random123456

Chapter 227: Shrouded Whisper

After finishing their meal, Valeria and Lucavion stepped outside the warm, bustling inn and into the cool evening air of Andelheim. The quiet calm that followed sharpened Valeria's focus, her mind already brimming with thoughts of what Lucavion had hinted at earlier.

He started down the cobblestone path, leading her through the dimly lit streets, where the excitement of the tournament still lingered in every shadow and murmured conversation they passed. Valeria watched him, her expression guarded, though the determination in her eyes hinted at her own drive to uncover whatever truth he was nudging her toward.

"Now, what?" Valeria's voice cut through the stillness as she followed Lucavion down the cobblestone path. Now that they'd finished their meal, his promised time to act had arrived, and she was eager to know what exactly he had in mind.

Lucavion glanced back at her, his smile shifting, growing colder, almost chilling. "Just follow me," he said, his voice low, uncharacteristically without a trace of teasing. "You'll see soon enough."

Without waiting for her response, he moved ahead, slipping deeper into the dimly lit alleyways, his footsteps quiet and sure. Valeria hesitated only for a moment, then followed, her curiosity bubbling just beneath the surface.

'What could he be planning?'

she wondered, her eyes fixed on his back as he guided her through Andelheim's shadowy streets.

'And what exactly are we going to do? He's never this serious…'

Yet somehow, seeing this colder, focused side of him, Valeria felt a strange sense of confidence. Against all reason, whenever Lucavion got serious like this, she couldn't help but feel like he was… dependable. Reliable, even.

The street they walked narrowed, the noises of the festival-like atmosphere slowly fading away until the only sounds were the distant hum of voices and the echo of their footsteps. Valeria's mind raced with questions, but she held them back, unwilling to disturb the silence between them. There was something about his composure, his quiet intensity, that told her not to interrupt.

She studied him as they walked, noting the way his gaze stayed forward, unwavering, scanning their surroundings as if every shadow held something important. She'd seen him bold, reckless, and infuriatingly smug. But this—this was different. This Lucavion carried an edge that cut through her usual skepticism.

After a few moments, he finally spoke, his voice low and calm. "The boy we saw in the tournament," he began, his eyes still fixed forward, "he isn't there by choice, Valeria. And he isn't the only one."

"That much was obvious," she replied, a frown darkening her face. "There was also the girl—she seemed about his age, and… they even moved alike." She paused, a disturbing realization settling over her. It wasn't just their appearance, with the same dark fur and lean, agile build, but something in the way they acted, almost like they were bound by the same invisible chains. "You think she's in the same situation?"

Lucavion nodded, his gaze forward. "People like them tend to come in groups. Those who get captured… it's usually an entire village, especially with beastkin. Their villages are tight-knit. When raiders or slavers come for them, they don't just take one—they take all they can get."

Valeria felt a pang of understanding, her hand unconsciously tightening on the hilt of her sword. She had never thought of herself as naïve, but hearing it laid out so plainly—the organized, systematic way lives were stolen—it was as horrifying as it was clear. She glanced back at Lucavion, noting the subtle tension in his shoulders. This was the side of him that, despite herself, she trusted, a side that hinted at an understanding of the cruelty of the world she had yet to fully grasp.

They walked in silence until Lucavion suddenly raised a hand, signaling her to stop. "We're here," he murmured, glancing at her with a serious expression.

Valeria's eyes widened slightly as she took in their surroundings. It was an unassuming alley, sandwiched between two modest buildings with dim, yellowing lights glowing from nearby windows. This street looked no different from the dozens they'd passed earlier. She glanced around, searching for a sign of anything unusual, but the area seemed almost disappointingly ordinary.

'How did he find this place?'

she wondered, a ripple of admiration mingling with her suspicion.

As if sensing her silent question, Lucavion offered a faint smile, though his eyes remained steely. He tilted his head towards a small, iron-barred window, nearly hidden beneath thick vines trailing from above. "Sometimes," he said quietly, "the places that look the most ordinary hide the darkest secrets."

Top of Form

Bottom of Form

"That still doesn't answer my question." She replied, understanding that he had mostly expected her question inside.

"Heh….Not everything needs to be revealed. Everyone has their own ways, isn't that the case?" Lucavion replied as he readied himself.

Seeing that the was not going to reply at all, she decided to ditch the question as well. This guy was like that, and she had already started getting used to it.

