Lone Cultivator In Another World

"Damn! With you, senior agent, we don't mind leaving the Kevlar at home!"

"Don't jest. I'm too old for this."

"Are you sure? Let's go in hot like before, work off the frustration!"

Graves considered the proposal for a second but refused, delegating the task to the scarred man. He went back to try and explain the situation to the students and parents. On his way to the square, he was interrupted by his secretary, a graceful woman who once led Michael and Jones to Graves's office.

"Sir. We have people in critical condition."

"Yes, Michael North, I remember."

"Not just him. There has been a fire. Several parents and school staff who tried to extinguish it have severe burns."

"Origin?" tête-à-tête with his assistant, Graves displayed an alarmed expression.

"Accidental, I checked it myself. What is happening outside the grounds?"

"Some terrorists launched an armed assault. I swear, this day just keeps getting better."

Graves looked at a crowd of people in physical and emotional distress. Those who couldn't stand already numbered more than ten.

Was he really too old? The man didn't believe it himself, even though with each passing year his skills dulled a little, he could tell. But now, the men he was responsible for required his help. Graves g.r.o.a.n.e.d, "Rosa, dear, let's take a walk outside."

The lady nodded and turned to the school gates.

"No, no! It's too noisy there. We'll go through the back. Just the two of us."

Without a moment's surprise, Rosa nodded again and hurried towards the principal's cottage. Graves followed her, weighing the pros and cons of his decision.

After being forced to patch up one of his secret passages just a few days ago, the old principal was unwilling to let anyone know about another one. He considered the school to be his dominion, one he had absolute control over. If the scarred man's soldiers learned about the passages, he would have to kill them. And perhaps it was the old age talking, but Graves disliked unnecessary deaths.

'Damn it, Kamyshov. Your whole family is full of troublemakers.' The principal was confident Kamyshov didn't get the hooligans onto the school grounds. His son did. And Graves took p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e in exhausting the Russian's little blackmail stash with threats to expel the son and fire the father.

Another incident involving either of the two would probably be their last. As soon as Kamyshov has no leg to stand on, Graves will throw him out faster than the man can say "I'm sorry."

When the principal reached his office, his secretary was already there, armed to the teeth. She offered him a pistol which he took readily.

"Which backdoor, sir?"

"Let's not go too far. Biology laboratory."

The two arrived at the building and entered the restricted area that only the vetoed researchers could use. There, Graves chose a door labeled "Stock room" and entered a code on an electronic lock. After a few seconds of loud clattering, the door opened.

Anyone who didn't enter the code old agent used, would see a passage to their left. However, in front of Graves and Rosa was a fork, with a door to their right appearing out of nowhere.

There was a small panic room painted white. It was empty except for a hatch on the floor that opened a passage out of the school grounds.

"What do we know about the assailants, sir?" asked the lady as they climbed down a ladder and made their way through the tunnel.

"Not much, but let's see what we can figure out. They know enough not to try and scale the perimeter walls or blow them up. One place EIS can be accessed through is the gate which they would have stormed successfully if not for my beefed-up guards. So, they likely have connections to someone who knows the school security system, but they didn't get the news about the extra men.

They chose the gentle approach instead of blowing everything up, meaning they're not aiming to kill, but to take hostages. Another thing, the gentlemen at the gates didn't seem too worried. The assailants' training and weapons are as expected. Anything else, their leader, true objective, mastermind – I don't know."

Rosa just nodded again, prepared to follow her old mentor's every order. Jones wanted to establish ties with the next generation's best and brightest through mutual benefit? He had a lot to learn from the principal.

Graves led the way in climbing a ladder at their destination, opened a hatch and helped Rosa who carried the extra firearm up. A tiny room, barely wide enough for a person to lie down. Another door, another code. The two exited the wall that surrounded the school, that tiny room situated right inside it.

"Now, dear, be careful. Capture one if you can, but don't worry too much about it."

The woman nodded.

Graves departed towards the militants, carrying a single gun, still dressed in a fine suit. Rosa followed him with her eyes and then left in a different direction.

She went around the sounds of shooting, intending to hit the enemy in the back. As the woman reached one of the buildings located close to the grounds, she finally saw one of the terrorists.

He was dressed in military attire, standard camouflage colors that looked out of place in the streets. A vest shielded his torso, but his head was unprotected. On his waist was a utility belt with a large hunting knife and what looked like a few grenades.

'Lookout,' Rosa decided and took aim. However, a moment later she smiled and lowered her rifle. Out of nowhere, Graves appeared behind the man's back, took his knife from the belt and slit the man's throat like a true professional.

The two continued on their way in the same formation. They passed two shops and a hairdresser's when sounds came from a candy store nearby. Before Rosa could move, Graves had already disappeared.

The militants occupied a small store to serve them as a field hospital and headquarters. Through a broken window, the woman managed to count four wounded m.o.a.ning lightly on the floor and three men sitting in chairs behind a checkout. All of them had rifles or pistols close by.

Rosa cursed at her mentor who preferred to work alone. In such situations, their coordination was crucial in dealing with multiple opponents. However, he always did his own thing and made her worry.

Bang! Bang! Two men fell down from their seats, each launching a spray of blood in the air. The third man, the one who spoke sharp, barking phrases into a transmitter, was smart enough to sit still with his hands raised high.

One of the injured reached for his gun and immediately caught a bullet in the arm. Rosa didn't have her mentor's experience and incomparable skills, but she did her part well. The other three realized they still had a chance to save their lives, so they demonstratively crawled away from their weapons and pushed them away with their feet.

Rosa was still aiming at them through a window when Graves came out from behind a row of shelves. He put one more bullet in each of the fallen militants' heads and smiled at the last one sitting behind the checkout.

"Speak. Who hired you?"

The militant leader barked something Rosa couldn't make out. Graves smiled and barked back in the same language, "Who hired you?"

"It… it was Mr. Fluffy," answered the terrorist. Seeing the old agent's frown, he lamented, "It is true. A man contacted us and paid us good money to attack the school. He introduced himself as Mr. Fluffy. No other name."

"What was your objective?"

"Use the comet as distraction to kidnap and later get ransom for some children. That is all."

"That can't be it. What else?" he pointed his weapon at the militant.

The man hesitated before asking, "Please, we will surrender to the police. We would have left earlier if our employer hadn't promised us a fortune. I will tell you everything if you spare my men."

"Speak first, negotiate later."

"Mister, we only had to kidnap one girl specifically," the militant sighed, "I don't know why she is special and I didn't ask. Mr. Fluffy only gave me a name…"

After hearing the name, Graves coughed, surprised. If Rosa was any less well-trained, she would've sought to look her mentor in the eyes. She knew what that name meant for him, and not only because he was fond of children.

"See, we have a problem. That girl," muttered Graves, "is my granddaughter."

He shot the militant in the forehead and joined Rosa in finishing off the others. Now that the matter was over and done with, his shoulders drooped slightly, and he transformed back into the gentleman who accompanied his protégé in the tunnel or smiled at kids while strolling through the park. His commanding and assertive presence disappeared like it was never there.

"Sir?"

"Let's take another passage back. Without a leader, these men will scatter before we return on the grounds. Then, we'll send young Michael and the others to the hospital."

"But, your granddaughter…"

"Not today, dear," Graves stretched with a cat-like smile, "I'll check my contacts later and see who this Mr. Fluffy might be. Instead, look at yourself! Dusty, dirty, sweaty. Is this what I taught you?"

The old man straightened his pristine suit and carefully stepped over the puddles of blood.

.