Born as the illegitimate child of a royal house, his life was a living hell. From his earliest memories, Yoan was tormented by his brothers, despised for his weakness. It was then that a cold realization struck him. In this cruel world, the only soul he could rely on was his own. But everything changed when he reincarnated into the body of this despised bastard prince. He made a vow to rewrite his destiny through physical perfection. He chose the path of the bodybuilder. He devoured insane amounts of protein and pushed his limits with martial arts every single day. Years of hellish training turned him into a beast. He became a monster in human skin. His fists could shatter ancient trees and level entire forests. With every drop of sweat, his crushing strength grew without boundaries. He understood the law of this land perfectly. It is a merciless world where the blood of the weak is spilled and the strong drink it like wine. Deep in the shadows of the forest, a creature emerges. It pauses, oblivious to its fate, and begins to graze. But hidden in the brush, a predator lies in weight. That creature is his prey. He steals his nerves, remembering the discipline of his training. The bow string goes taut as he readies the killshot, but disaster strikes. As he releases, the bow snaps under his overwhelming power. The sudden crack startles the beast. His companion cries out in shock for Lord Yoan. He cannot comprehend why his master shattered the weapon instead of taking the prize. Yan replies calmly that the wood was simply too frail. But the man protests, claiming he bought it only a week ago. He questions why a noble of Yans standing insists on the dirty work of a hunter. Surely the elegant way of the sword would suit him better. The young noble offers only silence. Finally, he speaks the harsh truth. Swordsmanship pays nothing until you are hired. He urges them to move on. In this rotten world, gold is the only thing that ensures survival. His name is now Yoanites, but his soul remembers being Kim Yan. He was thrust into this reality after a tragic accident. Although reborn with noble blood, he is the lowest of the low in the family hierarchy. His chances of inheritance are absolute zero. Suddenly, his companion halts him. A pack of wolves prowls ahead. The hunter fires a warning shot near one of the beasts. The pack scatters in terror. Yan watches with cold eyes. This medieval world is far too realistic for comfort. They stumble upon a gruesome sight, a pile of corpses. The young man notes grimly that even death offers these poor souls no peace. His companion trembles, wondering if these were villagers they knew. Jan replies that it is impossible to say, but one fact remains absolute. The weak exist only to feed the strong. To escape that fate, he needs wealth. When he first opened his eyes in this new life, he prayed for a magical awakening. He quickly realized such miracles do not exist here. So he shifted his ambition. His new god is money. With enough gold, he can escape this suffocating territory and seize freedom. He could become a merchant or perhaps a free farmer living on his own terms. As Yoan loses himself in these dreams, his companion calls out urgently. He points toward a rare discovery, the medicinal herb they sought, the little demon's grass. It is a treasure known for stopping bleeding instantly. Yoan snatches the herb with lightning speed. This will fetch a high price. He stashes the plant away, his eyes gleaming. Suddenly, he notices and bro herb pouch lying in the dirt. He asks if his companion dropped it, but the man denies it. Yoan frowns. That is impossible. No one else dares to venture this deep into the forest's abyss. The older hunter's face goes pale as realization hits. A sudden noise echoes through the trees, freezing them in place. Someone is screaming, running desperately for their life. The snarling of wolves grows louder, signaling danger. They discover a child trapped in a tree surrounded by a hungry pack. His companion gasps. It is Dell, the daughter of Robert. He wonders why a child would be this far out in the wild. The wolf pack closes in. Joseph warns him that fighting alone is suicide. He begs to retreat and summon the guards, but Yan simply steps forward into the jaws of danger. His companion screams that these are no ordinary beasts. The young man declares he will draw their attention so Joseph can save the girl. Joseph falls silent, stunned by the noble's bravery. He cannot believe Yan is using himself as live bait to save a commoner. But Yan has a different perspective. This isn't a rescue. It is a gold mine. He should have learned hunting sooner. He counts at least 10 wolves. His mind races with calculations. If he sells all these pelts, he will make a fortune. With greed burning in his eyes, he shouts for his precious money bags to wait for him. The older hunter is baffled by his master's excitement. Yan draws his blade. His companion questions his clumsy stance. What kind of messy sword art is that? But the beasts do not wait. They rush him. Yan moves with explosive speed. A wolf leaps, aiming for his throat. It bites down on the steel blade, but the weapon betrays him. With a sickening crunch, the sword shatters in the wolf's jaws. The animal recoils from the impact, leaving Yoan shocked. Another wolf lunges from his blind spot. In seconds, he is surrounded by the murderous pack. Joseph watches in horror, screaming for his lord. His voice cracks as he yells, "Sir Yoan's name." Meanwhile, in the village of Baltradin, the noble family conducts their inspection with arrogance. The villagers bow low as the entourage passes. A man protects a child in his arms, fearful of their gaze. Madame it cites, the concubine sneers at the stench of the commoners. The eldest son, Philipace, says nothing, his face a mask of indifference. Xenites, the lord of this land, complains that the countryside smells like filth. Philip informs his father, that Yan is still missing. He suggests sending soldiers, but Gizen reacts with irritation. He does not care for the boy. The mere mention of that name brought a sneer to his face. Lord Zen spat the words out, claiming the boy should rot just like his wretched mother. He cackled with pure malice, mocking the dead. But his laughter died in his throat as his gaze sharpened. Zen pointed a trembling finger at a massive haystack guarding the village entrance. A nervous villager stammered that they were hiding the remnants of Yan's secret training. The lord scoffed, asking with absolute disdain how a pathetic insect could possibly cultivate any strength. But his arrogance shattered the moment the hay was stripped away. Zen stared in horror at the brown, undeniable proof before him. He saw a perfect fist imprint embedded deep within the ironwood trunk. Then his eyes widened as he realized several surrounding trees had been pulverized in the exact same manner. Meanwhile, deep in the forest, Yan stood calm amidst a circle of fangs surrounded by the wolfpack. The alpha growled but flinched, sensing a predator's aura. Realizing the blade was just dead weight, Yan tossed the sword aside. He beckoned his walking wallets to come closer. He would carve his own path through this survival of the fittest nightmare. He needed gold. And to earn that gold, he knew he had to slaughter every single beast advancing toward him. He needed overwhelming power enough to transcend human limits. With a roar, he unleashed a tempest of fists against the encroaching pack. Joseph watched, paralyzed by the sheer violence. Every blow connected with the force of a cannonball. Yan launched one wolf into the air, using it to bowl over the others. He grabbed another creature by the throat, crushing its windpipe in a single merciless motion. The beast slumped. Life extinguished instantly. His allies couldn't process the devastation before them. Standing at top a mountain of corpses, Yan was only calculating the market value of the slaughter. Yan had long accepted the bitter truth of this unforgiving realm. Life in this world was hell. His so-called noble brothers had branded him filth, an illegitimate motherless bastard unworthy of the family name. They tormented him, relentlessly beating him for sport, and promising death if he dared to raise his eyes. He learned quickly that mercy was a lie. In this world, the weak die, and nobody cares. The only person he could rely on was himself. So, he asked himself what a man needed to conquer a medieval world. Luckily, his soul carried a secret weapon from a past life, the memories of a modern era student. Because of this, Yan's mind harbored scientific knowledge that these primitives couldn't even comprehend. He weaponized modern exercise science, implementing highintensity interval, training to forge a body of steel. He also scavenged nutrient-dense food could others threw away to create a perfectly balanced diet. The young man engineered a regimen based on biology and combined it with close quarters martial arts. And so his solitary cultivation compounded over time. After years of blood and sweat, the results were undeniable. He struck the tree again and again. Finally, the solid wood shattered like glass under his fist. With every session, his body evolved, displaying monstrous power. He felt invincible. No one knew if this strength was a divine blessing or a curse in the making. The sounds of carnage in the forest finally ceased. Yan wiped the blood from his hands. He scanned the defeated wolves satisfied that the last of the gold sources had been harvested. Joseph rushed to check on Dell and the girl clung to him in relief. The veteran Hunter sighed heavily. He lectured Sir Yan for courting death, questioning his reckless bravery, but he admitted he was aruck by Yan's nobility, believing the boy risked his life solely to protect a servant girl. Yan, however, was only wondering which wolfpelt would fetch the highest bid at the auction house. He asked Joseph to repeat himself, but the man just shook his head. He turned to check if the girl was undamaged and she whispered her thanks, but suddenly the color drained from her face. Behind them, a massive shadow rose from the darkness. They spun around to face a nightmare made flesh and the girl covered her eyes in terror. The colossal beast locked its gaze on them. The giant creature growled, shaking the earth. Joseph screamed that it was a calamitous monster. He begged, "Sir Yan, run!" claiming a boss of that size required an entire army to subjugate. Yan just smirked, asking if this was the pack leader. He casually apologized for liquidating the creature's subordinates, explaining that their fur coats would sell for a fortune. The creature's growl deepened. It realized this human viewed it as prey. It lunged jaws wide enough to crush a boulder. Yan didn't flinch. Gripping a stone, he declared that the boss drop would be worth even more. He smashed the rock directly into the monster's skull. The monster recoiled, stunned by the impact. Yan clicked his tongue, complaining that he scratched the merchandise and lowered its value. The creature glared at him with burning fury. It unleashed a deafening howl that shook the very atmosphere. The sonic blast brought everyone to their knees. They desperately covered their ears. Yan felt his equilibrium shatter as the piercing sound assaulted his senses. He wondered what kind of magic this was. He realized his stamina was evaporating like mist. Chaos erupted in the clearing. Yan crashed to the dirt, completely disoriented. When he finally sat up, the world was spinning. He scanned the area, wondering where the the boss monster had gone, but the creature had vanished into thin air. He spotted Joseph and Dell unconscious on the ground. Approaching them, he confirmed they were alive. He hoisted Joseph onto his back, knowing they had to retreat immediately. He had to vanish into the shadows before more beasts arrived. Rapidly retreating from the carnage, a pang of regret stung him, leaving those valuable wolf pelts behind felt like burning money. The silent forest swallowed him as the night deepened. Ahead, the village lights still pierced the darkness. Was the whole town searching for her? A foolish hope sparked in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, this feat would earn his father's recognition. He imagined being named the heir for slaughtering a wolfpack, but he crushed that dream quickly. He'd settle for a guard position, anything to end the days of starving. Suddenly, his instincts screamed. A presence nearby. Music. A torch flared, cutting the gloom. A wall of steel blocked his path. His father's elite inspection unit. Yoan froze. Confusion clouding his mind. Philip's voice shattered the silence, screaming Yoan's name, demanding to know why. He dared miss the Lord's inspection. The realization hit like a physical blow. He had completely forgotten the family gathering. Gazen rides forward. Music spitting insults at his son. Immature bastard. The lord dismounts, his boots slamming into the earth with heavy authority. Yoan clutched the unconscious Dell, desperate to explain, but Gazen silenced him with a single sharp command. Silence. Gazin raised his massive battle axe. The threat was real. He would crush Yoan's skull for this insolence. The young man stared at the dirt, trembling. Then his eyes burned with resolve. He looked up. "I didn't skip it out of laziness," Yoan declared. "Music? I was saving lives in the abyss." Suddenly, a man burst from the crowd. Recognizing little Dell. He snatched the Dalgist child into a desperate embrace. Tears flowing as he thanked the heavens. He held her tight, his voice cracking with relief. Yoan seized the moment. He pointed to the forest. She was surrounded by a pack. I fought through them to bring her back. Before the stunned villagers, he played his hand. He had missed the inspection, yes, but he had upheld the honor of a nightly house. He bowed deep music, swearing to protect the estate with his life. A perfect performance. Yoan even boldly suggested that his father reward him with the title of music guard captain. A faint smile touched his lips. He was sure he had won them over. But Gaunen's expression remained like stone. Music. Proof. The lord sneered. Show me the corpses. Yoan stood his ground. I do not lie. I even faced the great black wolf. The crowd gasped at the mention of the beast. Gaen's jaw dropped in disbelief, then twisted into rage. You dare lie to my face. I'll rip your tongue out. Then test me. Yoan challenged. I'll prove my strength in a duel. He turned knowing there was no other path to survival. Gazin grinned like a predator finding prey. Accepted. Let's see if you're trash or treasure. He commanded a duel of steel weapons only. Yoan stared back, the irony tasting bitter. A weapon duel. The man challenging him had never once bothered to teach him the sword. Father and son stood in the center of the arena. The air grew heavy. Draw. Gaen commanded. Yoan revealed a pathetic shattered hilt. Gazin scoffed and ordered Philip to arm the boy. Philip stepped forward, whispering, "Venom, beg for mercy, trash. It's<unk> the only way you leave this circle alive." Yoan's eyes went cold. Music. I did nothing wrong, and a man doesn't run. He shoved his brother aside, gripping the borrowed steel. The duel began. Gazen adjusted his helm, radiating killing intent. Yan focused every muscle, screaming to prove his worth. He exploded into motion. Gazin's eyes went wide. The speed was impossible. Yoan moved with the force of a hurricane. His sword music crashed into the ax headon. The impact was devastating. The blade couldn't handle Yoan's raw power. It shattered. A shard flew back, slashing Yoan's forehead. Gazen stumbled, barely holding his ground. He glared at his son, teeth grinding in fury. Recovering, he advanced, roaring. You parasite. Yoan leaned back, dodging the murderous swing. Philip shouted that Yoan had insulted the Lord. While the villagers realized with horror gaz and truly intended to kill his own son, the lord attacked again. I never taught you the sword because you are useless trash. He pressed the assault a storm of violence. You will never surpass me. Music. This estate is mine. Not even the emperor can take it. Yoan