The man behind

Flauros left. There was a dust of broken stone beneath his boots, behind him were burning fires, and the sound of panicked people.

But in his head now, there was no longer the sound of screams or collapses. The only thing that remained was a strange aura.

It was like a light smoke, drifting across the edges of his thoughts, carrying the cold scent of half-rotten flesh, a scent that even those who had delved into forbidden magic could smell.

But strangely, amid the gloom of death, there was a familiar rhythm, as if he had touched it somewhere before.

Flauros stopped in the middle of a ruined corner. The wind blew through the torn cracks of the city, blowing his hair. He closed his eyes. All sound receded behind him.

"...Necromancer," he muttered, his hand tightening on the handle of his spear. "You guys have crawled out of the grave again?"

There was no mistaking it. The erratic fluctuations in the quantum energy, the scratches in the flow of mana around him, were signs of someone manipulating death, not simply witnessing it.

And the way it pulled at the mana of the earth as if probing its path. It couldn't have gone far. That person was still around.

Even with the use of invisibility spells or aura seals, the presence of a Necromancer was never truly invisible.

They left tiny cracks in the energy structure, things that someone like Flauros could sense in just a few breaths.

He turned, turning into a narrow alley partially obscured by rubble. Magic flowed through his fingers, following the erratic breathing of death energy.

And there, behind a half-collapsed brick wall, something seemed to be looking back.

Not with eyes, but with will.

Flauros curled his lips.

"Not hiding anymore?"

He began to move towards it, step by step, slowly, but heavily, as if death itself were knocking at his door.

A moment after he had stepped forward, the thing that was "looking back" had disappeared.

Not the usual kind of disappearance. There was no sound of wind tearing or flash of lightning. Just, whoosh, as if the fabric of reality had been torn and someone had pulled a hand out of the water, leaving a few drops of vibration in the air before disappearing.

Flauros was stunned. His eyes were fixed on the space that had left the afterimage, where a spark had been pulled to one side and extinguished.

A blurry figure, wearing a long, dark cloak and tattered like skin flayed alive, had been there. Just for a second. Just enough time to see the hem of the cloak flying back from the force of the displacement, and a glance that flashed like the eyes of a zombie.

He could still smell the faint scent of scorched mint, the herb used to disguise the smell of death in advanced necromancy rituals.

"Not teleportation...is it time acceleration?" Flauros muttered, his eyes narrowing. "He knows I'm chasing him."

His hand touched the wall where the figure had just stood, and the cold energy stuck to the bricks, still not yet dissipated. He pulled his hand back, letting out a soft breath.

"Where are you running to avoid dying?"

The air trembled once.

Flauros suddenly raised his head, and the scent from earlier, scorched mint, was still there. But this time, mixed with it was something else, the scent of damp mud mixed with ashes, familiar enough to make one's spine tingle. The smell of an unfinished blood sacrifice.

He didn't need to think.

Whoosh!

His figure shot up like an arrow, stepping on a broken piece of wall that hadn't completely collapsed yet and then bouncing off, gliding over the roofs of the collapsed houses like a winged ghost.

The spear blade turned horizontally, and the streak of light from the magic power cut the wind into two halves.

In the distance, for a brief moment, Flauros saw a black cloak disappear behind the stone houses.

"Run once, don't expect a second time."

He gritted his teeth and dashed away.

In the blink of an eye, where Flauros had just stood, there was nothing left but the shadowy afterimage of the magic power still floating in the air like broken moonlight. Not even the dust had time to fall.

Just like that, a shadow as dark as the dead night, a reddish brown like the dying sunset chased each other closely over the broken roofs, the cracked walls, the crossroads that were left with only rubble and smoke.

The sound of the wind being torn. The sound of footsteps stepping on the ruins was like a series of drums. Flauros's shadow chased closely, the flaming spear hanging on his shoulder like an ancient war god's spear.

The other man, whom Flauros guessed was the Necromancer, moved as if he did not touch the ground. Each step seemed to slide through space, dragging behind a blurry afterimage, disappearing into the dark dust.

He ran to the outskirts of the city, where the ruins opened up into a barren wasteland near the edge of the ash forest, and he suddenly stopped.

One beat.

Two beats.

'Will he accelerate again?'

Flauros gritted his teeth, his foot stomping on the ground. But at that moment.

Whoosh!!

A series of hidden weapons, like metal tornadoes, flew towards him, sharp enough to cut through the air.

From his sleeves, from his cloak, from the ground beneath his feet, long, sharp steel needles stabbed out simultaneously like a forest of spikes that had just emerged.

Flauros only had time to lean over and unleash his magic power. Half of the spear blade rotated horizontally, a magic radius spread out to block the front like a crescent shield of glowing red fire.

"Such a dirty thing…"

The fire flared up, swallowing the first wave of hidden weapons. But there were still more behind. There were still hundreds more.

That guy still refused to stop. He bent his arms, twisted his fingers, and a series of more organs popped open within the shadow of his cloak.

