Choosen by Goddess Hela, I became the Silent Death.

Four years passed

Ash stood shirtless beneath the morning sun, muscles rippling under the light, every inch carved from effort, pain, and relentless training. The All-Seer's quests had pushed him to the edge, and beyond it—again, and again.

His aura was different now. Not just power, his presence was deadly. He was 18 and the pact with Rivenhart was over.

"Today, I walk free. Away from that wretched house... away from everything they made me swallow. I wonder how Licia is... and Mother Marianna. I owe them a visit—soon."

Just as the thought crossed his mind, a dagger thunked into the earth at his feet.

Ash blinked, then glanced up.

Seated casually on a high branch, Veilthorn twirled another dagger between her fingers. A smirk danced on her lips.

"Hey, boss," she called, eyes gleaming. "You owe me a fight"

Ash chuckled, the corner of his mouth lifting.

"Confident words for someone who still can't land a hit without blinking behind me."

She grinned, flipping down from the tree in one fluid motion, blades ready.

The forest braced for what was coming next.

Ash reached into the darkness and pulled his sword free—not from a sheath, but from shadow itself. He lowered his stance. Mana surged from his feet, sweeping the ground clean with a gust of wind as the pressure around him thickened.

Then he moved—lightning wrapped in flesh.

His mastery of the Lightbringer Sword Style was unmistakable.

Every strike flowed like scripture, every dodges a dance with death. But Veilthorn was no longer a fledgling either—

Veilstep blinked her across the battlefield in bursts of silence and smoke, her blades slicing at blind angles.

From the sidelines, Fenrir—now full-sized and lounging in the grass—let out a low whistle.

"Damn," he muttered. "They're demons."

Suddenly, Veilthorn vanished—and reappeared behind Ash.

Her daggers struck. Ash twisted, parrying just in time—though her blade still grazed his shoulder.

"Not bad," Ash muttered.

Then, he vanished.

Veilthorn blinked. "Wait—where did he—?"

Too late.

Ash emerged from her own shadow, grabbing her wrist mid-strike and flipping her onto the ground with ease.

Shadowstep.A new technique, his creation, was born from his growing bond with darkness.

Ash offered her a hand as she lay in the grass, stunned.

"I can use other people's shadows now," he said calmly. "Thanks for helping me test it."

Veilthorn took his hand, eyes wide with admiration.

"You really are unfair, Lord Ash."

He smirked, blood still trailing from his shoulder.

"Get stronger, Veilthorn. I'll need people beside me, not behind me."

She nodded with a look of determination.

Back to the Present — (Referencing Chapter One)

As soon as the three brothers strutted away, laughing and full of empty pride, Ash slowly got back on his feet.

His fist clenched.His smile twisted into something cold.

"In the name of the Lightbringers... and by the will of Goddess Hela—""—House Rivenhart falls tonight."

His eyes glowed with a searing red hue—power surging, rage controlled but unforgiving.

From the shadows behind him, Veilthorn stepped forward—silent, composed, but seething. She had been there the whole time, presence masked, watching every insult, every humiliation.

"Lord Ash," she said, voice tight. "I know I'm just your apprentice... but I must ask—why didn't you let me stomp their rotten skulls right there?"

Ash turned slightly, the smirk on his face sharp enough to cut glass.

"Because it wasn't the right time, Veil.""But tonight? We feast on vengeance."

Veilthorn's eyes lit up with bloodlust. She bowed once, hand over her heart.

"Understood. I'll get ready for a Massacre tonight."

And just like that, she vanished into the air, a whisper swallowed by the wind.

Ash exhaled slowly, looking toward the manor in the distance.

"Forgive me, Licia," he murmured. "Tonight, I need you to be my bait."

He shoved both hands into his coat pockets and walked away from the storehouse—his steps calm, but the storm already forming behind him.

Elsewhere, in the Rivenhart estate...

The estate was ablaze with celebration. Alcazar had pulled out all the stops—silver chalices clinked, candles flickered, music played loud and proud.Tonight marked the triumphant return of his sons from the Royal Academy—the heirs of his legacy.

Far away from the grand banquet hall, Licia had just returned from her village. She was quietly cleaning Ash's room, humming to herself, her heart full and content.

She picked up his old cloak from the chair, dusted it off with care, and turned around, expecting to see him standing there, like always.

But it wasn't Ash.

Three shadows loomed in the doorway.

Three figures—tall, smirking, radiating menace.

Licia froze. The warmth drained from her face.

"W-Who...?"

The door slowly creaked shut behind them with a click.

