The high-altitude wind over the central continent was sharp enough to slice through a normal man's skin, but to Nolan, it felt like nothing more than a gentle summer draft.
He drifted in lazy, lopsided circles above the sea of clouds, a half-eaten pastry balanced precariously on his knee as he leaned back into empty air as if lounging on an invisible, overly plush sofa. Below him, the shattered cloud cover from his scuffle with Ariana was slowly knitting itself back together, looking like torn cotton being lazily mended by the wind.
He took another bite. The flaky layers collapsed into a buttery, sweet perfection that had him humming a tone-deaf tune.
Tsk tsk tsk.
"Man," Nolan muttered, wiping a bit of glaze off his chin with the back of his sleeve, "if I had known fantasy-world flour was this good, I would've crashed into this planet thirteen years ago. Screw the moon. The moon didn't have carbs."
~sigh~
He closed his eyes, soaking in the sensation. For a moment, it was easy to forget the weird, silent void he'd spent eons trapped inside. The Moon had been a cold, silent prison—a sterile rock where time didn't move, there was nothing to do except exist, and the local cuisine consisted entirely of gray dust.
Now, he had texture. He had temperature. He had sugar. He was, by all technical metrics, a living god of cosmic proportion, and yet his current top priority was finding out if this world had invented cinnamon rolls.
Then, his ears twitched.
It wasn't a sound, not in the traditional sense. It was a faint, high-pitched hum vibrating at a frequency far beyond human hearing, carrying the distinct, metallic resonance of localized spatial displacement.
Nolan opened one bright, vibrant yellow eye.
A dozen kilometers away, tucked into the blind spot of a thunderhead, a sleek, needle-shaped scout craft was hovering silently. It was coated in an optical active-camo spell, blending perfectly with the gray sky. But to Nolan's vision—which could seamlessly shift from the visible spectrum to thermal, electromagnetic, and raw magical mana lines—the ship stuck out like a neon billboard in a pitch-black alley.
"Unbelievable," Nolan sighed, brushing crumbs off his dark jacket and adjusting his collar. "Do these guys ever take a break? Don't they have paperwork to file? A union break to take?"
He didn't bother flying over. He simply stepped forward.
Space didn't warp; he was just suddenly there, floating right outside the scout craft's reinforced glass viewport, hovering upside-down with his arms crossed over his chest, his golden-yellow eyes wide with mock curiosity.
Inside the cockpit, two intelligence officers dressed in crisp, silver Hero Headquarters uniforms froze. The pilot's hand was hovering over a long-range mana transmitter. The co-pilot had a stylus pressed to a digital slate, midway through logging spatial coordinates.
Nolan tapped politely on the reinforced glass with his knuckles.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound echoed through the pressurized cabin like thunderbolts.
The pilot gasped, his eyes bulging so hard they looked ready to pop out of his skull. The co-pilot dropped his stylus, scrambling backward so fast he nearly flipped his seat, trailing a high-pitched, decidedly unheroic scream.
Nolan smiled, his lips moving behind the glass as he waved dramatically with two fingers. 'Whatcha doing? Talking about me?'
Panicked, the pilot slammed his hand down on the emergency evasion trigger. The craft's rear thrusters roared to life, unleashing a torrent of compressed wind-element mana designed to propel the ship backward at Mach 4 in less than a second.
The ship lurched—or tried to.
Nolan had simply reached out a single finger, pressing the pad of his index finger against the tip of the craft's nosecone.
The engines shrieked. Sparks flared from the magical intake vents. The entire structural frame groaned under the pressure of several thousand pounds of thrust trying to push forward. But the ship didn't move an inch. Nolan held the multi-ton vessel in mid-air with the casual effort of a man stopping a stray balloon with a tap.
He shook his head, looking mildly disappointed, and gestured downward with a sweeping motion of his arm.
Park it, boys. We're having a chat.
Ten seconds later, the scout ship settled heavily into a clearing in the dense pine forest below. The pine needles rustled violently under the backwash of the dampening thrusters before the engines finally died, leaving only the quiet ticking of cooling metal, the gentle rustle of leaves, and the sound of two men hyperventilating.
The cockpit canopy hissed open. The two officers stepped out, their hands raised so high in the air they looked like they were trying to touch the sky, their knees trembling so violently they could barely keep their footing on the damp earth.
