Stench in the Wind

"Von is already on his way," Ray said, his voice calm but firm as he pointed to a worn map stretched across the table. His gloved finger hovered over a red-marked region—deep within enemy territory. "He's heading straight toward the Dark Wing's base."

Wandy leaned in, her brows furrowed. "So, while he's keeping them occupied… we make our move into the Wasteland Dungeon, right?"

Ray gave a slight nod. "Exactly. Elias will be left behind with Stella. She need someone to be with.""

He straightened up and looked at each of them in turn.

"There are three tunnels inside the Dungeon. Only one leads to the dead artifact. We'll split into three groups and take each path. Choose carefully, move swiftly. No hesitation."

Ray turned, heading for the door, his coat fluttering slightly with each step.

"Remember—survive. Retrieve the artifact. And most important of all…"

He paused, casting one last glance over his shoulder.

"Don't use your blessings unless it's a true emergency. The moment you do… they'll know."

With that, he stepped into the shadows beyond the door—leaving only the flicker of lantern light dancing across the map… and the growing weight of what was to come.

--- 

Von stood at the center of a crumbling field, dust swirling beneath his feet. Across from him, two hundred warriors in darkened armor surrounded him like a wall of teeth. Their weapons gleamed under the faded light, and each of them bore the mark of the blessings granted by Egotheon.

"You stepped into the wrong nest, little bird," one of them sneered, stepping forward with a crooked grin. "Look how pale he looks. Haha. Are you a girl? If so, why don't you join us for some fun? I'm sure you can entertain us."

Their laughter roared like a storm.

Von didn't blink. "You savages sure love the sound of your own idiocy."

He took a breath.

Then his eyes opened.

A ripple surged outward as his irises shifted into twin spirals—deep, ancient, and unnaturally calm.

"Lotus Eyes."

Time crawled. The wind stopped mid-whirl, leaves hung frozen in the air, and the voices of the Dark Wing soldiers became echoes stretched thin.

Von stepped forward—one pace. Two.

A moment later, a soldier's knee buckled.

Another clutched his chest as blood spurted from a hidden artery—struck cleanly through a weak point in his armor.

In real time, it was a flash.

Dozens dropped before the others even noticed he had moved.

"W-what the hell was that?!"

"He didn't cast a spell!"

"Bluff. There's no blessing like that—attack!"

They raised their hands to summon wind spells—gales whipped into spears, slashes, arrows.

But Von wasn't there anymore.

A whisper passed through them—no, a blade.

"Clock Hands."

Invisible. Precise. Lethal.

Each swing cut through metal, bone, and magic alike. Arms fell limp, weapons shattered in midair, and bodies hit the ground before they realized they'd been struck.

Von moved like a ghost. Silent. Relentless.

Blood misted the air as the Dark Wing formation broke. Panic flooded their ranks.

"Get back! He's not human!"

The commanding officer roared, raising five fingers marked with wind blessings. "Fall back to Circle Formation! Focus your blessings—NOW!"

Spells launched toward Von in unison—sharpened winds, storm orbs, bladed cyclones.

Von didn't dodge.

Instead, he raised his arm. His voice echoed like a bell.

"Soul Collector."

A shockwave burst from his core—silver and violet, howling like the cries of the lost.

It tore through the battlefield in a 400-meter radius.

The wind spells collapsed. The earth groaned.

And one by one, every soldier caught within the wave froze—bodies rigid, eyes wide, souls ejected like vapor trailing upward from their mouths.

For several long seconds, the field was deathly still—nothing but twitching bodies, souls suspended midair like trapped wisps of light.

Then it ended.

The souls returned to their vessels, but those who survived fell unconscious, drained, their minds shattered from the brief separation.

Von lowered his arm. His breathing remained calm, but his gaze flicked toward the horizon—toward the Wasteland Dungeon.

His hand tightened around the edge of his coat.

"Everything's different now," he murmured to no one. "This isn't the Nethoria I knew."

He turned, leaving the broken Dark Wing soldiers in the wake of his silence.

---

"What do you think of that man, Elly?" Stella asked, her voice soft but curious as they walked along the quiet stone path lined with ancient trees.

Elias stumbled a little on her step, nearly tripping over a root. "W-What?" Her cheeks flushed instantly. "That man? You mean… Ray?"

Stella tilted her head. "Mhm."