Raga's Pov.
Amidst the swirling maelstrom of thoughts and potential strategic decisions, one phrase echoed in my mind: "Death with no consequences, huh?" The sentiment lingered, trailing after a fleeting reflection on the night's events. Against all odds, it had gone well. Now, as I stood surveying the battlefield, I could only remind myself of one truth: the job was complete.
We had slain the beast, and more importantly, we had preserved its mana core—an invaluable asset. It would fetch us the eons we desperately required, easing the ever-present financial strain that loomed over our squad. It had been far too long since our team had seen a successful hunt under the watchful gaze of Goddess Luna.
I glanced up. The moon's pale light bathed the clearing in a cold silver hue, its presence an unspoken acknowledgment of our success. A blessing? Perhaps. But I was pragmatic enough to know that divine favor meant little in the face of real danger. We had won because of our coordination, our strategy, and our ability to keep each other alive.
And her presence.
Lady Sia, our recent addition.
Her recruitment had not been unanimous. Rey and June had vehemently opposed it, citing legitimate concerns. An ex-battleknight—a former enforcer of the law—joining a squad of adventurers carried its own risks. Trust wasn't given freely in our line of work. But after weighing the dangers ahead, I had made the call. A warrior of her caliber was a shield worth the cost, even if it bled our funds dry. With her as our guardian, our survival in future encounters would be significantly bolstered.
At least, that was the theory.
The reality was different. Sia hadn't drawn her weapon once.
And Rey had noticed.
"Unbelievable." His voice, sharp as steel, shattered the quiet.
I turned as he stepped forward, his posture tense, fists clenched at his sides.
"I thought we hired you as our guardian—our protector—yet you stood by that goddamn tree the entire time instead of helping Lady Dawn. Got something to say about that, Lady Sia Machangel?"
His tone carried an edge of disrespect I hadn't heard before. It wasn't just frustration—it was anger, barely restrained.
I debated intervening, but I knew Rey. Cutting him off now would only push him further. Better to let the words spill out, let him voice his resentment before it festered into something worse.
Sia, however, remained unmoved.
She stood a few meters away, arms crossed, her crimson eyes reflecting the dim glow of dawn breaking on the horizon. She had deliberately positioned herself apart from us, allowing June the space to work. Dawn lay between them, her breathing steady but weak, her wounds closing under June's magic.
"Calm down, Rey-rey," June sighed, not looking up from her work. Her tone carried its usual exasperation, but there was an underlying firmness to it. "It was the captain's instruction. Remember? He specifically told her not to engage unless we lost control of the situation."
She paused, as if reconsidering, then added, "Which… we didn't, by the way."
Her gaze flicked between Rey and me. Even through her exhaustion, I saw the weight behind her words. This was a team decision. Sia had simply followed the agreed-upon plan.
Still, I understood Rey's frustration. The battle had pushed us to our limits. Dawn had nearly collapsed maintaining the defensive barrier, and if our coordination had slipped for even a second, the Wendigo could have torn through us. Having Sia remain a passive observer through all of it had felt wrong.
And yet, I had been the one who insisted she stay back.
Sia, for her part, was unbothered. She didn't offer an immediate response to Rey's outburst, nor did she react to his hostility. Instead, she exhaled slowly, her gaze still fixed on the horizon, as if the conversation was beneath her concern.
Finally, she spoke, her voice measured.
"You're questioning the terms you agreed to?"
It wasn't a challenge, nor was it dismissive. It was simply a statement, presented as if she were reminding him of an inconvenient truth.
Rey bristled. "Oh yeah? What about that sacrificial spell? Why didn't you join the fight then, huh? Is that bloody title of yours just for show?!"
His voice rose, his frustration tipping into genuine anger. The wound was deeper than I had realized. He wasn't just mad at her—he was mad at me for making the call.
I watched his posture shift, his shoulders rising with each breath, his nostrils flaring. His judgment was clouded now, words spilling out unfiltered. This was dangerous. You didn't speak to a former battleknight like that.
