Ashveil

After stepping out of the Throne Room, Arthur stood still. He looked around, unsure of where to go next. His mother had left without saying anything—just a nod before walking away, her figure fading in the glowing, magical hallway.

He looked down at his right hand. It was still slightly shaking from when he touched the sword Thorne had shown him. It wasn't even made yet, but somehow… he could feel it.

"A sword that will grow with me…" he whispered to himself.

The thought made his heart feel heavy. Like something important had started.

That's when he heard a voice behind him.

"Young master."

Arthur turned around. It was Rein.

He blinked in surprise. "Rein? What are you doing here?"

Rein gave a small smile. "The Countess sent me. She said I should come pick you up."

Arthur frowned a little at the words pick you up. It made him feel like a kid. Maybe he was one here—in this world of monsters, nobles, and ancient magic—but he didn't like feeling weak.

"I can walk by myself, you know," Arthur muttered.

Rein chuckled. "Of course. But orders are orders."

Arthur sighed. "Fine. Let's go."

They got into the lift and rode it down in silence. When they stepped outside, the cool evening wind brushed against Arthur's face. The courtyard was lit with glowing runes and small floating lights that hovered in the air.

Arthur looked back at the tall Crimson Magic Tower. Its windows still glowed softly, like it held secrets even the stars couldn't see.

"Rein," Arthur asked suddenly, "do you think I can do it?"

Rein looked at him, curious. "Do what?"

Arthur clenched his fists. "Catch up. To my mother. To Father. To all those people out there who are stronger than me."

Rein didn't answer right away. Instead, he walked toward a strange-looking vehicle. It had no wheels touching the ground. Its metal body glowed with magical symbols, and a bright crystal was set in the middle, pulsing gently.

Arthur's eyes widened. "That's… a car?"

Rein nodded. "A magic-powered one. Runs on ether-crystals. Fast, silent, and enchanted to fly over rough terrain."

Arthur whistled. "This world really is something else."

Rein opened the door and looked at him.

"You weren't born to catch up, Arthur," he said. "You were born to surpass."

Arthur stared at him, then slowly stepped inside the car.

The engine hummed softly. The car rose a little off the ground and started to glide forward. Lights on the dashboard flickered to life as they moved through the city streets.

But Arthur wasn't paying attention to any of it.

His mind was somewhere else.

On the blade that was waiting to be made.

On the fire inside him that was starting to burn.

"Eight days," he whispered, looking out the window.

"Eight days until the second round."

.........…

The blue moon hung high over the city, casting its glow on sleeping rooftops, quiet courtyards, and the sleek, hovering tracks of the Skyrail Nexus, Elydrion's floating transit system. All was peaceful.

Baron John Erion's estate stood proudly on a small hill, its towers gleaming under the moonlight like silver lances. But this night held a different purpose.

It was 2 AM.

Shops were closed. People slept, unaware that death had entered the city.

A lone figure cloaked in black approached the estate gates. His face was hidden behind a mask with jagged, blood-red runes that pulsed faintly. The ground beneath him made no sound as he walked, as though even the earth feared him.

⸻

"That fucker must be chasing whores again" grunted a tired knight at the gate. "Skips too much these days. Maybe I should finally report him."

Then, movement.

"Hey! You there! Stop!"

The black-robed figure kept walking.

"I said stop, or I'll kill you!"

No response.

The knight's eyes narrowed. He drew his sword—silver light surrounded it. A Peak Rank 2 aura flared as he dashed forward and slashed at the intruder's throat.

His blade cut through smoke.

The figure vanished like an illusion.

"What the fu—"

A blade flashed in the moonlight.

Shick.

The knight's head fell from his shoulders, hitting the cobblestone with a soft thud.

No screams. Just silence.

⸻

Moments later, another man stepped into view—a knight in uniform, but with his breastplate loosened and helmet missing.

"My lord," he whispered. "The estate is yours. No knights remain."

The black-robed figure paused. "Report."

"Sleeping potion. Slipped it into their food hours ago. No one will wake until dawn."

"Then remain here. And listen closely."

"Yes, my lord."

The masked assassin turned toward the towering estate, then vanished into the shadows.

⸻

Inside, his movements were fluid. Controlled. Silent.

He knew every corridor, every room—thanks to the map the traitorous knight had given him. Soon, he reached the hallway leading to Baron Erion's private chambers.

But he stopped.

A breeze shifted. Something felt… off.

He dodged left instantly.

CLANG!

A heavy sword cleaved into the marble where his head had been a second ago.

The attacker stepped into the moonlight.

Baron John Erion.

A intermediate Rank 5 knight. His armor gleamed silver, and his expression was calm—but his eyes were sharp, alert, calculating.

"I've been waiting for you," he said.

He had received information that an assassination attempt was going to be made on him, which is why he had hidden here, to surprise him and kill him in one fell swoop, but his attack failed.

After his attack failed, he was completely stunned

Just then, the assassin drew his dagger, his movements swift and calculated as he advanced towards him

Their weapons clashed in a blur.

Clang! Clang! Shhhk!

The Baron parried fast and struck harder—but the assassin danced between the strikes with a grace that seemed inhuman. Sparks flew as blades met again and again. It was a battle of precision and raw power.

Then—

"[Flame Chain]!"

A roaring whip of fire lashed toward the assassin from the side. He twisted and summoned a thin mana barrier that absorbed most of the impact.

A red-haired mage stepped into view, eyes burning with focus.