stared into the abyss of his father's rage. Blood streamed down his face, blinding him, but he didn't blink. Philip screamed Yon's name in mock concern. Gazen swung the axe handle, aiming to shatter Yan's face. The crowd held its breath. Yoan blocked with the hilt, but the metal groaned under the overwhelming weight. It cracked. The hilt exploded into useless fragments. Defeated by his gear, not his skill. Yoan knelt in the dust, surrounded by the shards of his effort. Gazin towered over him, a shadow of despair. Know your place. His voice was ice. If I see your face again, I really will crush your skull. The lord turned his back, leaving his son broken and alone in the arena. The crowd swarmed in, calling out to him. Far away in the sanctuary of a church, a voice trembled with righteous fury. Sergeen's actions were unjust. Inside, Yoan tried to hush the man, but the priest shouted, invoking his authority from the Vatican. He didn't care who heard. How can a father treat his own flesh and blood like a monster? Yoan, head bandaged, but spirit intact. Simply sighed, "I'm alive. That's enough." The priest scoffed at the absurdity of it all. The young man looked away, leaning against the table. He sat in the suffocating silence of defeat. Even without formal training, the gap in power was a crushing reality. The priest offered words of comfort, but the truth was cold. Surgeon was a monster forged in battle, the heir to secret family arts. Tales spoke of the knight's legendary slaughter, cutting down 300 soldiers alone. Yoan could only marvel at such overwhelming strength. He realized that raw talent was nothing without technique. He had been arrogant thinking. Slaying a giant black wolf made him a warrior. The atmosphere instantly shifted. The priest whipped around, eyes wide, with terror gripping Yoan's shoulders. He demanded the truth. Yoan confirmed the sighting, mentioning that Joseph and Dell had witnessed the beast as well. Fear drained the color from the holy man's face. He scrambled to his bookshelf, hands trembling as he pulled down an ancient tome. Opening the heavy pages, the priest revealed the dark truth. The black wolf was no mere beast. It was a taboo existence. In the old texts, it was written as a harbinger of catastrophe and death. Yoan tried to laugh it off, wondering if the creature had cursed his duel. The priest forced a smile, trying to bury his dread. He claimed they were just myths, dusty stories from a forgotten age. Perhaps he suggested the heavens were actually protecting Yoan because of his pure heart. A smile finally touched Yoan's lips as the priest praised his selfless nature. But deep down, doubt lingered. The scene shifts to the Brits barren, where the night air is thick with the scent of blood. Screams of the dying echo in the darkness. A mother clutches her child, begging for mercy that will never come. The blade falls, silencing their pleas forever. Life is extinguished in an instant. A mercenary stands over the corpses, sneering at their feudal attempt to escape. Another soldier laughs, noting the cruelty of the world. A third questions the order to massacre everyone, even the innocent, but his conscience is easily silenced by the promise of gold. They are just tools, and death is their business. Before a blazing gate, a subordinate kneels. He reports the total annihilation of the house, offering the family signant ring as proof. Sir Karamoff accepts the trophy. She scoffs at the family name, disappointed that the noble bloodline crumbled so easily. She introduces herself not as a mere knight, but as the imperial sword, the executioner of her majesty's divine will. As the collector of seals, she proclaims judgment. Every corrupt noble who defies the emperor shall be purged from history. But for those who bend the knee, gold and glory await. It is a simple choice between absolute power and total ruin. Kamov points her blade toward the horizon. Kill them all. Loot the ruins. Burn it to ash. Her next target is the its estate. The nightmare begins. Two silhouettes clash in a dance of death. Steel sings against steel sparks flying in the void. An armored knight stands like a fortress. His hooded opponent strikes with the ferocity of a demon. The blades lock in a struggle for dominance. With a lightning fast strike, the helmet is torn from the hooded figure. Blood sprays like a macob fountain. The helmet clatters across the cold stone, revealing a face masked in gore. The eyes snap open. Yoan wakes with a gasp, his heart hammering against his ribs like a war drum. Cold sweat drenches him. It was the same dream again. Ever since the encounter with the black wolf, the shadows felt heavier. The ancient warning echoed in his mind. The wolf was an omen of misfortune, a beacon that summoned death and despair. Even the holy men called it the sign of the reaper. Yoan shook his head, desperate to dismiss the superstition. It was just a legend. He hadn't harmed the beast well, aside from the massive rock he had hurled at its skull. Pushing the dread aside, he chose action over fear. Twilight found him on the hill, pushing his body to the limit. A mocking voice broke his concentration. Trash, they called him. Two servants approached, sneering at his efforts. They reminded him of his father's command to remain invisible. They laughed, asking if chopping wood would magically give him talent. The ridicule grew sharper. To them, his training was a pathetic joke. One servant spat on his dream of joining the guard. He claimed the family head would never accept a failure like Yoan. At best, he would be fodder for the pigs. Yoan didn't speak. He simply struck. With a single explosive punch, the solid log didn't just break. It was obliterated. The servants froze, their eyes bulging as they stared at the shattered remains. The air crackled with sudden terrifying pressure. Yoan turned to them, his gaze cold. He dared them to step forward and repeat their insults. Terrified by his hidden strength, they scrambled away like rats, screaming that they would report him to his father. Yoan watched them flee, shaking his head. Pathetic creatures who couldn't even see their own precarious futures. He returned to his training, ignoring the noise, but then a calm voice confirmed the servant's words. Philip emerged from the shadows. He delivered the cold truth. Their father had no intention of giving Yoan a future. Yoan wasn't surprised. He had expected this outcome. As long as he was still breathing, he would carve his own path, living, but then Philip drops the mask and reveals the ugly truth. Their father is terrified of him. Jan catches the fist, halting the violence. The young master turns to face his brother. Philip explains that Yan's monstrous potential is a dagger at their father's throat. The lord desires puppets like Philip, yet Jan insists on walking his own marshall path. Philip concludes that their father believes. Yan's overwhelming power will eventually devour him just as he once usurped everything from their grandfather. Yan turns with a cold smile, calling the paranoia absurd. Philip snaps his fingers for a servant and the man obeys instantly unveiling a large cloth sack. Yan stares at the offering, questioning its purpose. Revealed within are a mott cir a long sword and a gleaming breastplate. Philip declares he is cut from a different cloth than their father. He is not foolish enough to discard a weapon as sharp as Yan. Jan studies him in silence. Philip then vows to appoint Yan as captain of the guard the moment he ascends to the lordship. He commands him to sharpen his skills but cease the rebellion. Yan roars back that he never seeks out trouble. Trouble finds him. Philip and his attendant depart leaving the outcast alone on the windswept hill. He looks down at the lawns for breastplate and freezes. It is the exact artifact from his nightmare. He wonders if dawning this steel means he is destined to die exactly as he did in that hellish vision. Yet a fire ignites in his soul. He feels he can crush that cursed fate even without a guarantee. Yan decides that to seize victory, he must arm himself. He straps on the breastplate and cloak. The gear molding to his frame like a second skin. A laugh echoes in the twilight as the sun bleeds away. In a tavern, a man swears on his life. He speaks the truth while another accuses him of spinning tall tales. The witness recounts how Sir Yan slaughtered wolves and unshathed his blade solely to protect Dell and Joseph, hailing him as the paragon of chivalry. Two patrons agree that Yan is far nobler than the wretched Lord Gase while a shadow in a hood listens intently. Another villager sneers that Yan should have just severed. Gon's head right then and there. Joseph bursts into the bar announcing free rounds for everyone. The hooded figure asks for the reason. Joseph raises his tankered high, proposing a toast to the savior, Sir Yan. One of the regulars turns to the stranger, demanding to know his identity as his face is unknown in these parts. The hooded figure merely points out that they are speaking treason against the lord in front of an outsider. The villager glares at him. The stranger chuckles, noting that the people here seem to possess hearts devoid of fear. The hooded man then admits their tale has piqued his interest. He commands them to speak more. His aura suddenly terrifying the villagers. He specifies that he craves details about this young Yan. Miles away, Yan walks through the sleeping village. He fantasizes about Philip's vow to make him captain. He believes his golden era has finally dawned. Suddenly, Yan halts his instincts, screaming. He spots a drunken man slumped on the earth. Deciding that a future captain must protect his people, Yan approaches. He offers to guide the man home before the cold takes him. In a flash, freezing steel kisses his neck. A dagger is pressed against his jugular. He looks up, mind racing to process the ambush. Is this an assassin sent by Gizy? Dismisses it. Then he suspects the mistress or perhaps Philip's betrayal. The list of enemies is too long. Jan asks the shadow what he desires. Assuming it is a robbery, he offers his entire fortune for his life. But the hooded predator claims his coffers are already overflowing. The figure speaks his name, promising only one question. He warns him if the answer displeases him, his throat will be opened instantly. Yan is paralyzed by the ultimatum. Realizing a single slip of the tongue means death, he forces his heart to slow, determined to craft the perfect response to survive. The man announces the interrogation has begun. Jan steals his spirit. The hooded man analyzes Yan's physique and asks if he is truly the spawn of Gassin. Jan is blindsided by the query. With life and death hanging in the balance, he grinds his teeth, calculating the risk. Finally, Yan declares that sometimes a golden lion is born from the lineage of a filthing pig. The hooded figure remains statue still. Yan fears he has signed his death warrant. The hood shifts. Suddenly, the man explodes into maniacal laughter. He states the answer was magnificent, yet he refuses Yan's plea to be released. The figure declares that Yan's life now belongs to him. Jan is bewildered by the claim. This man is Kagal, the Empire's supreme assassin and the poison master of the Nasos guild. He refined his sword arts through a river of blood, earning the title of the poison serpent. But Kagal faced a crisis. He could not find a vessel worthy to work inherit his dark legacy. He scoured the lands, finding only trash unfit for his techniques. A few showed promise, but were crushed under the weight of his training. One refused the path of shadows, choosing death, overstaining his nightly honor. Kagal granted that wish. Over 30 heirs of noble families died by his hand. Impatient, he sought out the empire's witch. A voice calls him the poison serpent, the reaper, who grants a peaceful end to all. The the witch revealed the truth. The disciple he sought was hidden within the its castle, a forgotten son of that very lord. Kaggel scoffed, questioning if his true successor could really be found in such a desolate place. The witch merely smirked, offering a full refund if the prophecy failed. He took the deal, choosing to trust her vision. Kaggel wanted to believe, for he had wasted years, and the sands of his time were running out. Yet a shadow of doubt clung to him as he stepped onto the estate grounds. Gazing up at the towering castle, a dark thought crossed his mind. If the boy disappointed him, he would end his life right there. Back in the present, the aura shifts. Kaggel reveals himself as the master of the Ness's guild. He declares, "Yo is destined to be his successor. But first, a brutal ultimatum. Die by my blade or inherit my swordsmanship. There are no other paths." Yoan stands frozen at the terrifying proposal. Suddenly, he shouts, asking how much gold he needs to pay to learn. Kaggel replies he requires no payment. Shocking the boy to his core. Yoan realizes a legendary guild master intends to teach him for absolutely nothing. Overcome with emotion, Yan grabs Kaggle. He cries out that he has waited his entire life for a savior like him to appear. But Kaggel cuts him off. His arts are those of an assassin. He warns that learning this shadow technique comes with a heavy price. It will mark him as a stain upon any nightly family's honor. Yoan screams that he cares nothing for reputation or shame, begging to be taught. Kaggel smirks, agreeing to the request. He has never met a brat quite like this. Yoan instantly bows, addressing him as master with burning conviction. Then with zero shame, the boy asks for an allowance since the guild is rich. Kaggel stares blankly, concluding, "This kid is truly unbelievable." The scene shifts to the cold atmosphere of the castle. Lord Zenites hightop his warhorse announces the inspection is over and departs. Philip bids farewell, vowing to protect the domain, but Madame Eas snears, declaring that no matter the struggle, this castle belongs to her. Philip calls her a fool. His voice dripping with venom, he proclaims that he alone is the true heir and future lord of these lands. Gian turns away in disgust. Sick of their endless power struggles, he tells them to do whatever they want. Washing his hands of the toxicity. Inside the fortress, Philip informs his father that Yoan has not returned. He asks for orders, feigning concern for the missing boy. The lord's eyes are cold as ice. He orders Philip not to waste breath on that trash. Yoan's death is of no consequence to the family. Philip bows an apology. As he turns, a flicker of curiosity crosses his face, wondering where the outcast Yoan has truly gone. Meanwhile, deep in the forest, Kaggel prepares to test Yoan's potential. The boy asks to borrow a blade, admitting he has a habit of breaking them. Kagel tosses him a weapon, his gaze sharp, he finds the boy reckless and unrefined, disliking almost everything about his demeanor, he draws his own steel, considering ending the mistake right here. He asks if the boy is ready to face death. Yoan raises his blade fearless. Master and apprentice lock eyes in the silent woods. Kaggel critiques the boy's amateur stance and decides he really must die today. Yoan asks if he must use proper form or if he can fight his own way. Koggle scoffs, telling him to use whatever method he desires. Fists, stones, or steel. Anything is permitted. Yoan's grip tightens on the hilt until his knuckles turn white. He unleashes a terrifying aura. Kaggel watches as the very air seems to crack. In that split second, understanding hits him like a lightning bolt. His doubts were wrong. Kaggel's eyes widen in pure shock. "This boy is a monster," Yoan charges, throwing a punch that screams with raw, unbridled power. The pressure alone distorts the air, stunning the guild master. Kogle realizes instantly. If that strike connects, his internal organs will be liquidated. He is not fighting a human child. He is facing a rampant lion in human skin. Later, Kaggel's hand trembles slightly on his hilt. The duel rages on. The master moves like a phantom. Yoan struggles to track him, unable to predict if the lethal strike will come from the sky or the earth. Suddenly, the