Sia turned her gaze to him at last.
For a single moment, the air grew heavier, as if something unseen had shifted.
Not a single muscle in her body tensed, not a flicker of aggression showed on her face—but the weight of her presence changed.
It was a silent warning, one that only those who had spent their lives in combat would recognize. An unspoken shift in the battlefield.
I saw it. June saw it.
But Rey, too blinded by his own emotions, didn't.
"You misunderstand the role of a guardian," Sia finally said. "A guardian does not charge recklessly into every battle. A guardian ensures their charge never needs them in the first place."
Her words were calm, but layered beneath them was something else.
Something absolute.
Something that reminded us all exactly who she was.
I exhaled, stepping forward at last. This had gone on long enough.
"That's enough, Rey," I said, my voice firm. "She followed my orders."
I let the words settle, watching as he clenched his jaw, frustration radiating off him. But he didn't argue. He turned away sharply, muttering something under his breath before stalking off.
The tension lingered even after he was gone.
I turned to Sia, studying her expression. Unreadable as ever.
She had done exactly what I had asked of her.
And yet, as I looked at Dawn's unconscious form, at Rey's retreating figure, at the deep exhaustion in June's eyes, I couldn't shake the question nagging at the back of my mind:
Did I make the right call?
I stepped forward, my grip tightening around Rey's left shoulder, halting his advance before he made a mistake he couldn't take back. If he took another step toward Lady Sia—if his words carried any more disrespect—he would be inviting consequences far beyond his comprehension.
"Watch your tone—" I began, but I was cut off.
"I'm not as fast as you, you know?"
Lady Sia's voice, smooth and deliberate, carried through the clearing. It wasn't loud, yet it sliced cleanly through the tension hanging between us, its softness carrying an unmistakable finality.
Her crimson gaze settled on Rey, her expression unreadable. "You're right," she admitted, surprising us all. "I could have stepped in. I could have fought beside you when Dawn was struggling to hold her ground. But you had the advantage, didn't you?"
Her words struck like a hammer wrapped in silk—gentle in tone, but crushing in their implication. I saw a flicker of realization cross Rey's face, the first crack in his anger.
Then she twisted the blade.
"But your friend nearly died because of your inexperience."
The statement was as sharp as a dagger, delivered without venom, yet it carried a weight that left no room for argument.
"One decisive blow to Lord Ragnar—that was all it took for the beast to sense an opening, wasn't it? One mistake from your vanguard, and suddenly, your advantage was gone."
Rey's jaw clenched, his fury now tangled with guilt.
Sia tilted her head slightly, her lips curving ever so slightly—not in amusement, but in something akin to knowing patience. "Do not deflect your own shortcomings onto my abilities, young man."
The shift was almost imperceptible at first.
Then, the air around us grew heavy.
Not with magic, nor with any visible threat—just her. An unshakable presence. An authority that needed no embellishment, no grand display. It simply was.
Rey stiffened, instinctively resisting as the weight of her aura bore down on him. It was nothing visible—no mana surge, no violent shift in the wind—but I could feel it as plainly as the ground beneath my feet. A silent command, a reminder of the chasm between them.
"I will pardon you this once," she said, each word deliberate. "Solely because your captain is a wise man I've known for years. Otherwise, the consequences of a mere C-rank questioning my abilities…" She let the rest of the sentence hang.
The unspoken words were heavier than the ones she had spoken aloud.
Rey buckled. His legs gave out as he fell to his knees, his breathing uneven, his body instinctively bowing under the force of her presence. Shock coursed through him—I saw it in his eyes, in the tightness of his shoulders. He understood now.
"Actions have consequences, Rey… learn this lesson well, or your foolishness will be your undoing long before any beast can claim you," I thought grimly.
Lady Sia did not linger on him. She moved past, stepping behind June, who was still tending to Dawn. Her hands, steady and practiced, settled gently on June's back. Her eyes drifted half-closed in quiet concentration as she initiated mana sharing, offering her own reserves to supplement June's dwindling strength.
