The shop was silent again, except for the rasping breaths of Marcus and the drip of blood pooling across the floor. Leon stood still, cleaver heavy in his hand, staring down at the lifeless body sprawled at his feet. The System’s cold voice had faded, leaving behind a humming awareness inside his head, like a new muscle he had never used before but now couldn’t ignore.
Marcus groaned from the floor. “Boss… it hurts… it hurts so bad.” His shirt was soaked crimson, the cut from Scarface’s blade deep and ugly. Leon’s eyes shifted to him. For a moment, the butcher felt a flicker of something human. Marcus wasn’t just an apprentice—he was the only person who had stayed by Leon’s side when the world had turned its back. The boy had laughed through empty days, fought to keep the shop alive even when the shelves grew bare. Leon couldn’t let him bleed out here like another carcass on the block. He knelt, dropping the cleaver, and ripped Marcus’s shirt open. The wound was bad but not instantly fatal. Years of discipline steadied Leon’s hands. He pressed a clean rag to the gash, his grip firm to stop the bleeding. “Stay awake,” Leon muttered. His voice was calm, commanding, the same tone he had used once in another life—on battlefields long before butcher knives had replaced rifles. Marcus whimpered, teeth clenched. “W-what… what was that, boss? You… you killed them like…” “Don’t talk,” Leon said, tying the rag tighter. He reached for the small first-aid kit kept under the counter, the one he had hoped never to use beyond small cuts from bone splinters. He worked quickly, disinfecting the wound, stitching clumsy but functional lines across Marcus’s side. The boy hissed but didn’t pass out. When Leon was finished, he sat back on his heels, breathing deeply. His hands were steady, but his mind was anything but. The System’s words replayed in his head. Prey processed. Knife Mastery Level 1. He flexed his fingers, feeling the difference. The cleaver beside him gleamed faintly in the dim shop light, sharper than it had been minutes ago. His instincts felt keener, like his body had been honed along with the blade. Marcus coughed weakly. “Boss… those men… their gang won’t let this go. We… we’re finished.” Leon’s gaze drifted to the corpses sprawled on the floor—the handless Scarface, the broken Smirk. Their blood was already seeping into the cracks of the tiled floor. Finished? No. For the first time in years, Leon felt like he had just begun. He rose, grabbed a tarp from the storage room, and dragged the bodies onto it with practiced strength. Marcus watched with wide, horrified eyes as Leon worked with calm efficiency. “Rest,” Leon ordered. “Don’t move.” “W-what are you doing?” Marcus croaked. “Cleaning,” Leon said simply. He wrapped the bodies tightly, tied the tarp, and dragged the bundle toward the back door. It wasn’t the first time Leon had disposed of corpses, though Marcus didn’t need to know that. The alley behind the shop was quiet, lined with dumpsters and reeking of rot. Leon hoisted the bundle into the butcher’s old delivery van parked nearby. The metal groaned under the weight. Back inside, he scrubbed the floor, bleaching the stains until the shop smelled of iron and chemicals instead of raw blood. His movements were methodical, each stroke of the mop precise, almost ritualistic. Marcus dozed in the corner chair, pale but alive, his breathing shallow. When the shop was clean, Leon finally allowed himself to sit. He leaned against the counter, closing his eyes. And the System spoke again. Mission complete: Witness eliminated.Reward granted: Blood Sense (Passive). His eyes snapped open. The world shifted. He could hear Marcus’s heartbeat—steady but weak—echoing like a drum in his ears. The faint metallic scent of blood was sharper now, distinct from the ordinary smell of meat. He could almost see it, threads of crimson running through Marcus’s veins, through the stains still trapped between the tiles. Leon exhaled slowly. This wasn’t madness. This was real. The System had given him something new—an edge sharper than any blade. New Mission: Expand territory. Remove all Black Serpents from West End. Reward: Butcher’s Arsenal (Knife Set). Leon’s lips curved faintly. So this wasn’t a one-time gift. The System wanted him to keep killing, to keep carving. And if he obeyed, it would make him stronger. He picked up the cleaver again, turning it in his hand. Once, this tool had been meant for pork and beef. Now, it was a weapon of war. Marcus stirred. “Boss…” Leon glanced at him. The boy’s eyes were glassy, fear and confusion warring in them. “You should leave,” Marcus whispered. “If the Serpents find out, they’ll burn this place to the ground. They’ll kill us both.” Leon’s jaw tightened. He had thought the same once—that hiding, running, was survival. But tonight had changed everything. He could feel the System thrumming in his blood, pushing him forward, demanding more. “I’m not running,” Leon said softly. Marcus swallowed. “Then… then what are you going to do?” Leon slid the cleaver into its rack, the blade gleaming under the shop’s light. His grey eyes were cold, steady. “I’m going to butcher them.” The next night, Blackridge’s West End buzzed with unease. Word of Scarface and Smirk’s disappearance spread quickly. The Serpents prowled the streets, demanding answers, threatening shopkeepers, shaking down anyone who dared look away. Leon watched from his shop’s window, the glow of the neon sign casting his shadow long against the glass. He felt no fear. Only calculation. The System’s mission burned in his vision. Remove all Black Serpents from West End. He could almost taste the blood in the air, smell the fear of the gang like spoiled meat ready to be cut down. The butcher’s knives were ready. And for the first time in years, Leon felt alive.