master's blade connects. A square hit to the face that sends shock waves through his skull. The impact hurls him into the dirt. Kaggel steps back, watching the boy sprawl on the ground, analyzing the damage. He notes he used the flat of the blade, yet the boy remains conscious. Kaggel calls him ridiculous, amazed by his unnatural endurance. If Yan had been born in the age of myths, he would have been called a legendary hero. Yoan smiles, but Kaggel cuts him off cold. There is a fatal flaw. At this rate, death is inevitable. Lying in the dust, Yan asks what the master means by such a grim prophecy. The master explains that Yoan's body cannot handle his own output. His strength is a curse that will destroy him. Yoan argues he isn't attacking himself. Kaggel shifts his stance, preparing for round two. If the boy is so confident, let him strike again. He offers a wager if Yoan can break the master's sword instead of his own, he wins gold. The boy's eyes light up with greed and determination, roaring for him to keep that promise. Yoan lunges. He swings with every ounce of his monstrous vitality. Steel meets steel in a thunderous clash. But it is Yan's blade that explodes into shrapnel. The recoil sends him flying backward. Yoan realizes this sensation is identical to his duel with his father. Kaggle asks if he finally understands he has been defeated by his own power. He must master control or his power will consume him. Yoan pulls a shard of steel from his clothes. Realizing the danger, he asks if the master allowed the shard to hit him as a lesson. Yoan nods, the truth sinking in. He must learn control to survive, for he is destined to be the captain of the guard. Kaggel begins the true lesson if he can master the flow of force. To truly contain an aura this volatile, you must achieve the impossible. Master Kaggel lunged, striking not with a blade, but with the mere sheath of his sword. Steel sang as the wooden scabbard sliced through Yan's heavy armor like paper. The boy stared dumbfounded, realizing the terrifying gap in their abilities. Did you see that? The master lowered his weapon. With absolute control, a true warrior can cut through the heavens themselves without a sharpened edge. He chuckled darkly. I cannot even fathom the monster you will become once you tame that raging beast inside you. Yan drank in every word, his eyes burning with resolve. Kaggel's expression hardened. Hell training begins now. Prepare yourself. Death is a very real possibility. He grinned. Are you ready to ascend? With a feral grin, Yan roared. Yes. The scene shifts to the bustling village below the castle, looming in the distance like a silent watcher. Hours later, Yan emerged from the shadows, his face a canvas of bruises. I am finally learning to suppress my power, he muttered. But when will I learn the art of the kill? Suddenly, a disturbance in the air caught his attention. He spun around, senses on high alert. What is that commotion? A regiment of elite soldiers marched forward. Elves Yan whispered. He stepped into their path. Who goes there? A soldier barked back, restricted area. Scram, kid. Yan's pride flared. He pointed an accusatory finger. You dare order me around in my own territory? The soldier sneered. And who exactly do you think you are, peasant? We are the wolves of Akatin, the elf declared. radiating arrogance. The Empire's deadliest mercenaries. The boy's anger vanished, replaced by sudden greed. "Mercenaries!" Yan's eyes sparkled. "How much is the pay?" The elves smirked. "Two gold coins for a single commission." Yan's jaw dropped. "Two gold coins? That was a fortune compared to a guard captain's meager scraps." The elf scoffed. "Skill is the only currency that matters here." "Agreed!" Yan nodded, his mind racing. He had never even touched a gold coin before. "Perhaps a career change is in order." Suddenly, the air grew heavy. A towering shadow eclipsed him. An armored warrior approached his footsteps, shaking the earth. A crushing pressure slammed into Yan. An aura of absolute dominance. Instinct took over. Before he could think, Yan's hand flew to his hilt. His body screamed that a predator was near. He prepared to draw to fight for his life. Then he froze. Cold sweat drenched his back. Asterisk. Why? Why did I try to unshath my sword times? An elf leveled his blade at Yan's throat. Insolence, drawing steel before Sir Karamov, the armored giant raised a hand, silencing his subordinate. Let him be. Mounted on a massive warhorse, the knight looked down. Who are you, boy? Yan stood paralyzed, surrounded by a forest of blades. He swallowed his fear. I am Yan of House Itis. The warrior reached up. With a metallic clatter, he removed his helmet, revealing the face of Karamoff, a legendary Imperial Guard, knight of the Holy Empire. Jan stared at his own trembling hand. It wasn't bravery. It was a survival reflex. His instincts had recognized a monster before his mind even processed it. He had faced the black wolf. He had survived his father's assassination attempts. But this, this killing intent was suffocating. It was an ocean of blood lust. He was nothing but a rabbit paralyzed before a starving dragon. Kuramov's voice was low and commanding. Move. Jan's legs felt like lead crushed under the knight's spiritual pressure. With a supreme effort, he dragged himself aside. The elves snickered at his terror. Watch your neck next time. Kid one sneered as they marched past. If there is a next time. Later that night, under the moonlight, a subordinate asked Sir Karamov, should we have left him alive? Karamov's eyes narrowed. I desire no unnecessary trouble today. He glanced back. Not yet, at least. Yan watched the procession enter the castle gates, his heart pounding. Why would the emperor<unk>'s sword descend upon this backwater? Panic spread through the castle corridors. Philippites sprinted, gasping for air. Sir Karamov is here. Why would a legend grace them with his presence? Philip burst into the hall, bowing low. I am Philip, the future Lordis. To what do we owe this honor? Madame shoved past him, her voice dripping with false honey. Oh, Sir Keramoff, allow me to introduce my son, John. The times true times, heir to the family, she giggled, fawning over the night. If I had known a man of your caliber existed, I might have waited to marry, she gestured grandly. Please enter. Karamoff walked right past them, treating the nobles like invisible ghosts. The madame's smile faltered as her calls went ignored. He tossed his helmet aside. Without hesitation, Karamoff ascended the dis and sat upon the lord's throne. Where is Gesson? The family froze, watching the ultimate disrespect. Philip stepped forward, indignant. That is my father's seat. You cannot, Madameas hissed fool. He is the empire's strongest. He does as he pleases. I will handle the hospitality, she insisted, scheming to use this powerful connection to elevate her own bloodline. Philip clenched his fists, impotent rage boiling within. Karamov slammed his hand on the armrest. Silence. The hall shook. Get out all of you, and bring me strong liquor. Clutching his massive blade, he declared, "I will wait for Gess in here." The atmosphere was suffocating. Meanwhile, in the dead of night, Yan continued his training. asterisk clang times. He blocked a strike, but his mind wandered, haunted by the memory of Karamov's overwhelming aura. Kagel roared. Focus. Daggers flew from the darkness. Yan danced through the storm of steel, but his reaction was a split second too slow. A blade nicked his neck, drawing blood. You would be a corpse if that was poisoned. The master's voice was ice cold. Why is your spirit wavering? Yan lowered his sword, panting. The Imperial Knights. They are in the village. His expression darkened. Something is wrong, master. This is It's territory. Yet they sealed the gates and took command like conquerors. Kaggle crossed his arms. And what can a fledgling like you do against the heavens? Yan shuddered. Karamov, the emperor's blade, the strongest warrior on the continent. His armor is the stuff of legends. He looked up, eyes filled with uncertainty. Master, is he stronger than you? A heavy silence fell over the clearing. Kaggel's playful demeanor vanished. If I were to cross blades with Karamov, he looked Yan in the eye. I would turn and flee without a moment's hesitation and commands him to silence his tongue. Kaggle roars that the boy is a fool. He must learn his station. He cannot even tame the chaos of his own raw power. Yoan closes his eyes, shutting out the world. He rises blade in hand and vows that he will conquer this. His master sigh, signaling the duel to begin. They collide instantly, a blur of speed. Yoan takes a heavy blow from the scabbard, but screams for the fight to continue. Again, he is struck down, yet he demands another round. Though bruises bloom across his skin, his spirit does not break. Kaggle barks at him to charge once more. The youth's mind races. Why does the technique fail? He cannot comprehend why he fails to sever a mere brown wooden sheath. Then the memory surfaces the flow of internal energy. He must not simply swing the steel, but focus his entire aura into the very tip of the blade. As the weapon slices, the air realization dawns on Yoan regarding the true nature of control. Kaggle hears the change instantly. The dull wind of the sword sharpens into a deadly hiss. Yoan clashes his steel against his masters, scabboued with earthshattering force. Clarity strikes him. If he fuses his physical might with this newfound insight, victory is within reach. Kaggle feels a chill. The next strike carries the weight of death. Yoan attacks with a flash of silver precision. His blade sings through the air, shearing the tip cleanly off Kaggle's scabbard. Yoan lands on his feet trembling with adrenaline. He roars in triumph, shouting that he has grasped the essence, claiming it was simple all along. Kaggle watches, dismissing it as a fluke of fortune. The master speaks his name with gravitas, and the boy answers ready. Kaggle draws his live steel. He warns that this time there will be no mercy. Yoan charges a tempest of unleashed power. The cataclysmic impact hurls Kaggle backward. Yoan leaps in joy, celebrating another impossible win. Kaggle stares, wondering what kind of monster this child is. He is thunderruck. Yoan has executed the secret art, the serpent's tongue. Though he was only taught the basics of force control, Yoan absorbed the legendary technique after witnessing it. But once on the day they met, and now he is wielding it with a perfection that rivals the master himself. Kaggle falls silent. The instincts of the veteran assassin scream the truth. Unless the heavens intervene, the boy has already evolved into an entity he cannot defeat. Kaggle, the Grandmaster of the Empire's deadliest assassin guild, Nasos Poison, whispers into the wind. He calls Yoan an absurd monster. While the youth revels in his newfound power under the moonlight, Kaggle declares the training complete. He departs at first light. Yoan protests the sudden end, but his master insists he possesses everything required. He admits the harsh reality. In less than a week, the disciple has eclipsed the master. Kaggle smiles, satisfied his swordsmanship will survive and tells the boy to carve his own path. He praises Yenites for his relentless effort. Beside the crackling fire, Yoan asks the true reason for this farewell. The answer is cryptic. It is simply my way. Then the topic turns to the black wolf. Kaggle confirms it is an omen of doom. Yoan confesses he saw the beast recently. A nightmare of decapitation led him to suspect his master was the reaper. Kaggle scoffs that if he intended to kill him, he would not be dreaming. Calamity has no fixed shape. He then offers final words of wisdom before vanishing. First, the boy must find a weapon worthy of his strength. A blade forged of Dana steel. Only this legendary metal infused with ancient magic can withstand his power. Its secrets are lost to time. It can only be scavenged from the ruins of forgotten eras, making such weapons exceptionally rare. Yoan asks why he would tease him with a treasure he cannot afford. Kaggle replies, "It is so he recognizes power when he sees it." Kaggle's voice drops low. If he ever encounters a warrior wielding Dana steel, even from a distance, he must flee without looking back. To ignore one's limits, is to invite a swift death. Yoan nods, engraving the warning into his soul. The master rises to leave. Yan asks if he is truly going. Kaggle advises him to never fight gods he cannot kill and to use. Every dirty trick, every shadow to win if he must. He states that following this creed might keep him alive and as his final command orders him not to die. Yoan watches his master silhouette fade into the abyss of the forest, memorizing the laws of flight and slaughter and the ultimate rule of survival. Yoan swears a silent oath to remember. Meanwhile, within the castle walls, Madame Ites asks Karamov if the wine pleases him. He spits that it tastes of rotting filth and commands her to remove it. She smashes the bottle with her fan. She laments the waste of gold on a vintage he despised. Madame Etes purs that the only superior vintage lies in Lord Gazen's chambers. She suggests he retire to a more luxurious suite as the journey must have wearied him. She persists claiming Lord Gen's room offers unmatched comfort. He will not be disappointed. Then she insinuates they could find amusement together. Karamov coldly orders her to vanish. Madame its presses on warning that Lord Zen arrives late and their time is short. Karamov's demeanor shifts a predator shedding its skin. He declares he was growing bored, but now he will find his own fun. A blood curdling scream shatters the silence. Karamoff hoists the woman by her throat, introducing her to the entertainment known as massacre. Philip peaks through a crack in the door, his soul freezing in terror. The music of nature fell silent. Upon the hills crest, Yoan froze. His eyes widened in disbelief at the nightmare unfolding ahead. The castle, his home, was engulfed in a sea of crimson flames. Why is the world burning? Meanwhile, Lord Gesson raced against time with his knights. Thick pillars of smoke choked the sky above his domain. A knight's voice trembled. "My lord, the fire. It consumes everything. We must make haste." With a crack of the whip, his steed bolted like lightning. Reaching the estate gates, the atmosphere was heavy with malice. The guards sneered at their own lord, their eyes filled with mockery. "You took your sweet time." Sir Karmov's patience has run dry. Gesson pushed past them, but his soul shattered at the sight. The courtyard had become a graveyard, his loyal men, his servants. Their unseeing eyes stared at the heavens, blood staining the earth. Slowly, his gaze lifted to the armored figure, standing amidst the carnage. Sir Karamoff smirked, his voice dripping with venom. You're late. Rage surged through Gesson, his hand flew to his ax, knuckles white. Steel sang as the ax cleared its sheath. What is the meaning of this madness? Karamov's expression remained cold. High treason against the emperor for the attempted assassination of his majesty. House A's shall be erased from history. A decree of absolute annihilation. Lies. This is a purge born of greed. Gesson roared, his aura flaring. I will not let you slaughter my people. He charged, ready to defy the heavens. Karamov didn't flinch. Sound the trumpet. His command was absolute. Recover the family seal. Slaughter every living soul. The soldier raised the brass to his lips. The note of death pierced the air. The final order was given. Wipe this land from the face of the map. Roaring like beasts, the Imperial army descended. Amidst the inferno, a soldier loomed over a helpless, bleeding villager. Broken and bleeding, the man spat at his oppressor's feet. You cruel monster. Even in death, he would not beg. The soldier sneered. Where is the pig's son hiding? Never mind. Go ask your gods. He raised his blade to strike. Asterisk clang times. A flash of steel intercepted the blow. In a blur of motion, the young master's sword sliced through the enemy like paper. Blood sprayed like a crimson fountain. The villager