June, though visibly drained, gave a quiet nod of gratitude, the relief evident in her posture.
I hadn't realized how exhausted she was. She had already expended a great deal of mana tending to my wounds before turning her focus to Dawn, whose condition had been far more critical. Lady Sia's intervention was timely—without it, June might have collapsed before finishing the job.
"She didn't just put Rey in his place; she also ensured our healer wouldn't break herself saving the rest of us."
I turned back to Rey, my voice firm but measured. "She's right. We made mistakes tonight."
He didn't move, still kneeling, but I saw the slight tremor in his hands—the war between his pride and his understanding.
"Those mistakes could have cost us everything," I continued. "We were lucky this time. That's all."
Silence settled between us.
Then, a faint noise.
A soft, breathy sound—like a newborn stirring for the first time.
Dawn.
Her eyes fluttered open, still hazy with exhaustion, her body barely responsive.
June didn't hesitate. She lunged forward, wrapping Dawn in a protective embrace, her arms locking around her as if shielding her from the world outside.
Dawn blinked, her gaze shifting to me. And in that brief moment, no words were needed. We understood.
Rey, still kneeling, exhaled shakily before bowing his head low before her. "I'm sorry."
His voice, thick with regret, carried no trace of his earlier arrogance. It was raw, unguarded.
Dawn, ever the older sister of our group, sighed. Her body was weak, but her voice held warmth. "Rey, Rey, Rey…" she murmured. "You always make things harder for yourself, don't you?"
She lifted a trembling hand, placing it atop his bowed head. "We'll learn. We'll grow. Together."
And just like that, the bonds of our squad—our little dysfunctional family—held firm.
But Dawn was nothing if not brutally honest.
"You failed to anticipate the sacrificial spell because you were too focused on overpowering a wounded beast," she said matter-of-factly. "You got reckless. However, you're still young. I can't expect a certain level of battle IQ from you…"
Her brown eyes shifted to me, glinting with mischief.
"Unlike a certain someone."*
I sighed internally. Yeah, I deserved that one.
Rey was young, eager, and brimming with potential, but this had only been his fourth hunt. The Wendigo had been unlike anything we'd faced before—cunning, vicious. The fight had exhilarated him, and in that excitement, he had lost sight of the bigger picture.
And because of that, Dawn had almost paid the price.
A cold weight settled in my chest. Not just Rey's mistake—mine, too.
I had been so focused on strategy, on ending the fight swiftly, that I had underestimated the beast's instincts. I had miscalculated. And if the Wendigo had chosen to attack instead of retreat…
Dawn might not have been here at all.
The thought gnawed at me, the fear and guilt twisting together into something suffocating.
And then—warmth.
Dawn's hand, rough from years of training, but impossibly gentle, settled against mine.
I looked at her. Even in her weakened state, even after everything, she still had that quiet strength about her.
No words were spoken. They didn't need to be.
But she pulled me closer, her fingers tightening around mine, until our foreheads almost touched. And then—
A kiss.
Soft, fleeting, yet carrying a promise far stronger than any spoken vow.
"I will protect you with all my might," I swore silently.
This would be the last time I let her get hurt.
The battle was over. The hunt was complete. But in that moment, I knew—
The real fight was just beginning.
***
"I apologize for wasting your time, Lady Sia," I said, the words leaving my lips with a mix of regret and relief. "But since our hunt is over, let's leave now, shall we?"
Lady Sia, ever composed, merely nodded in response. For reasons I couldn't quite articulate, her silence was more comforting than any words she could have offered.
June, our youngest member, pushed herself upright, though the slight wobble in her stance betrayed the lingering exhaustion clinging to her body. Rey and dawn weren't much better off—the fatigue was plain on their faces, their expressions weighted with weariness, their bodies longing for the comfort of home.
"We need to move."
"Alright then—R2 formation," I commanded. It was our standard defensive formation—not necessarily required at this moment, but we had learned long ago that caution was never wasted when traveling through untamed lands.
