[ Detected that the host has used magic. Assessing task conditions... ]

[ Assessment completed. Please check the accumulation history for detailed assessment, and the principal panel for current Hallucination Points (HP) ]

Observing the pop-up messages on his panel, Merrywick knelt down to check the condition of the man pinned under his bloated foot. The head injury had knocked him out, it appeared. Not too far away, he could still see Sommer's clothes sticking out of a corner behind a stack of crates. Neither of these two would make it out of the building, that he could rest assured about. As for Tiffy, the woman, she was hiding in some corner of the large hall, not confident in her ability to escape gunshots, or perhaps just concerned that her attempt at escape may result in the deaths of her colleagues.

Either way, Merrywick had three hostages now, two of them quite close to death, especially Sommer with that screwdriver spearing his waist.

The two who had managed to escape in the meantime would definitely call for help from their brethren. The Stadia wasn't too far away. Merrywick estimated that he would be outnumbered and overpowered within fifteen minutes. A minute more would be a blessing, a minute less a misfortune.

Merrywick grabbed the unconscious man by the neck and lifted him. Carrying him like a kitten, he walked over towards Sommer, who sensed his approach and tried to crawl away, unsuccessfully. 

Both thugs were soon dragged over to the open metal door, where Merrywick tied them up together with some ropes and sat on a tool nearby, eyes on the road outside. 

From here, he could observe both inside and outside the building. As it turned out, the walls of the building were thick enough to suppress a large portion of the sound of gunshots. People were going about their business in the street unperturbed. 

His confiscated comcell was back on his wrist. With a few touches, he sent a message to the most recent ID added to his contact list. 

If his previous exchange with Earl Declan hadn't borne fruit, then this message might. 

Done with the preparations, he began to examine the system panel. 

[ Daily Task: Duel a mage of equal rank or above for 12 turns ( minimum ) ]

> Completion: 1/12 

"So only my turns count? That guy shot four bullets imbued with magic at me. But I used just one spell throughout the battle..." 

Musing to himself, he moved on to the HP counter. 

[ Total HP: 01/12 ]

That wasn't enough to be used for anything in the system. But Merrywick still checked the accumulation history of that 1 point, imprinting the procedures in his memory properly.

[ Accumulation History ]

[ Date: 07-27-97 ]

> +1 HP from punishing a Rank-1 mage for using magic ]

Merrywick glanced at the unconscious, bloodied man. For a moment, he was tempted to kill him, which would earn him 3 more Hallucination Points. But killing hostages didn't seem like a great idea, especially a mage whose life would definitely be prized by the gang behind him. 

No, there was a better way.

Merrywick concentrated his thoughts on sensing the mana in the surroundings, eyes glued on the crushed nose of his unconscious hostage. 

Aiming the mana towards his face, Merrywick uttered a basic healing spell meant to deal with wounds caused by compound fractures.

"Katharos-Temu-Zizu!"

A red burst of dim light shot toward the man's face. Immediately, his body began to twitch uncontrollably as the blood streaming out of his mouth and nose began to fade away into nothingness. Within seconds, all the blood was cleaned up, leaving behind a stump of flesh, crushed cartilage and mangled skin.  

The damaged flesh began to wriggle like worms, as if something from inside was trying to push its way out. Bits and pieces of bone fragments cut their way out of the mound.

It was undoubtedly painful, but not enough to stimulate the man to wake up. 

By the time the effects of the spell were over, Merrywick felt a throbbing pain in his head. Mana poisoning, the lifelong opponent of every mage, had made itself known, signaling that Merrywick was about to reach his limits of being spiritually connected to mana. 

As a mage below rank-1, it wasn't abnormal for him to reach his limits after casting just two spells in a row.

But he had gotten what he wanted. He had successfully cast a new spell and witnessed its effects first-hand. The face of his test subject was now fully devoid of useless cartilage and bone fragments. His nasal bone was still cracked, but its edges now contained hints of growing new cartilage. A very shallow layer of skin covered the new nose, leaving room for further growth. He'd need at least a dozen more healing spells to fully return his nose back to its natural state.

Merrywick recalled the descriptions of the spell. A good healer could use this type of spells to perfectly regrow any limb. His spell didn't even seem to have reached 20% of its potential. But as a first attempt, Merrywick was just happy that he could give effect to the spell, no matter how weak.