looked up, tears welling in his eyes. Young Lord Yoan, you returned. Yoan hauled him up. Report. The man sobbed. The Imperials. They're butchering everyone. Father Valberg stepped forward, his face grim. We must assume Lord Gesson has fallen. The priest whispered. The words struck Yoan harder than any blade. His father gone. They intend to leave nothing but ash. Yan gripped his sword. He had to reach the castle. Suddenly, a familiar whimper cut through the roar of flames. Ignoring Valberg's warnings, he followed the sound. There, trembling on the earth was little Dell. "It is all right," he whispered, pulling her into an embrace. "You are safe now." But then, a chill ran down his spine. Killing intent, Dell's shaking finger pointed behind him. "Papa, he yoan turned, his heart pounding in his chest. The man who had once greeted him with a warm smile now lay cold in the dirt. his body a shield for his daughter even in death. It wasn't just him. The cheerful neighbors, the men he shared drinks and laughter with, all silenced forever. Yoan's teeth ground together, threatening to shatter. Gently, he detached Dell's clinging hands. It is too dangerous here. Go with Father Valberg. As the girl was led away, Yoan turned his back on safety and walked straight into the inferno. Valberg cried out, "My lord, where are you going? You must flee. You are the last hope." Valberg screamed. But Yoan froze his name. Someone was mocking his name. He looked up at the imperial standard. They're impaled upon a spear tip. The severed head of his father, Lord Gesson. Below the grizzly trophy, a sign mocked the dead Duke Gesson, executed for high treason against the throne. Touch this traitor and share his fate. Signed Karamov. A nearby soldier spotted Yoan, his eyes lighting up with greed. Well, well, isn't this the traitor's spawn? The soldier laughed. I thought you ran like a coward. Did you come back just to die? asterisk slash times in a movement too fast to follow. Yoan severed the standard. The Imperial flag fell into the mud, trampled under his boot. You lunatic, the soldier shrieked. Don't just stand there. Kill him. Yoan's eyes were void of mercy. He moved like a reaper. Steel flashed and bodies hit the floor. One by one they fell until Yoan stood alone in the silence of death. Surrounded by the ashes of his childhood, doubt whispered in his ear. Why? Why did I return to this hell? The priest was right. Facing Karamov now was suicide. A meaningless death. He should have run. Young master, a weak voice called out. Amidst a pile of fallen knights, he found Philip Ace clinging to life. You are alive. Philip coughed blood. Why did you come back? You must leave or the bloodline ends here. With trembling hands, Philip removed his helm. I I wanted to give this to you. On the day you became lord, the metal felt heavy in Yoan's hands. Rage boiled within him. A memory surfaced. His master's stern voice. Know the difference between bravery and stupidity. If the opponent is an emperor's knight, run. That was the lesson. But looking at the destruction, Yoan made his choice. Another lesson echoed in his mind. But if you must fight, then you must kill. Yoan lowered the helm onto his head. The time is now. His voice was cold steel. He rose a demon of vengeance and marched through the castle gates to face his destiny. The Imperial soldiers panicked, confusion, rippling through their ranks like a wave. How did he breach our defenses? Where are the guards? Rage surged through Yoan like a storm. He roared for Kamov to face his judgment. Striding through the flames, he demanded the wretched commander show himself. His boots struck the stone floor with the heavy weight of doom. A solitary figure clad in full plate armor stood amidst the carnage. Fresh blood dripped from his blade, singing a song of death. Finally, Sir Karamoff emerged from the shadows. He scoffed, noting that the fugitive rat had somehow survived. Recognition dawned in his eyes. "It was Yoanites, the very man who stood defiant before the castle gates earlier. I have no patience for introductions," Yoan spat, his voice trembling with suppressed fury. Just think of me as the embodiment of your destruction. A very angry man. Karamov sneered. You should have kept running if you wanted to keep your head. He surmised that this fool placed no value on his own existence. The commander accepted the inevitable clash. With his sword ready, he issued a chilling challenge. Come then, attack me if you are so eager to meet the Reaper. Save your breath, Yuan retorted coldly. That was my plan from the start. He surged forward. Steel shrieked against Steel as their swords collided amidst the roaring inferno. Sparks flew as their blades locked in a contest of raw power. Yoan unleashed a vicious lateral strike, but Karamov's strength was like an iron wall, effortlessly blocking the blow. Metal ground against metal in a screeching friction. Suddenly, Karamov unleashed a devastating technique. The impact was overwhelming, tearing the weapon from Yoan's grasp. Yoan's sword spun away into the darkness as he leaped backward to escape the follow-up. He landed, composing himself instantly. Karamov grinned maniacally. "Now this is true entertainment." But then the impossible happened. The shattered remnants of the blade did not fall. They hovered in the air, suspended by an unseen force. Yoan stared at the floating shards of his resolve. Karamov wasted no time launching a ferocious assault. His blade descended in a massive destructive ark. The strike was so powerful it sliced clean through a solid stone pillar. Fascinating, Karamov mused the thrill of battle rising. He noted that this boy possessed strength far surpassing that of Brits. Spotting one of his own cowering soldiers. His blood lust peaked. With a gruesome motion, he tore the man's head from his shoulders and hurled it aside. Yes, this is what I call fun. He roared, demanding the bastard son entertain him further. Yoan recovered instantly, meeting the next strike head on. The force of his block sent a spiderweb of cracks through Karamov's defense. Seizing the opening, Yoan launched a lightning fast counter. His blade found flesh slicing into the commander's arm. Kamov was forced to stagger back. The two warriors stood apart, measuring the distance. Karamov gazed at his wound in disbelief. How could a mere boy penetrate his legendary Donna steel armor? The damage to his gauntlet was undeniable. Across from him, Yoan's knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on the hilt, his aura intensifying. "Impossible," Karamov muttered. "No human can scratch Dana steel." He questioned exactly what kind of monster stood before him, but the youth simply raised his sword once more. Another thunderous clash shook the hall. Karamov's eyes widened at the overwhelming pressure, but Yoan was relentless, transitioning immediately into a crushing downward strike. Karamov barely managed to catch the attack with his blade. Gritting his teeth, he shoved back with a burst of tyrannical strength to break the deadlock. A brute with no finesse, Karamov concluded. He swings wildly, relying only on muscle. The commander shifted his stance, preparing to dissect his crude opponent. He effortlessly parried Yoan's heavy swing to the side. Then, like a viper, Karamov lunged with a lethal thrust. Yoan barely evaded his instincts, screaming, "Danger." Yoan realized he could not simply block such refined technique. Karamov smirked, realizing the boy fought like a wild animal. Pure instinct, zero discipline. Did Gaian never teach you the way of the sword he mocked. Yet, he recognized the wild danger the boy posed. He decided to execute him immediately. Karamov braced himself for Yoan's next desperate swing. He parried the wide attack, but the impact was different this time. The blade dug deep, grinding against his own steel. Yoan threw his entire body weight into the push. But the seasoned commander was too skilled, managing to deflect the brute force to the side at the last second. Come at me, Yoan roared. Your head will roll on these stones. Suddenly, Karamov's senses spiked. He perceived a shift in the air, an anomaly in Yoan's movement. Yoan did the unthinkable. He caught Keramov's blade with his bare hands. From his arm, a terrifying aura manifested, taking the form of a striking serpent. A direct punch slammed into Keramov's face like a siege hammer. The force was catastrophic, launching the massive knight backward through the air. The impact shattered a portion of his helmet and armor. Kamov spat a mouthful of blood, his sword clattering to the cold stone floor. He stumbled back, clutching his smashed jaw. Shock flooded his mind. That stance, Kagal's assassination arts. He realized too late that Yoanites had been masking his true lethality all along. His eyes bulged in horror. I lowered my guard against a monster he cursed internally. Pain doubled him over as more blood gushed from his lips. A crimson pool formed beneath him. Gritting his teeth, Karamov forced his body upright to face his executioner. The youth watched him with the cold predatory gaze of a killer. Yoan removed his helm, revealing eyes burning with questions. Why? He demanded. Why go to such lengths? Karamov gasped. Everything everything was for his Imperial majesty. He explained that the empire was crumbling and the emperor drew the imperial sword to purge the rot and restore order. The cursed blade. Mavara, he wheezed. Karamov leaned heavily on his weapon, hacking up blood, while Yoan stood before him like an unmovable mountain. Suddenly, a distorted laugh bubbled up from the commander's throat. He declared he was genuinely moved by this boy, this Yan. "For decades, I have crushed countless nights," he rasped. "But never have I met one with such raw power." Karamoff extended a bloodied hand. Come to the empire with me. His majesty needs monsters like you. He promised the world infinite gold, eternal glory, and vast fertile lands to rule over. The emperor himself will bestow the title of imperial knight upon you, he shouted. Become the blade that cleaves the world for the throne. Yoan remained silent, the promise of infinite wealth hanging in the air. He turned his face away, looking up at the smoke- fil ceiling. "That was the life I once dreamed of," he whispered. "But now I feel nothing." His refusal was absolute. Karamov blinked, confused by the rejection. What did you say? Yoan's eyes blazed with cold fury. You slaughtered my family. You butchered innocent servants who did nothing wrong. Karamov tilted his head, puzzled. Servants, is your defiance born of pity for mere insects? Karamov sneered his teeth, grinding in frustration. Then his fury erupted. Who cares if they die? The strong devour the weak. That is the absolute law of this world. Yoan stood silent and unreadable abyss, but his fist clenched until the knuckles turned white. Forgive me, master. I can no longer hold back this rage. In a flash of movement, he lunged. His fist collided with the noble's face, a thunderous impact that shook the very air. The impact rattled Karamov's skull. Yoan didn't stop. With aura flaring, he struck again. This is for the emperor. The second blow crashed against Karamov's temple. He unleashed a barrage of violence. Worthless lives. Is that what you call them? Terror finally dawned in Keramov's eyes as death approached. "What makes you a god?" Yoan bellowed. "Who gave you the right to judge who lives and who dies?" A final devastating strike landed square on his face. The noble's eyes bulged, realizing his mortality. Blood sprayed like a fountain. His hand twitched once, then fell still. Yoan lowered his fist, now stained with the price of vengeance. He stood over the broken tyrant, a silent reaper. But as he turned to leave, a raspy voice called out, "You, absolute fool. You rejected salvation. Now it is too late. The one who shattered the emperor<unk>'s blade will know only eternal suffering." Yoan watched coldly as the life faded from Karamov's eyes. His finger went limp and his body dissolved into monadust. To survive in a world that worships death, I thought gold was enough. But the memories flooded back. He clenched his fist tight. The screams of the massacred territory. his family, his neighbors, all reduced to ash and silence. Even if the heavens themselves turn against me, he walked through the carnage, his resolve hardening like steel. I did what was necessary. I will carry no regrets. This is my path now. Meanwhile, the massive fortress gates groaned open under the pale moonlight. Make way, a guard shouted. Commander Jane and her elite elven unit marched into the courtyard. She turned a sharp gaze to a trembling survivor. I will ask you once. Is this report accurate? The soldier fell to his knees, swearing on his life. It is the truth, commander. Please believe me. That monster breached our defenses. He crushed everyone. And with his bare hands, he tore Sir Karamov apart. That was the last sight of our lord. Jane scanned the battlefield, her eyes narrowing at the absence of a specific corpse. Then explain this. Where is the body? How can I accept such a fairy tale without proof of death? I I do not know, but I saw it with my own eyes. Just then, an agitant approached. Commander Jane, the pursuit squad is assembled. She nodded, her face a mask of ice. Good. Jane stroed to the front of the formation. Her voice rang out with lethal authority. Hunt him down. Erase his existence. The target is the traitor Yoan Yanites. As the sun bled into the horizon, Yoan sprinted through the dense forest. Branded a traitor to his bloodline and the murderer of a noble. The young warrior tore through the underbrush. The heavy weight of Philip's body draped across his shoulders. Jane's command echoed in the distance. Dead or alive, bring him to me. Shadows coalesed into soldiers surrounding him in the gloom. An elf lunged only to be cut down instantly. Yoanne carved a bloody path forward. Watch out, a commander screamed. He can tear through Dana Steel. Do not engage him solo. Treat this like a dragon raid. Orders flew to seal every road in the territory. Hunt him until his spirit breaks. As the soldiers reeled from the news of Karamov's demise, Jane remained unshaken. Bring that bastard's head to her majesty. As Yoan ran, the memory of a dying Philip flashed in his mind. Listen to me, boy. Go to the stables. Take the waror. You must survive, no matter the cost. Still carrying his burden, Yoan crashed into the stable, lungs burning. Is this the end? He glanced back, panting heavily. Hiding the body hadn't bought him enough time. The hunters were faster than he calculated. I have to keep moving. He would use Philip's armored corpse as a shield until he vanished into the night, gritting his teeth against the pain he threw open the stable doors. There in the shadows stood Gain's legendary waror. "Thank you, brother." He stroked the beast's mane, a moment of peace in the eye of the storm. "With your strength, we might just make it." The horse gazed at him with intelligent eyes. "I shall name you." Phillip. Suddenly, a shout pierced the air. I saw the reflection of Dana Steel sweep the sector. The rat is definitely hiding here. Hoof beats incoming. Before they could react, Yoan burst from the stable, a thunderbolt on horseback. Clutching the body tight, he charged the line. It's Yanites, a soldier screamed. He's breaking through on a mount. He plunged into the abyss of the forest. Bring him down. The elf commander roared. Do not let him leave this forest alive. Crossbow bolts filled the air like rain times. Thud thud times. The arrows harmlessly struck the armor of the corpse Yoan used as a shield. He became a phantom among the moonlit trees. Yoan rode relentlessly through the night, leaving the hunters far behind. Deep within the black forest, he finally halted. Philip was a twisted soul. He looked at the body, but to leave him unburied feels wrong. Wrong. Yan glances back. He assesses Philip's armor. It is not just steel. It screams of wealth and status. He claims the blade from the team corpse. Yan tests the weight. It is impossibly light yet unbreakable. Dana steel, a masterpiece. He draws the weapon and studies the runes etched into the metal. Ancient imperial