Valeria followed Lucavion's lead, her senses on high alert. The narrow street held an unnatural quiet, almost as if it were holding its breath, and the dimly lit buildings seemed to watch them as they passed. Lucavion moved without hesitation, each step leading them closer to an unassuming inn tucked between two shadowed buildings.

Inside, the place bore a faint resemblance to the Iron Matron but lacked its warmth and familiarity. The tables were scattered with patrons, some huddled in close conversation, others nursing drinks alone, yet there was an undeniable shift in the atmosphere as they entered. Valeria could feel it—a change in the air, a prickling awareness as several pairs of eyes shifted in their direction.

'Why does everyone look so on edge?'

she wondered, her hand instinctively moving toward her sword. This was an inn; strangers should be a common sight. But the way these patrons looked at them made her feel as if they'd broken an unspoken rule.

Before she could think further, Lucavion had already made his way to the bar.

The bartender's eyes narrowed as Lucavion approached, his expression shifting to something cold and unwelcoming. His voice, when he finally spoke, was gruff and edged with thinly veiled disdain. "What'll it be?"

Lucavion didn't appear the least bit perturbed. He flashed his usual easy smile and leaned a little closer his tone light. "A simple drink, whatever's fresh on tap."

The bartender's eyes lingered on him for a moment, as if sizing him up, before he gave a slight, almost reluctant nod. Without another word, he turned and began preparing the drink, his movements stiff and mechanical. Valeria could feel the thick tension in the air, the prickling of silent hostility surrounding them from all corners of the room. This was not a place that welcomed strangers, and they had very clearly made themselves the exception tonight.

She moved to stand beside Lucavion, her posture controlled, her own gaze sweeping the room. She could tell Lucavion was up to something, but it was still unclear to her what that might be. Why would he bring her to this inn, of all places, simply to sit and drink in hostile silence?

Her curiosity finally broke through, and as Lucavion caught her eye, he gave her that familiar, mischievous smile—the one that always seemed to imply he knew more than he let on.

"What are we doing here?" she asked in a low voice, the question more an expression of her wariness than anything else.

Lucavion chuckled softly, leaning in slightly as if sharing a secret. "Patience, Valeria. Sometimes you have to sit back, enjoy a drink, and let things reveal themselves."

She arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. "In this case, 'things' appear to be the glares from half the room."

He merely shrugged, his smirk never faltering. "Glares are harmless enough," he murmured, "if you know how to ignore them." He raised his glass as the bartender slid it across the counter, casting a wry glance around the room. "Besides," he added quietly, "our purpose here will make itself clear soon enough."

Valeria's fingers hovered near her sword, her body tensed but her mind reluctantly began to trust his lead. This side of Lucavion was one she was starting to recognize—the subtle confidence, the air of certainty that suggested he was always two steps ahead.

'Why does it feel like that? I don't understand?'

Yet, she could do nothing about it. Top of Form

"Here…..Two cups of Rentrak Extract."

As their drinks arrived, a sudden movement caught Valeria's eye. A man stepped forward from the shadows of the room, his build slight and a bit malnourished, his face marked by a deep scar that ran from his brow to his jaw. Behind him trailed a handful of rough-looking men, each one sporting the telltale demeanor of street thugs. Their clothes were worn and patched, and their expressions were a mixture of sneers and cold calculation.

The scarred man stopped a few paces away from them, his gaze fixed on Lucavion with a hint of mockery. "Well, well," he drawled, his voice low and rough. "What brings the two of you here? We have never seen the two of you here before." He smirked, looking Lucavion and Valeria up and down with a disdainful sneer.

Valeria's hand instinctively drifted closer to her sword, but Lucavion remained unfazed. He took a slow sip of his drink and then smirked.

"What else could it be? We are here to meet with the

Shrouded Whisper

."

And the moment that name left his mouth, the entire inn fell silent.

Chapter 228: Shrouded Whisper (2)

The moment Lucavion uttered the name

Shrouded Whisper

, the entire inn fell into an eerie silence. Conversations ceased, and every eye turned to them, expressions flickering between surprise, suspicion, and even a hint of fear. The change in atmosphere was as swift as it was absolute, the once-gruff murmurs replaced by an almost palpable tension that hung thick in the air.

Valeria glanced around, trying to make sense of the sudden shift, but the name was unfamiliar to her.

