It's the Thirtieth Time Already

The anomaly in the sky had already vanished. Now, only a high moon cast its pale glow over the Black Forest, its shadows stretching like silent specters between the trees. The battlefield had fallen into an almost complete silence, broken only by the hum of insects and the gentle rustle of leaves—a stark contrast to the chaos that had unfolded there just moments before.

Israel Dracknum sat beneath the shade of a sturdy tree, his posture relaxed though his senses remained sharp. With practiced, precise movements, he cleaned his claymore, the silver sheen of the blade catching the moonlight as he wiped away the final traces of blood.

Across the clearing, Nikolas Beaumont trudged forward, dragging Oswin, who was still unconscious. The boy was lighter than he looked, but exhaustion made the task more grueling than it should have been.

With some effort, he managed to bring him over to where Glória was resting, propped up against the trunk of a nearby tree. She was already there, motionless, her hair spilling over her shoulders, her breathing slow and steady—signs that, despite having fainted, her condition wasn't anything serious.

Nikolas paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. His gaze flicked from Oswin, sprawled on the ground, to Glória resting just a few feet away.

Something in his expression tightened with discomfort.

He furrowed his brow, thinking.

"Yeah… better not," he muttered under his breath, mostly to himself.

Without giving it a second thought, he dropped Oswin right where he stood—at a safe distance from the girl.

He didn't need any more trouble. Leaving a kid soaked in urine right next to an unconscious young girl? Yeah, that definitely wasn't the best idea.

Nikolas let out a long sigh, straightening up as his eyes drifted toward the night sky. The dark clouds had cleared, revealing the solitary moon that now shone over the Black Forest, its silver light spilling across the wreckage left behind.

All that was left to do now was wait.

But that didn't bother him.

Israel seemed to share the same sentiment. There was no reason for anxiety or impatience. The anomaly had been dealt with, and though the enemies had, regrettably, managed to escape, that chapter was closed for now.

But... not all of them.

One hadn't managed to escape. The disheveled-haired boy was still out cold beside Israel.

Yet, it wasn't exactly a victory. Alexander had been dragged into the demon dimension. And now, the only thing they could do was wait—wait for someone with enough experience to arrive and tell them if saving him was even possible.

And so, time crawled on.

The forest around them was silent, a jarring contrast to the brutal battle that had raged there not long ago.

Glória and Oswin remained unconscious, trapped in a deep, restless sleep.

Nikolas, on the other hand, was barely holding himself together. The heavy shadows under his eyes said it all. If he so much as blinked too long, he'd be asleep before he knew it.

But he couldn't let that happen. He had to stay awake.

A faint tremor ran through his body, his boots slipping slightly on the damp earth. He forced himself to stand tall. But time... time was a merciless opponent.

Israel, meanwhile, remained under the tree's shade, patiently cleaning his claymore with almost surgical precision. His face stayed calm, untouched by exhaustion.

Nikolas swayed on his feet.

One minute.

He clenched his fists, took a deep breath.

Two minutes.

His eyelids grew heavier.

Ten minutes.

He rubbed his face, dragging himself back from the edge of sleep.

Thirty minutes.

His knees buckled for a heartbeat.

And then…

By the time the wait stretched to 45 minutes, exhaustion finally won. Nikolas's body gave out, and he collapsed to the ground, slipping into an inevitable, heavy sleep.

The forest stayed quiet. And the night went on… calm and undisturbed.

.......

The rising sun peeked through the colossal mountain ranges of Magnum, spilling its golden light over the principality.

The city stirred to life slowly, yet with the precision of a perfectly tuned machine.

Miners were already up, ready for another long day of labor deep within the mines.

Blacksmiths lit their forges, the first flames casting an orange glow across the streets as the rhythmic pounding of hammers soon echoed through the alleys.

Lumberjacks sharpened their tools and secured their leather packs, preparing to venture into the dense forests to supply the city with the wood crucial for the approaching winter.

Guards switched shifts, the weary faces of the night patrol giving way to the sharp, focused expressions of those taking their posts at dawn.

And out in the great training yard, the knight apprentices had already begun their morning drills, moving with discipline under the watchful eyes of their instructors as they prepared for the day's lessons.

At the heart of the Principality, where the streets grew wider and the buildings stood taller and prouder, there was an estate that, with its solid and imposing architecture, resembled more a castle than a mere mansion.

Inside that grand residence, one of the largest rooms was just beginning to feel the touch of the morning sun.

Light poured through the towering arched windows, casting a soft glow across the polished wooden floor, slowly sliding up the stone walls until it finally reached the bed where a young boy lay sleeping.