script whispers a dark title. I am the one who reclaims crests. He repeats the words. The crest reclaimer. Does it exist to strip noble families of their honor? The name carries an ominous weight. He decides to keep the blade but bury the armor. A waste of a small fortune but necessary. He vows to retrieve it when he is stronger. Speed is survival now. He begins to dig. The shovel bites into the earth. After hiding the evidence of his kill, doubt creeps in. Is it enough? The face of Karamov, the emperor's knight, flashes in his mind. The moment news breaks, the entire empire will become his enemy. Karamov's elite knights will hunt him for blood. Her curse echoes in his ears. You will only know suffering. Jan scoffs internally. His life was a living hell long before her blood stained his hands. House is ashes and he is destitute. He wonders what his next move is. Deciding to rest for a moment. Suddenly, a low growl vibrates from the shadows, he spins around. A massive black wolf manifests from the darkness. He faces the beast. The young man stands, muscles trembling with exhaustion. Of all times, for a predator to appear, it had to be when his mana was dry. He has zero chance of victory in this state. He can barely grip his sword hilt. His only lifeline is the horse. If he can reach the saddle, he might live. But then a shout shatters his hope. We found the horse. Soldiers sees his waror. They know he is near. Jan recognizes the heraldry. The wolves of Akaton have caught the scent. An elf points a jagged finger directly at his hiding spot. I heard a noise there. The pursuit squad raises, crossbows locking onto him. He is trapped. A monster before him, an execution squad behind. With no path to retreat, he wonders if this is where his story ends. Suddenly, the wolf launches itself right over his head. It crashes into the elven ranks. The black wolf tears through the soldiers in a frenzy of violence. A soldier screams as the beast mauls him. Jan watches in shock, wondering why the monster spared him. He realizes the beast isn't saving him. It's clearing a path. This is a window of opportunity. If he stays, he dies. He must move. He grinds his teeth and charges. The young man sprints to his mount. He vaults into the saddle. He snaps the reinss and the warhorse explodes into motion. He gallops into the night. Ghosts of his past flash before his eyes. The old priest teaching him letters. The precious moments with his brother. Yan rides for his life. He remembers the innocence of youth. He remembers the slaughtered villagers as he fled his burning homeland. The memory of his brother handing him the helm in his final moment surfaces. He leaves behind the ruins of Itas village. The lifeless body of an elven soldier lies broken in the dirt. The black wolf stands amidst the carnage it created. The creature watches Yan vanish into the horizon, a silent guardian. Later, soldiers patrol the dirt road. Pillars of black smoke rise in the distance. Hidden in the brush, Yan realizes his escape route is sealed. A heavy checkpoint blocks the path. He slumps against the beast, his spirit nearly broken. He has not eaten or slept since the escape. For three agonizing days, the young man has been hunted like an animal by the soldiers of Akatan. Yan has lost count of the ambushes he has narrowly survived. He has reached his absolute limit. He lacks the strength to even lift his blade. In the distance, more guards barricade the only exit. He is trapped in a cage of spears. Crouched low, he observes the enemy movements. Suddenly, a merchant caravan with armed escorts appears on the road. A desperate idea strikes him. Yan decides he will become a merchant. He will use their presence as a shield to bypass the checkpoint undetected. Down at the caravan, a subordinate speaks to Sir Eldens of the Katana Trading Company. Eldens asks what is wrong. The mercenary beside him points a trembling finger down the road. A heavily armored rider emerges from the dust. Khan, the mercenary captain, barks orders to prepare for battle. Young Gamson scoffs, asking why they fear. A single knight. Goran shakes his head at the rookie. Use your eyes. Full plate armor. A massive warhorse. Furthermore, he wears a plate helm and a breastplate of steel. Khan grabs Gamson's head, forcing him to look at the sword at the knight's waist. That hilt. It is forged from Dana steel. It could slice through your armor like parchment. The young mercenary stammers that they cannot lose with nine men. One of the veterans shoves him aside, annoyed by his ignorance. Another mercenary smacks him on the head. Keep your mouth shut if you know nothing of war. Eldens orders Goran and Khan to ready the squad to strike at the slightest provocation. He announces he will assess the threat personally. Attack only on my signal. Both mercenaries acknowledge the command. Elden steps down from the wagon walking toward the silent night. Khan whispers a lethal instruction to his men. If he makes a move, knock him from the saddle instantly. The air crackled with tension. Merchant Eldens of the Katana Company stepped forward, demanding a name to clear the suspicion. Under his helm, Yoan's eyes widened. The merchant was a Catman. Elden scanned his mercenaries, checking their battle readiness. Yan felt the sharp sting of distrust. He needed to diffuse this killing intent immediately to lower the catman's guard. He introduced himself as Yan, spinning a tale of misfortune. He claimed to be a victim of bandits, stripped of everything he owned. He implored Eldens to hold his fire. The merchant bowed his head, apologizing. In this business, one must always prepare for catastrophe. Yan nodded, accepting the logic of the trade. He then played his next card, asking to join their caravan. He was penniless from the attack. In exchange for meager rations and a patch of ground to sleep on, he offered his sword to protect them. Eldens calculated the risk and finally nodded. The deal was struck. He informed the knight they were bound for Marcel. He suggested Yan build a rapport with the mercenaries. The young man expressed his gratitude, though the destination was a mystery to him. However, as he turned his back, Elden's expression darkened. He whispered a cold truth to his men. Yoan is just a wanderer. Watch him closely. If he makes a single suspicious move, do not hesitate. Kill him. The mercenaries acknowledged the bloodthirsty order. For now, Yan's mind was focused on one thing. Surviving the upcoming checkpoint. The wheels turned once more. Ahead. A sentry's eyes narrowed. Contact front. The alarm was raised. The notorious wolves of Akaton halted the convoy. Jan's heart pounded. This was the obstacle he feared most. Hoping to fade into the shadows. Yan waited. Eldens marched to the front, demanding an audience with the commander. The guard froze. The Katana Trading Company, a powerhouse from Marcel. He bowed respectfully, acknowledging their status. But orders were orders. They were hunting a fugitive traitor. Yan's blood ran cold. He realized the trap was set specifically for him. Suddenly, a soldier loomed over him. Demon D and compliance. Remove the helm. Show your face. Yan scrambled for a lie, claiming a contagious skin disease plagued him. The guards scoffed, mocking his excuse. Show us anyway. The squad leader's gaze pierced through him, sensing a secret. The air grew heavy, suffocating. Yan shifted his weight, his hand drifting toward the hilt of his blade. He prepared for slaughter, but a roar shattered the tension. Eldens was furious. Do you dare suspect my company? He demanded to see the commander immediately. He threatened the guard, his voice dripping with authority. One more delay and I will file a direct complaint to your captain. He made it clear this would end their careers. I will report this personally at the Marcel branch. The guard pad hastily ordering the barricade removed. The soldiers grumbled, frustrated by the chain of command. The squad leader leaned into Yoan, whispering, "You got lucky, punk." The caravan surged forward, crossing the line. The young knight cast one last glance backward. The soldiers faded into the distance. Darkness swallowed the land. By dusk, the mercenaries gathered around the campfire. In the command tent, Eldens reviewed his ledgers. He waved Yoan away, dismissing him from duty. "Go sleep," he commanded. Yoan nodded thanks to a mercenary as a bed roll was tossed his way. Finally, a moment of peace. Yoan sank onto the hard ground, exhaustion claiming him instantly. He drifted into the void, but the night was not safe. A shadow watched the full moon through the trees. Another figure emerged from the black vegetation. Get ready, a voice hissed. Surround the hill. We wiped them out in a single strike. In the realm of dreams, Sergeant Kim Yoan returned to his past life. The military days. He relived the glory. A flawless defense in-depth strategy against overwhelming odds. His tactical genius shone like a beacon. Battalion Commander Lieutenant Colonel Kim Ibok beamed, pinning a medal on his chest. A 5-day leave a soldier's paradise. The young sergeant saluted sharply. Back then, he thought this was his calling. He was born for war. But reality was cruel, outdated traditions, endless labor and pay that was an insult to his skill. That was why he deserted. In the nightmare, invisible hands dragged him back to that hell. Yoan gasped. He bolted upright, cold sweat on his brow. It was just a dream. He took a ragged breath. His body achd, the nightmare lingering in his bones. He glanced sideways. The moon hung silent until a whistling sound cut the air. Death rained from the sky. Instinct took over. His hand snapped out, catching an arrow millimeters from his eye. They found him. A surge of annoyance boiled within him. He rose to his feet, eyes blazing. No time for stealth. Ambush. Wake up. His voice tore through the silent night, alerting the camp. Eldens and the mercenaries scrambled in panic. But let's rewind to 5 minutes before the chaos began. He demanded to know why they were breaking their spines with labor while the new knight sat idle. But the veteran ordered the rookie to silence his foolish tongue. The leader spat the truth. Trust guard duty to a stranger. That was a quick way to get their throats slit in their sleep and their supplies looted in the dead of night. He warned him that recklessness was a death sentence in this line of work. Khan turned, resuming his vigil. But Gamson wasn't finished. He claimed he sought the mercenary life to forge himself into a true man. Yet he sneered, spitting out that if he knew the Goran squad were mere cowards, he never would have signed his life away. Khan froze. He spun around, eyes narrowing. Tension crackled between them in the suffocating darkness of the forest. Suddenly, a scream shattered the silence. Ambush. A storm of arrows descended like black rain. Khan tackled Gamson, shielding the fool with his own flesh. When the iron hail finally ceased, Khan roared. He ordered Gamson to rally the others immediately, but fear had already consumed the rookie. He scrambled away, bolting into the shadows like a frightened rat. Khan watched in disgust until a voice cut through the chaos. It was Goran, alive, but shaken by the sudden assault. He warned of the enemy closing in. Khan asked for the rookie, but survival took priority. They had to secure Eldens. The merchant was cowering beneath the wagon, trembling. It was time for war. Yoan stepped forward, his voice calm amidst the panic. He commanded a defensive formation around the cargo. Unity was their only chance against the unknown shadows. But Goran scoffed at the strers's audacity. Did this drifter think he was their commander? Khan sneered at Yan. We handle our own. You just worry about keeping your head attached. The knight blinked, taken aback by their stubborn pride. Goran ignored him, bellowing orders to the squad. Shields up. Prepare for blood. Yan tried one last time. He approached Khan, his eyes steady. I know war. Give me a shield. But the merchant elders cut him off cold. There were no shields to spare for a stranger. He would have to face death unprotected. Yoan turned away. The bitter taste of distrust heavy in the air. But then the atmosphere shifted. Killing intent surged from the treeine. Darkness coalesed into forms. A massive horde of bandits poured from the forest like a plague. Yan analyzed them instantly. Not the fearsome wolves of Aiten, just bottom feeding trash. Khan signaled the charge. With a roar, the mercenaries abandoned position to meet the enemy, leaving the wagon completely exposed. Yan sighed, who was guarding the rear. Steel crashed against Steel. A symphony of violence erupted. The bandit leader laughed, urging his swarm to drown them in numbers. Goron fought desperately. Hold the line. To retreat is to die. But a bandit slipped through his guard, smashing a fist into his face. Khan screamed in horror. The bandit raised a dagger, eyes gleaming with murder, ready to end the captain's life. Yan's fist clenched. He could watch no longer. With movement faster than the eye could follow. He drew his blade. The air itself seemed to sing. The bandit froze, sensing a predator. Confusion rippled through the attackers. What was this pressure? From the dirt, Goran looked up. A flash of silver light. Yan cleaved the enemy in two with a single devastating strike. Blood sprayed coating his blade in crimson. But the blood did not drip. The ancient runes on the sword pulsed, drinking the life force greedily. A bandit shrieked. A demon sword. He is invincible. Yoan stood amidst the carnage, his aura overwhelming. I am Yoan of House Yites. Who dares raise a weapon against me? The battlefield fell silent. Khan and Goran stared, their souls trembling. He was a noble, a highborn hiding in plain sight. Terror swept through the bandit ranks. They had attacked a noble house. This wasn't a raid. It was a death sentence. Yoan's voice turned to ice. Answer me. He leveled his bloodrinking blade at the leader. Will you kneel and surrender? Or shall I harvest every last one of your souls right now. Choose wisely. The bandit leader trembled the pressure, crushing his will. Clang. His sword hit the dirt. One by one, weapons fell like rain. Hands raised in total submission. We surrender. The battle was won without a war. Yoan sheathed his blade, the killing intent vanishing instantly. He turned to a stunned Goran. Bind them. If they twitch, execute them. Goran swallowed hard, approaching Sir Eldens. Panic set in. They had treated a noble like a stray dog. Would he demand their heads for the insult? They thought he was just a vagrant with good gear. But Eldens calmed him. Leave it to me. The fact that we didn't kick him out might just be our saving grace. The merchant approached the young master, bowing low. A rough night indeed. He stammered his gratitude, owing his life to the noble. How could I ever repay such a debt? Yoan placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. His gaze was intense. Survival is payment enough. The merchant blinked, shocked. No demand for gold. No arrogance. The young master was different. The noble walked away, a solitary figure in the moonlight. But he paused, turning back. A smirk played on his lips. Next time, lend me a shield. Eldens bowed frantically. Of course, my lord. The entire armory is yours. Yan's expression darkened. Now for the prisoners. I have questions. And with my status revealed, they will answer. The tension was thick enough to choke on. A mercenary kicked one of the captives forward, forcing him to captives, dropped to his knees before Yan. The young lord loomed over him, demanding his name and motive. The leader's voice trembled as he revealed they were the shattered remnants of House Brits, their private army. Months ago, their home was obliterated on false charges of treason against the throne. The ones who slaughtered their people were none other than the emperor's raid wolves. They fought with the ferocity of cornered beasts, but it was hopeless, especially when the noble executioner arrived. A mercenary beside Yan went pale. It was him, Karamov, the emperor's personal hunting dog. The bandit leader bowed his head to the dirt, begging forgiveness for