Nine and a half years had passed.
Nearly a decade of blood, struggle, and growth—of relentless pursuit and unwavering resolve. It had been a brutal journey, full of victories and losses, but Lucius wouldn't change a thing.
Except, perhaps, one thing.
But that thought was dangerous. Best left buried.
In those years, he had found something unexpected—companions.
Lavya and Sara.
For nearly five years, the three of them had fought side by side. At first, they were bound by obligation, assigned by law to a team for training and survival. Then, it was greed that kept them together, their shared pursuit of wealth and power making them an efficient unit.
But somewhere along the way, greed turned to loyalty.
They had become inseparable—not just as comrades, but as something deeper.
A part of his family.
And now, Lucius stood alone, ready to avenge his fallen brothers an sisters.
A week ago, a distressing report had reached them.
Two small battalions of Battleknights—men and women who had sworn to protect Varis and Verdun were ambushed and slaughtered by a species classified as Terror Beasts.
Unlike other creatures of the wild, Terror Beasts did not follow the natural order. Most species hunted for food, for survival, or for dominance within their ecosystem.
But Terror Beasts?
They hunted with intent.
Their prey was specific. Their reasons, unknown.
Some, like the Ghost Bears, targeted humans because of an instinctual drive—something within them needed to fight strong, resilient prey. To kill or die fighting was their nature, their reason for existing.
But Knightcrawlers?
They were different.
They weren't just killers.
They were butchers.
Lucius could still see it in his mind—the aftermath of their attack.
The mutilated corpses of knights, their bodies torn apart, their cores left either untouched or shattered, discarded like worthless remains. These creatures hadn't even bothered with proper absorption.
It hadn't been a hunt.
It had been a massacre.
Now, it was his turn.
The shadows of the dense outer rim stretched around him, swallowing his figure as he moved. His breathing was measured, his footsteps silent. His pulse had slowed to an unnatural rhythm, concealed by sheer control over his body.
This was his battlefield.
The Nightcrawlers were just as grotesque as the stories described them.
They stood on four elongated limbs, their bodies tall and stretched, their bare, leathery skin absorbing the moonlight like a cursed specter, often regarded as 'Humanoid beasts.'
But the worst part?
Their heads weren't heads at all.
They had no eyes, no nose, no properly defined mouth.
Instead, their entire skull was an ear.
A massive, deformed, pulsing organ—an evolutionary horror designed for one purpose: to hear.
Their skulls were more than just ears, though; they were sensors, attuned to even the faintest mana fluctuations. A single disturbance in the air, the smallest ripple in energy, and they would know.
This was what made them so deadly.
And this was why they had no natural predators.
Except tonight.
Tonight, they had him.
It had taken Lucius an hour to track them, moving like a phantom through the undergrowth.
Now, they were in sight.
Their ear-lined skulls twitched unnervingly, scanning the environment. The slightest shift in sound or mana flow would alert them—but Lucius had long since learned to move in silence.
He counted them.
167... 179... 195.
His eyes narrowed.
No.
195 and a half.
One of them was carrying a parasite. Pregnant.
Lucius smirked coldly.
Good.
He'd eliminate it before it even had the chance to breathe the sacred air of Verdun.
The strategy was simple.
Strike. Vanish. Repeat.
With no eyes and no nose, these monsters relied solely on their hearing. Their sensitivity was unmatched—but also their greatest weakness.
Lucius had studied them, memorized their patterns.
He knew exactly how they hunted.
First, they spread out, listening for disturbances.
Second, once they pinpointed movement, they swarmed—relentless, unstoppable, overwhelming their prey.
Third, they tore it apart.
And tonight, they were hunting.
Lucius could tell by the way their ear-lined skulls pulsed, scanning for vibrations. They had already sensed a target.
A group of prey.
Knights? Adventurers? Perhaps other beasts?
It didn't matter.
Because he would strike first.
A deep breath. A tightening grip.
And then—
He moved.
SAMP! SAMP! SAMP!
The first fell without a sound.