Merrywick's focus shifted toward the other hostage, Sommer. The man gazed back at him, face pale.

"Don't worry. That spell would just speed up your death," Merrywick said. "For now, pray that you survive without my help."

Then his focus returned to the revolver he had snatched from his first mage opponent. 

"No wonder I never heard this guy casting spells," he muttered, fascinated by the weapon.

He hadn't expected to face a magical artifact on his very first duel. The revolver's entire body was filled with tiny engravings, definitely runic, the most common method of refining ordinary objects into magical artifacts. His opponent hadn't needed to chant incantations because the runes acted as the main medium of mana stimulation and guidance. Just aim, channel mana into the gun, and shoot!

Such a marvelous creation! As he gripped it and aimed it in different directions, Merrywick felt a sense of relish! He wanted one!

"Hey, Sommer, my friend, where do I buy one of these?" he said, nudging the injured fellow.

Sommer glared at him for a moment before relenting, knowing that his situation right now was delicate. He couldn't afford any negative consequences of noncompliance.

"You can buy the real sets from Magetown. But Longman's gun isn't from there. He crafted it himself."

"Oh? A talent!" Merrywick exclaimed. "A lone mage amidst the dregs of a nation, toiling away at crafting his own magical artifact from scratch. I like that. I like that a lot! So...this gun isn't licensed, eh? I like that even more!"

The scowl on Sommer's face grew more pronounced as he got the hint. 

"You can buy a better one both legally and illegally. Why steal this one?"

"Firstly, because it's already in my hand, which makes stealing it quite convenient. And secondly, I was thinking of filing criminal charges against him with assault and battery charges, but since I like this gun, I'm treating it as compensation for dropping the idea. What do you say?"

Sommer looked like he had a lot to say, but he decided to keep his mouth shut and conserve his energy. His bleeding wound wasn't helping. So Merrywick turned toward Longman, his fallen opponent, and tried to wake him up for his opinion.

A splash of cold water and several kicks finally did the trick. The Dazed Mr. Longman was presented with a simple question.

"I'm keeping this. Any objections?"

"...."

Longman rapidly blinked and tried to touch his swollen face. He could see the small stump of bone and skin where his nose used to be. 

"Wha-... What happened... What happened to my face?!"

Merrywick really wanted to answer that, but at that moment, the sounds of vehicles came from outside. 

Merrywick peeked out of the doorway and found the thugs who had escaped leading more than a dozen people towards the building, most of them armed rather primitively. Metal chains, brass knuckles, iron rods, machetes...

The street immediately grew quiet as the ordinary folks began to leave in a hurry. Shopkeepers closed down the flaps over their stalls. Doors and windows of buildings nearby were being shut one after one.

Instead of entering inside, the thugs surrounded the property, as if making sure that Merrywick couldn't escape through a backdoor.

"What are they waiting for, Sommer?" He said, curious.

"Baron, probably. They're not stupid enough to enter a building with a disabled Voidcoil and a free mage," Sommer answered in a low voice. 

"Sad, they have no confidence in Mr. Longman's capability as a mage," Merrywick said in a teasing tone, which seemed to hit a nerve in him.

Sure enough, five minutes later, the two-seater that had transported Merrywick to this building came into view once again in the distance.

Baron stepped out of the vehicle as it stopped, but he wasn't the only one. Another familiar face popped out from the backseat. Merrywick silently waved a hand at Mr. Lehmann, wondering why the man looked so livid.

While Baron kept his distance from building, Lehmann didn't seem to care. He was probably an accomplished mage himself, judging by the confidence with which he strode over and grabbed a tool to sit a dozen feet away from the doorway. Even seeing Merrywick's enhanced physique up close didn't phase him. 

"How did you, a commoner, convince an Earl to make a sacrifice that big?" Lehmann said without waiting for Merrywick to speak, appearing equally disturbed and curious. 

Merrywick checked his comcell and began to crack up. Had Lord Declan been spooked to such a degree? All he had told the man in the last message was that he actually had a Gold-rank System. Then he had added the real hint: to investigate why the Church Of Sunbreaker has hidden this crucial information.

Sure enough, in a world where deities were breathing down on every human's neck, the mere shadow of an unknown power could move men as stubborn as mountains.