The world didn't stop when monsters appeared.
It didn't slow down for gods or scream when magic twisted the sky.
But right now…
Right here, at the edge of the Verdant Ridge and beneath the shadow of Astralis Academy's towering spires…
The world paused.
Just a little.
Because something ancient had woken up.
And it was looking right at him.
"...That's not a regular troll," Kaela said, sword half-drawn, her tone clipped with tension.
"Nope," Hades answered, his expression unreadable.
The thing crawling out of the earth was colossal—twenty feet tall, bones jutting through gray-blue skin, black vines twisting across its chest like a dead forest had fused to its flesh. Its horns weren't bone; they were obsidian. Mana leaked from its breath like smoke. Each step it took left a deep, echoing boom that shook the cracked forest floor.
Mirth, who had rarely looked this pale, tapped rapidly at his mana slate. "Confirming... Oh no. That's a Titan-class Forest Warden Troll. Mutated. Corrupted by leyfire. Those things haven't been seen since—since before the Empire united."
Selwyn narrowed his eyes. "Estimated mana density?"
Mirth hesitated. "Four times higher than the wyvern."
Kaela let out a sharp breath. "We're not ready for this."
That's when they all looked at him.
Hades Draker.
Still calm.
Still standing with one hand in his coat pocket.
Still not even blinking.
"Well," he finally said, tilting his head to the side like he was analyzing a museum painting, "it's ugly."
Kaela stared at him. "That's what you're going with?"
"Don't worry," Hades said with a lazy grin. "I've got this."
Mirth whispered, "You say that every time."
"And I mean it every time."
Then he stepped forward.
The Titan Troll snarled. Its voice sounded like tree trunks grinding together. It raised one massive fist and slammed it into the ground—and with that strike, four jagged stone pillars shot from the earth like spikes, slicing toward Hades.
But he was already gone.
A blink. A blur. A silent step.
He appeared above the troll's left shoulder, hand glowing with faint silver light—Seraphim flaring, but soft, like a quiet breath.
He tapped two fingers against the creature's shoulder.
"Hey, ugly," he said.
The creature roared and tried to swat him—
But its own arm froze mid-air.
Kaela gasped. "Did he—?"
"No chant," Mirth whispered. "No formation. Just... intention."
The troll tried to move again—shaking, growling—but the limb remained stuck, like the air around it had become solid.
"Yup," Hades said as he dropped down to the ground, brushing off his coat. "Confirmed. You're not scary. You're just loud."
Suddenly, the troll let out a scream—not of rage, but of confusion. It slammed its other hand into the ground, and the ley-corrupted earth glowed with red light. Runes formed under its feet. Six dark shapes rose from the cracks—goblin knights, each with crooked, jagged armor and flaming swords.
Mirth's slate pinged. "They're summoning-class! Defensive tribals, bound to the troll's core!"
"Then we cut the core," Kaela said, tightening her grip.
Hades raised a hand. "Not yet."
"What?"
"They're backup dancers. I haven't finished my solo."
And then he moved.
This time, it wasn't flashy.
It wasn't loud.
It was clean. Focused. Precise.
He stepped into the middle of the summoned knights. One swung its burning blade. Another tried to flank. A third launched a ranged spike.
Hades dodged all three—without stepping more than half a meter.
He moved like water. Like wind. Like something knew the exact moment to shift, bend, slip.
He ducked under a blade and slapped the goblin's helmet with an open palm. The flame died instantly.
He stepped forward, caught a spear mid-throw, spun it, and drove it into the second's chest—not to kill, but to shatter the mana channel controlling it.
And then, he stood still and raised his hand.
Seraphim pulsed.
A ring of soft light expanded from his feet—barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.
But all six summoned knights froze in place. Mid-step. Mid-strike.
Kaela's jaw clenched. "He paralyzed them all."
"No," Selwyn said softly. "He convinced them to stop."
The Titan Troll stumbled backward, looking almost afraid now.
Almost.
Its eyes flashed. The corrupted vines on its chest surged. And then the creature screamed, opening its mouth and releasing a wave of burning green fire across the battlefield.
It wasn't a breath attack.
It was a natural disaster.
Hades narrowed his eyes.
"Alright," he muttered. "Playtime's over."
He threw off his coat.
That alone made Kaela blink. "Wait, he never takes that off."
Seraphim began to glow brighter—threads of silver light running from his chest down his arms and legs, like a living circuit system had awakened beneath his skin.
The fire surged forward—
Hades raised one arm.
The fire hit him—
And broke.
Not exploded. Not deflected.
It just stopped. Like it hit a wall of silence.
And behind it, Hades stood with a single rune spinning in the palm of his hand. A Draker compression glyph—ancient and forbidden. Long lost, now reborn in the most dangerous prodigy in the kingdom.
"Time to sit down," Hades said.
He moved like a flash of moonlight. One leap. One spin.
And one punch—clean, to the center of the troll's chest.
But when the strike landed, it wasn't a blow.
It was an implosion.
Sound collapsed.
Light folded.
The core inside the troll cracked—and with it, every bound summon, every corrupted thread, every twisted root vanished in silence.
The Titan fell.
Not with a scream. Not with a crash.
But like a puppet whose strings had been gently cut.
Silence stretched over the battlefield.
Selwyn lowered his wind shield. Mirth slowly dropped his slate.
Kaela just whispered, "Holy hells."
And Hades?
He just cracked his knuckles, looked at his team, and smirked.
"So… lunch?"
That night, back at Astralis, the mood was electric.
People didn't cheer. They didn't gossip.
They stared.
Because what they'd just seen? That wasn't a duel. It wasn't training.
It was dominance.
It was control.
And for some, it was terrifying.
In the upper chambers of the Accord Observatory, Laziel Ebonshade sat alone, watching the projection crystal. The last image? Hades, standing over the troll's collapsed body, smiling like he'd just finished a warm-up lap.
"He's not even serious yet," Laziel muttered, gripping his arm.
Behind him, his father—the Lord Overseer of Duskspire—watched in silence.
"This isn't just talent," the man said quietly. "This is inheritance."
"Then how do I surpass him?"
The Overseer didn't answer.
Because he knew.
You don't surpass a sun.
You just try not to get burned.
Meanwhile, in his dorm, Hades sat quietly.
Seraphim pulsed like a heartbeat—stronger now. Clearer.
The memory chamber inside the core had begun to unlock again. More glimpses of the past. War. Blood. A Draker ancestor standing over a dragon, offering it peace. An elf queen smiling. A dwarven forge gifted in silence.
The world had been balanced once.
And the Drakers had helped build it.
Now?
That balance was tilting again.
And all the kingdoms—human, beastkin, elven, dwarven—they were looking not at generals or armies.
They were looking at a boy with silver hair and a system in his soul.
Hades closed his eyes and let the quiet sink in.
Tomorrow would bring more questions.
More challenges.
More attempts to test him, rival him, copy him.
But they'd all come to the same answer.
Every time.
This is my story.
And I'm just getting started.