Thug and Idol: 10X Rewards Second Identity System

With the plan laid out, Tristan led his team forward. Damien's team stayed close behind, but far enough away to cover Tristan's back if someone came from outside.

With how narrow the entrance to the basement was, and the way it was positioned below a short staircase, there's been no point in bringing in too many people at once. Especially since Tristan planned to teargas everything inside.

'Ten people will probably be a huge overkill for this raid. But if it won't… Yeah. With what Gospel can do—how do I know he's not as dangerous in combat as I am? He also has a system, and I still don't know what it does!'Nôv(el)B\\jnn

The basement door was closed on a deadbolt from the inside—Tristan spotted the deadbolt immediately through the crack between the door and its frame. He also saw hints of light from the other side.

The metal door was so weathered and banged up that this crack was a couple of millimeters wide. If not for his earplugs, Tristan probably could've heard something from the other side. The helmet and the respirator weren't helping him to navigate, either.

But his eyesight was still sharp, and everybody on his team had flashlights to pair with their handguns. They carried rifles, too, but 'just in case'.

Tristan brought out his set of lockpicks, pulled out a long, thin metal hook, and stuck it into the door crack. Using the hook to push the deadbolt away wasn't complicated enough to count as lockpicking at all.

Tristan put the lockpicks away and pushed the door open. He felt the screech of the hinges through the vibrations in the metal.

On the other side of the door was a narrow hallway that turned to the side. Yellow light—like from a lamp—was coming from behind the corner. It moved a moment later, shifting rapidly.

'Someone must've moved the source. A flashlight?'

Tristan took a teargas grenade in one hand, a handgun in another, and lunged toward the corner. Without even glancing to the other side, Tristan threw his grenade.

A second later, two madmen in blue hoods appeared from behind the corner.

Time slowed down for Tristan, letting him examine the pair of men in detail.

They looked like actual cultists, straight out of some B-movie. They were dressed almost ordinarily, save from the blue hoods that covered their faces and the amount of amulets and symbols pinned or sewn on their clothing. The symbols looked vaguely esoteric.

Without the hoods, these men would have passed for ordinary people, maybe ones which were too much into horoscopes and such. Considering that Frederic wasn't reported as wearing a face-concealing hood before he entered, Tristan imagined they put on hoods at the entrance, in an attempt for anonymity.

The cultists had average body composition, not that of trained people, but they had pistols they were now aiming at Tristan.

They clearly weren't good shooters, and their eyes were already teary from the gas, but they were only two steps away from Tristan.

'If the rest of the bunch are like this, I could do it all alone.'

He fixed one with a glare so piercing it went straight through the man's eyes to sever his spinal cord—for a couple of seconds. The next instant, Tristan aimed his gun and shot the second fanatic to the arm which held a gun.

The time began moving with normal speed. The show man fell, clutching his arm like he was dying even though nothing serious was hit.

Tristan hit the second man to the temple with the butt of his pistol, then pressed his foot on the first one's windpipe until he fell unconscious.

Cutout pushed through the hallway behind Tristan to put handcuffs on both. Tristan nodded at him, glanced at the rest of the team trailing behind, and kept moving.

By this time, the teargas had to have filled the room to the brink. If not for Tristan and his team's protective gear, they'd be barely able to breathe, especially in a place ventilated as poorly as this.

Even with the respirator, Tristan felt a sour hint of the teargas' smell.

He turned the corner, prepared to meet more guns aimed at him, or hopefully, just a dozen of panicking, sobbing and vomiting people who couldn't aim well even before they became blind from the gas.

Instead, he was met with an outright strange scene.

The hallway he stood in ended a couple of meters later, opening to a larger room. The path there had a doorway with hinges, but no door—maybe it had never been installed.

On the other side, ten people stood in a circle around the eleventh.

Each of them wore clothing similar to that of the first two cultists, and had some sort of weapon in their hand, except for the eleventh person. Mostly knives, half a dozen handguns.

The light in the room came from several torchlights placed on the floor. Another torchlight was held by the eleventh person, who was pointing it at Tristan almost like a spear.

All these people should've been crying and vomiting at once. The teargas in the room was visible as smoke-like haze. But they were just standing, as if prepared to repel whoever entered the room.

And the eleventh person—Gospel, it had to be—was the reason. He was saying something, even though Tristan couldn't hear it. His hood moved from his breath, and he was gesticulating actively.

Together with it, a powerful aura was spreading around him. An almost physical thing—mystical thing—that filled people next to Gospel with their own inner glow.

It was very much like what Tristan could evoke, but at the same time, very different. He could never share his attributes with other people—only inspire them to work at their best, not more than that.

'This is bad—but they don't look fully powered-up yet… I have to take Gospel out, now!'

With that thought, Tristan made a step forward for a better line of sight and fired past the circle of 'apostles'.