"P-Please!" the pilot stammered, his face pale as chalk. "We... we were just executing a standard peripheral reconnaissance spell! Commander Oliver ordered—"
"Relax, relax!" Nolan said, dropping lightly onto a mossy boulder nearby. He wasn't even looking at them; he was meticulously inspecting his boots for dirt, brushing off a twig with a dramatic puff of air. "If I wanted to turn you guys into cloud paste, I wouldn't have bothered asking you to park. Plus, cloud paste sounds messy. Ruins the jacket."
The co-pilot swallowed hard, slowly lowering his hands by a few agonizing inches. "Then... what do you want with us, Lord... uh, Sir Nolan?"
Nolan looked up, those striking, glowing yellow eyes squinting slightly as he rubbed his chin. "Question for you. A very serious, world-altering question. How does money work around here?"
The two officers blinked. They exchanged a bewildered, deeply concerned glance, entirely thrown off by the shift in tone.
"M-Money?" the pilot repeated blankly.
"Yeah. Money," Nolan said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.
"Currency. Cash. Gold. Whatever you people use to pay for things. See, I walked into that bakery earlier, and the guy gave me a loaf out of pity because I looked like a homeless lunatic who just dropped out of the sky. Which was nice of him! Great guy. Ten out of ten service. But I can't keep relying on charity every time I want lunch. It ruins my brand. I have a reputation to build!"
"It's... it's gold crowns," the co-pilot managed to squeak out. He reached for his belt with extreme, agonizing slowness to show he wasn't pulling a weapon, pulling out a small leather coin purse. He held it out with a shaking hand. "Standard Imperial Gold Crowns. Accepted in every major territory, including the floating districts of Hero Headquarters."
Nolan floated off his boulder—literally gliding across the air without his legs moving—and snatched the bag. He pulled the drawstring and tipped a few heavy, gleaming coins into his palm. They were stamped with the crest of a twin-headed dragon encircling a tower.
"Gold crowns," Nolan murmured, flipping one into the air, catching it, and biting it with his teeth to check the density like a old-timey cartoon pirate. "Classic. Simple. Heavy. I respect it." He looked at the co-pilot, his yellow eyes wide with genuine academic interest. "How much bread does one of these bad boys buy?"
"A... a single crown could buy about two hundred loaves, sir," the officer replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
Nolan's eyes practically sparkled. "Two hundred?! Holy crap. Okay, the economy in this world is wildly unbalanced, but I love it." He shoved the coin purse deep into his jacket pocket, then pointed an accusing finger at the two terrified men. "Consider this an invasion tax for stalking me. Now, where's the nearest actual town? Not a hero staging ground, not a military outpost. A normal, bustling city with real people and terrible, overpriced tourist traps."
The pilot pointed a trembling finger toward the south. "Thr-Three hundred leagues south. The Grand City of Oakhaven. It's the trading hub of the Southern Valleys."
"Oakhaven," Nolan tested the name on his tongue, giving a approving nod. "Sounds cozy. Sounds like a place that has fried food on a stick. Thanks, fellas!"
He turned to leave, hovering an inch above the grass, but then paused and glanced back over his shoulder. His yellow eyes narrowed just enough to look terrifyingly cat-like.
"Oh, and tell Oliver and his little squad to stop staring through scrying glass," Nolan added, his casual tone dropping a fraction of an octave, making the air in the clearing feel instantly fifty degrees colder. "It's creepy. Next time I catch a scrying spell locked onto me, I'm going to follow the mana string back to the source, steal Oliver's shiny golden cane, and throw it into the sun. Clear?"
The two officers nodded furiously, terrified into complete, breathless silence.
"Great! Have a safe flight back! Don't forget to wear your seatbelts!"
With a soft boom that didn't even displace the forest leaves, Nolan shattered the sound barrier and vanished into the blue sky, leaving two deeply traumatized intelligence officers standing beside their idling ship.
The War Room of the HeavensThree hundred miles above the earth, inside the stark, sterile metallic halls of Hero Headquarters, the central projection table went dark.
The mana-feed from Scout Ship 4 had terminated the moment Nolan took off.
The silence in the command chamber was absolute. Dozens of high-ranking analysts, tacticians, and elite heroes stood around the tactical hololith, their faces illuminated only by the faint blue glow of the lingering diagnostic runes.
Oliver stood at the head of the table, his hand resting heavily on his golden cane. The silver-haired commander looked older than he had three days ago. The lines around his eyes were deeper, carved by sleepless nights spent replaying the footage of Nolan's brief, absurdly uneven clash with Ariana.
