Free Web NovelChapter 23: First Action
Ronan left the SunView Mall and took a half-hour bus ride to reach a jewelry shop in another part of the city. It was not that Ronan did not have a goldsmith in the vicinity of his college or his rented apartment. He simply wanted to sell the beads at a place where he was a complete stranger. He did not want to risk running into anyone who might recognize him.
Ronan entered the jewelry shop and approached one of the empty counters.
"How may I help you, sir?" The middle aged man behind the counter asked.
"I want to sell something," Ronan said, taking out one of the gold beads and placing it on the counter towards the man.
"Of course," the man nodded his head. "Of course." ƒreewebɳovel.com
He picked up the bead and started to inspect it, rubbing and scratching the surface. Though Ronan was almost certain that Elicia and Alartun would not have fooled him, he could not help the faint trace of worry that crept into his mind.
"Did you get this as an inheritance, sir?" The man questioned.
"Yes," Ronan lied smoothly. "My grandfather left it for me to use during emergencies. Now, I am going to use it to pay for my education."
"Is there any problem?" Ronan asked, a faint trace of worry bleeding into his voice.
"No, no," the man responded quickly. "The surface of the bead simply appears quite old, so I was just curious. I will just have to check its purity now."
The bead was placed into the karatmeter, and much to Ronan’s relief, the purity of the gold met the standard. Once the weight and purity were confirmed, the price of the bead came out to be one-hundred-fifty-thousand Dunts, as per the current market rate. There was no haggling and bargaining in this regard.
"How would you prefer the payment, sir?" the man asked. "Cash or transfer into your account?"
"Cash," Ronan replied.
The man smiled, and two minutes later, Ronan was holding three bundles of cash in his hands. Fifty-thousand each. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓
Ronan had decided to sell only one of the beads. Right now, he had no pressing need for that much money. This was more than enough to sustain him for over a year.
His average monthly income from his part-time job, including his sales commission, had been around eight-thousand Dunts. And even if he had to sell the other two, he would sell them at separate places. Not at the same shop.
Ronan took another one-hour bus ride back toward his home. It was a little more than 8:00 PM when he stepped down from the bus. He was walking from the bus stop towards his apartment and was crossing a slightly dark alley, when three men suddenly appeared in his path.
Local thugs and gangsters. He had been living in this area for around two years and was well aware of the gangsters roaming the streets, but he had never actually encountered one.
And such was his rotten luck that the very day he had a large sum of cash and two gold beads in his pocket, he was ambushed by these thugs.
His breath caught in his throat, and fear and worry momentarily took over him. But when he remembered the changes he had felt inside his body earlier, he quickly regained some semblance of confidence.
"Listen, kid," the man in the middle, the leader of the trio, said. "Hand over whatever you have in your pockets quickly. Your mobile. Wallet. Cash. Everything."
He was holding a knife in his hand, pointing it directly at Ronan. The other two men were keeping their hands tucked in their pockets with wicked grins on their faces.
"If you try to act smart or do anything stupid," the man grinned, "I would not hesitate to carve a special design on your face with my blade."
"It will be fun," one of the men on the side said with an evil chuckle. "He is quite pretty."
Ronan did not speak. He remained perfectly still. The man in the middle frowned.
"Not moving?" He grunted. "I said take out whatever you have in your pockets."
Ronan did not respond. He did not even move. His eyes remained focused on the three men, waiting for the slightest movement from their side.
"It seems you won’t listen unless you see some blood," the leader said, his face twisting with fury and his voice raging.
He raised his free hand and threw a punch straight at Ronan’s left cheek. He had put his full weight behind it and had not held back in the slightest.
If it had been the Ronan from just a few days ago, the punch would have landed squarely on his face, and his jaw might have been shattered. But this Ronan was different.
The punch coming toward him felt as slow as a crawling ant. It was like watching a movie in slow motion. His hand instinctively moved, catching the incoming strike effortlessly. He barely felt the impact of the punch against his palm. He neither felt any pain, nor was he pushed back an inch.
Seeing his punch being so effortlessly intercepted, an expression of sheer shock appeared on the leader’s face. His two counterparts were no better off. They could not believe their eyes. Who had they just encountered? Had they stumbled upon an expert fighter? This did not seem so.
Ronan applied a bit of force to his grip. Just a little. The man felt his knuckles cracking under the immense pressure, and an earth shattering scream escaped his lips. He howled like a mad man. He was in sheer agony and pain. Ronan finally let go of his hand.
The man stumbled back, clutching his fingers. Fortunately for him, the bones had not broken, but he was still feeling a blinding, lingering and stinging pain, especially in his fingers.
"You!" He snarled, facing Ronan.
Anger completely overtook him, and he lost any semblance of rationality. He raised his knife and came dashing toward Ronan, bringing the blade down in a vicious descending motion targeting Ronan’s arm.
It might not have been a fatal strike, but it still would have given a normal person a grievous injury.
Ronan once again saw everything in perfect slow motion. He raised his left hand and caught the man’s knife wielding wrist mid air in an iron grip.
The man struggled with all his might to free his hand. Unfazed, Ronan raised his other hand and slapped him squarely. It was a stinging, brutal slap across the cheek.
The sheer force of the strike sent the man tumbling backward, and the bright red imprint of Ronan’s hand was left visibly stamped across his face. Done with the leader, he focused on the two lackeys who were almost trembling in fear.
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