Enemies

Just moments before the disruption, Sollivan had been observing the fierce battle before him with amusement, calculating potential casualties. But his expression suddenly darkened when he sensed an intense killing intent emanating from Commander Roland. He didn't know the reason, but he knew things were about to take a turn for the worse—his instincts, sharpened since the change in his blood, had never failed him. Gathering his courage, he decided to intervene in the fight before it ended too quickly, which could ruin his plans.

He silently signaled Noctis , who slipped through the shadows of the hall and the scattered soldiers. Within seconds, Noctis reached Roland's shadow and merged with it, seeking to understand the source of this murderous intent.

He didn't have to wait long before seeing Roland make a few clumsy moves, getting stabbed in the hand in the process. Before he could fully grasp what was happening, he watched as Roland raised his razor-sharp sword, aiming to slit the sworn ally Sergius' throat.

'This madman!' Sollivan sighed in resignation, extending his hand from the shadows to grab Roland's leg and yank him backward with force. His strength wasn't overwhelming, but it was enough to make Roland stumble. Without lingering, he quickly retreated and hid in the nearest corner.

...

Commander Roland's eyes flew open in shock as he struggled to comprehend what had just happened. His mind swirled with vague thoughts, and he faintly recalled seeing a dark, misty hand on the ground out of the corner of his eye before he stumbled.

'Is there another formation here?' He quickly dismissed the thought and steadied himself, refusing to give his enemies an opening. Tightening his grip on his sword, which now glowed with a faint white light, he swung it toward the ground beside his foot. A transparent blade of energy shot forth, accompanied by a gust of wind, striking his own shadow and leaving behind a meter-long gash twenty centimeters deep.

The move was so erratic that everyone around him—allies and enemies alike—paused to stare in bewilderment before resuming their fight. Sergius, the sworn ally, also took the momentary lull to tend to his wounds and catch his breath. With deep sarcasm, he remarked, "The noble and renowned Commander Roland Jennings has become a madman, afraid of his own shadow. Has your empire's situation deteriorated so badly that you've lost your mind over it?"

Roland shot him an indifferent glance before carefully scanning his surroundings with his mental field. Yet, he found nothing unusual.

Sigh.

He exhaled heavily and, without warning, lunged at Sergius with insane speed. The latter, barely recovered, was slow to react—unlike Roland, a battle-hardened commander, Sergius was merely a government official. His movements were jerky, and despite their near-equal strength, he could barely keep himself alive.

He moved hastily, raising his sword in a clumsy block. The Auraxis-imbued blades collided with tremendous force, making the air howl around them. Their hair and clothes fluttered wildly as sparks flew from the clash. But the impact lasted only a moment before Sergius was sent skidding backward across the stone floor. Roland , however, didn't lose momentum—he charged again.

Just as he was about to strike, Noctis still hidden nearby—reached out from the shadows, grabbed Roland's leg, and yanked him back, making him stumble once more.

Roland's hand slipped, his blade cutting through empty air. His face twisted in rage, veins bulging. Quickly recovering, he let himself fall, narrowly avoiding Sergius' sword, which sliced through his disheveled hair instead. As his face neared the ground, he slammed his palms against it and pushed himself backward.

Midair, he glared at the ground beneath him, teeth clenched as he cursed furiously upon landing. "Come out, you bastard! I'll cut off your head today!"

The heated battle around them came to an abrupt halt as everyone froze in astonishment.

Seizing the collective confusion, a cunning soldier suddenly struck, decapitating his opponent. The others' expressions twisted, and the fighting resumed—plunging the hall into even greater chaos. The treacherous attack forced everyone to unleash their remaining strength, escalating the battle into a frenzy. Bodies began to drop one after another, blood and gore staining the floor, while the gleaming gold was tainted crimson with greed. Under the glow of the ceiling's light formations, the ancient treasury had turned into a mass grave.

Yet Sergius and Roland remained motionless, surveying their surroundings with an odd mix of fear and unease. Both had seen the black hand earlier and now pondered the sheer madness of the situation. Inexplicably, their gazes flickered toward the sealed coffin, contemplating the impossibility of it all.

...

Hidden in the shadow of a pillar, Sollivan watched them with amusement, barely suppressing his sinister grin. 'Well, that's enough. No need to overdo it—I might get exposed.'He steadied himself, then suddenly furrowed his brows in curiosity. Quickly, he directed Noctis to leave the vast hall and opened his eyes.