Just as the rain of hidden weapons had not yet dissipated, the ground beneath Flauros' feet suddenly shook slightly, as if something was crawling up from hell.

Clack... Clack clack clack...

The sound of bones hitting each other resounded heavily and repeatedly. From the ground, giant white bones rose in sections, as if this rotten ground was being yanked back by an ancient creature to set up a trap.

They quickly intertwined, zigzagging around Flauros from all sides, forming a monstrous cage of bones like the chest of a dragon that had died since the first era.

There was no escape.

There was no sky.

There were only white bones, covering the space like a temporary grave.

But Flauros did not stop.

He turned around, the spear in his hand spinning in a perfect arc, like drawing a red crescent moon in the sky.

'Just with these broken bones, you want to control me?'

He thought to himself, his hand tightening on the spear shaft.

BOOM!!

Fire exploded from the spear tip, spreading like a raging wave, bright and blazing like lava.

The bones burned, shriveled, and cracked into pieces, turning into rolling ash that flew behind. The needles that were still rushing in from the outside gap were also swept away and melted like wax in the fiery red light.

Flauros stood in the middle of the burning ruins, his eyes still fixed on the other person. Ashes flew around, and red embers still glittered in the air.

The other person's face immediately turned pale like ashes after the fire.

He didn't expect that just by using a finishing move, the opponent would be able to neutralize it so quickly.

That bone-wrapping move was originally a Necromancer's ultimate technique, used to bind the target while they were still struggling to defend against the first wave of hidden weapons, but unexpectedly, it was like wine-soaked bait that added fuel to Flauros' fire.

As soon as he saw the spear flare up, without hesitation, the other guy immediately turned around and ran away, his body blending into the night, gliding away like a shadow.

He was extremely clear in his heart.

'Can't fight for long! Can't let him get close!'

Even if he was one of the strongest evil professions, controlling skeleton soldiers, raising corpses, summoning souls, and even once causing an entire town to fall silent in just one night.

But that was all due to preparation time. A Necromancer always needed a moment to gather mana, connect with the underworld and the earth, absorb natural energy, or summon souls from the depths.

Any 'normal' mana-related profession was the same.

'As long as he wasn't discovered, as long as he had a few minutes, an army of corpses would soon surround this bastard!'

'And yet...! Damn it!'

Every step he took felt like his neck was on fire, and every nerve in his body was stretched to the limit.

He gritted his teeth, chanting the spell in his heart.

The space distorted again, and he intended to accelerate again.

But Flauros laughed coldly.

"The second time. Do you think you can run forever?"

He raised his spear, the fire shining at the tip, and threw it as if burning the space in front.

The spearhead shot out like a meteor. Cutting through time. Breaking the spell. And destroying the escape route that the other guy was trying to make.

Blood spurted from his shoulder, black as dried ink.

"Damn it..."

As for Flauros, he approached from afar, the fire under his heels rising with each slow step, each step like a stroll. But each step seemed to be nailing death into the opponent's heart.

"Okay, now I ask. Who is behind you?"

He clenched his teeth, not saying a word. Blood flowed down from his shoulder, mixed with the smell of smoke and iron, creating a suffocating smell.

But even though Flauros stood there, the fire in his eyes flickering like hell was pouring in, he was still stubborn, his silent gaze as if he was mocking him.

Not confessing. Not betraying. Not opening his mouth. Because he knew, if he let out a single word, he would become a nameless corpse, forever unable to rest.

Flauros curled his lips.

"So stubborn..."

He waved his hand. From a distance, the fiery spear flew back with a whoosh, stabbed down next to Flauros, then was caught in his hand.

The fire had not yet gone out. The tip of the spear was still red as if it were on fire.

Flauros said nothing, raised the spear tip, and stabbed straight into his leg.

"AAGHH!!"

The scream that came out was too late to be swallowed back. He trembled violently, his whole body convulsed, and blood gushed out from the stab wound violently, as if a vein had burst.

But Flauros did not stop.

He kept the spearhead stuck in his flesh, then calmly stepped on the edge of the spearhead, exerting force to make the spearhead penetrate deeper, piercing through every fiber of his flesh.

One…

Two…

Three times exerting force.

Each blow was like tearing apart his nerves. Each blow was like chewing on his spinal cord.

Flauros bent down, his hand never leaving the spear, his face still had an indifferent expression as if he was stabbing the shovel into the ground.

With his other hand, he grabbed the other person's hair, pulling his head up, their eyes looking closely at each other, only a few centimeters apart. He asked, very small, very light, as if whispering.

"Say its name. I'll ask you one last time. Who's behind you?"

He was panting, his face was distorted, his forehead was covered in cold sweat, his eyes were red from pain, but he still clenched his teeth, not opening his mouth.

Flauros looked at him as if he were looking at a joke. He let out a snort, his fingers gently tightening his hair, then shook his head slightly:

"Yeah, loyal huh?... Let's see how long you can be obedient."

Flauros grabbed a handful of messy hair, pulling the Necromancer's head back. The other man was panting, his throat was choked, the smell of blood and sweat mixed, rising pungently amidst the blazing heat coming from the spear.