Screams echoed from Ash's old room.

Licia's voice — trembling, terrified — pleaded for mercy."Please… no—let me go!"

Varrick, the eldest of the Rivenhart brothers, dragged her by the hair, sneering.

"Come on now," he spat, breath reeking of wine.

"We're in the mood for celebration tonight. The academy was dry of fun — but now we're home. And you?"

"You're going to entertain us, maid."

The other two brothers, Gly and Thorne, hovered behind him, eyes gleaming with sick amusement. Their laughter was low, animalistic, as they closed in.

Licia backed away, clutching her torn dress, chest heaving — not in seduction, but in panic.

"Don't… please—Lord Varrick," she sobbed. "Don't do this... I've served this house loyally. I beg of you."

But they didn't listen.

Varrick leaned in close, his voice a growl in her ear.

"Forget that bastard Ash. You're ours now."

Just as Varrick reached toward her, a sharp schlick cut through the air.

Blood erupted from his arms.

He froze, blinking in disbelief as both his wrists hit the floor with soft, wet thuds.

For a second, he didn't feel anything. His brain struggled to catch up. Then the pain hit — white-hot and unbearable.

"AaaaAAARGH!" he screamed, staggering back, clutching at stumps where his hands had been.

But outside the room? Silence.

Ash had sealed the room with a sound barrier. No one would hear them. No one would come.

The brothers looked at a figure behind the maid in horror.

Behind Licia, Ash lowered his sword, dripping with judgment

In a flash, Ash drove his sword straight through Varrick's open mouth, silencing him in the most poetic way imaginable. The blade punched clean through, embedding itself into the wall behind.

At the same moment, Veilthorn blinked behind the other two brothers, her daggers cracking hard against their skulls. They dropped like sacks of grain — not dead, just blissfully unconscious and out of the scene.

Licia stood frozen, panic rising in her chest. The blood, the violence, the speed of it all — it was overwhelming.

Ash quickly turned to her, eyes softening. He pulled off his coat and gently wrapped it around her shoulders, then embraced her tightly.

"You're safe now," he murmured. "I won't let anyone hurt you again."

Behind them, Varrick gagged, blood leaking from the corners of his mouth. His eyes were wild.

"H-how… did you get so strong?" he slurred. "You… you bastard… You were nothing!"

Ash looked over his shoulder, eyes glowing red, not with magic, but with rage buried so deep it had turned cold.

Just then, a strange sound—like a pop of compressed air—echoed in the room.

Black smoke swirled near Ash's feet, and out of it Fenrir appeared, massive and snarling… mid-sentence.

"What in the nine hells is going on—? Wait. Why am I here?!"

Ash blinked.

"Dude. I was just about to ask the same thing."

Both stared at each other, confused. Fenrir looked around at the carnage, at the sword lodged in Varrick's face, and at the unconscious bodies.

"Seriously," Fenrir grumbled, sniffing the air. "I was taking a nap. A very good nap. Why did your vengeance energy drag me into this mess?!"

Ash just shrugged. "I didn't call you."

"Oh great," Fenrir muttered. "Now my wolf instincts are auto-summoning me every time you get emotional. Wonderful."

Between the bickerings of the mentor and student, Licia smiled,

She looked at Ash, eyes shimmering with pride and pain."I knew you'd come," she whispered, voice trembling. "You always do."

She clung to him like he was both salvation and storm.

Fenrir, for once, said nothing.He simply watched the woman who had raised his protégé. His ears drooped, and with an uncharacteristic silence, the great wolf lay down on the bloodstained floor.

Ash gently pulled Licia back just enough to look into her face. His hands trembled slightly as they cupped her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice low, ashamed. "I was late. Even though… even though I knew this was going to happen."

Licia's expression faltered. "What do you mean?"

Ash looked away, unable to meet her eyes.

"They told me," he muttered. "In the storehouse. While they were beating me. What they planned to do."

Licia's breath caught, realisation dawning.

"I see…" she said quietly, her tone shifting—gentle, but laced with something sharper."You needed me vulnerable. To lure them in. The perfect bait, right?"

Ash said nothing. His silence said everything.

She shook her head, letting out a bitter laugh through her tears. "Still playing chess, even when lives are on the line."

Before Ash could respond—

The temperature plummeted.

Frost crept along the walls.The shadows in the room thickened, twisting and swirling with unnatural grace.And then—she ascended.

Goddess Hela. In her full form.

Dark. Divine. Beautiful beyond comprehension.Her presence did not simply enter the room—it swallowed it.