"The Fated Rival of the Moon"

Approval and Conditions

Azrael stood before Lord Vael Kaelthorne, the head of the family and his father. The man sat upon an ornate black throne, his sharp silver eyes regarding Azrael with mild interest.

"You wish to leave the estate for five days?"

"Yes, Family Head. For training," Azrael replied, his voice unwavering.

A long silence followed. The knights in the hall dared not speak.

Finally, Lord Vael smirked. "Very well. But on one condition."

Azrael already knew what was coming.

"You will obey me and accept the engagement with Elaris Velmira without resistance."

Azrael lowered his head, hiding the cold gleam in his eyes. He had no intention of opposing the engagement yet. It would be a waste of effort.

"...I accept, Family Head."

"Good." Lord Vael leaned back. "Then go. But return in five days. Alive."

Azrael bowed and turned, leaving the hall without another word.

---

The Journey to the Mountains of Duskveil

The moment Azrael left the estate, he moved swiftly—his destination, the Mountains of Duskveil.

It was a place whispered of in fear—a cursed land where sunlight barely reached, where monsters ruled the night. Even experienced Aura warriors avoided its depths.

Azrael didn't care.

He needed the Elixir of Life.

He needed power.

As he neared the dark peaks, the air grew heavy with the scent of blood and rot. Shadows twisted unnaturally. The forest surrounding the mountain was filled with predators—wolves with crimson eyes, deformed beasts that crawled on too many limbs, and rotting creatures with blackened flesh.

Azrael drew his blade, its curved edge glinting under the faint light.

The moment the first monster lunged at him, he moved.

---

Slaughter in the Shadows

A twisted wolf—twice the size of a normal one—snarled and leapt for his throat.

Azrael sidestepped. His katana-like sword flashed.

—Shing!

The wolf's head flew, black blood spraying across the ground.

[ You have slain a Duskveil Shadowfang. ]

[ +3 Aura Experience. ]

Another beast charged. Then another.

Azrael's movements became a blur. He cut them down without hesitation, without mercy.

Each kill refined his technique. Each battle sharpened his instincts.

By the time he reached the base of the mountain, he had already cut down dozens of creatures. His blade dripped with dark ichor.

But he didn't stop.

The entrance to the Old Cave lay ahead.

And the first trial was about to begin.