The cave fell into a hollow silence after the last strike. The cloaked man lay on the cold stone, one arm gone, his breath ragged and wet, blood slicking the rock around him. His eyes rolled, trying to focus on the shape that stood over him — Jun, the blade still dripping darkly from the cut.
"H-How? I already investigated—you're a D-rank. How can you be this powerful?" the man stammered, shock making his voice thin.
Jun stepped closer, the lamplight catching the cold edge of the dagger. He did not raise his voice; he did not need to. The anger in him was slow and heavy, the kind that made silence feel brittle.
"You really have no brains, do you? That's why it took you five years to find the two of us. If someone could stay hidden for five years, don't you think he could fake a measly rank too?"
He watched the man's face, watched the fear and the stumble of thought. Jun didn't correct himself. Technically he hadn't told the guild about his growth—so in a way, he had been presented as a D-rank. Now wasn't the time to argue facts. He needed answers, and he needed them without delay.
"Now tell me, who are you? And which family are you from?" Jun said again, the words flat and cold.
The man's attempt at bravado had melted away. He blinked, then forced a strange, small smile that only made him look foolish. "I don't wanna."
"Is that so?" Jun's face was unreadable. "Then should I kill you now?"
The man swallowed hard. For a beat he was a slippery thing, switching moods like clothes. Then he tried one of his old gambits, sneering through pain. "Oh? Can you? Hehe.. I already informed the noble family that you two siblings are here. They'll arrive in a week. Do you even know who they are? Can you handle them all by yourself?"
"So, you won't tell me?" Jun said, patience thinning like a wire.
The man laughed again, but this time frenzy tinged the sound. "If I tell you anything my whole family will die. But if you kill me only I will die. So, I don't care. Just kill me."
A low chime sounded in Jun's mind, precise and cold as a clock.
[TIME REMAINING: 2 MINUTES]
Jun's lips curved into a brief, humorless expression. This lunatic—changes faces every second. Sometimes cold, sometimes funny, sometimes… forget it. He steadied himself. The man's mask of bravado was gone. He was only a frightened thing on the floor.
"You shouldn't mess with us," Jun said at last. "You didn't hurt my sister so I won't give a painful death. But I can't forgive you or spare you."
The man tried one last push, grinning through his panic. "Are you showing me sympathy or something? Kid, I'll give you a piece of advice. Don't ever show mercy to your enemy. That's the only way to survive in this wor—"
He never finished. Jun's blade flashed — a single, absolute motion — and the head separated cleanly.
[YOU'VE SUCCESSFULLY KILLED A PERSON.]
[LEVEL UP.]
[BLACK SWORD LEVELED UP.]
The man's body slumped, silence snapping into the cavern like a shutter. Jun stood still for a heartbeat, breathing shallow, the cave echoing with the hollow sound of finality.
"I already know that. You don't need to tell me. I just-"
He didn't shout. He didn't celebrate.
He moved to Jina, crouched, and checked her breathing with careful hands. Relief flickered through him when he found her pulse steady but shallow. He lifted her into his arms as if she were made of glass and wrapped her in his cloak.
Slow, controlled, he rose and walked out of the cave. The night air was cold, and the path home stretched ahead — long, dangerous, but necessary.
Lacona County
The patriarch's hall sat like a black tooth against the moonlit sky. Torches guttered along the eaves, throwing long shadows that crawled across polished stone. Inside, the air was cool and still; only the quiet scrape of a servant's sandals broke the silence.
At the far end of the hall, the patriarch stood with his back to the room, framed by the wide window that looked out over the estate. The moon hung high—cold, indifferent—painting his broad silhouette in silver. He did not turn at first. He only watched the night, as if savoring the taste of something vast and waiting.
A man slipped into the hall and bowed low, the leather of his boots whispering across the floor. "My lord, we got the information about the Lukas family. It seems that the two children of Baron Lukas are still alive and are living in Handol Village."
The patriarch's shoulders shifted. Slowly—deliberately—he turned. The moonlight fell across his face, sharpening the lines into something carved and cruel. A smile spread, slow and hungry, like a predator's grin.
"Oh, it seems they had quite good luck," he said, voice smooth as glass. He laughed once, soft and chilling. "To think they would survive that gate incident and the assassination from our family. Prepare everything to go to the Handol Barony in a week. I want to see them personally."
"Yes, my lord," the messenger said, swallowing, and retreated with quick, measured steps.
When the hall was empty again save for the torchlight, the patriarch's smile deepened until it was a baring of teeth. He looked up at the moon as if speaking to the night itself.
"Baron Lukas," he said, voice low and full of contempt, "you made the biggest mistake by looking down on our Lacona family. I won't allow your Lukas family to exist in this world."
The words hung in the cold air like a promise. Outside, the estate seemed to shift—an omen of the storm gathering, patient and inevitable.