Mason’s Revenge

Chapter 4: Preparations

The era of Mythic Items would begin in a few months, and Mason didn’t have the luxury of wasting time on these thugs. He needed to focus on the Crypts and securing his own Mythic Item before others beat him to it. But first, he had to deal with these lowlifes and tie up loose ends.

The men, oblivious to Mason’s change in attitude, scoffed and sneered at him.

“What the hell is he talking about? Pay? Compensation?”

“Mason Monroe’s lost his damn mind. Looks like we need to remind him how things work.”

“Hey, idiot! You think you can talk big when you don’t even know how to fight?”

Their insults rang out as they charged at Mason, fully convinced they could overpower him. To them, Mason was still the same weakling they had exploited for years. But Mason clicked his tongue, watching them come at him.

“I expected this,” he muttered. “You leave me no choice.”

With lightning speed, Mason moved. He jabbed his fingers into a vital point on the first man’s clavicle, sending him crumpling to the ground with a pained groan. Before the others could react, Mason delivered a sharp elbow to the second man’s neck, causing him to stumble back, gasping for air. He grabbed the third man by the head and slammed his knee into the man’s face, the sickening crack of bone echoing in the alley.

“Uuuuuuuuugh!”

The remaining two men froze, their jaws hanging open in shock. They hadn’t even seen Mason’s movements. Every strike had been precise, hitting vital points with brutal efficiency.

“Boss!” one of the men cried, his voice shaking.

“W-what the hell? You didn’t know how to fight before!” the other stammered, backing away.

Mason smirked. They had no idea what he’d been through. In his previous life, he had learned to fight for survival, training in martial arts like Jeet Kune Do and mastering combat techniques essential for navigating the deadly world of Mythic Items.

Another thug, swinging a club, went flying as Mason disarmed him with ease, sending the weapon spinning into the air before catching it mid-fall. He twirled the club in his hand, feeling how light his body was compared to his worn-out, sickly self from before.

‘So much easier like this,’ he thought, pleased with his younger, healthier body.

The men stared in disbelief as Mason casually handled the club. One charged at him in a blind rage, but Mason was ready. He swung the club, landing a solid blow to the man’s jaw, the crack of bone unmistakable.

“Ugh!”

The man crumpled, and Mason aimed for the next one, striking him in the legs. The club connected with the side of the man’s knee, sending him to the ground with a howl of pain. Mason snapped the club in half, turning the broken edge into a sharp point and pressing it against the man’s stomach.

“You bastard!” the man shrieked.

Mason ignored the cries, instead delivering a final punch to the man’s face, sending him reeling.

“Aaaaah! My eye!”

Within minutes, all three men were on the ground, writhing in pain. Mason stood over them, not even breaking a sweat. He turned his attention to Vizas, their leader, who was red-faced and breathing heavily.

“You ungrateful bastard!” Vizas spat. “After everything we did for you, this is how you repay us? Looks like I’ll have to kill you myself to teach you a lesson.”

Mason raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. ‘Kindness? Raising me?’ he thought. Vizas was delusional if he believed he had ever done anything but exploit Mason.

Vizas, enraged, pulled out a knife from his jacket—a fancy, brass knife with an intricately carved dog on the handle. The other thugs looked panicked at the sight of it.

“Boss, maybe using a knife right outside a police station isn’t the best idea…”

“Shut up! A knife isn’t a real knife until it tastes blood!” Vizas shouted, brandishing the blade with wild eyes.

Mason narrowed his eyes at the weapon. He had planned to simply disarm Vizas and end this quickly, but something about the knife caught his attention.

‘That aura…’

It wasn’t just any knife. Most people would see an ordinary, if not elaborate, blade. But Mason knew better. His instincts screamed at him, and he recognized the faint but unmistakable energy radiating from it.

‘This… this is a Mythic Item.’

For a moment, Mason’s grin widened. What a stroke of luck. This wasn’t just a fight anymore—it was an opportunity.

‘Why does he have that?’

Mason’s instincts screamed that something was off. It wasn’t the right time for Mythic Items to start appearing. But as he thought about it, he understood. Mythic Items had their own way of finding a master. Some slipped out of Crypts, blending in with ordinary objects. Art collections were the perfect hiding spot for an item like this.

‘Not that it matters.’

In the hands of a regular person like Vizas, a Mythic Item was as good as useless.

Vizas didn’t know that, though. He charged forward, knife raised high, his face twisted in rage.

“You’re dead today, Mason! I’ll make sure of it!”

Mason almost laughed. The man’s threats were more amusing than frightening.

Before Vizas could even attempt to strike, Mason twisted his arm behind his back, forcing a shriek out of him that echoed through the alley.

“Ugh! You...!”

Ignoring Vizas's groans, Mason took the knife from him with ease. Vizas's eyes went wide in shock, his voice trembling.

“Put that down! Do you have any idea how much that knife is worth? It’s an expensive piece, you idiot!”

Mason’s smirk spread across his face, a mixture of amusement and disbelief.

“Expensive piece? You really have no clue what you’re dealing with, do you?”

In his past life, Mason had handled more Mythic Items than he could count. Vizas couldn’t even begin to understand the power he held, dismissing it as a mere collectible.

‘He’d never grasp the true value of it, not now, not ever.’

But that worked in Mason’s favor.

This was the first Mythic Item Mason had encountered since coming back twenty years into the past, and he couldn’t wait to unlock its potential.

“Get him!” one of the thugs shouted, trying to rally the others.

Mason activated the Mythic Item in his hand, its hidden power surging through him as the thugs closed in.

The began to heat up, and the people around him seemed to glow red. Only Mason could see it, but he understood immediately.

‘It’s showing me their insides?’

As he shifted the knife, he could make out their bones, as if he were looking through an x-ray.

Vizas, oblivious to this, thought Mason was just fooling around. “Hey, you bastard! Drop the knife!” he yelled, picking up a brick and rushing forward.

“You think you’re tough now? You picked up a few moves or something?”

Mason wore a sadistic grin, "Why don't you come see for yourself?"