his crimes. He explained they were hunted like animals by the Imperial Army, and even the Northern Lords turned their backs on them. They were ghosts with nowhere to go, though he knew banditry was a sin they had to do. The unthinkable just to survive another day. Yan's eyes narrowed as he asked if there was a deeper reason for the ambush. The man shook his head. It was simple greed. They saw the caravan's wealth and desperation took over. Hearing this, Eldens exploded with rage. He roared that trust was the very soul of commerce. Jan signaled for a mercenary to restrain the merchant, telling Sir Eldens to breathe. His mind drifted to the treason charge. He remembered Karamov's twisted words about doing it all for him. Suddenly, the puzzle pieces clicked into place. Jan realized the truth. There never was any treason. It was a purge disguised as justice, a pretext for the emperor to use Karamov as a weapon. Yan cursed the emperor, wishing a death upon him that would make hell seem like paradise. He looked down at the bandits. They were in a situation tragically similar to his own, victims of a corrupt power. Yet, they had chosen to prey on the weak. The young noble hesitated, unsure of the righteous path. Khan stepped forward, his voice like grinding stones, offering to break the prisoners for more intel. Yan shook his head. They already knew the grim reality. But suddenly, Gamson lost control, charging forward with murderous intent to beat a prisoner. to death. The bound man braced for the end, but the blow never came. Khan had stepped in, catching Gamson's weapon mid swing. Gamson shrieked, demanding to know why he was being stopped. The veteran mercenary glared at him with cold contempt. You have no right to judge them, Khan spat, especially not after you abandoned your squad and ran like a coward. The young mercenary froze, swallowing the bitter pill of truth. The bandit leader wept, begging Sir Yan to spare, their miserable lives, swearing to walk a righteous path. The other prisoners trembled on the ground, awaiting their doom. Khan offered to execute every last one of them with a single command. Yan's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. Finally, he spoke, "Disarm them. Let them go." The bandit leader cried out in relief, but Gamson looked at Yan as if he were insane. The young noble turned his gaze to the prisoners, his voice carrying the weight of authority. He told them to listen well. He understood there suffering but attacking the innocent was unforgivable. Jan revealed that like them he had only mastered the blade in order to Bell's survive in this cruel world. Eldens was floored to hear a noble speak of survival so plainly. A mercenary scoffed, pointing at Goran, saying he was only here for the coin. Yan's voice boomed like thunder, commanding them to learn a trade and forge an honest destiny. The bandit leader bowed deeply, tears streaming down his face, promising to never forget this act of mercy. Yan told the group to prepare to move. Lingering here would only invite death. But unbeknownst to them, a predator watched from the peaks. A shadow rose from the darkness. A wolf with eyes glowing like fresh blood. The party decided to seek refuge in the hamlet of Roots. News traveled fast and the village chief was immediately informed that Sir Eldens of the Katana Trading Company had returned. He rushed to the courtyard to greet the esteemed merchant. Eldens beamed greeting his old friend warmly after months of absence. The chief welcomed him, though worry lined his face as he asked about the journey. The merchant recounted their brush with the bandits, sighing that the world had gone to hell since the emperor lost his mind. The chief hissed at him to lower his voice, fearing Imperial spies. But Eldens waved it off. He explained they were safe thanks to a warrior of incredible skill traveling with them. The chief scoffed, mentioning a fake noble who tried to scam them weeks ago. I beat that fraud senseless myself. The catman laughed heartily, noting his friend was as reckless as ever when angry. But Elden's turned serious. This one is different. This noble was the real deal. Brave, honest, a true protector. He even refused. A reward which left the village chief speechless. A realization dawned on the chief. A knight of that caliber could be their shield against the bandits plaguing the region. In these dark times, strength was the only law. He immediately invited the group to stay and rest for a few weeks. Eldens tried to decline, but the chief insisted pulling the old friend's card. Eldens chuckled, accusing the chief of trying to poach his bodyguard. The chief laughed, then looked around. So, where is this legendary hero? They turned to look. The terrifying warrior was slumped in a corner. Starving, looking like a beggar at death's door. On the dusty road, Garin approached with reverence, calling out to Sir Yan. The mercenary presented a heavy cloth sack bulging with the spoils of war. Every weapon and trinket from the bandits had been sold for a handsome price. Yan stared into his helmet, his eyes reflecting the cold gleam of gold. Without a second thought, he tossed the heavier bag back to Garin. He revealed his own share, a mere handful of coins, against the mercenary's fortune. To yan gold was simply a tool. Buying the loyalty of wolves was cheaper than bleeding alone. Besides, on the battlefield, blood ties are thicker than water. He turned his back, leaving Garin to stare in awe at the retreat of a true leader. The mercenary captain turned to his men, his voice booming with authority. He announced that Sir Yan had forsaken his own greed for their sake. The mercenary stood frozen, unable to comprehend a noble giving up his share. Shock melted into euphoria as they realized the wealth was theirs. Their cheers for Yan echoed through the village like a war cry. Later that night, darkness swallowed the in room where the young lord rested. The candle flame died instantly, suffocated by a killing intent. From the shadows, crimson eyes burned, and a dagger gleamed in the moonlight. The memory of the day played out the moment the men received their reward. Yan had walked through the city not as a traveler, but as a conqueror of hearts. Though he kept the rarest artifacts he had purchased, their undying loyalty with coin. An elderly man stepped forward, bowing low before the young knight. He offered the finest suite, a tribute paid for by the powerful Katan trading company. It was Elden's way of balancing the scales of destiny and debt. Yan accepted the luxury without a word, following the man into the inn. Meanwhile, the soldiers whispered about the one man who received nothing. Gamson, the coward who hid during the battle, stood empty-handed and bitter. Jealousy twisted his face as he watched the nobleman disappear into luxury. Inside the suite, Yan submerged himself in the steaming water, washing away the gore. The warmth of the bath felt like a distant memory from a forgotten life. He realized how harsh the world had become since he lost the shelter of his title. Born into silk and gold. He had never truly appreciated the safety of a bed. That innocent life burned to ash the day the mad emperor destroyed his home. Surrounded by death, he had survived a lone spark in the darkness. His mind raced. Should he have taken the dark deal offered by Karamov. If he remained a fugitive, the Imperial army would eventually hunt him down. Suddenly, clarity struck him like lightning. The merchants held the real power. Even mercenaries feared the vast influence of the majestic trading guilds. These companies were a spiderweb of gold connecting nations and secrets. With enough coin, they could bend politicians and even armies to their will. To survive the emperor's wrath, he needed to hide beneath the shadow of commerce. Pushing the heavy thoughts aside, he let exhaustion claim him. In the dead of night, the door creaked open. A silent predator entered. The assassin reached for the blade, but his hand met empty air. Before he could react, an iron grip crushed his wrist. Yan was awake. The noble's eyes were cold as ice as he demanded the assassin's allegiance. The assassin thrashed like a trapped rat, screaming for mercy, but his struggle was feudal. With a flick of his wrist, Yan tossed him aside as if he weighed nothing. The moment his body slammed into the floorboards and iron grip crushed his ankle. Clawing at the wood, he dragged his broken body down the hall, pleading for help that would never come. It was too late. In that split second, the fool realized he hadn't provoked a man but a monster in human skin. Just 5 minutes prior, the world had been peaceful with the inkeeper, lost in deep slumber at the reception. Unaware of the looming chaos, two shadowed figures crept up the stairs, masking their presence completely. Gamson sneered, assuring Pra that the job was already in the bag. He boasted that Vulan, the strongest warrior in the village, was a phantom in the night and wouldn't be caught. He was fast, lethal, and his disguise was perfect. At the same time, Pel, a man who spoke the language of beasts, calmed a waror to prepare their escape. Carefully, he mounted the animal and signaled for silence. Consumed by greed, Pra whispered to Gamson, questioning if the nobleman's blade was truly worth risking their necks. In response, Gamson asked if he had ever seen a weapon capable of shearing through armor and flesh like paper. He claimed to have witnessed that demonic blade cleave a soldier in. Two, such power was priceless. Besides, without that divine artifact, the knight was just another weakling. But as they peaked down the corridor, their arrogance shattered. There lay their strongest warrior broken on the floor while the terrifying silhouette of Yan loomed over him like the grim reaper. The agonized screams of their comrade echoed through the hall. Silent as a ghost, Gamson watched the nightmare unfold. Terrified, Pra shook him, demanding answers. But Gamson's survival instinct kicked in. He hissed at him to run if he wanted to keep breathing. An overwhelming aura of death suffused the air. They knew their fate was sealed. At that moment, the inkeeper emerged from the shadows, demanding to know who dared disturb his sanctuary. Outside, Pel held the rains relief washing over him as his companions scrambled closer. He commented that they had finally made it, but Gamson cut him off with a roar, ordering him to shut his mouth and prepare a ride for their lives. Turning to Pra, he demanded the whereabouts of Vulen. With a trembling voice, Pra stammered that their friend was likely already a corpse. Gamson, cold and calculating, ordered a full retreat, but Pra hesitated, still worried about their fallen comrade. Pel refused to leave a brother behind, but Gamson warned that the monster inside would kill them all. Suddenly, a thunderous boom shook the earth as the ins roof was blown to smitherines from the cloud of dust and debris. Johan descended like a vengeful god. Far away on the desolate borders of the southern Holy Empire corpses swayed in the wind from a lonely tree. The dull thud of a hammer broke the silence as a soldier drove a wooden stake into the cursed earth. With the grim task finished, he turned to his partner, confirming the stake was solid. Then the two of them nailed up a terrifying plague warning notice. It declared that these souls, along with their entire bloodlines, were executed for the crime of theft against the nobility. The decree bore the royal seal of the tyrant emperor Cardian Bizerk. One soldier voiceed trembling asked what crime warranted such a massacre. The reply was chillingly absurd. They had merely taken a single chicken and three eggs from Baron Gavor<unk>'s estate. The information sounded like a sick joke. Yet he couldn't deny the bodies swinging above him. Entire lives extinguished for a pittence. Such was the cruel law of this world. Meanwhile, in the quiet corner of a tavern, the night was peaceful. Elden sipped his tea with the elegance of a merchant prince. His peace was shattered when an informant approached, whispering catastrophic news. He reported that Gamson's mercenary squad had been caught pilfering the belongings of Sir Johan Yates, hearing the name Eldens shot up from his seat shock written across his face. Moments later, he collapsed back down, groaning in frustration. He had planned to recruit the powerful Sir Yan for the journey to Marcel. eyes hardening elders issued a ruthless command capture Gamson immediately and deny all ties to the fools. The subordinate bowed, witnessing the terrifying composure of a true merchant of the katana company handling a crisis. Left alone, Eldens forced his racing heart to slow, drawing on years of surviving in the viper's pit. He refused to let this end him. He knew this wouldn't be his grave, but he needed a cunning strategy to appease the enraged noblemen. Elsewhere, a tense village gathering was just concluding. The chief stood to dismiss the council when chaos erupted. A villager burst in lungs, burning, screaming that the leader must hear this. He revealed that the idiots had been caught stealing from the nobles a death sentence for them all. The chief's fist crashed onto the table, shattering the calm. He cursed the useless brats who had doomed them. When asked for a solution, his fury only spiked. There was only one way to survive the wrath of a noble. His voice cold as ice, he ordered the collection of tributes, including a slave sacrifice. Furthermore, they would execute the young thieves personally before the noblemen's eyes. Immediately, the parents howled in despair, throwing themselves forward, refusing to let their flesh and blood be slaughtered. Consumed by blind rage, the chief grabbed a stool roared for silence and smashed it into splinters. He bellowed at the weeping parents, asking if they had forgotten the emperor's decree. Did they not understand that defiance meant death for every single one of them? He declared they must act now. They had to strike first for hesitation meant death in this cruel world. The imperial decree was absolute and unforgiving. Anyone who dared to covet a noble's treasures would lose their tongue, and their entire bloodline would face the gallows. In neighboring lands, whole clans had been exterminated due to that insane law. The price of life was cheaper than dirt. All because some peasants dared to ask for a chicken and three eggs in exchange for unpaid labor. To the nobility, commoners were pests. The village chief turned to a trembling mother, his eyes hollow. What do you think that highborn monster will do to us once a noble is offended? Retribution is certain. He would not just punish the boys. He would burn their world down. He might behead the entire village while preaching about the sanctity of a knight's honor. Fear paralyzed them all. One man stammered. But this land belongs to Count Jiren. Surely we can appeal to his authority for protection. The chief spat on the ground. Wake up. Nobles only care about their face. To them, our lives are worth less than insects. Asterisk bang times. He slammed his fist on the table, desperation taking hold. Open your eyes. While parents wept, the council fell silent. Do you think I enjoy this? The chief's voice cracked with anguish. My heart bleeds, but I must choose the lesser evil. We must sacrifice the few to save the many. If these boys die, the village lives. It is a cruel necessity. Under the shadow of the great ancient tree, the villagers gathered like mourners. Three youths knelt bound and broken. A fourth lay unconscious in the dirt. Watching from the shadows, Yan realized this situation had spiraled into madness. They were just foolish village boys who coveted his sword. A simple case of greed triggered by his weapons aura. He sighed, realizing he needed to seal his blade away. It was his own fault for flashing such a legendary artifact openly. He had only meant to unleash a little killing intent to scare them straight. Yan sat on his chair, radiating a heavy pressure. The village chief approached, sweating profusely. My lord, with Is your noble personage unharmed? Yan<unk>s eyes narrowed. No, I am not. His voice was cold steel. Is it tradition