Sitting on an elevated ledge near the back of the room, Ariana was leaning against the cold metal wall. Her white hero suit was freshly repaired, but her arms were wrapped tightly around her chest. Her skin was still pale, and a faint tremor ran through her fingers—not from pain, but from the residual shock of her mana channels being forcibly snuffed out by Nolan's heat vision.
Beside the table, Lucas, Kieran, and Noah stood in solemn silence.
"He held a Mach-4 scout craft in place with one finger," one of the junior tacticians whispered, breaking the stillness. "Without deploying a single defensive barrier. His physical body simply... ignored the kinetic vector. And then he... he shook down our officers for lunch money."
"He also detected our specialized stealth-frequency scrying from three hundred miles away," Noah added, adjusting his goggles with a tired sigh. His eyes were bloodshot. "Every time I try to peer into his immediate future now, my vision just... fractures. It's like trying to look directly into the sun through a magnifying glass. Those yellow eyes of his... it's like he's looking back through the vision at me and laughing."
Lucas stepped forward, looking up at Oliver. "He isn't aggressive, Commander. You saw the interaction. He took a purse of gold and asked for directions to a market town. He's treating this entire world like an amusement park."
"And that is precisely what makes him an existential crisis," Oliver said, his voice low and heavy like grinding stones. "A malicious enemy can be understood. They have motives. They want territory, power, or revenge. You can negotiate with ambition. You can trap hatred."
Oliver raised his gaze, looking around the room at the gathered elite of humanity.
"But a man who possesses god-like power and acts on pure, unpredictable comedic whim? A man who treats a battle against our strongest combatant as a light warm-up before looking for bakery treats?" Oliver shook his head. "He is an unguided meteor floating through our atmosphere. If he stumbles into a conflict he doesn't understand, or if someone accidentally mildly inconveniences him... the collateral damage could erase kingdoms."
Kieran crossed his arms, his dark cloak casting a long shadow over the floor. "So what are you proposing, Commander? A full-scale mobilization? If Ariana couldn't force him to take things seriously, throwing two hundred Rank-A heroes at him will just give him a larger audience to entertain."
"We do not attack," Oliver said firmly. "Not yet. But we cannot leave him unmonitored." He turned his sharp eyes toward Lucas. "Lucas. You, Kieran, and Noah will form a direct contact unit. You will follow him to Oakhaven. Do not engage him in combat. Do not threaten him. Act as his... shadow. If he wants to explore this world, then we will ensure he sees the best of it—and we will be there to cushion the blow if he decides to flex his fingers again."
Ariana pushed herself off the wall, stepping down toward the table. Her expression was hard, her jaw set in a tight line. "I'm going too."
Lucas turned to her, frowning. "Ariana, you just survived a direct hit from his heat vision. Your mana channels are still recovering."
"Which means I know better than anyone in this room what he's capable of," Ariana countered sharply, her dark eyes flashing with a fierce, stubborn light. "He didn't break me, Lucas. He showed me the ceiling. And he made a joke while doing it. I'm not staying behind in this high-tech cage while he walks around down there looking for pastries."
Oliver watched her for a long moment before giving a single, slow nod. "Very well. But you answer to Lucas on this assignment. If you lose your temper again, Ariana, I will have you removed from the field permanently."
Ariana scoffed, crossing her arms, but she didn't argue.
"Move out," Oliver ordered. "The future of the continent depends on whether Nolan Ali Walitoni decides he likes this world... or gets bored of it."
Oakhaven: The Jewel of the ValleysIf Hero Headquarters was a monument to clinical, floating perfection, Oakhaven was a messy, vibrant explosion of life.
Built around the base of a massive, ancient oak tree whose branches stretched high enough to scrape the low-hanging clouds, the city was a maze of cobblestone streets, towering timber houses, and bustling open-air bazaars. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, pungent spices, sea salt from the nearby river, and the faint, ozone smell of low-grade street magic used by merchants to keep their wares fresh.
Nolan stood at the northern gates of the city, taking a deep, dramatic breath.
"Ah," Nolan grinned, his striking yellow eyes taking in the chaotic scene as he stepped into the crowd. "Smells like fantasy-RPG NPC energy. I love it."
He was wearing his usual attire—his dark, stylized jacket, simple trousers, and boots—but with his bright yellow eyes and extraordinarily relaxed posture, he stood out just enough to make people look twice.
Adventurers clad in heavy plate armor pushed past merchants dragging handcarts loaded with mana crystals; beast-kin girls hawked magical trinkets from wooden stalls, and street performers tossed balls of light into the air for small copper coins.
