Chapter 9 The Witness

"Sometimes, it takes an incredibly long time to convince someone that what they see is truly the future." "But to expose a lie—" Hubert smirked. "That only takes a single action. A single second." "You must be desperate for me to push you open." He sighed, his voice oddly gentle. "After all, you've been clinging to me for quite some time now." The moment he finished speaking, his hand, which had been resting softly on the wooden frame, suddenly clenched into a fist— And with a sharp motion, he slammed it against the door. A dull, heavy thud echoed through the warehouse. The wooden door seemed stunned, momentarily freezing in place, its trembling ceasing entirely. "I hold grudges. Even if I were to forget everything in this world, I could never forget that there was once a door—that gave me a headache for so long!" "So, from the moment you put me to sleep for six months, from the moment you made my head feel like it was splitting apart, you sealed your fate." "No matter what, I will never open you." As he spoke, Hubert swept his gaze across the warehouse. His eyes landed on something in the corner—an old, rusted axe. Without the slightest hesitation, he grabbed it and swung it down at the wooden door. "I wasted far too much time looking for you." "Ascension?" "Immortality?" "Celestial music?" His voice sounded almost unhinged, a manic edge creeping into his tone. With every word, the axe came down— Thud! Thud! The sound of Hubert hacking at the door echoed through the empty warehouse. Before long, the once-pristine wooden door was covered in deep gashes, battered and broken. And yet, Hubert laughed. He laughed as he kept hacking, until a thin stream of bright red liquid seeped from one of the wounds in the door. From within, a faint, agonized wail whispered through the cracks—so quiet it was almost imperceptible. Deeply unsettling. Yet Hubert paid it no mind. "So, you bleed?" "Funny." "Aren't immortals supposed to be all-powerful? Immortals feel pain too?" Hubert grew increasingly excited, his eyes locked onto the wooden door as if nothing else existed. He hacked away at it with unwavering focus. Until he swung too hard, and the already corroded axe handle snapped with a sharp crack. "Wow, if I'd known this thing was just a door, I would've brought a better axe." Scratching his head, he frowned in frustration—until something seemed to click in his mind. His eyes lit up. Digging through his pocket, he pulled out a lighter, then shrugged off his jacket, tossed it to the ground, and set it ablaze before hurling it onto the wooden door. The anguished wails from within the door grew louder, filled with unmistakable pain. But Hubert? He simply stood there, smiling, thoroughly enjoying the sight before him. Under the flickering firelight, the wooden door burned to ashes. "If you truly reflected the future, you'd never have chosen me to open you." Gazing at the charred remains, Hubert smiled as he murmured his thoughts. But the very next second— "Hubert!!!" A venomous roar erupted from the air above. Beneath the pile of scorched wood, a burst of light suddenly shot out, drilling straight into the center of Hubert's forehead. Those enraged voices were cut off abruptly. Everything fell eerily silent. "Hmm... Was that one of those 'perish together' tactics from novels? Or maybe... a curse?" A dazzling gleam flashed in Hubert's eyes—not fear, but sheer excitement. "If you died that easily, that'd be way too boring. This way, we can play for a long time." He whispered to himself. A faint breeze stirred, causing the overhead warehouse light to sway gently, stretching Hubert's shadow long across the floor. For a fleeting moment, behind his silhouette, a pitch-black door seemed to flicker into existence— Ancient. Enigmatic. But as the light wavered again, the shadowy door vanished without a trace. Hubert stood still, waiting. When he realized he wasn't experiencing any strange side effects—no rotting skin, no sudden afflictions—he sighed, somewhat disappointed, and stepped out of the warehouse. Maybe some things in this world were just coincidences. Or maybe—some people were simply born unlucky. Because just as Hubert walked through the warehouse doors— A group of so-called vicious bandits had just finished untying each other, hopping down from the truck. Meanwhile, outside the factory— The truck driver, along with his hired thugs, cautiously crept back, hoping to check whether Hubert had left. The moment they laid eyes on him stepping out of the warehouse, the air turned strangely tense. "RUN!" The truck driver didn't hesitate for a second. He spun around and bolted, just as fast—if not faster—than when he ran the first time. "We're running too!" The vicious bandits might have been inexperienced, but they weren't outright idiots. Almost instantly, they followed the truck driver's lead, scrambling away in panic, and racing toward the abandoned factory's exit. Maybe it was herd mentality. Or maybe—deep down, they instinctively felt that the disheveled truck driver was still far kinder than Hubert. Because, without even realizing it, they all picked the truck driver's escape route, sprinting after him into the darkness. "Wait, Monkey's still in the truck!" "Who the hell cares about Monkey right now?!" In the blink of an eye, the open space outside was completely deserted. Only the echoes of their frantic voices lingered in the air. Well... From inside the truck, there was still a faint, muffled whimper. "Well, did they just prove that I am who I say I am? Having witnesses really is convenient." Hubert felt a bit confused. He scanned his surroundings, then climbed into the truck, started the engine, and drove off—all in one smooth motion. This place seemed to be on the outskirts. Walking back would be exhausting. Taking a truck would be much more convenient. However, the route he took didn't seem to lead back to his usual Central Street. Instead, he was heading toward East Street. More specifically— Redted Bank, Peace Street, Friendly Road Branch. ****** "Boss, Lunatic is still chasing us! And he's getting closer!" A narrow, desolate path in the wilderness. One of the thugs, hearing the commotion behind them, shouted at the truck driver, his face pale with fear. The truck driver's expression was dark, his mood at its absolute worst. "Boss, we can't keep running like this! What if we just fight him? I don't believe he can kill all of us by himself!" The thug was a ruthless one. His tone carried a thick murderous intent, and his grip tightened around the machete in his hand. "Are you out of your damn mind, or am I?! Do you even know who that guy is? You don't believe he can kill us all, but I sure as hell do!" The truck driver lowered his voice into a furious roar. Another five minutes passed. "Boss, something's wrong! The footsteps... they're getting more chaotic. And there's definitely more than one person!" The last thug in the group had been listening carefully to the sounds behind them. Suddenly, he spoke up. The truck driver froze, then his face twisted as if he had just realized something. He abruptly stopped in his tracks, his mouth twitching, his eyes burning with fury. Anyone who could survive as a boss on the Black Street wasn't an idiot, even if they were just in the outer ranks. A little bit of thinking was all it took to figure out the situation. He had been too rattled by Lunatic's reputation.