Shrouded Whisper

—the words sounded ominous, cloaked in a secrecy that seemed to ripple through every corner of the room. Whatever it was, it wasn't a name she'd ever heard before, and she felt an uncomfortable prickling along her spine. It was as if Lucavion had spoken a code she didn't understand, an invitation into a world to which she didn't belong.

'What does that even mean?

' she thought, frustration bubbling beneath her confusion. She felt a sense of alienation here, a growing awareness that this wasn't just any gathering place. Her hand instinctively tightened near her sword, her pulse quickening as she observed the faces around them, each one a silent witness to something she couldn't grasp.

The scarred man's sneer faded, replaced by a wary scowl. He hesitated, his gaze flicking between Lucavion and the rest of the inn as if weighing his options. He opened his mouth, but it took him a moment to speak, the earlier confidence replaced by a tinge of uncertainty.

"What do you mean by Shrouded Whisper?"

"What do I mean?"

Valeria's senses sharpened, catching the low murmur of voices, and the subtle shift in the crowd's stance. She could feel the hostility thickening, a coiled readiness in the air that made it clear: they wouldn't be leaving this place in peace.

Not that it bothered her. If anything, the rising tension brought her a strange calm. Facing threats was part of her duty, and she'd never shied away from conflict when it was necessary. Her grip tightened on her sword, her gaze flitting around, assessing each of the men surrounding them.

"I meant what I said, but people like you tend to understand things in a different way."

–SWOOSH! SPURT!

But before she could prepare herself further, a flash of movement burst before her eyes. She barely registered the swiftness of it when a hot, red spray filled the air. Her eyes widened, and she instinctively turned towards the source, her gaze falling upon the scarred man as he crumpled, a gaping, clean hole in his neck.

For a heartbeat, the room was frozen. Then, an outraged roar shattered the silence. "You! BASTARD!" Another man's voice cut through, laced with raw fury, and the already tense crowd surged forward, bloodlust gleaming in their eyes.

Valeria didn't hesitate. Her sword was out in an instant, her stance shifting to brace herself as she cast a quick, stunned glance at Lucavion. He stood there, calm and composed, blood still dripping from his blade, his expression unreadable but steady, as if this was all part of his plan.

"Lucavion," she hissed, but he didn't look her way. Instead, he gave a short, sharp command.

"Get ready, Valeria. Things are about to get messy."

The moment she heard Lucavion's command, Valeria scoffed, feeling a reluctant surge of energy rise within her. She had no idea what he had gotten them into, but now that their blades were drawn and the crowd was closing in with clear intent, there was no backing down.

Her grip tightened around her sword, her expression settling into one of controlled focus

. 'I don't know what game you're playing here, Lucavion,

' she thought bitterly,

'but I won't be some fool just dragged along.'

The thug closest to her lunged forward, his blade flashing in the dim light. With practiced ease, Valeria sidestepped his attack, bringing her sword down in a fluid, powerful arc.

The thug staggered back, clutching his wounded arm, and she heard Lucavion chuckle beside her, unfazed as he deflected another attack with graceful precision.

"Try to keep up," he muttered, sidestepping as his own opponent charged, only to meet Lucavion's swift, calculated strike.

Valeria huffed, eyeing the small band of thugs as they began to circle them. "Just like you to drag me into this mess without warning," she muttered, her voice edged with irritation as she deflected another blow. She had to admit, though, that these weren't exactly formidable opponents; their moves were rough, wild, and lacking any real strategy. It was as if these men relied solely on brute strength rather than skill.

Valeria felt her pulse quicken, though she hardly registered her body's readiness. Their surroundings crackled with dark energy, alive with the presence of so many ready to fight—and she knew this was no training ground, no controlled skirmish. Each figure pressing toward them was armed and unrelenting, all with the raw intent to kill.

CLANK!

She parried the following first man's strike, her sword deflecting his heavy blow, but an uncharacteristic hesitation flickered in her movements. Her training as a knight had always focused on disabling, on subduing enemies rather than truly harming them, and the distinction now felt jarring.

Each swing she avoided, every slice she redirected, reminded her of this unfamiliar ground. Even with the instinctual response bred into her through years of knighthood, there was an uncertainty, a small pulse of reluctance each time she lifted her blade.