For two hours, Nolan was in absolute, unadulterated heaven.
He used his stolen gold crowns with complete, reckless abandon.
He bought three skewers of grilled boar meat seasoned with spicy mountain herbs, eating them all simultaneously like a cartoon character before the merchant could even hand him his change. He bought a glass of sweet, fermented honey-wine from a dwarf who nearly wept with joy when Nolan handed him a full gold crown and told him to "keep the change, my short king." He even stopped by a bookstand, flipping idly through illustrated histories of the world, quietly mapping out the political landscape of the novel he had once written.
Let's see, Nolan thought, leaning against a stone fountain while aggressively chewing on a massive sweet pastry. The Southern Valleys are controlled by the Merchant Guilds and the local nobility. To the north is the Holy Empire—bunch of religious zealots who probably won't like my yellow eyes or the fact that I don't pray to their gods. And hovering above it all is Hero Headquarters.
He looked up at the clear blue sky, his sharp yellow eyes easily picking out four distinct mana signatures descending toward the city from the north.
And look at that. My personal stalker squad has arrived. They really need to work on their hide-and-seek game.
Nolan chuckled to himself, taking another bite. He had felt Lucas, Kieran, Noah, and Ariana the moment they crossed the city's defensive ward boundary. They were trying to conceal their presences, blending in with the civilian crowds, but to Nolan's senses, their high-rank mana signatures were like neon flares floating through a dark room.
He didn't care. As long as they didn't ruin his snack tour, they could follow him all day.
He pushed off the fountain and began strolling down the main thoroughfare toward the central market square, where a massive crowd had gathered. Loud shouting and the sharp clinking of steel echoed above the general noise of the bazaar.
"Ooh, a crowd," Nolan hummed to himself, strolling casually toward the commotion. "That either means a street performance or a fight. Win-win."
He pushed his way gently through the outer edge of the crowd. People bumped into his shoulders, but it felt like running into a solid marble pillar; they bounced off him with confused grunts while Nolan didn't shift an inch, politely nodding at them as they stumbled back.
In the center of the square, a large wooden platform had been erected. Banners bearing the crest of an iron gauntlet clutching a coin hung from the posts. On the platform, a portly man in luxurious silk robes was shouting to the crowd, gesturing toward a massive, iron-bound chest sitting beside him.
Beside the chest stood three hulking men clad in heavy steel armor, their arms crossed, looking down at the crowd with smirking, arrogant expressions.
"Come one, come all!" the silk-robed man boomed, his voice amplified by a small wind-element speaker rune floating near his collar. "The Merchant Guild's ultimate test of strength! Five hundred gold crowns to any man, woman, or beast who can lift the Anvil of the Deep Iron!"
He gestured to a squat, pitch-black anvil resting on a thick stone slab in the middle of the stage. It was forged from Deep Iron—a legendary, hyper-dense metal mined from the bottom of ocean trenches, famous for absorbing magic and weighing ten times more than standard steel.
Several local strongmen, mercenaries, and aspiring adventurers had already tried. A massive half-orc barbarian was currently on the stage, his face turning an alarming shade of purple, his veins bulging like thick ropes as he pulled on the iron handles welded to the side of the anvil.
The anvil didn't budge. It looked less like an object and more like it was welded to the core of the planet.
With a loud groan, the half-orc collapsed onto his back, gasping for air while the crowd laughed and cheered.
"Five hundred gold crowns!" the merchant repeated, holding up a heavy leather pouch that jingled promisingly. "Only one crown to attempt! Prove your strength before the gods!"
In the middle of the crowd, a few meters away from Nolan, Lucas and Ariana were standing in simple traveler's cloaks, watching the display.
"Deep Iron," Ariana muttered, her eyes narrowing beneath her hood. "That block easily weighs over fifteen tons. No ordinary human or beast could lift that without high-level physical enhancement magic—which Deep Iron naturally disrupts anyway. It's a scam."
"It's a carnival game," Lucas replied quietly, keeping his eyes swept across the crowd, trying to spot Nolan. "Designed to drain silver from arrogant adventurers."
"Hey," a voice spoke up right between them. "Fifteen tons, huh? Is that supposed to be heavy? Because it sounds like a weird flex for an anvil."
Lucas and Ariana jumped nearly a foot in the air, almost drawing their weapons on instinct.