Flauros' eyes at this moment were not simply looking. They were glowing, like embers blown by the wind, the red color getting brighter and brighter, reflecting on the other man's skin, making him feel like he was being burned from the inside out.

Not a trace of fluctuation, not a trace of emotion, just a terrifyingly empty gaze.

The flaming spear jerked slightly, the tip still embedded in the other man's thigh. A stream of boiling blood gushed out around the wound, but Flauros did not pull it out. He bent down, keeping the spearhead in the flesh, and stepped straight on the shaft.

Crack.

A dry cracking sound rang out, perhaps the bone was crushed, perhaps it was just an illusion because of the crazy scream that had just erupted.

"AGHHH!! Huh—!"

The Necromancer struggled like a fish out of water, both hands digging into the muddy ground, his nails sliding on the rough rocks, drawing blood. His whole body trembled. The fire from the spear spread, catching on the hem of his shirt, burning one side. The smell of burning skin spread through the forest.

"Shut up."

Flauros growled, his voice not loud, but heavy as a rock. He bent down, his face close to the other's, his hand still clutching his hair, refusing to let go. Flauros' thumb pressed against the other man's temple, grinding it hard, forcing his head to look straight into his eyes.

"I'll ask you one last time."

He said, his expression unchanged.

"Who sent you here?"

The other man did not answer. But his eyes were already bulging. In his pupils was not the image of a young man, but something larger than a human, beyond reason, and close to disaster.

Flauros saw resistance in that gaze. And he curled his lips.

Clang.

He pulled out his spear. Blood spurted out, the other man hissed, and his body jerked. But before he could react, Flauros swung the spear, the red-hot steel shaft, across his ear, a blow not enough to kill, but enough to make his nerves contract as if being pressed by a hot iron.

The other man fell to the ground, both hands holding his head, his mouth mumbling incoherently.

Flauros leaned his spear against the ground like a cold-blooded judge standing on the execution platform.

"No words? Good. I have more ways than you think."

He collapsed on the ground, his hair disheveled, his face distorted, his lower body still smoldering with the smell of burnt flesh spreading in the wind.

The night wind had already picked up, carrying with it the screams that had not yet dissipated. On the scorched ground, his sweat dripped down, mixed with blood and tears, forming streaks like ink spilled on paper.

Flauros still stood there, not moving, his eyes not sparkling but as if inlaid with red glass. That gaze did not need to threaten it, it was threatening itself.

As if just a blink of an eye was enough to burn away the soul of another person. The spear in his hand was no longer burning, but the spearhead was still red with fire like hot iron, gently hissing in the humid air.

He trembled as if he were about to have an epileptic seizure, his mouth stammering.

"I... I said... I said...! It was the legendary black wizard, Cassian! He said that if I killed him, he would give me a chance to live again... a... another life with greater power!"

His voice seemed to be stuck in his throat, and he coughed and spat out some blood. Still not dead. Didn't dare to die.

Flauros tilted his head, seemingly not surprised. He waved his hand slightly, the fire on the spear suddenly went out, the burnt blood was overwhelmed by the smell of the forest wind, and carried away. He spoke softly, his expression unchanged:

"The legendary black wizard?"

Then he bent down, his fingernails scratching a trail on the ash-turned ground, pressing the heel of his boot against the spear.

"The next thing to be reborn... will be you, but only as a corpse."

The air thickened in an instant, only the necromancer's trembling, and the sizzling of flesh as Flauros slowly pulled out his spear.

His entire body trembled like a fish out of water. But no one came to his rescue.

That was enough.

Flauros didn't wait for another word. His fingers tightened on the spear shaft, the movement didn't need any momentum, just a clean, decisive slash, so clean that the wind couldn't even breathe.

Whoosh.

The necromancer's body seemed to be split in two by a blade of divine punishment itself, splitting into two pieces with a cold, tearing sound. Blood spurted high like a fountain, drawing a dark red arc in the air, then rushed straight at Flauros.

He didn't dodge, nor did he blink. He just frowned, a small frown, as if he had just been splashed with dirty water while crossing the street. His left hand reached up, gently brushing the blood off his face, wiping it with his glove as if brushing off dust.

"Disgusting."

One word, contemptuous, indifferent, indifferent.

He shook the spear lightly, the remaining blood splattered into drops onto the green grass at the feet of the only thing that remained intact after the torture. The spear blade trembled slightly, the red flame in the cut that had not yet been extinguished spread out like boiling oil meeting hot coals.

The body that had been cut in half began to burn from the inside, the fire not burning from the outside but from the wound itself. The flesh shrank, the white bones cracked, and ashes fell in spots.

No one needed to attack again. Flauros's fire was sacred. Once you've decided to kill, even death must burn.

The wind blew through the green grass, carrying away the acrid smell. Flauros turned his spear, pulling it back behind him. His eyes were as indifferent as before. There was no victory. No anger. No forgiveness.

For him, it was simply one more person to kill to reach paradise.