The speaker continued recounting the events in a measured tone, their voice laced with quiet intrigue.
"Crow tracked the signal to Lunar City's Adventurer's Guild. There, he found one of its employees—a manager, to be precise—on the verge of death. The fool had tried to wear the ring."
Murmurs rippled through the gathering. Some scoffed at the manager's reckless greed, while others silently took note of the implications.
The curse had already taken hold, its unseen claws twisting into the unfortunate man, draining the life from him. His breaths had been ragged, his skin pale and cold. Yet, somehow, he had still clung to life—barely.
When Crow appeared, materializing like a phantom in the dimly lit room, the man had flinched, his wide eyes reflecting both fear and desperation. He had begged for help, his trembling hands reaching out.
Crow had merely stared, his gaze void of sympathy. "Where did you get the ring and the cloak?" His voice had been cold, words sharp enough to cut.
The dying man had stammered, terror gripping him as he realized there would be no mercy in those piercing eyes. In a panicked rush, he had spilled everything.
A child had found them—among the remains of a corpse. Unaware of their true nature, the boy had taken them to the Adventurer's Guild, intending for them to be returned to the deceased's family. But the manager had seen an opportunity. Greed had clouded his judgment. He had stolen the artifacts, hoping to sell them for a fortune.
Crow had listened, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he had retrieved the cloak and the ring. He had carefully examined the contents hidden within the fabric, ensuring nothing had been disturbed.
Yet, something about the child's actions unsettled him.
The speaker paused, their voice lowering slightly, laced with contemplation. "Crow was baffled. And I must admit—I feel the same. The timing, the circumstances… It's as if the boy knew exactly what he was doing."
The weight of their words settled over the room, pressing down like an unseen force. A quiet tension filled the chamber.
Then, the speaker shifted to the final revelation.
"Among the recovered items was the notebook of Dr. Fausten. And from its pages, there was no doubt… he is dead."
Silence followed, heavy and absolute.
Then, a scoff broke through the stillness. "Fitting, isn't it? The madman perished by his own creation."
A few nods of agreement followed, though not everyone shared the sentiment. Some merely sighed, their expressions unreadable.
"Say what you will about him," another voice spoke, softer this time. "Dr. Fausten may have been eccentric, but his research was nothing short of brilliant."
The discussion continued, but beneath it all, unease lingered. The child, the stolen artifacts, the fate of Dr. Fausten—too many pieces remained unexplained.
"Fearing that the child knew something—or that something far more dangerous was at play—I instructed Crow to investigate. If possible, capture the boy."
A few heads nodded, their expressions unreadable. None voiced disagreement. This was the natural course of action.
"Crow sent me a message. He tracked the child to Solara City and began following him, gathering clues. He wanted to determine whether this was mere coincidence or if something far greater was unfolding."
A pause.
"But then—his life card broke."
A single moment of absolute silence.
Then, a shift. The weight of those words crashed down upon them like a collapsing structure. Expressions hardened. Some furrowed their brows in disbelief. Others remained eerily still, absorbing the gravity of the statement.
The faceless figure seated at the head of the meeting finally spoke, its voice unreadable.
"When did it happen?"
"Around the time of the Rift Incident." The response was immediate.
Murmurs rippled through the chamber. Some speculated that Crow had fallen to a monster attack. It was the simplest explanation—the easiest to accept.
"Perhaps it was a monster that emerged from the Rift?" one suggested.
"Unlikely," another countered immediately. "The Rift was a low-level anomaly. Only a single A-rank creature emerged, and it was slain within minutes. Crow was far stronger than that."
The weight of those words lingered. Crow was no ordinary A-rank. His strength in direct combat was formidable, but his true power lay elsewhere. His stealth abilities were unparalleled—so refined that even an S-rank would struggle to detect him when he chose to hide.
For someone like him to be killed without warning, without a trace… it was unthinkable.
A quiet unease settled over the room. If Crow had truly been eliminated, then whatever—or whoever—was responsible was not something to be taken lightly.
The speaker silenced the discussions with a raised hand. Then, turning toward the holographic figure at the head of the gathering, they asked,
"My lord, what should we do?"
The figure remained silent for a moment, contemplating. The speaker continued,
"The only lead we have is the boy. But when I tried looking into him, I found nothing. Every record of him was erased. If we probe further, we risk alerting the authorities."
A suffocating tension filled the room. For someone's existence to be erased so cleanly… That was not the work of an ordinary faction. Only a select few had the influence and resources to make someone disappear so thoroughly.
Then, the Lord finally spoke. His voice was calm, yet laced with unmistakable authority.
"Those bastards were behind the Rift Incident."
A few exchanged uneasy glances.
"They should not have interfered with us."
His tone carried a quiet menace—a promise of retribution.
Then, a pause. A moment of deliberation.
"As for the child… leave him be for now. But if he resurfaces—eliminate him."
Several frowned but did not voice their objections.
"Without further leads, pursuing him would be pointless. We will observe. If he becomes relevant again, we will act."
The decision was final.
The meeting continued, shifting toward discussions of their upcoming plans, but a shadow of uncertainty now loomed over them.
◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆
Alex and Claude stood on opposite sides, facing each other. The training ground was no ordinary space—it was reinforced with high-tier magical barriers designed to prevent grievous injuries. Blades would not cut, spells would not maim, but every strike would still be felt.
The rules were simple. No external magic artifacts or potions. No deliberately targeting vital areas. And, most importantly, no magic above Tier-3. This was a controlled spar—a test of skill, not a battle to the death.
Both combatants had submitted their spatial storages and removed any enchanted gear, ensuring a fair fight. Yet, despite the safeguards, the tension in the air was undeniable.
Aurora, hovered beside him with her arms crossed, an exasperated look on her face. "I still don't get why you accepted his challenge." she muttered.
Alex smirked slightly. "Why not? He wasn't going to stop pestering me. Besides, fighting a magic-class student is a rare chance." His gaze flickered toward Claude, who wore an insufferable smirk of his own. "And honestly... I don't like that look on his face."
Aurora sighed. "Petty."
"Efficient." Alex corrected.
Across the arena, Claude flexed his fingers, wind swirling around his hands. His confidence was unmistakable—this wasn't just a spar for him. It was a statement. A chance to put Alex in his place.
The instructor overseeing the match stepped forward, raising a hand. "Ready?"
Claude's smirk widened. "Of course."
Alex simply rolled his shoulders, exhaling slowly. "Yeah."
"Begin!"
The moment the word left the instructor's mouth, Claude struck first.
Because of the distance between them, the situation seemed disadvantageous for Alex. As he needed to shorten the gap to land his strikes, whereas Claude, a mage, had the luxury of attacking from afar. And that's exactly what he did.
Claude raised his hand, gathering mana as he shouted the name of his spell: "
A compressed gust of wind, razor-sharp and nearly invisible, sliced through the air toward Alex.
Alex's eyes flickered with mild interest as he watched the attack approach. 'Fast—but not fast enough.'
With a simple sidestep, he let the blade of wind pass harmlessly beside him. To him, it was nothing special. If anything, it felt sluggish.
But Claude's reaction was quite the opposite. His confident smirk faltered for just a moment. "What...?"
He hadn't expected Alex to dodge it so effortlessly. Yet Alex had done it with almost casual ease, as if dodging was second nature to him.
Claude gritted his teeth. 'Hmph, he got lucky. Let's see him dodge this.'
Without hesitation, he raised both hands and conjured three more Wind Blades in rapid succession, each one slicing through the air with deadly precision.
This time, he varied the angles—one flew straight at Alex's chest, another aimed at his legs, and the third came from an angle to cut off his escape route.