here to greet guests with blades to the throat? Do you normally loot travelers like bandits, terrified by the accusation the chief threw himself into the dirt? He cowtowed violently. Mercy, my lord. This lowly one failed to control these idiots. The fault lies with me. Yen glared at the boys. Next time, choose your targets wisely. He waved his hand to dismiss them. But then, asterisk shing times, the chief drew a dagger. Madness gleamed in his eyes as he raised the steel over a boy's neck. "I will wash away this insult with blood," he screamed. "Stop!" Yan commanded, extending his hand. "That is not what I want. But the chief was deaf to reason, consumed by the terror of the nobility. Those who stain a knight's honor must pay with their lives." ignoring Yan, he swung the blade down for the execution. The mother screamed, covering her eyes. But the sound of tearing flesh never came. The blade froze in midair. Did you not hear me? Yan's voice dropped an octave dripping with menace. The villagers froze, suffocated by his aura. Silence descended like a heavy blanket. Yan rose from his seat, his presence looming like a mountain. Are you all insane? You would slaughter your own kin over a bruised ego. He scoffed. If you want to pay for crimes, use gold, not blood. The crowd stared, unable to process his words. Realizing he might have broken their worldview, Yan cleared his throat. I will say it once more. His gaze swept over them. Since when is honor worth more than a human life? Untie them and get out of my sight. The dagger slipped from the chief's trembling fingers thutting into the earth. Overwhelmed by such benevolence, the chief fell to his knees. A true noble. He had never witnessed such magnanimity. Tears streaming, the parents rushed to embrace their children. Pra was alive. It was a miracle. The chief trembled. So the legends were true. A noble with a heart actually exists. Eldens had not lied. Even the mercenaries bowed deeply, their respect genuine. We will never forget this grace, Sir Yan. Gamson hung his head. I was a fool. I judged a dragon by the standards of snakes. He had been deceived. As the ropes were cut, a man whispered, "We are blessed. Any other knight would have painted the grass red." The mercenary captain walked toward Gamson. "Get me out of this," Gamson grunted. "This squad is cursed. I regret ever joining you." Suddenly, the captain's hand clamped over Gamson's face like a vice. What are you? Hush now, the captain whispered, his voice devoid of warmth. Just relax your body. It will be over soon. A dark shadow rose behind Gamson, hungry and sharp. Yan sensed the shift in the air and spun around. Asterisk slash times Gamson's body hit the floor, executed cold-bloodedly before his comrades. The air rire of iron. Yan stood up, his eyes blazing with fury. What the hell do you think you are doing? The captain simply smiled. Yan stood his ground, declaring the execution righteous under the emperor's decree. But the retort came swift and sharp. The mercenary leader didn't flinch, his voice dripping with conviction. He hadn't spilled blood without cause. All around them, the air grew heavy as the elders and warriors held their breath. Khan, the mercenary captain, locked eyes with Siran. Even dogs of war have a code. Gamson's treachery didn't just break the rules. It stained their very honor. His cowardice had endangered the entire pack. Cutting him down was the only way to preserve their law. Khan then drew his own dagger, flipping the hilt toward the young noble. A silent challenge. If Yan felt disrespected, he could take Khan's head right there. In that instant, the truth struck Yan like a thunderclap. These weren't just killers. They were warriors with pride as fierce as his own. The killing intent vanished. Jan sheathed his blade, the steel clicking softly into place as the crowd watched in stunned silence. With a gentle hand, he pushed the offered weapon aside. He admitted his arrogance, bowing his head in a sincere apology. A collective gasp swept through the crowd. A noble, apologizing to a mercenary. It was unprecedented. Yan commanded Khan to sheath his weapon, bridging the gap between their worlds. The captain bowed, asking for forgiveness in return. Mutual respect bloomed in the dust of the battlefield, but the mood lightened as a subordinate chided Khan for his recklessness. Khan laughed it off, promising a swift kick next time. But from the shadows, Eldens watched with calculating eyes. This young master was an anomaly. He possessed power without tyranny, a diamond among common stones. A leader who commanded respect, not fear, Elden swore then and there to bind his fate to Yans. Seeing a golden path for his own ambition. As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in crimson, the caravan moved on toward their destiny. Yan idly turned a captured pocket watch over in his hands. He had chosen it for its luster, only to find the gears within seized and dead. a useless trinket. Just as he sighed at his misfortune, a presence emerged from the twilight. A young woman approached, joking about his growing responsibilities. But before he could retort, a hail came from the village gates. The local chief hurried out, desperate to curry favor with the saviors who had protected them. He presented a working watch, a rare treasure in these parts. But the true offering was darker, a human life. The chief pushed a ragged boy forward, claiming the slave held the map of the world in his head. The boy looked less like a human and more like a broken doll. Leaving him here was a death sentence. Yan's heartened with resolve. He accepted the gift, but immediately ordered the boy be bathed and given a feast fit for a man. The deal was struck. The boy Goden was now his. Yet, as they rode out, the weight of owning another soul sat heavy on Yan's conscience. Night fell and the campfire crackled, casting long shadows over the camp as the men celebrated their victory. While the mercenaries drank and boasted, Goden approached quietly, offering food with trembling hands. "Master," he whispered. Yan took the bowl, but rejected the title. He demanded the boy speak his name, not a rank. Tears welled in God's eyes. Looking at the boy's delicate features, Yan questioned if fate was playing a trick on him. Was this truly a boy? Curiosity peaked. He asked how a scholar ended up in chains. Goden hesitated, saying his past was a dark one. The boy asked if nobles also suffered. Yan simply smiled and asked for the story. Goden began his tale. A simple life as a weapons peddler in the east twisted into darkness when a corrupt noble forced him into smuggling gold. Smuggling Yan's eyes narrowed. That was a one-way ticket to the gallows. How was he still breathing? God's voice shook as he explained. It wasn't greed. It was survival. His siblings were fading away from sickness and hunger. He became a mule for the nobles dirty wealth, hoping to buy his family's lives. But treachery is the nature of snakes. Once the gold was safe, the very noble who hired him sold him out to the authorities. A sacrificial pawn, Yan muttered. He asked if Goden had fought for his innocence. The boy shook his head bitterly. The emperor<unk>'s decree was absolute. A peasant accused of stealing noble wealth had no voice, and the money for your family, Yan asked softly. Goden looked down. Every copper went to bribing the executioner just to keep his head. He apologized for his wretched state, but Yan cut him off. There was no sin in surviving. The injustice made Yan's blood boil. This world was a hellscape where the weak were meat for the strong. Without power, innocence was a crime. Even the house Brits soldiers had become bandits just to fill their bellies. He thought of the villagers of Ruts selling their kin to survive winter. He looked at Goden chewed up and spat out by the nobility. Was this the order he was sworn to protect? The unfairness of it all tasted like ash. But Yan shook the dark thoughts away. He couldn't fix the world in a day. not when he was still being hunted by the Imperial army. With the shadow of death hovering over them, he calls out to God, who answers the summons instantly. With a voice like steel, Yan declares, "Their fate is now bound together. Survive and live like kings." The young woman's face flushes crimson at his intensity, but the moment shatters. A mercenary rushes in. A monster has breached their perimeter. Yoan rises, his aura flaring, grumbling that the world won't even grant him a moment's peace. He demands the location and as the man points, they sprint into action. Goden lingers for a split second, etching Yoan's vow into his memory. Catching up to the vanguard, he asks if the beast is close. The scouts report visibility is zero, but a terrifying presence lurks within the lea abyssal darkness. Suddenly, Yoan steps out from the brush and the mercenaries panic, shouting for him to take cover. Unfazed, he simply tells them to calm down. He orders them to sheath their blades, leaving the hired swords. Dumbfounded by his arrogance, Yoan announces he will handle this alone and walks straight into the pitch black forest. Khan warns that subduing monsters is an art form, not a game. And reckless moves lead to the grave. His voice stern. He reminds everyone that their contract is to protect eldens, not chase glory. But Yoan freezes. He closes. His eyes, his senses expanding. He steps toward a thicket, recognizing a spiritual pressure heavy enough to stop a heart in its tracks. Within the gloom, two glowing eyes lock onto his soul. Yoan identifies the beast immediately. The black wolf of Ill Omen, the same bastard from the past. The last time their paths crossed, the beast slaughtered the wolves of Akitin, but spared him. Despite countless opportunities, the predator never struck with killing intent. Yoan knows this creature means him no harm. With absolute composure, he commands the hidden entity to reveal itself. A massive shadow coaleses into the form of the giant black wolf. Extending a hand, Yoan asks if it shadowed him all this time, offering thanks for the previous rescue. Khan is skeptical of Yan's beasting skills, while one of the mercenaries trembles, having never witnessed such a majestic nightmare. The behemoth inches closer, sniffing Yoan's face. Snap! The beast clamps its jaws around his entire head. A mercenary screams Yoan's name in pure terror, but Eldens intervenes, barking at the panicked soldier to stand down. With his skull still trapped inside the wolves, Ma Yoan muffles a request for everyone to relax. Gripping the beast's fur, he unveils the truth. This is no monster. It is the legendary guide of the dawn. Elden's eyes go wide with shock. Confused, Yoan repeats the title, guide of the dawn. Unaware of the weight those words carry, Eldens begins to tremble, explaining that in the Eastern Empire, an ancient ballad speaks of this divine beast. Legend says that during the chaotic age of the great war, a solitary warrior bestowed a name upon the wolf. It became the guide of the dawn, and upon being named the beast, bowed in submission. Its eyes blazed with light, leading the charge at the very front of the battlefield. When the the war that sundered the continent finally ended, the hero brought peace only to die a martyr. The black wolf mourned for three days and nights before vanishing, wandering eternally to find lands in need of order and heroes. That is the myth of the guide of the dawn. Yoan is skeptical, knowing it only as the infamous Il Omen. Eldens counters that the name Ill Omen is a corruption of the original Eastern folklore, twisted by fear as the legend traveled south. He recites a sacred verse, the guide of the bud. Dawn devours the wicked and bows only to the truly brave. Eldens confirms this text comes from the imperial archives. In that instant, the pieces of the puzzle click into place for Yoan. Eldens overcome with awe, begs to touch the divine creature. Yoan shrugs, granting permission. However, the moment the old man reaches out, Wolf unleashes a guttural growl, rejecting him instantly. Elden's retreats, realizing he lacks the qualification. Yoen strokes the fur and the beast purr like a kitten. As Eldens watches the creature submit only to Yoen, a realization strikes him like lightning. He recalls the final line of the prophecy. To grant a name to the divine beast is to bind its soul as a vassel. Could this rough southerner be the reincarnation of the legendary hero? He shakes his head, dismissing the absurdity, but the thought lingers. Eldens asks Yoan if he has already christened the guide of the dawn. Yoan admits the thought hasn't crossed his mind. Urgent now. Eldens insists he name it immediately. If the legends hold true, a miracle is about to unfold. Yoan ponders while Eldens suggests something noble like Katana. But Yoan's mind drifts to the last time he felt this kind of presence. Burying that bastard from Cardway, pointing at the magnificent beast, Yoan makes his choice. Your name is Karamov. Elden's gasps. As the name is spoken, the wolf's eyes. The air ignited with a blinding intensity. A surge of raw mana exploded outward, enveloping both Yan and Eldens. The beast howled as the energy reshaped its very soul. A miraculous metamorphosis took hold. Standing before them was no longer a monster, but the legendary guide of the dawn, Karamov. The majestic wolf bowed its head to its new master. With a calm demeanor, Yan placed a hand on the creature's fur. "I'm counting on you," he whispered, sealing their bond. Turning to Eldens, he acknowledged the creature's incredible power. "But what are you doing?" Yan asked, confused. The surrounding mercenaries watched in stunned silence as Eldens fell to his knees, cowtowing before Yan and the divine beast. Tears streamed down the old merchant's face. "It is just as the ancient prophecies foretold," he cried out. "To witness a living myth with my own eyes. My life is complete." Elden's voice trembled with absolute reverence. "From the moment I saw you, I knew you were different." He declared that his respect for Yan was now boundless. You saved us from the bandits with god-like strength. You showed mercy to your enemies like a true saint. And now you have been chosen by the divine beast itself. Raising his voice to the heavens, elders made a proclamation. You are the savior we have waited for, the hero of turbulent times. A shockwave of disbelief rippled through the mercenaries and God. Murmurss filled the air as they questioned if this wanderer was truly the legendary figure. Was Yan really the chosen hero? Yan<unk>s expression grew heavy with an uncomfortable burden. He turned to the prostrate merchant. In a low restrained tone, he offered an apology. I am not the hero you imagine, Yan confessed, shattering the illusion. I am merely a wanderer from a fallen house struggling just to survive another day. The irony was bitter on his tongue. In fact, he admitted, "I am a fugitive hunted by the world for the crime of slaying this very beast." Yan apologized for shattering the old man's dreams, but Eldens shook his head violently. disappointment. Never. He begged for the honor of introducing Yan to the Mean Trading Company. It is the only way I can repay a life debt of this magnitude, Eldens insisted. Yan paused the name, striking accord in his memory. Marcel, he asked. What kind of place is that? He had never heard of such a city. Elden's eyes lit up as he explained. Marcel is the famous city of free trade. It is a sanctuary. It is one of the few places on the continent where the emperor<unk>'s long reach cannot touch you. That single sentence grabbed Yan's attention like a hook. A spark of interest ignited in Yan's eyes. I cannot refuse such an offer, he stated, accepting the proposal. If the emperor had no power there, while Eldens offered silent prayers of gratitude, Jan's mind raced with tactical possibilities. A sanctuary? Perhaps I can start a new life there as a simple merchant. As they traveled, Eldens hummed a cheerful tune, but Yan remained vigilant. He prayed that the rumors of him being a hero would die in this wasteland. The hero of turbulent times. Yan reflected on the title with a bitter smile. How nice it would be if that were actually true. But reality