[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-dawn-walker":3,"chapter-dawn-walker-dawn-walker-chapter-147":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"english","Dawn Walker",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},1836804,2443,"Chapter 147: Fight Back VII","dawn-walker-chapter-147",147,"\u003Cp>---\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>All dressed like professionals who wanted to look like thugs. It was a common trick. Dress like street trash so witnesses assumed street trash.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raka grunted softly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He hooked his hands under the first man’s shoulders and dragged him deeper into the alley’s shadow, toward a section where the stone floor sloped into an old drainage mouth.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He did not rush. Rushing created noise. Noise created attention.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He lined the bodies up near the drainage mouth, stacked the way he had stacked sacks as a child. Unromantic. Efficient.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then he pulled out a second tool.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A folded canvas sheet, thick and ugly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He spread it on the ground.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He rolled the bodies onto it one by one.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He wrapped them tight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not out of respect.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Out of practicality.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The canvas kept blood from smearing across the route.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Blood trails were the easiest thing for city guards to follow when they pretended they cared.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raka tied the canvas with cord, three knots each, the kind of knots you could undo quickly if you had to dump weight fast.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He paused and looked at the alley mouth again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Still quiet.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now the route.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He could not carry four bodies through main streets. Even in Null, that drew the wrong kind of curiosity. He needed his men.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But calling them directly here would also draw attention.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So he did what he did best.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He used the underground like it was his own organ system.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raka reached into his pocket and took out a communicating stone. Small. Dull. Easy to hide. He whispered into it without moving his lips much.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Bring the cart,\" he murmured. \"Two men. No uniforms. Lower lane. Three turns from Lantern Stall. Now.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The stone warmed faintly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then cooled.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He did not say names. Names were liabilities.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He waited by working.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>While the cart came, he erased the simplest traces.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He poured a small pouch of gray powder onto the stone where blood was thickest. The powder was not magic, not fully. It was lime mixed with ground ash and a cheap odor-killing herb. It soaked liquid fast.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raka ground it into the stone with his boot.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The blood darkened, then dulled, then became a dirty stain like old market sludge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He scattered a second powder after that.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This one was a common street trick.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Dirt from the main lane.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It had footprints already. Random patterns. It blended.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He threw it lightly over the area where the fight had happened.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now the ground looked like a normal alley that had seen a hundred normal ugly things.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then he dealt with the one trace he could not hide with powder.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The smell.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Blood had a smell. Fear had a smell. Predation had a smell.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And anything that smelled like a predator could make other predators curious.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raka pulled a small bottle from his belt and uncorked it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fermented fish oil.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Disgusting. Cheap. Effective.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He splashed it near the alley mouth and along the walls.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Instantly, the air turned foul enough to make a normal person gag.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Perfect.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No curious drunk would step into this alley now unless he was too drunk to care.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And a man too drunk to care was too drunk to remember details.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A soft wheel creak reached his ears.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raka’s eyes narrowed slightly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The cart.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It came from the lower lane, exactly where it should. A simple wooden pushcart, the kind used for hauling vegetables. Two men pushed it, faces half-hidden, posture casual.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raka recognized them anyway.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not by face.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>By movement.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>By discipline.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His men stopped at the alley mouth and wrinkled their noses at the fish stink.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>One muttered, \"That smell is....\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raka’s gaze flicked to him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The man shut up.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raka spoke quietly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Load the bodies.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They did.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No questions.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They lifted the wrapped canvas bundles and stacked them under a layer of real vegetables. Wilted cabbage. Rotten turnips. Things that smelled worse than any blood.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The cart became a moving insult to the senses.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Perfect camouflage.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raka placed the wrapped sword bundle under the vegetables too.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then he walked alongside the cart as they pushed it away, not heading up toward the market, but down into the older service lanes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Slik City had veins.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Old drainage tunnels. Merchant waste routes. Basement stairwells. Hidden doors that every gang used and every guard pretended not to know existed because everyone got paid.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raka led them to a rusted iron door half-covered by stacked crates. The crates looked abandoned. They were not.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He tapped the door in a specific pattern.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A slot opened. A single eye looked out.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raka’s men froze, ready.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raka spoke calmly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Waste run,\" he said. \"Four sacks.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The eye blinked once.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The door opened.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Inside, a cramped passage sloped downward.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raka guided the cart through.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The air changed instantly. Damp. Old. Smelling of stone and stagnant water.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The passage widened into a tunnel where faint lanterns hung at intervals. This was not a sewer.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was worse.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was the city’s forgotten under-layer, the place where undesirables were moved when powerful people did not want paperwork.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At a junction, two more men waited.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not Raka’s men.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Neutral handlers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They wore plain clothes, faces blank, hands calloused.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They did not ask questions.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They did not want to know the story.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They only wanted payment.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raka pulled a pouch of chaos stones and tossed it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The handler caught it, weighed it by feel, and nodded.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"River drop,\" the handler said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That meant the bodies would not be burned.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They would be dumped into the old runoff channel that fed into the outer river, weighted, carried away. The city would call it animal work or accident.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raka nodded once.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Do it clean,\" he said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The handler gave him a look that said, clean costs extra.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raka tossed a second smaller pouch.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The handler’s expression softened by half a degree.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Clean,\" he agreed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raka watched the handlers take the cart bundles, strip away the vegetables, and lift the wrapped bodies onto a narrow sled.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No ceremony.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Just motion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raka turned away before the last bundle disappeared deeper into the tunnel.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He did not like watching disposal. It made him think too much.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thinking too much made him remember he had been one of those bodies once, metaphorically, tossed away by people with better names.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now he was the man paying for clean.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He returned up through the passage with his two men, leaving the cart behind. The neutral handlers would recycle it. Nothing linked back to him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When they emerged into the night air, the city felt brighter, louder, more fake.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raka stopped under a broken lantern and took off his gloves. He tossed them into a gutter and crushed them under his boot.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Leather held traces.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He did not keep traces.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>One of his men hesitated, then asked carefully, \"Should we tell the men what we saw.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raka’s eyes flicked to him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He did not say Sekhmet’s name out loud. Names echoed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He answered with a rule instead.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"You saw nothing,\" Raka said. \"You smelled rotten vegetables. You carried trash. You went home.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The man swallowed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Yes,\" he said.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raka nodded once.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then, alone, he turned his body toward a different lane.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Because the cleanup was not complete.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Bodies were one problem.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Information was another.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The broker had arranged those assassins. The broker had taken payment. The broker had thought he was safe behind deniability.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raka’s lips curved slightly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Deniability worked both ways.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He walked toward the lower lanes where gamblers drank and talked too much. He had a stone in his pocket that could find a mouth.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And now he had new orders. Continue the investigation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Iron House.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Dickon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Everything.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Raka moved into the city like he belonged to its ugliness.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Because he did.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And because now, for the first time in his life, his ugliness served a master who actually mattered.\u003C\u002Fp>",1309,"2026-06-09T06:31:32.937Z",1,"novelbin.me","7de176fa002b1a8ceb2f0f957cd764cc38367ef0af6615f53d519af25ea49fe6","dawn-walker-chapter-148","dawn-walker-chapter-146",359,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fdawn-walker-cover.jpg"]