Lady Sia took her place at the front, and the rest of us instinctively fell in behind her. The battle with the wendigo had been short but chaotic, and the noise it generated could have drawn unwanted attention. If there were beasts lurking nearby, they would have already attacked us; their predatory nature did not allow for patience. The absence of an ambush confirmed that.
Humans, however, were another matter entirely.
They would wait. They would watch. And if they had laid a trap, they would strike only when we were most vulnerable.
Our mana reserves were depleted. Our bodies were worn. A defensive formation wasn't just precautionary—it was necessary.
Lady Sia, ever the tactician, took note of our weakened state.
"Since Dawn has only recovered a fraction of her mana," she observed, "we lack proper long-range support at the rear. This presents a serious vulnerability, especially if ambushers are waiting ahead. I suggest repositioning—I will take the center for added security, and Lord Ragnar, you will lead the way in my stead."
It was a sound strategy. With her immense presence acting as a deterrent from the middle, any potential ambush would think twice before engaging us. And with me at the front, we could at least identify threats before they got too close.
I weighed the proposal for a moment before nodding. "Understood."
Keeping Dawn and the others safe took priority. That was never up for debate.
We pressed forward through the sprawling wilderness, a land known as the Outer Rim.
The eastern lands of the empire were wild—untamed and ruled by beasts, making up a staggering 60-75% of the continent. What humans called "civilized territory" was but a fraction of the world compared to the dominion of monsters. The Outer Rim was the first of four distinct layers marking the empire's easternmost boundary. Beyond it lay the Middle Rim, then the Inner Rim, and at the very heart of it all—the Central Rim, where even the empire's greatest warriors dared not tread lightly.
Ordinarily, we would have avoided straying so deeply into these territories. Yet, in the heat of the hunt, chasing the wendigo had drawn us too far—too close to the dangers that lurked within these forbidden lands.
Still, we moved undisturbed.
Not a rustling leaf. Not a shadow shifting at the edges of our vision. No hints of unseen eyes tracking our movement.
Yet, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease creeping along my spine.
"This isn't right."
It wasn't that something was watching us—it was that nothing was.
I clenched my jaw, my senses sharpening, my instincts screaming at me. The wilderness was alive with danger, and yet we walked unchallenged. No predators in pursuit. No scavengers drawn to the scent of the slain wendigo. Even the wind carried an unnatural stillness.
That was wrong.
"Am I being paranoid? Or is this silence hiding something worse?"
I cast a sidelong glance at Lady Sia. If she felt the same, she didn't show it. Her expression was unreadable, her posture poised, her gaze calm.
But something told me she sensed it too.
She was simply better at hiding it.
And that, more than anything, set my nerves on edge.
A faint yet distinct sound sliced through the stillness of the forest—a branch snapping, sharp and sudden. A minor noise, but enough to send a jolt through every one of us, our battle-honed instincts screaming at the disturbance.
Lady Sia was the first to react. Without hesitation, her hand found her weapon, and in the same fluid motion, she released her suppressed aura. A wave of invisible energy radiated outward—subtle, yet suffused with quiet dominance, like the hush before a storm. Her jet-black armor responded instantly, expanding and molding around her form, its onyx plating catching the moonlight in an ominous gleam.
I moved barely a breath later. Crimson Ultima, my blade, flared to life, casting eerie red streaks across the forest floor. The weight of it in my grasp was familiar, reassuring. The others reacted in seamless synchronization—Rey flicked his wrists, summoning his twin daggers, their edges gleaming like fangs in the dark; June gathered her mana, preparing a wide-area healing spell, her body tense with focus.
We turned in unison, shifting formation.
To an outsider, it might seem excessive—drawing weapons over a snapped branch. But seasoned warriors like Lady Sia and I knew better.
In this world, every living being possessed mana, an essential force that circulated through the body like lifeblood. No creature could survive without it. More than that, each entity released a unique mana signature, an imprint that allowed trained warriors to sense them—even when they lurked unseen. Techniques existed to suppress one's presence, but equally potent skills, like Mana Sense, had been developed to counter them.