was cold and unforgiving. In my past life and in this one, he thought I am nothing more than a survivor clawing his way out of hell. A dark memory surfaced from the abyss of his mind. An imposing figure. An absolute ruler decreeing that his existence would be nothing but suffering. Yan clenched his fist until his knuckles turned white. Life before my death was a nightmare, he admitted to himself. But this time, this time is different. Determination burned in his gaze. I will move forward one step at a time, guided only by my own will. With renewed resolve, the group marched toward the horizon. They finally arrived at the city of wealth. Marcel Goden looked around in awe. I never imagined I would live long enough to return to this place, the old man muttered. As they navigated the bustling market, Yan suggested they resupply. But suddenly, a blur of white fur darted ahead. Carm Yan shouted, chasing after the beast. A street vendor leaned down, smiling at the creature. "Oh, what a cute little thing!" she couped, offering it a treat. Yan watched, stunned. To everyone else, the terrifying divine beast looked like nothing more than an adorable puppy. Yan recalled the events of the previous day in the forest. Before entering the city, Yan had knelt before the massive wolf. Karamov, he had said, "Seriously, a monster of your size will cause a panic. You need to wait outside or before he could finish, Keramov's body began to glow. The beast understood his master's will perfectly. Yan watched intently as the magical energy compressed. The massive wolf began to shrink its terrifying form, condensing into something harmless. Yan blinked in surprise. "You can actually change your size," he asked. "Is this another convenient ability of a divine beast?" Without hesitation, God had scooped up the mini wolf. "Look how cute he is." The old man squealled, hugging the creature. Yan sighed with relief. "At that size, we can walk right through the front gate," Yan concluded. "Back in the present, a crowd was forming around the puppy. "Is it a breed from a foreign land?" they wondered. Goden laughed nervously, scratching his head. "Ah, sorry. The little one has no manners." Yan grabbed God's shoulder. "We need to move," he whispered urgently. "We are still being hunted. They needed supplies and fast." God suddenly stopped Yan. Leave the equipment to me," he said with a grin. "I used to be an equipment merchant, remember?" He flashed four silver coins in his palm. "That is all we have," Yan reminded him grimly. "Can we really afford everything with just that?" God pocketed three coins and held up a single silver piece. "Watch and learn," he declared confidently. "I will get everything we need with just this one coin," Yan looked at him skeptically. "Don't get carried away," he warned. "What can you possibly buy with one silver coin in a city like this?" Sometime later, Yan stood in the street, jaw dropped. He looked at their hall, unable to believe his eyes. You You bought all of this with one coin. They had a high-grade tactical bag for Yan and a massive supply backpack for Goden. Their inventory capacity had tripled instantly. Goden's silver tongue was terrifying. He had sold a destroyed helmet as battlecard vintage for a fortune and talked a vendor into giving him a mace for free. They had vinegar maintenance, oil rations, and survival gear. And yet, Goden was handing him coins. Here is your change," the old man beamed. It defied all logic. Through some merchant sorcery, they had acquired a full set of gear and ended up with more money than they started with. Yan stared in awe. A realization sparked in his mind. If a shattered helmet commanded such a price, the gear he buried for Karamov. It was a king's ransom waiting in the earth. He vowed to unearth that treasure and sell it if he ever returned. Yan noticed a shift in his companion. Goden looked genuinely at peace with this familiar trade work. Were you truly a merchant at heart while packing their supplies, the young man opened his soul? He confessed how deeply he had missed this life. The nightmare of his slavery resurfaced, days filled with despair, living in the constant shadow of death. But now, standing beside Yan, he felt his humanity returning. The merchant spirit within him had awakened once more. Goden bowed his head in gratitude. Even without the chains of debt, he swore he would have chosen to walk this path with Yan. Yan smiled, his heart warming at the loyalty. I'll be counting on you, partner. The response was instant and full of vigor. Understood Yan. Together, they stepped into the bustling city of Marcel. For Yan, who had known only the cold bite of hardship, this city was a revelation, a happiness he never knew existed. The meat here melted like butter on his tongue, unlike the leather he was used to chewing. It was a culinary awakening. Gone was the filth of the road. Here, he could soak in steaming hot water until every ache faded away. No more sleeping on jagged, freezing rocks. In Marcel, he sank into clouds of soft, warm bedding. It was paradise. Yan decided then and there he wanted to stay. He dared to dream of a peaceful life within these walls. But Destiny is a cruel mistress. She would not let him rest so easily. The next day, the plaza was alive with energy. Yan strolled through the crowd, savoring the rare tranquility. It had been an eternity since he walked without looking over his shoulder. Suddenly, his instinct screamed. A chill ran down his spine. The atmosphere had shifted. Something was wrong. A crowd had gathered, whispering fearfully, "Bandit trouble." A villager confirmed the worst criminals had taken a child and the cargo. Yan chewed his skewer thoughtfully, his eyes scanning the perimeter. The piece of the city was fracturing. The citizens were terrified. "We can't live like this," they muttered. Goden whispered to Yan, sensing the heavy mood. The tension spiked. Up ahead, a thug was bullying a street vendor, flexing his power over the helpless. "Do you know who I am?" the brute roared, demanding meat. He claimed hunger, having not eaten in 4 days. But this was no common thug. He was a straggler from the Ackaton wolves, the very mercenaries hunting Yan. Lost and desperate. The thug turned to leave but froze. His eyes locked onto Yan. Time seemed to stop in that terrifying instant. Recognition flashed like lightning. "You bastard!" the mercenary roared, charging with murderous intent. Yan's blood ran cold. The Akatan wolves had tracked him to Marcel. The situation had just gone from bad to catastrophic. A fight here would ruin everything. The enemy raised his blade, screaming for Yan's death. But before the steel could fall, a shadow swept in. A rider on horseback struck the attacker down with a single precise blow. The mercenary crumpled to the dirt, humiliated before the masses. The writer scoffed at the chaos, his presence commanding respect. He turned his gaze to Yan. "You there, wanderer? Are you injured?" Yan shook his head, offering his thanks to the stranger. With a charismatic smile, the man advised caution before riding off, leaving an air of mystery in his wake. Moments later, the ground trembled. A legion began to assemble in the square, a true army of mercenaries. They formed a wall of steel across the city. Brazil, the captain of the Oakwood mercenaries, addressed the fearful crowd. His voice boomed with confidence. "My 500 elites will crush this bandit scum. Marcel will be safe again." God stared in awe at the display of power. "Are they famous?" Yan asked, gauging their strength. famous. They are legends, Goden whispered. One of the top groups in the empire hired to purge the region of evil. Yan remained silent, observing the chess pieces moving on the board. His mind was miles away from the applause if that rider hadn't intervened. Yan's identity would have been exposed in the brawl. Once exposed, the Empire's hunting dogs would descend. Marcel would no longer be a sanctuary, but a trap. The memory of his cursed promise echoed in his mind a life destined for suffering. It threatened to consume him. He took a deep breath, forcing the darkness back. He was still a fugitive. Survival required strategy, not panic. His only lifeline was the Mian Trading Company. Their influence was absolute untouchable, even by the Emperor. Thanks to Eldens, he had a foot in the door, a chance to secure their protection. But it was a race against time. If his true identity leaked before the deal was struck, the company would abandon him. There would be no shield, no mercy. If the truth came out now, his death was an absolute certainty. His objective is crystal clear. Yan clenches his fist resolve burning in his eyes. He must reach the Katana Trading Company. He needs their shield against the Empire until his power is absolute. His true lineage must remain a shadow. Suddenly, a melodic voice pierces the air. A beastwoman steps forward, introducing herself as IA, an elite agent of the Katana Corporation. She has heard the legends of his strength through Eldens. Her eyes gleam with intent. She wishes to forge a powerful alliance with him and his noble house. Ibella extends a graceful invitation to the company headquarters. They arrive at the Marcel branch, a monument to wealth. Gad reaches for a creature's paw only to get bitten. Jan sits alone in the opulent waiting room. He has finally arrived. Hope flickers within him. This sanctuary could be the turning point of his destiny. A presence manifests behind him. A woman confirms his identity, citing the reports from Eldens. As he turns, she rises with an aura of authority. She is Yan, the branch manager of this merchant empire. Yan bows with practiced etiquette, introducing himself as a scion of House Yates. A dance of formalities begins. She gestures for him to sit. It is time for tea and highstakes negotiations. A dark steaming liquid is placed before him. A rare treasure imported from the Mediterranean. She watches his reaction closely. Jan takes a sip, recognizing the distinct rich bitterness of coffee. He correctly identifies the roasted bean. Yan's eyes gleam with approval at his refined knowledge. Pleasantries aside, she strikes. She claims to know the true reason he sought them out, startling him. Liquid spills as she realized the emperor hunts him. Panic flares in his chest for a split second. Sensing his alarm, she clarifies. It is not fear she sees in him, but a burning unyielding ambition. Yan pauses, perplexed. She recounts the tales she heard, how he protected the weak and showed mercy. In a lawless land, he stood as a guardian. He came to Marcel, a city infested with vipers, to cleanse it with his own hands. Jan composes himself, acknowledging her sharp intuition. Ambition is the fuel of kings, he declares. It is a virtue for those with the power to wield it. Yan smiles. Her company thrives on sponsoring such fires. The bait has been set. A golden path opens up. She offers to arrange an audience with the governor of Marcel himself, the city's ruler. With his backing, Yan would hold both the commercial and political world in his palm, a fortress against the emperor. He realizes he must seize this chance to become truly untouchable. But nothing is free. Jan narrows his eyes and asks for the price of the Katana company's patronage. Yan lists the spoils access to their vast network luxury and resources beyond imagination. Then she raises a single finger. However, she whispers, "There is a blood price. He must become their sword." When the company calls, he must answer with violence. Yan assumes it is bandit hunting. No, she corrects coldly. The mercenaries handle the trash. A heavier task awaits him. Silence hangs thick in the air as he waits for the command. Rivals are rising, she explains. Districts that resent our monopoly and threaten our profits. Her order is absolute. Eliminate the dissenters and do not spare their children. She stares into his soul. Can you become a monster for us? Implies her gaze. Yan says nothing. The sun bleeds into the horizon, casting long shadows over the branch office. Nightfalls. Yan exits the building, greeted by Gad's cheerful chirping. How did it go? Yan gazes into the distance. Then a wild, ecstatic grin splits his face. We hit the jackpot, he roars. Gad blinks, confused by the sudden outburst of joy. Rewind to the critical moment. Yan stands firm in the meeting room, rejecting the slaughter. Conflict is natural, he argues. Dominance breeds contempt. That is the way of the world. You want me to be a butcher? His aura flares. To kill children for profit, I refuse. I am a warrior, not a murderer. He refuses to stain his soul with innocent blood. He suggests they forget this meeting ever happened. The room falls into a suffocating silence, but then Yan's icy mask cracks. "You passed," she declares, leaving him completely bewildered. She reveals the truth with a sly smile. It was merely a test of his worthiness for sponsorship. Yoan immediately asks, "Was the monopoly a lie, too?" The manager clarifies. Their grip on distribution is not tyranny. They are revered among the merchants. She intends to honor their contract to the letter. And fear not, he won't be thrown into the fires of war just yet. Ian explains the situation. The elite Oakwood mercenaries have already deployed to crush the bandit threat. In the meantime, Yan is free to recover and indulge in the privileges of their support. She extends her hand. Welcome to the company. Yoan accepts the offer with a grin. Their handshake seals the alliance in iron. Yoan prays this partnership brings fortune to them both. Outside, God is confused by a strange phrase. Suck honey. Yan laughs. It means they will drain the Katana trading company dry to fund their luxury. It is time to reap the rewards. Soon a voice calls out. Did the negotiations succeed? He nods. The sponsorship is theirs. The young man offers congratulations and Yan accepts with a humble bow. Internally, relief washes over him. He has secured a powerful backer the moment he stepped into Marcel. The bandits are still a nuisance, but the mercenaries will surely annihilate them. Peace is inevitable. The dream of a quiet, happy life is finally within reach. It is time to let his guard down. As they stroll, a blood curdling scream shatters the air. A crowd circles a gruesome sight. Bodies discarded like trash on the street. Yoan freezes. Why is there carnage in the city center? God shouts a warning as Goran steps forward. He is here. Goran's face is grim. The situation has escalated. The bandits have evolved. They are no longer just thieves. They are slaughtering merchant families to strike terror into the city's heart. Fresh blood stains the cold stone of the plaza. Yoan realizes the nightmare is far from over. A citizen screams in rage. Marcel has failed us. Who will pay for this blood? Another whispers treason. Is the emperor pulling the strings? But the crowd dismisses the madness. Chaos erupts. Arguments clash like swords. Some defending the throne, others cursing it. Voices overlap in a symphony of panic. Yoan watches the disorder consume the streets. The fragile piece of Marcel is crumbling before his eyes. Where are the mercenaries? Meanwhile, in the office, Ibella bursts in. Manager Ion catastrophe has struck already aware of the bodies demands answers. What are the Oakwood mercenaries doing? Ibella trembles, hesitation, choking her words. We We have lost all contact. The silence from the front lines is deafening. Ion's eyes widen. Ibella drops the bombshell. The liaison officer. Ha. His mutilated body was found near the forest yesterday. Ion's mind races. The Oakwood Company possesses military might rivaling a fortress city. It is impossible for mere bandits to wipe them out. Terror mixes with rage as she slams the table. Bring me Swedga, she commands. I need the mage of the Ephell River to divine the truth. Under the pale moonlight, the river flows silently. Sweda dips his hand into the cold waters. I see it clearly. He turns to Katana. You are mistaken. Searching for the mercenaries is futile. The prophecy reveals a dangerous variable. Yoan, the man who slew the emperor's hound, is hiding here. Sedga's eyes narrow ominously. But fate, fate will not be kind to that bastard.