Nolan was standing right between them, leaning casually on Lucas's shoulder like they were old college buddies, munching on a stick of candied fruit. His bright yellow eyes practically glowed with amusement beneath the shadow of his messy hair.
"N-Nolan!" Lucas stammered, recovering his composure while grabbing Ariana's arm to keep her from blowing their cover. "You... how do you keep doing that?!"
"Doing what? Standing here? I have legs, Lucas. They work great," Nolan said, rolling his yellow eyes playfully. "Also, nice cloaks. Very mysterious. Very 'we're brooding heroes on a secret mission'."
Ariana glared at him, her hand twitching near her belt. "Are you following us?"
"I was here first!" Nolan pointed out defensively, taking a bite of his fruit. "Technically, you guys are following me. Which is fine, but you could at least buy me a pretzel. Anyway... five hundred crowns... that's like... five thousand pastries. I can't math that high, but it sounds like a lot."
Lucas's eyes widened. "Wait. You aren't seriously going to—"
"Watch and learn, local heroes," Nolan winked, those yellow eyes flashing mischievously.
Before either of them could stop him, Nolan stepped out of the crowd, skipped up the wooden steps of the platform, and gave a little theatrical bow to the audience.
The crowd quieted down slightly as the strange young man with the dark jacket and glowing yellow eyes stepped onto the stage. Compared to the massive half-orcs and scarred mercenaries who had been attempting the challenge, Nolan looked like he'd gotten lost on his way to a library.
The silk-robed merchant smirked, looking Nolan up and down. "Ah, a young gentleman! Seeking fame and fortune, are we? Or perhaps just trying to impress a young lady in the crowd? That will be one gold crown for the attempt!"
Nolan reached into his pocket, pulled out one of the coins he'd taken from the scout officers, and tossed it to the merchant. The man caught it, his smile widening.
"Very well! Step right up! You have three minutes to lift the Deep Iron off the stone slab!"
The three armored guards on stage chuckled, crossing their arms to watch the show. "Don't break your back, kid!" one of them yelled.
Down in the crowd, Kieran and Noah drifted over to stand beside Lucas and Ariana.
"Is he really doing this?" Kieran asked, raising an eyebrow under his hood.
"He's going to ruin the economy of this town," Noah groaned, adjusting his goggles. "I can feel a migraine coming on."
On stage, Nolan walked over to the black anvil. He didn't bend his knees. He didn't brace his legs. He didn't even drop his candied fruit stick, keeping it firmly held between his left cheek and his teeth.
He casually reached out with his right hand, placing his thumb and index finger around the narrow neck of the fifteen-ton block of Deep Iron.
The merchant chuckled. "Son, you might want to use both hands, grab the handles, and perhaps pray to—"
Squeak.
Nolan lifted his wrist.
The fifteen-ton block of ultra-dense metal rose off the stone slab with the absolute, effortless ease of a piece of styrofoam. Nolan raised it until it was level with his shoulder, then proceeded to spin the multi-ton mass of ocean-iron on the tip of his index finger like a basketball.
The merchant's sentence died in his throat. His jaw dropped so far it practically unhinged.
The three armored guards froze mid-chuckle, their smug expressions instantly shattering into sheer, unadulterated horror. One of them actually dropped his spear.
The entire market square—hundreds of citizens, mercenaries, and merchants—went dead, utterly silent. You could have heard a feather hit the cobblestones.
Nolan tossed the fifteen-ton anvil a few feet into the air, caught it smoothly behind his back with his left hand, brought it back around, and set it gently back down on the wooden platform. He didn't even use enough force to crack the thin wood beneath it.
He dusted his hands off, turned to the paralyzed merchant, and flashed a bright, sunny smile, his yellow eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Five hundred crowns, please! Do you take direct transfer, or is it strictly cash in a bag?"
The merchant stared at Nolan's outstretched hand, then at the anvil, then back at Nolan's glowing yellow eyes. His skin turned a sickly shade of green.
"I... I..." the merchant stammered, his knees knocking together so hard they rattled. He fumbled with the heavy leather purse at his belt, his hands shaking so violently he nearly dropped it three times, before practically shoving it into Nolan's stomach. "TAKE IT! PLEASE DON'T EAT MY SOUL!"
"Hey, I don't eat souls. Too many calories," Nolan laughed, taking the heavy purse and tossing it into the air before catching it securely. "Pleasure doing business with you! Great game! Ten out of ten!"
He turned toward the edge of the stage, jumping down lightly to land right in front of the stunned group of heroes.