A clean decapitation, his blade severing through cartilage and bone.
SAMP!
Another collapsed—Lucius' dagger piercing the base of its skull, straight into the sensitive core.
Before the others could register the deaths—
He was already gone.
Slipping into the shadows, untouched.
Silent.
A predator in his element.
8 down.
187 and a half to go.
Lucius exhaled through his nose, gripping his blade tighter.
Their ear-linings twitched wildly, searching for him.
Some had heard something. Some had felt the shift in mana.
But they didn't know where he was.
Not yet.
He was their natural enemy.
And by the time they realized it—
They would already be dead.
***
A whisper cut through the still air.
"BOO!"
Lavya's body tensed instantly, his instincts kicking in as his weapon swung halfway before his mind caught up. His muscles froze mid-motion, his sharpened battle-readiness giving way to irritation. Lucius grinned, resting his arms over his friends' shoulders as they walked too closely together.
Sara didn't react. She simply halted her steps, her eyes briefly flicking toward Lucius.
'She's used to it,' Lucius thought, recognizing the unimpressed look she gave him.
"Told ya I'd be back within an hour—"
"Four hours, twenty minutes," Lavya corrected, his voice calm but edged with exasperation. His expression was a curious mix—anger and frustration warring beneath a light smile.
'How does he do that?' Lucius mused.
Sara, however, was far less amused. She gripped his right arm, concern overtaking any need for scolding.
"Where were you? What happened? You look... exhausted."
Her words rang true. Lucius could feel the heaviness in his limbs, the deep ache in his mana core. His reserves were nearly depleted. He hadn't fully registered how drained he was until now.
Lavya didn't immediately offer his support, but a single glance from Sara was enough to make him grab Lucius' other arm. They were about to bombard him with more questions when Lucius raised his left hand, forming a cross-sign with his index and middle fingers.
No more questions.
A silent agreement they had made long ago.
Lavya exhaled sharply, knowing there was no prying answers from Lucius when he used that sign. Sara, visibly irritated, clenched her jaw but held her tongue.
"Come on now, hurry up. We're late, and I don't want Sia to worry about me—us."
They walked in relative silence for a while, though the tension slowly eased as the conversation turned to lighter topics.
Sara, always eager to relay the latest gossip, filled them in on everything happening in Arengard, the capital city.
Andromeda Skydagger, the sole heir of the Skydagger family, had won the Warrior's Championship.
This victory solidified her family's position in the upcoming Saintess election, a political battle nearly as fierce as the tournament itself.
Lucius listened intently, storing the information away. The Saintess, the Chief, and the Saint of Verdun were among the most powerful individuals in the empire, each said to rival the Emperor himself.
They weren't just political figures.
They were monsters.
"Hmm, this chick sounds strong, like really strong!" Lavya nodded in approval.
Lucius smirked slightly. Lavya had no problem following strong individuals—as long as their goals aligned.
That was one of the key differences between them.
Lucius respected strength. But strength alone wasn't enough to make him follow anyone, no matter their rank or status.
'Sara would probably agree with me on that,' he thought, sneaking a glance at her.
They continued talking, though Lucius said little. Instead, he listened.
Gathering information.
Because in six months, he would finally have unrestricted freedom.
His plan was set. Nothing would change it.
But...
A fleeting thought passed through his mind.
He would miss this. These small moments, these unspoken bonds forged through years of adventure and survival.
The thought settled deep within him, but he left it unspoken.
Ahead, the walls of Varis loomed into view.
"Younglings! You're late! But I'm glad you returned... in one piece, haha!"
A familiar voice rang out as they reached the entrance.
Sir Edward.
Sara, ever polite, responded first.
"Good morning, Sir Edward, and yes, I'm glad we returned in one piece as well."
Her tone carried a playful jab—she knew Edward valued etiquette and manners above all else.
Lucius met Edward's light brown eyes. A brief look passed between them, and Edward's small smile told him everything he needed to know.
He knew.
Edward was a knight of fire and steel, a man of discipline and potential. He, along with others like him, ensured Varis remained safe even in the darkest times.