"Need more gold for this, Baron," she muttered.

"Double," Erion growled, barely keeping up with the assassin's movements.

Suddenly—

"[Swift Strike]!"

A blue-haired rogue darted from behind the mage, dual daggers flashing like lightning. He aimed for the assassin's spine, heart, and throat in a flurry of precise attacks.

Yet none landed.

The black-robed man blocked every blow with fluid, almost playful ease—parrying, spinning, dodging without ever truly striking back.

"You're… enjoying this," the mage muttered, sweat forming on her brow.

"Baron, something's wrong," the rogue said, panting. "He's not fighting to kill. He's watching us."

Erion's eyes narrowed. "He's testing us."

The assassin's mana suddenly spiked.

Before any of them could react, he blurred forward.

CRACK!

His fist slammed into the rogue's ribs. The man flew backward and smashed into a pillar, coughing blood and collapsing.

"[Chain Bind]!" the mage cried.

Ropes of arcane light launched forward—but were instantly sliced apart by a thin, invisible blade of wind.

The assassin flicked a small dagger from his belt—

Thwip!

It tore through her mana shield, slashing her shoulder deeply. She screamed and fell to one knee.

The masked man appeared in front of her like a phantom.

"No—" she whispered.

Snap.

A quick twist of his hand, and she collapsed silently.

Baron Erion was alone.

He roared and charged, pouring all his aura into one final strike.

The assassin met him head-on.

Their weapons clashed once—

Twice—

The third strike never came.

The masked man ducked low, spun around, and slashed the Baron's thigh. Erion stumbled.

Before he could recover, the assassin's blade pierced straight through his chest.

The Baron gasped.

Blood poured from his lips.

"You… Who sent you?"

The black-robed figure leaned close.

"You'll never know."

With a twist of the blade, the Baron's body went limp.

Then—

A sudden rumble in the distance.

A blast.

BOOM!

The ground shook. A fiery glow lit up the sky—not from the estate, but from the direction of the central residential district.

Screams echoed. Fires spread. Sirens howled as city guards began to mobilize.

The masked man turned toward the window, watching the fire reflect in his mask.

Mission complete.

He vanished into the night.

————————-

The Sky cracked open with light.

A deep, fiery explosion thundered through the heart of Enoire, turning night into day for a brief, horrifying second.

Then came the silence.

Followed by screams.

People rushed out of their homes, barefoot, still half-asleep, clutching their children and each other. Some had blood on their faces—hit by shattered glass or collapsing beams. Others were too stunned to even speak.

"My sister… she was inside…"

A young man clutched the arm of a woman beside him, his voice trembling. He stared toward the towering inferno, his eyes wide with terror. There was no comfort, no solace. No one knew how to answer him.

The air was thick with the acrid stench of burning wood, metal, and flesh. The glow from the fire stretched into the sky, painting the smoke-choked clouds in hues of orange and red. It looked like a nightmare—like the world was coming to an end.

One by one, the city guards arrived, their faces ashen, as they scanned the ruins. Some fell to their knees, staring at the destruction as though in disbelief.

"Dear gods…" a captain whispered, his voice barely audible as he staggered back, his hands shaking. His eyes were unfocused, as though the enormity of the devastation was too much for his mind to comprehend.

"The residential ward… it's gone," one of his men murmured, his voice cracking under the weight of the words. "That's at least thousand people…"

No one responded. There was nothing left to say.

The Skyrail Nexus screeched to a halt mid-air. Its glowing tracks flickered and died. Mages working in communication towers began sending emergency flares—red, blue, and black. A triple-tier code. Highest level of crisis.

"Baron Erion's estate… What of that?" one guard stammered, trying to grasp some order from the chaos.

"The estate's untouched," another replied. "It was a diversion. The explosion came from the heart of the city."

The ringing of the city bell began.

Dong… Dong… Dong…

Three solemn chimes, as though the city itself mourned.

—

Meanwhile, far from the wreckage, the assassin stood on a shattered temple spire.

His black robe billowed in the wind, his mask gleaming in the moonlight. He didn't feel joy. He didn't feel sorrow. Only a sense of duty, cold and unyielding. His eyes, hidden behind the mask, betrayed no emotion as he watched the destruction unfold. The flames reflected off his mask like a twisted mirror, illuminating the path that had led to this moment.

He did not celebrate. Not in the least.

It had been efficient, clean, the mission completed. But it had not been without a cost. The pang of doubt lingered in the back of his mind.

As he had cut through the mage's defenses, as he had struck down the rogue, he had felt the fleeting moments of humanity in each blow—the vulnerability of the guards, the desperation in the Baron's eyes. The rogue's panic as his strikes failed to land, the mage's horror as her magic shattered. The assassin didn't need to kill them all. He hadn't needed to toy with them. But something in him had made him hesitate, just long enough to savor their struggle.

And now, the city of Enoire lay in ruins.

Thousands were dead, their lives extinguished in the blink of an eye. How many had been innocents? How many had been unaware of the dark forces that stirred beneath the surface? The assassin knew little of the answers. The mission had been necessary. But it felt… hollow.

The wind shifted, and for a moment, a fleeting thought passed through him—Was this worth it?

He turned away from the spire, stepping back into the shadows.

As his figure vanished into the night, the sounds of the city's cries echoed in the distance. But the assassin was already gone, like a ghost, leaving behind nothing but the memory of his footsteps.

That night, the people of Enoire gave their city a new name:

"Ashveil."