Chapter 94 – A Visit in the Night
It was late evening in Vermont, though the streets still pulsed with laughter, music, and the flicker of lanternlight. Yet, in a certain unguarded district near the City Lord's mansion, three figures stood in the shadows, cloaked in secrecy.
Liora glanced at Reyn, her brows knitting together. "Are you sure about this? Sneaking into the Lord's own office… it feels reckless."
Reyn's expression was calm, confident. "Don't worry. My bird golems have already scouted the entire layout. I know the guards' patrol routes, their rotation times, even their blind spots. One even slipped into the Lord's office earlier today and inscribed a hidden teleportation circle. As long as we're careful, there won't be any issues."
He turned toward Kael. "You ready?"
Kael yawned, cracking his knuckles lazily. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Let's get this over with already."
The three moved into position. Reyn and Liora slipped into their disguises, while Kael, with his towering beastman presence, needed none. Together, they activated the teleportation circle—space warped around them, and in a blink, they stood inside the grand office of Vice Count Magnum.
The Vice Count had just returned home, weary yet smug after a day of indulgence. He poured himself a drink, swirled the wine in his glass, and savored the aroma before stepping into the office—and froze. The lights were dim, and three unfamiliar silhouettes waited silently. His hand went to call the guards—but from the corridors, muffled thuds and the scrape of armor followed by an eerie silence confirmed his worst fear: every guard in the mansion had succumbed to a powerful enchantment.
"What—who are you?" Magnum stammered, panic flashing in his eyes.
A calm, elderly man seated at the desk gestured gently. "Relax. We mean you no harm."
On either side of him stood figures of legend: a noble warrior woman in gleaming armor, like a battle angel descended from the heavens, and a towering lion beastman whose mere presence radiated raw power. Kael casually rolled his shoulders, cracking his knuckles with lazy intimidation, while Liora's aura made Magnum's stomach tighten with unease.
The old man smiled kindly. "Allow me to introduce my companions: the Grand Fist, Kael, and the Battle Angel, Liora. As for me…" Recognition flickered in Magnum's eyes as the man's calm voice settled over him. "…I have come simply to thank you."
"Thank me?" Magnum asked cautiously, his hand hovering near the bell rope.
"Yes," the old man continued. "Your son—your own flesh and blood—placed his trust in you and extended his connections. Because of that, many of my inventions have found their way into the world, helping countless people. With my share of the profits, I've completed numerous Blacksmithing endeavors I once thought impossible. For that, I owe you gratitude."
Magnum's eyes widened. A whispered name, familiar among merchants, adventurers, and nobles alike, stirred in his memory. "You… you're the Blacksmith of a Thousand Tales, aren't you?"
The old man chuckled. "Yes. That ridiculous title? Reyn came up with it when he was young. Somehow, it stuck."
He leaned forward, voice weighty now. "To show my appreciation, I will place one of my trials here in Greyhold. The prize is no mere trinket—an artifact capable of granting speed beyond sound itself. Too fast for mortal eyes to follow. Whoever claims it will earn both strength and responsibility."
Magnum blinked, awe and greed warring in his expression. Before he could speak, the old man added with a knowing look: "One more thing. Are there any promising individuals nearby? Ones worth keeping an eye on?"
After a pause, Magnum replied, "There's a town—Enden, right before the old northwestern duchy. They guard the frontier against monsters. If you seek raw talent forged through struggle… you'll find it there. In fact, there is one man in Enden: Sorin Kaelthorn."
Rayn's curiosity sharpened. "Sorin Kaelthorn? Go on."
Vermont continued, "An odd one, even among swordsmen who care for nothing but training. He has no mana, yet with his swordsmanship alone, he has carved a reputation through bounty hunting that even A-rank warriors and powerful mages approach cautiously."
"At first," Vermont said, "he fought with two katanas and a loyal dog trained to wield a katana in its jaws. Together, they cut down all challengers in a style unseen across the Empire—or beyond. Man and beast, moving as one, their strikes were said to flow like a deadly dance."
Rayn raised an eyebrow. "A swordsman who fights alongside his hound? Rare indeed. What became of them?"
Vermont's face grew grim. "The dog was slain by the spoiled son of a merchant lord and his goons in the dead of night. The boy thought it amusing to take it. Sorin hunted them down to the last drop of blood. Since then, he fights with three swords alone: one for himself, one for his fallen companion, and one for vengeance."
Rayn leaned back, a flicker of admiration and somber reflection crossing his face. "A man who walks that path… is one to be remembered."
The old man gave a slight bow. "Then I thank you once again."
The three intruders vanished into the night as suddenly as they had appeared. Silence returned. Magnum exhaled, wiping sweat from his brow. He staggered to his desk, uncorked a bottle of fine wine, and poured a heavy glass. His hand trembled slightly, though the burn of the liquor steadied him.
Kael—the beastman—he had recognized him. Wanted posters bearing that face had littered taverns and border towns across the Beastman Federation of Arkvel. The bounty was enormous, yet few dared speak his name aloud. And this bounty wasn't for bloodshed. No, it was because a white tiger clan princess had fallen for him, and her outraged younger brother had tried to drive him away… only to be beaten and humiliated. The Federation had marked him an enemy ever since.
Magnum drained his glass and slumped back in his chair, heart still pounding. Weariness overtook him, and as sleep crept in, one thought lingered: Tomorrow, the trial begins… and I will witness it myself.
The next morning, Vermont stirred with excitement. By dawn, the great stadium—normally used for footraces and horse races—was already filling. Merchants shouted wagers, nobles crowded private boxes, and common folk squeezed into stands, buzzing with anticipation. The scent of roasted meats and spiced wine mingled with the roar of the crowd.
A lone figure appeared in the center of the stadium. Cloaked in strange purple armor, his form lean and feline—like a cougar poised to strike. His hair swept back wildly, his posture radiating restless energy, muscles coiled as if straining against invisible restraints. His entire body shimmered with a sleek, otherworldly sheen.
Then, in the blink of an eye, he vanished—blazing across the track at such speed none could follow. The air howled in his wake, scorch marks carving themselves into the earth wherever his feet struck. The crowd gasped, shouting as the blur tore across the stadium like living lightning.
With a twisting motion, he launched skyward and crashed down into the center field with a thunderous dropkick, ripping open a crater as soil and grass scattered. When the dust settled, the figure dissolved into glittering sparks, leaving only a single pair of shoes standing upright in the crater.
Above, glowing words of pure light unfurled across the morning sky: "Speed Lover's Trial."
For a heartbeat, the stadium held stunned silence—then erupted into cheers, shouts, and frantic wagers, as the legend of a new trial announced itself to thousands of eyes.