With a quick glance at their registration times, Edward waved them through.
"Please enter, young ones. You're all clear."
Sara and Lavya wasted no time, sprinting ahead to sell their loot.
Lucius, however, lingered.
Edward noticed and approached, waiting until a group of adventurers passed before speaking.
"Sir Edward, we need to talk."
Edward's eyes swept the entrance, ensuring no unwanted ears were nearby.
"Not now. Too many eyes."
Lucius nodded slightly.
"Understood. I'll take my leave."
Just as he stepped past Edward, the knight spoke again.
"Did you accomplish the task I gave you, little one?"
Lucius turned, lifting his right arm to reveal a small, worn emblem. The insignia of a fallen knight.
He extended it toward Edward, but the knight shook his head.
"No, Lucius. You earned it."
Edward's expression was solemn.
"This emblem will be a reminder. Not just of our fallen brothers and sisters—but that you are not just a self-obsessed brat. You are—"
Lucius smirked.
"A genius self-obsessed brat, my lord."
Edward sighed.
Lucius had never cared about how people saw him. He did things his way—always had, always would.
Without another word, he slid the emblem into his storage ring and walked away.
***
After seven hours of deep sleep and three hours of intense training, Lucius found himself atop a massive tree, his favorite resting spot for nearly eight years.
The Black Mountains of Varis loomed in the distance, swallowing the last rays of sunlight.
'The sunset I've been waiting for... it's beautiful, as always.'
The western mountains caused the sun to set early, around 4 or 5 PM, casting long shadows over the city.
Lucius leaned back against the rough bark, his body still aching from mana depletion and overexertion.
He was pushing himself too far.
He knew it.
But he didn't care.
The abilities he had honed, his "special powers," came at a price.
A direct cost to his mana core and his soul, perhaps. The later part wasn't clear yet.
He closed his eyes, remembering a day six years ago—the day he had discovered his unique ability.
A power that defied the very laws of this world.
A power that no one had taught him.
And a power that, if wielded correctly...
Could change everything.
Lucius sat high on a sturdy branch, legs swinging freely in the cold night air. The tree, a towering sentinel with bark blackened by age and time, was named Buck—a name Lucius had given it when he was just eleven.
From this vantage point, he could see the glimmering lights of Varis in the distance. The city looked peaceful from here, tucked beneath a moonlit sky, unaware of the anomaly sitting quietly above the world.
His hands rested lazily on his lap. His sore limbs ached with the dull throb of overexertion, but nothing he couldn't handle. His breathing was calm. Heartbeat—steady. Mind—clear. And his mana?
Still. Silent. Completely halted.
His mana core, the very essence of his magical being, lay dormant within his chest. No hum. No pulse. No rotation.
Just silence.
It wasn't an accident. No injury. No misfire. Just an intentional, total shutdown of a system that, according to every mage, scholar, and warrior he'd ever met, should never stop.
"Every living, sentient being needs mana to survive," Sia once told him. "Mana flows like blood. It's what powers our senses, our movement, even the tiniest electrical pulses in our brains. Stop the flow, and you stop existing."
Lucius had heard this lesson countless times—from the guild books he secretly read, from passing adventurers at the guildhall, even from high-ranking elementalists whose every breath practically shimmered with mana. They all agreed on this singular truth:
Mana circulation is life.
Without it, the body fails.
Without it, there is only death.
Except… Lucius.
He was living proof of the impossible.
He leaned his back against Buck's trunk, letting his eyes drift to the city lights again.
"When did it all start?" he whispered aloud, voice soft, casual. "You remember, don't you, Buck?"
The tree didn't answer, of course—but in his mind, it always did. This place had become a witness to his most dangerous secrets, his reckless experiments, and the forbidden truths he'd uncovered.
"I was so stupid back then," he chuckled to himself. "A dumb kid trying to figure out things I wasn't even supposed to know existed. I could've crippled my core. Or worse... killed myself."