The golden warmth drifted lazily over the fine linen sheets, inching its way forward until it gently brushed against the child's peaceful, sleeping face.

He stirred restlessly, mumbling in his sleep as the warm rays began to drag him from his slumber. Still wrapped in the comfort of his bed, he turned over, trying to escape the intrusive light.

But then—

THUD!

The grand double doors of the room flew open with brutal force, making the windows tremble from the impact.

"LUCIAN, YOU DAMN FOOL OF A SON! THE SUN'S BEEN UP FOR AGES! GET OUT OF BED NOW!"

The booming voice tore through the quiet of the room, startling the birds outside into a frantic flight.

"What the hell!"

The boy jolted upright, springing to his feet on the mattress, instinctively falling into a defensive stance, eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to piece together what in the world was happening.

The figure who had burst into the room was a broad, heavyset man, his frame a balance between hardened muscle and the kind of weight that hinted at glory days long gone, though his commanding posture worked hard to conceal it.

He filled the room almost as much as his voice did.

Long, darkened red hair fell loosely over his shoulders.

His white linen shirt—despite its fine quality—looked like it was moments from surrendering under the strain of his wide chest. The fabric pulled tight, revealing the raw strength beneath, while the sleeves fluttered with every exaggerated gesture, his muscles flexing involuntarily with each sharp movement.

"LUCIAN!" he repeated, voice thick with authority and barely restrained irritation, echoing through the vast room like thunder on the verge of crashing down.

Across the room, now realizing it wasn't some kind of threat, the boy collapsed back into the tangle of sheets. With hair sticking out in every direction, he blinked a few times, his eyes opening lazily as the weight of reality began to settle over him.

His body was slowly waking up, but his mind stubbornly refused to accept that it was time to leave the bed.

"Old man... you've seriously got a few screws loose…" Lucian muttered, voice sluggish and drowsy.

The man's brow furrowed, but the boy merely let out a low grumble, turning onto his side and burying his face into the pillow as if that alone might make him vanish from the view of the increasingly impatient figure looming over him.

"Can't even get a decent night's sleep with all this noise..." he sighed, desperately trying to ignore the overwhelming presence filling the room.

But then…

Lucian opened his mouth and said quite possibly the worst thing he could have at that moment.

"Who the hell goes around yelling like that in the middle of the night?" His voice was muffled by the pillow, but clear enough to be heard. "You should probably be more worried about that shirt of yours before it explodes..."

He didn't realize what he had just done.

But the man did.

And then—

CRACK!

One of the buttons on the man's shirt popped clean off, shooting across the room like a bullet and shattering the window with a sharp, echoing crash, sending shards of glass spilling across the windowsill.

The silence that followed was more terrifying than any shout could have been.

Lucian only realized something had gone terribly wrong when a cold shiver ran down his spine.

Slowly, he turned his head just enough to take in the scene.

The man stood perfectly still, but a vein on his temple throbbed violently. His fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles creaked.

Mana pulsed off of him in waves, filling the room with a suffocating pressure.

Then, in a calmness far more frightening than if he'd roared, the man whispered:

"I think I've been far too lenient with your upbringing…"

And then... he moved.

Lucian barely had time to react.

"DAD, WAIT!"

"GET UP!"

The punch landed squarely on the top of Lucian's head with devastating force, and the impact didn't just rip him out of bed—it obliterated the entire thing.

CRASH!

The wooden frame splintered and collapsed, sheets and pillows flying across the room as Lucian hit the stone floor with a dull thud.

For a moment, there was no pain.

Just silence.

Lucian lay there, stunned, trying to process what had just happened.

And then…

"DAMN IT, OLD MAN! NOT AGAIN!" he yelled, now fully and painfully awake.

Clutching his throbbing head, he clumsily sat up, shooting a glare equal parts exasperated and outraged at the man towering over him, arms crossed like a judge passing sentence.

"THAT'S THE 30TH BED THIS MONTH! WHO THE HELL WAKES UP THEIR ONLY SON WITH A PUNCH?!"

The man didn't so much as blink.

The answer came without hesitation, delivered with such rock-solid certainty that it only made the situation worse:

"The kind of man whose son only learns through fists, not words."

Lucian's eyes widened in disbelief.

Then, the man uncrossed his arms and raised a clenched fist, wrapped in a reddish-brown aura that pulsed like burning embers.

"So? You getting up... or would you like me to assist?"

Lucian swallowed hard. Now fully awake, he could feel the sheer pressure radiating off his father. He knew exactly what was coming if he said the wrong thing.