Chapter 8: The Nameless Society

'Valor de Crimson Vicardo, from one of the Seven Families of the Empire. Valor was once a naive boy. Nothing strange marked his early days. He dreamed of becoming a knight at Argent Knight Academy in the country of Ardent. Talented, yet foolish. But then, something changed. Just last month, his personality shifted — not as a disguise or an act, but a true transformation brought on by unknown events. Since then, he has acted with the maturity of someone who has endured lifetimes. His swordsmanship progressed in leaps and bounds — so much that he even bested his instructor in skill. He abandoned his goal of joining Argent Knight Academy and instead chose Solstice Knight Hall. Due to his late admission, he was placed in Class A rather than Class S, which had already filled.'

Aiden's mind shuddered as he read.

He was certain now — Valor was the regressor.

'Changing one's personality is no mere feat,' Aiden thought. 'It takes hardship, will, and the kind of experience you can only earn by living through something... or seeing it all once before.'

He kept reading, then leaned back with a sigh.

'I have to know what his intentions are. But I can't approach him directly. I'll wait until midterms — when classes reshuffle. I'm certain he'll move to Class S then. I just have to make sure I remain in Class S as well... which shouldn't be too difficult. I can maintain my standing.'

But then his gaze darkened.

'The problem is... I still don't know how long it'll take for me to form a magic circle. After what happened in the Dark Forest... I can't stay this helpless. I have to achieve that breakthrough — soon.'

Drained both mentally and emotionally, Aiden finally crawled into bed and let sleep claim him.

---

Somewhere far away... while Aiden slept.

Beneath the earth — hidden from all — lay a vast, shadow-drenched hall carved into ancient black stone. It pulsed with silence and secrecy.

Tall pillars rose into a ceiling lost in darkness. Their surfaces were etched with strange, glowing symbols that flickered like dying embers. The air was heavy — cold — carrying the scent of ash, old metal, and forgotten sins.

Etched in ancient letters across the wall was the name: The Nameless Society.

A secret organization the entire world sought... but none had ever found.

And if they did? They would never live to speak of it.

They were the architects of absolute evil — ruthless, invisible, and unstoppable.

In the center of the hall stood a blackened throne upon a raised platform. Before it stretched a long, cracked obsidian table lined with twelve uniquely shaped chairs, each reflecting the identity of its master.

Thirteen seats in total. One for the Monarch, and twelve for his inner circle:

Valkyrie, Thunder, Spectator, Mist, Shadow, Phantom, Hollow, Oracle, Vortex, Storm, Void, and Reaper.

Blue flames burned coldly in the wall-mounted torches, casting flickering shadows that seemed alive — watching, whispering.

Suddenly, the seats began to glow.

In a blink, thirteen figures appeared, each in their designated seat, as if summoned from the void.

Then, with unified voice, the twelve turned toward the throne and said,

"We greet the Monarch."

With a slight nod from their leader, they all sat.

The Monarch sat with absolute stillness — the calm center of the storm.

His jet-black hair fell to his shoulders in sleek, unbothered strands. His pale face was like carved marble, and his blood-red eyes burned with silent fury.

He wore a deep black coat lined with dark crimson. A high collar veiled his throat in shadow. Thorn-like embroidery lined the edges of his coat, sharp and quiet. A crimson sash crossed his chest, held in place by a silver emblem shaped like a broken crown.

He turned his gaze to one member, whose face was hidden by darkness.

"Spectator. Have you located the artifact?"

Spectator's voice came low and rasping. "Not yet. But... I suspect it's on Elandros Island."

Monarch paused to think, then turned to another member.

"Oracle. What are the odds?"

Oracle's voice came after a moment, calm and mechanical. "Five percent."

The Monarch gave a slight nod. "That's higher than our previous findings."

Then he said, "Valkyrie. Thunder. Go to the island. Use whatever means necessary."

---

Valkyrie rose with elegance and menace. Her beauty was sharp — almost dangerous.

Her long violet hair flowed like silk, framing skin pale as frost and eyes that gleamed with cruel delight. She wore a form-fitting black dress, its fabric shimmering faintly like woven starlight. Silver runes traced the hem. A high collar framed her throat, and a slit up one side gave her an air of both regality and threat.

She bowed her head. "Yes, Monarch."

Beside her stood Thunder, arrogance incarnate. His golden-orange hair blazed like a storm — wild, yet refined. His skin flawless, his jaw sharp, and his amber eyes gleamed with untouchable pride.

He wore a long coat of pale gold and ivory, embroidered with lightning motifs that danced like living energy. A high collar framed his broad shoulders. Silver cuffs gleamed at his wrists.

He smirked. "As you wish, Monarch."

Valkyrie then turned toward the shadowy figure beside them — Void.

"Void," she said sweetly. "Kindly teleport us to Elandros Island."

Void's face was hidden. In fact, his entire form seemed swallowed in darkness, like the void around him rejected all light. His voice came like a whisper from the abyss.

"Why should I?"

Valkyrie pouted playfully. "Don't be stingy. Pretty please?"

A moment passed.

Then Void murmured something in an ancient tongue — and just like that, Thunder and Valkyrie vanished.

They reappeared high above the skies of Elandros Island, standing in the open air, as if the very sky was their battlefield.

They looked down.

And both smiled — dark, gleeful, and dangerous.