It had all started eight years ago, when he turned ten and officially became eligible for the Junior Program at the Adventurers Guild. Under Sia's guidance, he trained relentlessly in these mountains—running, striking trees, mimicking the movements of battleknights. But after a while, he began sneaking away to train alone, craving solitude and secrecy. Sia knew, of course. She always knew. She didn't approve, but she didn't stop him either. She understood that some lessons required pain and personal risk.
It was during this time that he stumbled upon a worn, discarded book tucked behind older tomes in the guild's restricted library section. It was a manual—barely intact—on assassin techniques. Not a full curriculum, but fragments of their methods and philosophies. Enough for someone like Lucius to piece together the rest.
The idea that struck him most?
"Assassins push their mana cores to the edge. They minimize mana rotation to near-zero to erase their presence. It's a method of concealment… but also a form of art."
Every mage's mana core operated like a second heart, rhythmically rotating to circulate mana throughout the body. A normal combat-ready core could rotate a hundred times a minute—rapid, efficient, powerful. Slowing it down weakened spells, dullened reinforcement, but in return granted near-complete stealth.
That was the trade-off assassins relied on.
Lucius decided to try it.
100 rotations per minute? Drop to 90.
90 to 80.
80 to 60.
60 to 30.
Then 10.
He did this day after day, experimenting in silence under Buck's branches. Sia never found out. No one did.
Then one day, he crossed the threshold.
His mana core stopped entirely—for one full second.
He remembered the terror.
The way his body froze.
The way his heart pounded so hard it echoed through his skull.
The panicked memory of Sia's warning: "Never stop your rotation. Even a second can damage your core permanently."
He forced his rotation back on in a burst, mana roaring back into his limbs like a second wind. But it was too late—something had changed.
And yet… nothing broke.
No backlash. No injuries. No consequences.
Just fear.
He told himself he'd never try it again.
A week later, he was back.
This time: One and a half seconds.
Then two.
Then five.
Then fifteen.
Then a full minute.
Eventually, he could halt his mana rotation for ten minutes. Then twenty. Then an hour.
And the terrifying truth was that his body still functioned—he could breathe, think, move. His senses didn't vanish. His limbs didn't fail.
He wasn't just suppressing his presence.
He was living without mana.
"I'm not just turning off a spell. I'm breaking the fundamental rules of reality."
No scholar had written of such a thing. No knight had heard of it. No sage had studied it. To exist without mana circulation was to contradict the very laws of existence.
But Lucius could do it.
And in that truth, he found both power and peril.
The stealth it granted him was absolute—no detection spell, no sensory beast, no mana scanner could track him. He could walk through a battlefield like a ghost. But the cost was equally absolute:
No mana circulation meant no reinforcement.
No hardened skin.
No enhanced senses.
No barrier between his flesh and a blade.
Without mana, even a glancing blow could fracture his bones.
A reinforced strike would hit him like a warhammer to bare ribs.
"A perfect double-edged sword," Lucius muttered. "If I'm not fast enough… I die."
And so, his training changed.
He began to build his body from the ground up—endurance, muscle, agility, pain resistance—everything a man without mana might need to survive just one strike. He ran uphill without circulation. He fought mock battles with wooden swords, letting each blow bruise and teach him. He trained his senses to hear footsteps in a storm, to smell blood from across a clearing, to see movement in pitch darkness.
He became stronger without mana, so that with mana… he'd be unstoppable.
And to his surprise, his reinforced abilities grew sharper, too. Like a man who learned to survive underwater appreciating the first gasp of air.
"This ability… this curse… it'll make me into something even the Saint-ranked assassins would envy."
A breeze rustled through the trees. The mountains were silent, reverent. As if they too understood the depth of what he had uncovered.
Lucius reached out and patted Buck's bark once again.
"Only you, the mountains, and one other person know about this. Let's keep it that way."
His eyes drifted back to the city, now dimmer under scattered clouds.
"Soon, I'll have to make my move. Six months until I'm free. Six months to sharpen every edge..."
He smiled faintly.
"Until then… I'll keep walking the path no one else dares."