He glanced at Darnell's rigid back standing before him and muttered with a faint smile, "He broke free from the illusion faster than I expected." Barely an hour had passed since they entered, so he was slightly surprised—and impressed—by the mental fortitude of an Arcane Master at the late Path-Opening stage.

In truth, even if someone lost an arm, their mental strength wouldn't immediately decline to match their physical state. It might take years of stagnation for the two to equalize. The same applied to Sollivan. Though he had lost his veins and reverted to his human form, he had once been an Arcane at the peak of the early Path-Opening realm. Thus, his mental strength far surpassed that of an ordinary person—especially after his blood changed, elevating it to match that of a mid-stage Arcane Master.

"Ahem."

He coughed dryly, pretending to have just shaken off the illusion. Darnell eyes bloodshot—turned to him with a furrowed brow. Without a word, he scrutinized Sollivan from head to toe, making the latter uneasy.

"What's wrong with you now?" Sollivan asked.

'Is the illusion still bothering him?' he wondered, unaware of the storm raging in Darnell's mind.

Darnell barely masked his shock, his thoughts reeling. 'His blood… it's blue.'

His sharp eyes had caught the faint traces—on Sollivan's clothes, the thunder powder barrel, even a nearly hidden droplet near his nostril.

Regaining some composure, he carefully considered, 'I don't understand. Who is he? Why isn't his blood normal? Wait—is he a monster? Or does he have some beast lineage, like the imperial family?' His theory wasn't baseless. His experience told him of mysterious bloodlines and strange, human-like races—so this was his first suspicion.

Snap!

Sollivan snapped his fingers, feigning confusion. "Wake up. Enough spacing out."

Darnell refocused, answering haltingly, "R-right. What now?"

"Simple. We head inside—but carefully. Someone may have beaten us there."

"Fine."

Inhale.

Darnell drew his sword and took a deep breath, circulating Auraxis energy throughout his body, reinforcing every muscle to its limit. The air around him rippled as his aura grew more savage, his body pulsing with raw power.

Arcane Masters at the Path-Opening stage relied more on close-quarters combat than mid-to-long-range energy attacks for two reasons: First, their energy reserves were limited, and flashy techniques like energy blades, fireballs, or transparent shields drained too much. Second, time—most such attacks (except energy blades) required lengthy preparation, impractical in the heat of battle. Every wasted second was an opening for the enemy. Thus, they enhanced their bodies and weapons, favoring direct martial arts.

Steadying himself, Darnell advanced cautiously. Sollivan followed, guiding his chair while studying Darnell's broad back with narrowed eyes. 'He noticed something. But what? That look—he saw something he shouldn't have. He's staying silent out of fear.'

His gaze dropped to the dark blue stains on the barrel—still fresh. His lips thinned.So he knows. Expected. Can't hide it forever, not in missions like this.

As they walked the corpse-strewn corridor, both were lost in thought.

Sollivan pondered damage control, while Darnell analyzed his discovery without dropping his guard. Spotting a cluster of fresh corpses, he frowned."These are recent." Though not a genius, his military experience let him estimate time of death. These had been cleanly killed—single blows to the head—unlike the brutalized corpses from hours earlier.

Suspicious, he stole a glance at Sollivan. "He has help. Someone cleared the path—not strong, but impossibly precise and stealthy." He sharpened his senses, spreading his mental field to avoid ambush.

Minutes later, they reached the massive stone gate. Peering inside, Darnell's expression twisted. He whirled toward Sollivan, whose creaking chair threatened to give them away—and hissed, "Stop. You'll expose us. There are people inside."

Sollivan feigned surprise. "How many? Their strength? Can you fight them?"

Darnell shook his head. "Fifty. Ten allies, forty enemies. Two mid-stage. I might trade blows one-on-one, but I'll lose."

Sollivan's eyes narrowed. He can hold his own against a stronger opponent? That defied logic—the hierarchy was absolute. Early-stage fighters couldn't match mid-stage unless outnumbering them ten-to-one with superior weapons and tactics.

Darnell scanned the brawl again. "What now? We can't take them."

Sollivan smirked darkly. "Why fight?"

Darnell blinked. "What?"

Sollivan lifted the barrel he'd carried all this time. "Simple. We blow them up."