Adapt Or Die

Zephyr kept his head down as the caravan pressed onward, but his senses stayed sharp. That feeling—like a faint ripple brushing against his mind—refused to fade. He glanced back once more toward the treeline, but the forest stared back, still and indifferent. Or so it seemed.

He forced himself to move forward, but the tension in his chest remained.

Deeper within the forest, Black Mask crouched low.

"Good instincts"

Black Mask's lips curled into a small smile.

The boy had sensed him earlier. He was sure of it. For a brief moment, the absurd thought crept in—could the ritual have actually succeeded after all? Had some ancient being truly latched onto the brat's soul?

No. He thought.

That was just some nonsense Za'an clung to. Black Mask had known it was all folly from the beginning. Their clan's ritual was a desperate imitation of ancient rites gotten from who knows where, fueled by greed and scraps of knowledge. No true mage would have looked at it twice. The boy had probably just survived the ritual process, unlike the others.

He was just lucky.

But still… the boy was sharp.

He liked that.

The crunch of boots on leaves behind him pulled him from his thoughts. The frost apprentice emerged—broad-shouldered, wrapped in armor. Tier 2. But power did not always breed competence. His breathing was heavy—his steps were loud.

"Are we moving or what?" the apprentice snapped, eyes darting around the forest. "He's getting away."

Black Mask didn't bother turning. "Patience. We wait for an opportune moment. We don't blunder forward like an ox."

The apprentice scowled but stayed quiet. He hated this mission—hated being reduced to a bodyguard for a Tier 1. Hated being treated like muscle.

And he especially hated Black Mask.

They all did. The guy was like a shadow within the Sho Clan—always watching, always whispering to Za'an. And now he led the way, giving orders like he was worth something. The apprentice sneered but held his tongue. For now.

Black Mask ignored the simmering resentment. He withdrew a small insect—a black beetle no larger than a fingernail. He dripped a viscous sap onto its back, and it began to vibrate softly.

Not far away, its twin—held by another—would react.

Just as he was about to release it, a presence slipped into his awareness. Smooth. Controlled. Like a knife gliding through silk.

He tensed, then relaxed.

No.34 stepped into view.

The assassin from the Umbral Tower moved without sound, his black robes absorbing the forest light. His face, hidden partially by a half-mask, was blank—void of warmth or malice. Just precision.

"Shadow magic?!"

The frost apprentice stiffened, hand drifting toward his sword.

Black Mask spoke, his tone low and calm. "Don't."

The apprentice froze, though his eyes burned with confusion. He looked from Black Mask to No.34, and back again.

No.34's gaze lingered on the apprentice for a heartbeat, then drifted to the Black Mask like he was assessing an insect.

"Za'an is dead," No.34 said without preamble. His voice was smooth, measured.

Black Mask nodded slightly. He had suspected as much the moment he saw the assassin. He felt a pang of something—Relief? Excitement? His tether to the Sho Clan had snapped.

The frost apprentice's eyes widened. "What… the clan leader? Dead?"

"Throat slit," No.34 said—like he was just talking about the weather. "The rest will fight over his scraps. Your clan is finished. The quick ones would be at each other's throats already."

The apprentice's face twisted in disbelief. "No… that—why?"

Black Mask exhaled slowly. The moment had come.

"Because I made sure it happened," he said, voice steady but carrying the weight of years.

The apprentice blinked, as if the words didn't register.

"What… what are you talking about?"

Black Mask's eyes hardened. "Za'an held us back. All of us. That clan was rotting from the inside. You think power mattered there? You think being Tier 2 makes you important? We were all shackled to his whims. Out there, in the world, we aren't worth shit!"

He took a step forward, his voice rising—years of bitterness breaking through the cracks.

"I was born with nature affinity. Life magic. Do you know what that means outside of this cursed backwater? It's wealth. Nobles hoard us. Healers are basically worshipped. The Church of Mother Gaia keeps a stranglehold on most healing pathways, but Life mages who can get what slips through? They live like kings! But here I am sniffing around this shit hole like some dog!"

The apprentice's mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Black Mask laughed, but it was without joy. "Za'an knew what I was. He hid me. Kept me crawling through the woods like a hound because our clan didn't have a healer's pathway. Not even qualified to secure one...

So, he clipped my wings."

His gaze darkened. "But I watched. I waited. And when that noble brat was dragged into the rituals—when I realized who he was—I saw my chance."

He paused, eyes narrowing as he remembered.

The boy had been no older than sixteen. Spoiled, but curious. He came to Taisora under the pretense of "broadening his horizons," but it was little more than a play trip. His father, a Tier 4 mage and head of the lesser Liu clan, had countless children from various wives and concubines. This boy was one of the least promising—a political afterthought. He had been sent to the outer provinces to keep him out of the power struggle back home.

The mother, however, was different.

A concubine from a lesser branch, she held little influence in the Liu family. She was not favored, nor respected. Her son was her only chance at climbing the ranks.

When the boy vanished, she knew something was wrong. But in the Liu household, weakness was devoured. If word spread that her son might be dead, her meager influence in the clan would crumble entirely.

So she kept silent, quietly investigating, until Black Mask reached out to her, offering both truth and leverage. Learning the truth about her son's gruesome death she knew her place in the clan was finished.

The Liu patriarch would cast her aside, erasing both her and her son from the family records.

So, she sought revenge.

"She paid the Tower to kill Za'an," Black Mask said, voice low. "But she needed more—something to secure her future."

He gestured to himself.

"A nature mage. Rare. Valuable. I'm her offering to the Liu patriarch. Atonement. I become her asset, she keeps her status, and I enjoy the life that is rightfully mine. That's the game they play in the capital."

The apprentice's fists trembled. Frost coiled around his fingertips. "You… you sold us out? You murdered our leader—our clan—because you wanted out?"

Black Mask's voice was cold. "I freed myself. And the rest of you? You were already dead. You just didn't know it yet."

The apprentice's face twisted in rage. He lunged, frost erupting around him.

He didn't reach them.

No.34 stepped forward with ease and fluidity. His dagger sliced across the apprentice's throat in a clean arc. Blood sprayed onto the forest floor. The apprentice gurgled, eyes wide with shock, hands clutching his neck as he staggered.

He fell face-first into the mud, limbs twitching, before going still.

Silence.

No.34 wiped his blade with a cloth, his expression unchanged.

Black Mask watched the body for a moment, then looked up.

No.34 met his gaze. "Adapt, or die," he said. "That's the rule of the game."

Black Mask nodded, inhaling deeply. His shackles were broken. Za'an was dead. The future was uncertain—but it was his.

He glanced once toward the direction the boy had fled, but the chase no longer mattered.

Turning, he followed No.34 into the depths of the forest.

He was no longer a tracker. No longer a servant.

He was free.

And in this ruthless world, freedom was power.