Tristan's body slid to a halt.
The air thickened.
Mana—reacting.
Unsettling.
The atmosphere buckled without warning. Dust, gravel, and splintered stone were ripped from the ground, spiraling upward into a violent storm. Tristan's instincts kicked in before conscious thought—steel sang as his sword cleared its sheath, his stance settling automatically, eyes locked on the disturbance ahead.
"—!"
He leapt backward.
The space he'd occupied detonated, the ground collapsing inward as if crushed by an invisible fist.
"Hahaha…"
Laughter rolled through the dust cloud.
A massive silhouette stepped forward, boots crunching against fractured stone. As the debris settled, a towering figure emerged, a great hammer resting casually on his shoulder, grin stretched wide.
"Truly the greatest talent of this generation," the man said. "I was planning to end this swiftly—but this?" His eyes gleamed. "This makes it better."
"Who even are you?" Tristan asked, sword angled forward, knees bent. Gold flickered briefly across his pupils.
"A-rank hunter," the man replied. "Rank? Non-important." He lifted the hammer slightly. "Name's Rook."
The grin sharpened.
"HEADS UP."
Rook exploded forward.
The earth shattered beneath his feet as momentum transferred into the hammer. He raised it high, then brought it down in a crushing vertical arc.
Tristan retreated a single step.
The hammer struck.
BOOM.
Stone ruptured outward in a spiderweb pattern, shockwaves rattling through Tristan's bones despite the distance.
Their gazes met.
Excitement burned openly on Rook's face.
Tristan moved first.
He surged in, sword trailing low behind him before snapping upward in a clean diagonal slash aimed at Rook's neck—
CLANG.
The blade was thrown aside.
Mana erupted from Rook's body—dense, rough, almost abrasive—forcing Tristan's sword off-line before it could bite.
"What—?" Tristan's eyes widened. Why is his mana so dense—
Rook didn't let him finish the thought.
He stepped in and drove the hammer forward, not swinging—thrusting.
"—!"
Tristan reacted instantly, flooding mana into his abdomen.
KUGH.
The impact still launched him backward, air blasting from his lungs as he skidded across the broken ground.
"Kekeke…" Rook chuckled, resting the hammer back on his shoulder. "You like it? Your mana control's impressive—but mine?" He tilted his head. "It's a bit violent."
"Ha… haha… this is nothing," Tristan muttered between gasps.
He shut his eyes, drawing in mana through his breath, circulating it deliberately through his Kør, stabilizing his core.
"Let's conti—"
The hammer was suddenly there.
Tristan's eyes snapped open.
He dropped low, barely ducking as the hammer tore overhead. The resulting wind rupture blasted apart the ground behind him.
"What do you think this is, an anime?" Rook laughed. "🥷🏾 Low-key out here powering up and shit ."
"…My bad," Tristan muttered, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.
Rook slammed the hammer downward again.
This time Tristan didn't retreat.
He raised his sword horizontally, channeling mana into his hands, shoulders, legs—every joint reinforcing simultaneously.
CRASH.
Rook noticed.
Mana erupted violently around him, the hammer's weight multiplying mid-impact.
Tristan groaned, muscles screaming as the pressure forced him downward, sweat rolling from his brow.
BOOM.
"What are you, an eel?" Rook remarked as dust settled around them.
Tristan vanished.
He reappeared several meters away, boots skidding as he steadied his breathing. "And what are you," he shot back, "a gorilla?"
"..."
"… Yeaaah that's definitely racist," Rook said flatly.
"…My fault," Tristan admitted, tightening his grip.
He lunged.
Mana flared along his blade.
Rook raised his forearms, mana coating them like armor.
A horizontal slash toward the neck—blocked by the forearm.
Tristan flowed immediately into a thrust toward the abdomen—
Rook twisted his torso, the blade grazing past his ribs instead of piercing.
Rook grabbed the flat of the sword.
Tristan released instantly.
The blade vanished into his inventory.
Rook hopped back, eyes narrowing.
Tristan closed the distance.
One step forward.
Rook faked a Khao Chiang—a sudden downward hammer feint meant to draw a guard.
No reaction.
Tristan stepped again.
A sharp fooksau snapped toward Rook's throat—blocked at the wrist.
Rook countered with a right hook aimed at the jaw—
Tristan paksau'd it aside, redirecting the force outward, then fired a palm strike toward Rook's face.
Rook twisted through it and drove a brutal liver shot into Tristan's side.
"Ugh—!"
Tristan staggered back, hand clutching his ribs as pain flared.
"I guess a sword's not all you can use," Rook said, blood dripping from his nose. "Imbuing mana into a slap too? Hahaha!"
He turned, retrieving his hammer from the ground. "Think it's time we end this scuffle."
"Huff… sure," Tristan muttered.
His sword materialized in his hands.
Mana surged—
Then collapsed.
"What—?" Tristan froze. My mana—
"Kekeke…"
Rook's laughter snapped him back.
"It didn't disperse," Tristan realized. It feels like it was—
"Taken," Rook said calmly.
Mana wasn't merely reinforcement, healing, or destruction.
With the emergence of mana came abilities—phenomena that bent its rules entirely.
They were called Constitutions.
Through extensive study, the Association discovered that some hunters awakened them through extreme growth, while others were born with them—altering the way their bodies and souls interacted with mana itself.
Some amplified output.
Some distorted control.
Others, like this—
Consumed.
Tristan hadn't considered it.
But as the surrounding mana flowed unnaturally toward one body, the truth became undeniable.
The man before him—
With that oppressive, devouring aura—
Was an Asper.
"Square up 🥷🏾," Rook grinned, leveling his hammer at Tristan. "We're just getting started!"
---
The control room was chaos.
Keyboards clattered. Voices overlapped. Data streamed endlessly across dozens of screens.
Footsteps echoed.
Silence followed.
"Association Leader," Lily said, turning. "Two hundred and fifty hunters have been incapacitated and forcibly teleported to the infirmary. Treatment is underway."
"Good," Evander replied, stopping before the display wall.
The staff resumed their work.
His eyes scanned the screens.
"Show me," he murmured.
"Prove it."
One screen zoomed in—
Tristan's stunned expression, wind tearing through his hair.
"…Tristan."