Bad Born Blood
Chapter 175

Chapter 175

Gabriel and I stopped by one of the many weapons dealers scattered across Border City.

The shopkeeper, who had been lounging around, sprang to his feet the moment he saw us. Judging by our rough demeanor, he must have assumed we were serious customers.

"Gabriel, pick one that fits your hand."

I handed the shopkeeper a credit chip and gestured toward Gabriel with my chin.

"You’re really letting me pick anything? Where the hell did you find a sponsor? Weren’t you out for twelve years?"

Gabriel asked as he ran his fingers over the firearms mounted on the wall. Despite living like a wreck for years, his hands were still deft when handling guns. It seemed he had taken his training as a bodyguard seriously.

"It’s a long story."

I didn’t bother giving a lengthy explanation. Gabriel, too, was more focused on choosing a weapon for now. The fire of vengeance burned fiercely in his eyes.

’He’s got his drive back.’

The lethargic man I had seen before was gone, and the Gabriel I knew had resurfaced—helped along by his clear sense of purpose and the stimulant in his system.

"You really found the bastard who killed Shiren?"

"I’m almost certain. The problem is, he’s not someone you can take down easily."

"Hmm. In that case, there might be retaliation later, so I’ll be the one to carry out the hit. You just guide me and stay out of it."

Gabriel spun a shotgun in one hand as he spoke. He locked in the magazine and tested his aim. He still remembered how to check a firearm properly.

"I’ll leave the revenge to you... but if things go south, you won’t be able to handle it alone. You’re not even at full strength yet."

"Even in my current state, I can still take out the kind of scum who prey on women and children."

The shopkeeper, who had been listening in on our conversation, grinned. Rubbing his hands together, he pulled a case out of a cupboard.

"Gentlemen, if you’re planning a personal revenge, I’d like to recommend this. It’s a neurotoxin called ’Virus.’ It only heightens pain receptors, making the victim experience agony like nothing else in this world. You can coat a blade with it or inject it using specialized rounds."

The shopkeeper opened the case. Inside, several ampoules of murky liquid glowed with an ominous green hue.

"Ha, Luka. Did you hear that? This stuff sounds amazing. Virus, huh?"

Gabriel, who had been examining melee weapons, walked over to the shopkeeper.

"That said, it does come at a price. It’s purely a luxury item for revenge. Not very useful for torture, either. The victim won’t last more than thirty minutes before dying from the overdose."

The shopkeeper glanced at me.

The man knew how to do business. He had picked up on the words revenge and sponsor from my conversation with Gabriel.

"Don’t worry about the price. Give me one."

I didn’t even bother asking how much it cost. I simply placed an extra credit chip on the table and slid it toward the shopkeeper.

"Oh my, thank you very much. As a special service, I’ll throw in the melee weapons the big customer here picked out."

Giving away melee weapons for free... that meant the toxin must be absurdly expensive. I tensed slightly, wondering if Jafa would call me about this. Guess that was proof I still had a conscience.

Clack.

Gabriel picked out a pistol and a shotgun. Then he strapped a machete and a dagger to his waist and thigh.

"Much better."

I curled one side of my lips as I looked at the armed Gabriel.

"I actually feel alive again."

Gabriel tested his weapons in the underground shooting range of the gun shop. His movements were sluggish from withdrawal and the aftereffects of his long absence, but he wasn’t completely useless.

"Damn it, this is a mess."

Still, he didn’t seem happy with the way his body was responding.

"It doesn’t matter. You can rehab later. We’ll be pressing the barrel right against his face anyway."

"Can’t argue with that."

We left the gun shop. I glanced at Gabriel. He looked more alive than he had before.

"Gabriel, I’ll ask about what happened to you later. Right now, let’s focus on your revenge."

This was a debt I was letting him owe me—just like when I had covered his medical expenses all those years ago.

Once this was over, Gabriel would be more loyal to me than anyone. No matter the circumstances, he wouldn’t betray me.

"I’ve got a lot of questions for you too. I never imagined I’d find you in Border City. I thought you’d live out the rest of your days in that depressing mansion, stuck in a wheelchair, and then just die there."

"You thought I was dead?"

"Giselle told me you were. She said they just hadn’t made an official announcement yet. Your name still carried some weight for the Custoria family."

That made sense. Giselle must have told the people around her that I was dead to smuggle me out to Border City.

But looking into the past could wait. There was something more urgent in front of me.

As we walked, I explained the situation to Gabriel. The data I shared appeared on his terminal screen.

"...His name is Ernest Borel. He’s the grandson of Alex Borel, one of Border City’s founders. He’s a pretty big deal around here."

"A politician’s family, huh? Killing that bastard will cause a huge backlash, won’t it?"

"That’s why we need to kidnap him quietly and take him somewhere else. He works as a secretary under his father. Right now, he’s not an important figure, so security won’t be too tight. And since he needs privacy to satisfy his depraved urges, he probably won’t keep his guards close either."

I sent Gabriel Ernest Borel’s schedule. The time slots we could target glowed yellow.

Gabriel clenched his teeth as he read through Ernest Borel’s personal details. Then his expression twisted into something sorrowful, and his eyes welled up slightly.

"Luka, why does someone born into a good family end up doing things like this? That bastard doesn’t need to kill to survive. Why... why does he kill people? And weaker ones at that. Does he get pleasure from it? What’s so enjoyable about murder? People aren’t supposed to do this. I just... I don’t understand."