Latest Chapter
Ashes and Vows
The fire smoldered for hours, long after the butcher shop had collapsed into a blackened skeleton of charred beams and smoking rubble. The flames devoured everything—his chopping block, his knives, the hooks where the carcasses used to swing, even the wooden counter where Mateo once cracked jokes while serving customers.The butcher’s shop was no more.Leon stood in the ruin until dawn, his face lit by the dull orange glow of dying embers. The neighbors had retreated to their homes, fearful of being seen near him, fearful of drawing Hector’s wrath. He didn’t blame them. The Serpents thrived on fear; they had built their kingdom upon it.But as Leon stared at the ashes, he felt something shift inside him. The shop was gone, yes—but the fire had burned away more than wood. It had burned away the last remnants of the man who once thought he could live quietly, selling meat to survive.From now on, there was only the Butcher.The System flickered in his vision, its cold text sharper than
The Price of Blood
The city never slept, but it learned quickly when to keep quiet. Word of the butcher who carved through a squad of Serpent enforcers spread faster than wildfire. In smoky bars, in back alleys where deals were made, and in the whispered gossip of street vendors, his name traveled like a curse.Leon. The Butcher.Some spoke of him with awe, others with dread, but all agreed on one thing: he was no longer just a shopkeeper. He was something else now, something dangerous.The BountyHector Ruiz didn’t wait long to act. By morning, posters bearing Leon’s face—grainy from an old ID photo—were plastered across the underground districts.WANTED: LEON “THE BUTCHER” Reward: ₦20,000,000 (Alive). ₦10,000,000 (Dead).The bounty was a declaration of war. Mercenaries, rogue killers, washed-up ex-soldiers, and desperate thugs all felt the pull of that number. A small fortune dangled in front of anyone bold enough—or foolish enough—to try their luck.Leon heard about it before the ink even dried. One
A Bloody Feast
The city breathed differently at night. Its lungs were filled with smoke and the metallic tang of desperation, and in that suffocating haze, only predators thrived. Leon stood in the narrow alley behind his butcher shop, his apron folded neatly under his arm, his eyes scanning the shadows that stretched across the cracked concrete. The city was changing—and so was he.For years, Leon had been content to sell cuts of pork, beef, and lamb to the locals who could afford his quality. His shop had been his world, his pride. But since the night the gangsters had stormed in, leaving one of his boys dead and his world drenched in blood, that pride had twisted into something darker.And the System that had awakened within him… it didn’t let him rest.A small notification shimmered in the corner of his vision as if only he could see it:System Quest Complete: Eliminate the Black Serpents’ Enforcers (7/7) Reward Unlocked: Skill – Butcher’s Frenzy (Level 1).Leon’s lips curled into something that
The Wolves at the Gate
The city had grown restless.Whispers of the Butcher weren’t just rumors anymore—they were stories with names, faces, details. Hunters who never returned. Serpents who vanished in alleys. Harlow Street turning into a place no one wanted to tread after dark.And Viktor Kane had finally lost patience.The squad arrived at midnight. Not drunk Serpents this time. Not desperate bounty hunters.They were mercenaries. Six men, dressed in black combat gear, rifles slung across their shoulders. Their movements were precise, disciplined. They weren’t here for money—they were here to break the legend.Viktor called them wolves. Trained killers pulled from old contacts, the kind of men who’d fought in warzones overseas.And they had one order: bring the Butcher back breathing.Inside the Pit, Leon’s recruits sensed the shift before they heard it. The tension in the air was thicker than before, heavier than the hungry thugs or ragged hunters that had come prior.Marcus’s cigarette trembled slightl
The Price on His Head
The bounty hit the streets faster than wildfire.Fifty thousand dollars. That was the price Viktor Kane had set on the Butcher’s head.In the alleys, in smoke-filled bars, in the backrooms of pawn shops, men whispered the number with greed gleaming in their eyes. Fifty grand was enough to tempt anyone—gangsters, mercenaries, desperate loners.And for the first time, Leon wasn’t just fighting the Serpents. He was fighting the city itself.The Pit buzzed with nervous energy. The recruits trained harder than ever, sweat dripping onto cracked concrete. Darren and Cole sparred with pipes, Marcus corrected stances, and the newer men watched Leon with a mixture of awe and dread.But Marcus’s jaw was tight, his cigarette burning down too fast. “Boss, this bounty isn’t a joke. Every gun for hire is gonna come sniffing around Harlow. You can’t cut them all.”Leon sat on a battered chair, sharpening his cleaver with deliberate strokes. The sound—steel against steel—was steady, unhurried.“They’l
The Price of Loyalty
The Pit reeked of blood. The stench clung to the walls, soaked into the cracked concrete, and drifted into the street outside.Leon stood at the center, surveying the carnage from the night before. Bodies had been dragged into a corner, covered with tarps, but the metallic tang of iron still hung heavy.His men—Marcus, Darren, and Cole—looked exhausted, but alive. They’d washed the blood from their faces, though their hands still trembled from the memory of blades flashing in the dark.Marcus leaned against a pillar, lighting a cigarette to cover the smell. “Boss, we can’t just leave it like this. The Serpents will come sniffing around again. Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow—but they’ll come.”Leon picked up his cleaver, turning it over in his hands. The edge gleamed even after slicing through bone. He cleaned it with a rag, slow and meticulous.“That’s the point,” Leon said. His grey eyes were steady, unblinking. “Let them come. Let them see what happens when they step onto my s
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