to get hot. He tried to stand, but his right leg was completely numb. The shattered bone in his knee made it impossible to get up.

Through the thick black smoke and raging flames, Alpha strode closer. The man covered his nose with his uniform collar, his right hand gathering mana again to form a second fireball. Alpha stood directly blocking the only exit.

Jihan stared at the growing fire. There were no more pillows. No broken glass. No tanks. The system wasn't giving him a loan. In this burning corner of the room, his dance of survival had reached its final act.