Gabriel’s voice wavered toward the end. I stayed silent, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

...Because I do understand Ernest Borel. He can’t feel excitement or joy from anything other than murder. It’s the only thing that makes him feel alive, and to prove his existence, he keeps on killing.

If someone like that were a soldier, a mercenary, or a warrior, it wouldn’t be as much of a problem. In certain professions, that kind of trait can even be an asset. But an ordinary civilian shouldn’t possess that kind of nature.

* * *

Gabriel and I observed Ernest Borel’s residence from an alleyway. It was a building where Border City’s bureaucrats lived in clusters. The reason for that was likely security.

In fact, the area was incredibly well-patrolled. Instead of private security, actual Bellato Federation police officers were making their rounds. Their equipment was top-tier—full-body combat suits and heavy firearms.

"Luka, are you sure he’ll come out if we wait here? Phew..."

Gabriel inserted a prescribed ampoule into a syringe and injected it into his neck. Only then did he seem to perk up, grinning slightly.

"Based on his murder cycle, he should be out hunting for a victim around this time. He’ll be moving alone tonight. And once this job is done, you’re cutting off all substances—no drugs, no alcohol. Rehab comes first."

"I know. I’ll do it. But for now, I don’t have a choice."

I narrowed my eyes at him for a moment before shifting my gaze away.

’No matter how corrupt the upper class and high-ranking officials of a nation may be... they don’t openly tolerate thrill-killing.’

Ernest Borel’s serial murders were anything but justifiable. If exposed, they could even end his family’s political career. That meant he would have to hunt alone, wandering the streets in search of prey.

We kept repositioning ourselves, waiting for Ernest Borel to emerge.

By dusk, a man in workout clothes stepped out of the building. His hood was pulled low over his face, obscuring his features, but I recognized him instantly—his physique and walking habits were enough.

Ernest Borel exchanged casual greetings with the building’s security and passing patrol officers before jogging off as if he were out for exercise.

"Gabriel, stick to the plan."

"W-What? H-He’s already out? Where?! Where is he?!"

Gabriel’s hands trembled violently as he clutched his pistol. His face twisted into a strange expression, somewhere between laughter and tears.

I frowned.

"If you try to snipe him with your pathetic skills, you’ll lose your only chance for revenge."

"O-Okay, I wasn’t g-gonna shoot him, alright?"

"Move quickly."

I urged Gabriel forward while keeping my eyes on Ernest Borel. If we hesitated, he would soon disappear into the crowd.

"Luka... thanks for e-everything. I-I mean it."

Despite his wavering voice, Gabriel still had enough pride left to struggle through a proper thank you.

Without even looking at him, I waved him off. A moment later, Gabriel’s presence vanished.

’Now it begins.’

I quickened my pace, trailing Ernest Borel.

He was a young man, just past his teenage years. His frame was slim but not sickly, and his well-proportioned features gave him an air of intelligence. His academic record was excellent, and his reputation among his peers was just as polished.

’He originally wanted to be an artist.’

I recalled an interview he had given. He had claimed that witnessing the chaos and social issues of Border City had inspired him to pursue politics instead of art. A typical piece of PR nonsense.

’Still, the part about wanting to be an artist was probably true.’

Traces of that desire surfaced in his posts. A skilled liar blends truth with deception.

’Ernest isn’t someone trained for combat.’

He ran in short bursts, frequently stopping to catch his breath. That made tailing him easy. I kept my movements subtle, keeping my body hidden whenever necessary.

Ernest entered a busier district. From this point on, the area’s security gradually declined. Leaning against a wall, he scanned the passersby with slow, deliberate eyes.

’He’s looking for prey.’

Ernest’s pupils were moving rapidly. If he wanted to satisfy his urges, he had to target the weak.

Srrrk.

I, too, approached Ernest.

A hunter is at his most vulnerable when he locks onto his prey. That’s because all of his senses become fixated in that direction.

Thud.

I leaned my back against the wall as I moved beside Ernest. He glanced at me before pulling his hood down even further.

Srrrk.

Ernest lifted himself off the wall, trying to leave.

Crack!

I stomped on his foot. Ernest let out a short groan and glared at me.

The crowd flowed past us like a stream, brushing against us as they went.

I had grown accustomed to Border City. People here didn’t care about others. Unless someone outright stabbed and killed another person, no one would even bother looking.

"Put your back against the wall again before I completely crush that foot."

"You..."

Ernest started to reach into his pocket. I sighed and grabbed his arm.

"Don’t bother with that nonsense. If it comes down to it, I can stab your throat right here and disappear. You won’t even have time to scream. You wanna leave this world in just one second?"

"What do you want?"

Ernest followed my instructions and leaned back against the wall. His pupils darted anxiously. He was probably thinking a million things at once.

"Well, what reason could a guy like me have for targeting a rich kid? I don’t wanna be on the run for the rest of my life because I pissed off some big-shot family. I just wanna grab a few bucks and get out of Border City. Ah-ah, don’t put your hands in your pockets. Keep them out where I can see them and walk slowly, following my lead."

"...You’ve got some guts, messing with me even though you know who I am."

"I’m leaving Border City today anyway. More than that, you should’ve expected something like this the moment you set foot in a place like this. What kind of nerve made you come here alone without any guards? Since when was Border City ever known for good security?"

I sneered. Ernest didn’t respond.

’No way he’d admit he was wandering around to satisfy his urge to kill.’

I tapped the tip of my foot against Ernest’s shin, signaling him to move.