Valeria moved with precision, her focus narrowing as she deflected each oncoming attack. The first thug lunged at her with a heavy swing, but she sidestepped, her Zweihander slicing through the air to meet his unguarded shoulder.

He stumbled back, clutching his wound as she moved on without a second glance.

Another opponent closed in, his knife aimed for her side, but Valeria's training took over. She twisted her body, bringing her sword down in a quick, clean arc.

The thug barely had time to react as her blade grazed his arm, sending him reeling. Without pause, she blocked a third thug's reckless strike, redirecting it and slashing his arm, forcing him to retreat.

But then the fourth man stepped forward, a sneer twisting his face as he grabbed a mug from a nearby table. With a quick flick of his wrist, he threw the drink at her, the liquid splattering across her face. Valeria's vision blurred for a crucial second, her instinct kicking in too late to block the incoming blow.

SLASH!

Pain shot through her abdomen as his blade found its mark, cutting through her armor and mana just enough to leave a sharp, stinging wound.

She gritted her teeth, the adrenaline dulling the pain as she wiped her face, regaining her focus. Ignoring the discomfort, she stepped forward, driving her sword down into the man's leg, her blade slicing through muscle as he collapsed with a howl.

"Hisssss-!"

Valeria took a steadying breath, but there was no time to pause. Another thug charged at her, his face twisted with anger as he swung his club in a wide arc. She parried, her movements swift, but each clash took its toll. The encounters left her with deepening cuts and bruises—a gash along her shoulder, a scrape across her arm, and a painful bruise along her ribs. Her body ached with each movement, her breathing growing heavier as the skirmish wore on.

By the time the sixth opponent stepped forward, she could feel the weight of her injuries, her body protesting with each strike.

'Tch….'

Valeria's grip tightened on her sword as pain flared through her body, her earlier wounds pulsing with each rapid beat of her heart.

But there was no option to relent. She adjusted her stance, bracing herself for the next wave.

Suddenly, she sensed movement from her left—the thug she'd already injured was advancing, a maddened gleam in his eyes as he charged her again.

Blood seeped through the wound she'd left on him, yet he lunged with renewed fury, his face twisted in a grimace of hatred. His voice rang out, raw with rage. "Die!"

He struck wildly, his blade aiming low to throw her off balance, but Valeria parried the blow, her own blade biting into his arm again. He staggered back, his weapon falling from his hand as he gripped his bleeding wound. She turned back toward Lucavion, expecting him to handle the next attacker, only to find him locked in combat with two men who had managed to trap him between them.

'Another one!'

Her senses prickled as she felt movement to her right. She spun, but it was too late. A blade glinted in the dim light, and her eyes widened in a moment of cold realization—she wouldn't be able to deflect in time.

'No!'

The attacker's strike bore down on her, sharp and unyielding, and in a split second, she braced herself for the pain.

But just before the blade met her flesh, a flash of steel swept across her vision, intercepting the strike. The clang of metal rang out as Lucavion's sword caught her assailant's blade mid-swing, stopping it an inch from her side.

And then without even looking her way, he put more pressure on his ankle and forced his body to rotate 90 degrees.

SLASH!

Following that, his estoc, which was glowing black suddenly slashed the man's neck.

SPURT!

With blood spurting all across.

Chapter 229: Shrouded Whisper (3)

With Lucavion's blade still dripping with the blood of the fallen thug, Valeria finally took a moment to glance around—and what she saw made her stomach twist.

Bodies lay strewn across the inn, limbs sprawled and weapons clutched in lifeless hands, their faces frozen in expressions of fury, fear, or surprise. Blood pooled around them in the dark, spreading stains, painting the wooden floor in deep reds. The once-bustling inn had fallen into an eerie silence, broken only by the faint, metallic scent of blood filling the air.

Her chest tightened the sheer brutality of the scene crashing over her like a wave. These men—each one who had pressed in on them with intent to kill—now lay dead at her feet.

All of them,

she realized, her pulse quickening. She hadn't been trained for this—hadn't imagined the aftermath of battle to look like

this.

Every fight she'd known before had purpose, and rules; there were always survivors, and always a sense of restraint. But here…

Her stomach churned, and she took a step back, nausea rising within her. Her grip loosened slightly on her sword as the weight of it all settled over her.

Everyone is dead.