"See?" Nolan said to Ariana, flashing a proud, ridiculous grin as he patted the heavy coin bag. "Who says money doesn't grow on trees? You just have to lift heavy stuff!"
Ariana stared at him, her mouth slightly open, her eyes darting between his yellow gaze and his hands. "You... you just pinched fifteen tons of Deep Iron with two fingers. And spun it like a toy. Without using a single drop of mana."
"Yeah," Nolan shrugged, taking a bite of his candied fruit. "It was a little dusty, but otherwise pretty light. So, what's next in this town? Is there a local tavern with good stew? I'm thinking about eating an entire cow."
Lucas stepped forward, looking at Nolan with an expression that was half-exhaustion, half-awe. "Nolan... do you have any idea what you just did? Half the nobility in this city probably has scouts in this market. By tomorrow morning, every faction on the continent is going to know there's a guy with glowing yellow eyes in Oakhaven who treats Deep Iron like a bouncy ball."
Nolan paused, looking around at the silent, staring crowd that was slowly backing away from him in synchronized terror, as if he were a cosmic bomb about to detonate.
He blinked, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish grin.
"Oh," Nolan said, his yellow eyes wide with sudden realization. "Right. The whole 'blending in' thing. I keep forgetting standard physics apply to you guys."
He looked back at Lucas, then at Ariana, Kieran, and Noah, a mischievous light dancing in his golden eyes.
"Well," Nolan smiled, turning around and taking a breezy step down the street. "I guess that means we should probably get dinner before the mayor comes out to make me run for office or something. Lead the way, guys! You're the locals, I'm just the hungry tourist!"
As Nolan walked casually down the street, humming a light tune and tossing his coin bag in the air, the four strongest heroes on the planet exchanged a long, silent look.
Lucas sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, but a tiny, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Come on," Lucas said to the others, stepping forward to follow the impossible man from the moon. "We better make sure he doesn't accidentally buy the tavern."
Shadows in the CanopyHigh above the bustling streets of Oakhaven, hidden within the thick, magical foliage of the Great Oak's highest branches, two figures clad in dark, feathered armor watched the scene unfold through enchanted spyglasses.
Unlike the sleek, metallic tech of Hero Headquarters, their gear was forged from bone, dark wood, and pulsating shadow-element mana.
"Report to the Sovereign," one of the scouts whispered, his voice sounding like dry leaves scraping over stone. "The anomaly from the Moon has entered the Southern Valleys. He possesses physical strength that defies the natural laws of the realm... and he appears to be deeply eccentric."
The second scout lowered his glass, his slit-pupiled eyes locked onto Nolan's bright yellow eyes as the young man laughed with the heroes below.
"Does he carry the Mark of the Gods?" the second scout asked.
"No," the first replied, his tone darkening. "He carries nothing. No divine blessings. No elemental spirit contracts. Just those unnatural, glowing yellow eyes. He is a blank slate—an impossible existence."
The scout pulled a dark, obsidian messenger raven from his cloak, whisper-enchanting a spell into its beak before releasing it into the sky. The bird dissolved into a plume of black smoke, shooting toward the distant, jagged mountains of the Northern Waste.
"The Supreme Beings failed to erase him fourteen years ago," the scout murmured, watching the smoke vanish into the horizon. "Now he walks among the mortals, playing games and eating street food while entirely unaware of the storm brewing above him. Tell the Shadow Vanguard to prepare. If Hero Headquarters will not act against this monster... the Ancient Coven will."
Down on the street, far below the dark canopy, Nolan suddenly stopped walking mid-stride.
He tilted his head back, looking directly up toward the dense foliage at the top of the Great Oak tree. His bright yellow eyes flashed, a brief streak of golden heat vision flickering behind his irises as he easily traced the vanishing string of shadow mana disappearing toward the north.
"Nolan?" Lucas asked, stopping beside him and looking concerned. "Is something wrong?"
Nolan finished the last bite of his candied fruit, tossed the wooden stick into a nearby bin with a perfect arc, and grinned—a sharp, wolfish expression that made his golden eyes gleam with dangerous amusement.
"Nah," Nolan said smoothly, hands dropping into his jacket pockets as he resumed his casual, lazy stroll. "Just realizing this world has a lot of dark corners. And honestly? I can't wait to mess with all of them."
He looked back at Lucas, his smile turning bright, goofy, and completely harmless once more.
"Now, lead on, hero! I heard there's an inn near the river that serves giant turkey legs, and I have five hundred crowns burning a hole in my pocket!"