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Chapter 7: Hell’s Kitchen
🕑 Added 2025-10-07 15:35:09 +0000 UTC
Lucas was once again speechless. Did this system have a screw loose? His template was supposed to be Clive Rosfield from Final Fantasy XVI, yet somehow Dante from Devil May Cry kept creeping in.
[Ding~ Accepting supernatural commissions is one of a demon hunter's core duties. It will also increase the host's reputation.]
"Reputation my ass! System, do you not realize that the biggest threat in the Marvel universe is S.H.I.E.L.D.? If I open some flashy 'Devil Hunter Agency,' the best I can hope for is that they don't skin me alive and dissect me in a lab!"
Lucas cursed under his breath. This damn system seemed hellbent on getting him killed.
He wanted to lay low, grind quietly, and build up power step by step. But no—the system wanted him to open a giant neon sign screaming Superpowered Guy Right Here, Come Get Me, Fury!
[Ding~ The strongest demon hunter cannot be defeated by a mere minor threat.]
"I… you… go… to hell…"
Lucas lost it, ranting at the system like a pro keyboard warrior.
[Ding~ Host has verbally insulted the system. All rewards will now be revoked, and binding terminated. The system will search for a new candidate.]
"Daddy, I was wrong!! It was a moment of weakness, I swear! I've reflected deeply on my mistakes—I repent, I reform, I'll never do it again!"
Lucas instantly dropped to his knees in submission. Not because he was spineless—no, he just believed in following his heart. And right now, his heart screamed Don't lose the system!
[Ding~ Considering the host has realized his mistake, this system shall be merciful. However, the agency is non-negotiable. You are grown now, and must face the storms of life yourself. Relying on the system for everything will stunt your growth.]
Lucas almost rolled his eyes out of his skull. Face the storms of life? Buddy, you ARE the storm!
But since resistance was pointless, he had no choice but to accept it. Besides, he needed to hunt down the people behind George's shooting anyway. The "Devil May Cry" office would just be a nice bonus. Owning property in the middle of Manhattan? That was every New Yorker's dream.
He was nearly of age anyway. In the States, most young adults moved out once they hit eighteen—sometimes out of pride, sometimes just to prove independence. Lucas might as well do the same.
Hospitals needed someone to stay with George, so Helen volunteered to remain behind. But the two younger brothers at home still needed care, so she sent Lucas and Gwen back to the house.
The two kids were gnawing on cereal when Lucas and Gwen arrived. Lucas quickly cooked them a proper meal, then sent them off to bed.
"Lucas… do you think Dad's really going to be okay?" Gwen asked, worry in her eyes. She was terrified that George might never wake up.
"Don't worry. He'll be fine. He's been through worse as a cop and survived every time. This won't be any different."
Lucas comforted her until she dozed off on the sofa. After carrying her to bed, he returned to his own room. There, he changed into dark clothes and pulled out a pumpkin mask Gwen had given him for Halloween—the only decent face-covering he had. A cloth or surgical mask would be too easy to rip off. The pumpkin covered his entire head.
When night finally deepened, Lucas slipped out the window to avoid waking anyone.
With his boosted physical strength, it didn't take him long to reach Hell's Kitchen. The place loomed before him like a monster's gaping maw, ready to swallow him whole.
He summoned the Ultima Weapon and crept cautiously toward the heart of the district.
At night, the streets were nearly empty—save for the occasional gang member or some poor soul forced to travel late. Despite its reputation, the area was still brightly lit. Crime central or not, people still lived here.
"Damn it! Where the hell are those punks? If they don't get back soon, I'll beat their asses raw!"
A group of thugs rounded a corner, cursing loudly. Their eyes immediately fell on Lucas and the glowing sword in his hand.
"Hey, kid. Out here all alone at this hour, huh? What's that you got there? Let us take a look."
One thug reached for the blade.
Shing—!
A flash of white. His hand flew through the air, spraying blood.
"AAAAHHH!!" The thug collapsed, clutching the bloody stump, screaming in agony.
"Where's the gang that fought the NYPD today?" Lucas asked coldly, not even sparing him a glance.
"You—you bastard, you just chopped his hand off! Do you even know who we are?!" another thug shouted.
Shing—!
The Ultima Weapon cleaved down again. The loudmouth dropped in two clean halves, dead before he could scream.
The remaining punks fell to the ground in terror. One of them even pissed himself, the stench spreading across the alley.
"P-please! Don't kill me!"
Lucas leveled his blade at him, eyes glinting with icy resolve.
"Where are the ones who fought the police?"
The thug stammered nonsense, unable to answer. Lucas whipped the flat of the blade across his face. Teeth scattered across the ground.
"Clear enough now? Speak!"
The point of the sword hovered at his throat, the cold steel radiating a killing chill that made the thug shiver uncontrollably.