Her gaze landed on Lucavion, who stood amidst the carnage, his expression unbothered, his eyes scanning the room with an ease that felt almost unnatural. He wiped his blade, still faintly glowing with the dark energy he wielded, onto the edge of his coat, seeming almost detached, as if this violence were merely routine.

"Lucavion…" Her voice was barely a whisper, her throat tight as she struggled to keep the nausea down. She didn't know what to say, couldn't find the words.

How could he be so calm?

Lucavion's gaze sharpened, his eyes void of their usual humor. A coldness lingered in his expression as he took in her shocked face, her hand still trembling on the hilt of her sword.

"When you fight people like this, mercy is a weakness, Valeria," he said, his tone blunt, unyielding. "Show them an ounce of leniency, and it's your life you're gambling. If you'd gone for the kill from the start, maybe you wouldn't have been injured."

Her grip on her sword faltered, his words striking deeper than the wounds she'd received. It was true—she hadn't fought to kill. She'd parried, dodged, only harming when necessary, trying to keep her strikes restrained. And yet… these men had shown no such restraint. She hadn't anticipated this ruthlessness, this absolute disregard for life.

But she couldn't find the words to respond. Something heavy sat in her chest, the realization mingling with nausea until it felt as if her body rejected every part of this scene, every truth embedded in Lucavion's words.

As she stared at him, though, a strange feeling crept over her. Her vision grew unsteady, twisting and blurring at the edges. Lucavion's face began to shift, contorting in ways that didn't make sense. For a split second, his expression twisted, darker somehow, more distant—and then the entire room seemed to warp.

The bodies lying around them shifted in her vision, as if stirred by a phantom wind. A horrific thought clawed its way up her mind—

were they moving?

Her pulse thundered as she watched, frozen, her breath catching as she saw the lifeless forms seem to twitch, their limbs jerking, expressions of hatred returning to their blood-stained faces. It was as if death hadn't been enough to silence them, as if they were ready to rise again and drag her into the dark.

"No…" she whispered, her voice faint as her vision swayed.

The scene before Valeria twisted further, her vision swimming in a grotesque haze. The faces of the fallen twisted into expressions of vengeance, their mouths opening in silent screams, eyes filled with fury.

She could feel the room closing in on her, the weight of it pressing down like an iron grip around her chest. Her heart hammered against her ribs, each beat amplifying the unreal horror unfurling before her.

The bodies—cold and lifeless only moments before—were now crawling, dragging themselves closer, some with torn limbs reaching out toward her. She staggered back, her pulse quickening in a frantic, desperate rhythm. Her gaze darted to Lucavion, but his form had shifted too, his face blurring, distorting until it no longer seemed his own. His eyes, cold and knowing, bore into her with darkness that sent chills down her spine.

"Get… away!" she gasped, barely recognizing her own voice, raw and panicked. The corpses loomed closer, their hands outstretched, reaching for her as if to pull her into the same grim fate.

With a strangled cry, Valeria's instincts took over. She swung her sword wildly, the heavy blade slicing through the air, desperate to keep the undead forms at bay.

Her blade met flesh, cutting through the phantom figures as they lunged at her, one after another. Each strike was frantic, raw—her mind screaming that this wasn't real, that it couldn't be happening, but her body moved on pure survival.

A form lunged from her right, and she spun, cleaving through it, the blood spraying across her armor. Another figure leaped at her from the front, and she brought her sword down with a brutal swing, cutting it down mid-leap.

Her vision blurred further as she continued to slice through the relentless assault, feeling each impact, each hollow thud of her blade against the bodies that swarmed around her.

Amidst the chaos, she caught a glimpse of Lucavion—or whatever he had become—watching her, his blurred form barely shifting as the blood-soaked scene unfolded.

"…..a!"

Valeria's breath came in ragged gasps as she swung her sword, each slash tearing through the swarm of phantom attackers pressing in on her.

"V…..a....W….ke….p….."

The voices around her blurred, merging into an incomprehensible cacophony.

"Wa...…u....It.....i….not...re…."

She could hear fragments, whispers just beyond her grasp—murmured distorted sounds that made no sense.

Her heart pounded faster, her thoughts a frantic blur of instinct as she tried to hold her ground. The world around her spun, every face twisting, shifting, until even the walls of the inn seemed to close in. She was barely holding on when suddenly—

BOOM!

A shockwave exploded in her eardrums, a thunderous sound that ripped through her senses, shattering the illusion.

'–Arghk!'