Yet, as we scanned the dense thicket where the sound had come from, an unsettling realization dawned on us.
There was nothing there.
No trace of mana. No presence to detect.
Which meant one of two things: either we were in grave danger… or we were already doomed.
Our R2 formation was swiftly abandoned in favor of something more battle-ready. Lady Sia took the lead at the front, her stance rigid with focus. Dawn and June positioned themselves just behind her, ready to react, while Rey shifted slightly to their right, his daggers poised for a quick strike. I took the left, my eyes scanning every shadow.
We didn't know how many enemies lay in wait.
We only knew something was there.
Lady Sia's voice cut through the silence, steady and commanding.
"Show yourself. First and final warning."
As the last syllable left her lips, her battle mask slid into place, obscuring her face behind an intimidating visage of black steel. Her mana surged, pressing against the air like an unspoken threat.
Then—movement.
Dry leaves crunched. Twigs snapped underfoot.
And from the underbrush, a small figure emerged.
A child.
"What the fu—" June's voice died in her throat.
"A fucking kid?" Rey blurted out, lowering his daggers for a fraction of a second before catching himself.
We stared, silent, trying to process the sight before us.
He couldn't have been older than six or seven. Short black hair clung messily to his head, his pale skin almost ghostly in the dim moonlight. A tattered cloak hung loosely from his frail shoulders, barely shielding him from the cold.
And his eyes—wide, dark brown, and filled with a silent, unspoken terror—flickered from one of us to the next. His small chest rose and fell in rapid, uneven breaths, his legs trembling beneath him.
A lost child. Alone. Exhausted. Afraid.
And yet—completely devoid of mana.
A thing that should not exist.
For the first time in my life, I was faced with something that defied every fundamental law of this world.
"He's alive," I told myself, my own heartbeat hammering in my ears. "I can see it. I can hear it. He's right in front of me."
But I felt nothing from him. Not a single trace of mana. No life force, no presence—just a void where something should have been.
The weight of it settled over me like a suffocating mist.
Sia, ever composed, stood silently to the side, taking in every detail with a piercing gaze. Her expression gave nothing away, but I sensed it—the subtle tension in her stance, the shift in her breathing. Even she had not encountered something like this before.
The others were in a similar state of disbelief. Dawn and Rey, both C-rank mages, were trained to sense mana even in the most concealed enemies. I was a B-rank—my detection capabilities sharper than theirs. And Sia, an A-rank, had yet to fail in sensing even the most elusive of beings.
Yet this boy stood before us, more vividly alive than any of us in that moment… and utterly undetectable.
The stillness of our shock was shattered when he took a small, hesitant step forward.
We reacted on instinct.
Mana surged through our bodies, a reflexive defensive measure as we prepared for something—a trick, a trap, a deception.
But then—
Nothing.
Not a flinch. Not a single reaction from him.
Our combined aura should have pressed against him, should have at least caused discomfort. Any normal person would recoil, or stagger, or react in some way to the sheer weight of our collective energy.
But he remained still.
Not because he was resisting it. Not because he was immune.
Because it simply did not touch him.
Like our mana passed through empty air.
"What is this kid?" My mind struggled to grasp the impossibility before me. "Is he even human?"
Lady Sia broke the silence, her voice carrying a force that left no room for disobedience.
"Do not take another step."
Her mana-imbued command rang through the clearing, the sheer authority behind it creating an almost tangible barrier in the air.
The boy halted immediately.
Then, to my surprise—Sia moved forward.
Her heavy, armored boots struck the ground with a force that made the earth seem to tremble beneath her. Step by step, she closed the distance between them, her imposing figure casting a long shadow over his much smaller frame.
The boy tilted his head back, gazing up at her with unreadable eyes.
Behind them, Rey shifted, subtly moving into a defensive position near Dawn and June, his instincts kicking in despite the overwhelming uncertainty of the situation.
None of us knew what would happen next.
But in that moment, one thing became painfully clear.
This child—this impossible, mana-less being—had just entered our lives.
And the world we knew would never be the same.