She staggered, eyes wide as the warped, distorted figures dissolved into mist. In an instant, the room was still again, the once-moving bodies now lifeless on the floor, their blood pooling beneath them. The cloying stench of death hung heavy in the air.

'Huh?'

She blinked, disoriented, her gaze snapping to Lucavion.

He stood a few steps ahead of her, his attention entirely focused on a figure at the far end of the room. His sword was raised, gleaming with dark, intense energy, but his stance was steady, every muscle tense as if prepared for another confrontation.

Valeria's eyes traveled past him, landing on the figure across the room. Her breath caught. It was him—the beastkin boy she'd fought in the tournament that morning. He was older than he looked, though his small frame still gave him a childlike appearance.

His eyes, intense and simmering with the quiet fury of someone who'd endured more than most could bear, were locked onto Lucavion. The boy's furred ears twitched, his form poised and ready, as if he'd stepped out from the shadows themselves.

"

You,

" Valeria managed to murmur, her mind struggling to piece together how he had ended up here, in this blood-soaked inn.

"Ah…."

And then she realized, as her mind slowly started returning.

SWOOSH!

Following that, she sensed another presence approaching and her instincts immediately forced her to raise her sword.

CLANK!

And her sword met with another one before her.

"Grr…."

It was the girl.

"Heh…..So, you are finally showing yourself...Shrouded Whisperer…."

And she heard Lucavion mumbling.

Chapter 230: Shrouded Whisper (4)

–Birds of a feather tend to flock together.

A saying that is from Earth.

–People like them, despicable through and through, always seemed to find each other.

Like weeds in a field, they clustered together, feeding off each other's rot. Slave smugglers, gang leaders, and nobles who turned a blind eye to corruption—all thriving within the same festering underbelly. In their own twisted way, they upheld each other's malice, validating every vile act in the name of power, control, or wealth.

But is it fair to lump them all into the same category?

I wondered, my thoughts darkening. For all the evil I knew them capable of, it was an unsettling realization. I knew nothing about them individually. Was I any better, dismissing their worth with such sweeping judgment? Did I have the right to pass judgment so easily, to decide that they all deserved to be condemned? Was I any different, really, for seeing them all the same way?

But at the end of the day… do all these questions even matter?

These people were the ones who painted themselves into the roles they now played. They categorically labeled themselves with every deal, every lie, every betrayal.

Each one of them contributed to the misery, enslavement, and suffering that filled this world. They were responsible for the roles they chose, and the lines they crossed.

The same held for the people who had tormented these two kids.

Riken

and

Sena

.

The two young fox siblings drifted into my thoughts, their faces vivid in my mind.

They were so young when they were captured, stolen away, and stripped of any chance at a free life. Beastkin weren't like humans—they had a different essence, a wildness rooted in nature itself. Their connection to mana was instinctual, woven into their very being. Even as children, they could manipulate it, drawing power from the world around them without needing years of study or discipline.

For a beastkin, survival was in their blood. They grew stronger earlier than most humans, their bodies resilient, maturing quickly to meet the demands of their environment. And then, there was 'beastification,' an ability unique to their kind. Even young beastkin like Riken and Sena could draw on their primal bloodlines, shifting parts of their bodies into animal forms—claws, fangs, even heightened senses—to protect themselves or others. It made them formidable, even at a young age.

And that was why capturing them wasn't easy. It wasn't just a matter of power or strength; humans had to find ways to break them psychologically, to crush that innate resistance and force them into submission. Humans and beastkin had always been at odds, their instincts and values too different to coexist peacefully for long.

The wildness in beastkin unnerved people, their dangerous, instinctive nature a constant reminder of the power humans couldn't control. So, rather than try to understand, humans chose to dominate.

'That is indeed sad.'

For Riken and Sena, their natural gifts had been turned into tools for their captors. The same powers that should have freed them became chains, twisted by those who only saw them as weapons to wield, not lives to nurture.

They had grown up fighting, but not for freedom or family—they fought for survival under the thumb of a master who would never allow them to be anything more than tools.

–SWOOSH!

As I steadied my stance, the blood-soaked room settled around me in sharp, metallic clarity. Bodies littered the floor, their lifeless forms sprawled amidst the carnage, yet my focus remained unyielding on the boy standing across from me. His fierce, unblinking gaze mirrored the quiet fury I'd seen flicker beneath his surface in the tournament—a controlled wrath forged from something deeper, something primal.

And there he was, the one responsible for all this—the "Shrouded Whisperer," watching from the shadows. He leaned casually against the far wall, his dark cloak blending into the murky shadows like an extension of himself. His presence reeked of illusion magic, the air around him pulsing with the subtle, shifting energy of a spell not yet cast. His eyes glinted, sharp and calculated, taking in the room with a detached curiosity, as if all of this—the death, the blood, even these two broken lives he'd bound to his will—was merely part of a game.

'That's him,'

I thought, locking eyes with the man who had twisted these siblings' lives into tools of his making.

The boy didn't move, his ears twitching slightly as he held his ground. I could feel the tension coiled within him, every muscle braced, poised for a strike. Valeria stood beside me, her sword raised and steady, having just deflected the girl's surprise attack, but her breath was still ragged, the shock of what she'd witnessed still lingering in her eyes.

The Shrouded Whisperer's low voice slipped through the stillness, cold and unfeeling. "Impressive," he drawled, his eyes sweeping over the bodies before landing on me with an amused gleam. "I didn't think anyone would have the gall to waltz in and paint my establishment red." His smirk was as hollow as his soul, his tone laced with mockery. "And yet here you are, making quite the mess."

A flicker of disgust twisted within me, but I kept my expression neutral, and calm. "You call them your establishment?" I asked, my voice low, unwavering. "These people… these children? They're not yours to own."

The man's eyes narrowed, his smug demeanor barely shifting. "Ownership is just a word," he replied smoothly, his tone so casual it felt like a slap. "They serve a purpose, don't they? Survival of the fittest, after all. Those strong enough to command will always rise above those who merely… follow."

Beside me, Valeria's grip on her sword tightened. I could see the barely concealed anger simmering in her eyes, her disgust plain as day.

'Well, that is just like her after all.'

I turned my attention to the boy, meeting his steady, defiant gaze.

'What a pitiful kid.'

He would live his life as a slave for a long time, thinking that he was doing something for his own people.

But in fact, all of his actions were for the sake of an illusion.

SWOOSH!

The boy's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing with a flash of raw, instinctual rage. Before I could say anything more, he lunged at me, his claws slashing through the air, swift and deadly.

CLANK!

I barely had time to raise my blade, meeting his strike with a quick deflection that sent a dull clang echoing through the silent room.

In that brief moment, I caught a glimpse of the slave mark burned into his neck—a twisted, pulsing sigil that shimmered with dark energy, binding him in ways he probably didn't even understand.

'Indeed, the marks are also there.'

The mark pulsed, almost as if it were alive, responding to every strike he delivered with a relentless fury.

At the same time, I could also sense that the Shrouded Whisperer's magic was thrumming in the air, a sinister hum of energy that pressed down on me like a vice. I didn't have to look to know he was preparing something—some spell or illusion aimed to weaken me.

I could feel it coiling, biding its time like a snake ready to strike.

'Ruthttless indeed.'

This guy was the leader of the people I had just massacred here. The leader of a small gang that he had founded after getting his hands on a certain dark magic book.

He was not affiliated with any organization, and it was just sheer luck.

The boy came at me again, faster this time, his claws aimed at my throat. I sidestepped, angling my sword to parry his attack, the force of his strike resonating through the steel.

He was strong—stronger than any kid his age should be—but every movement was fueled by desperation, by the twisted magic forcing his body into action. I could sense the control pulsing through him, driving his limbs, urging him forward without a shred of hesitation or restraint.

He slashed at me again, and I deflected, feeling the sharp edge of his claws graze past, close but not close enough. His strikes came faster, more frantic, each one tinged with a fury that was as much his own as it was the Whisperer's.

I could see the strain in his eyes, the raw, guttural rage that was entirely his own—and the helplessness that simmered just beneath it.

"Let me save you this time."

SWOOSH!

There was a reason why I came here, to this place just to confront this bastard.

I felt the

Flame of Equinox

inside me surging, rising.

'If it was this, it could even eat the slave mark.'

Since I was different from the rest of the world, why not use it? In the end, I was not bound by the rules of this world.

My mana method was different.

My way of forming the core, my way of advancing, my meridians….

Everything was different for me.

'To me…..Rules don't apply.'

That was why, when my blade flashed I could see it.

CRACK!

The crack in the mark.