SWISH!
CRACK!
A thick, solid oak log split cleanly down the middle, the two halves tumbling heavily onto the dewy grass.
Alden lowered the rusted iron axe, his chest heaving as a cloud of warm breath plumed from his lips into the crisp morning air. Sweat beaded on his forehead, tracing down the side of his face and soaking into the fabric of the black cloth tied securely over his left eye.
It had been three weeks.
Three weeks since he had fallen from the sky as a broken, mangled mess. Now, standing in the makeshift training yard behind Silas's cottage, Alden looked like a completely different person. The physical scars on his face were gone, save for the single vertical line descending from his eyepatch. His muscles had regained their dense, coiled strength, built back up through sheer, punishing repetition.
Whoosh! Alden dropped the axe and transitioned seamlessly into a fluid set of martial forms. His footwork was light, dodging invisible blades, his strikes slicing through the air with a sharp whistle. He still couldn't access his [Void-Walker Swordsmanship] or properly command the atmospheric mana, but his physical vessel was finally catching up to his former A-rank standards. The crystal sphere he had found in the ruined hall—which currently sat safely in his pocket, radiating a faint, comforting warmth—had spent the last twenty-one days acting as a bizarre, passive healer.
'It's slow, but I'm getting there,' Alden thought, completing his set with a sharp exhale. 'My core is stabilizing. Another month, and I might actually be able to use a basic spatial step without my organs exploding.'
He wiped his face with the hem of his shirt and smiled.
Over these past three weeks, Alden hadn't just healed; he had lived. With his naturally observant and extroverted personality, it hadn't taken long for him to charm the locals of Oakhaven. He was the polite, mysterious boy staying with the village guard. He had helped the blacksmith pump the bellows, carried heavy flour sacks for the baker, and entertained the elderly women who gathered by the well with slightly exaggerated stories of his "travels."
He liked it here. It was a simple, honest life. No Inquisition, no SS-rank monsters pretending to be educators, no demonic incursions.
Alden grabbed a wooden towel off the fence, draped it over his neck, and started his usual morning walk toward the village square. He usually grabbed a fresh apple from Tom the baker around this time.
But as soon as his boots hit the packed dirt road of the main thoroughfare, something felt incredibly wrong.
Creak. Click.
Alden paused. He looked to his right. Mrs. Higgins, the sweet old lady who usually waved at him from her porch, had just hurried inside her house and locked the door.
He frowned, continuing his walk.
Further down the road, a group of men who were chatting loudly by the market stalls suddenly fell completely silent as Alden approached. They didn't look at him. In fact, they seemed to be trying very hard to look anywhere but at him. A mother grabbed her young son by the collar, yanking him behind her skirt and rushing down a side alley.
'What the hell?' Alden thought, his single eye narrowing. 'Did I forget to put on a shirt? Do I have firewood stuck in my hair?'
The atmosphere was thick with a palpable, shivering tension. It wasn't just caution. It was raw, unadulterated fear.
Mutter... mutter... Faint whispers trailed behind him. The hairs on the back of Alden's neck stood up. His battle instincts, honed by countless brushes with death, flared to life. The village hadn't been attacked. There was no smell of blood or sulfur.
The fear was directed entirely at him.
Without wasting another second, Alden picked up his pace, jogging the rest of the way to Silas's cottage. He pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped inside.
The warmth of the hearth usually greeted him, but today, the room felt as cold as a crypt.
Silas was sitting at the wooden table, his face pale and drawn. Elara was standing near the fireplace, her hands wringing her apron into tight, anxious knots.
"Brother Alden!"
Thump-thump-thump!
Lily came running out of the hallway, her small face a picture of absolute shock and bewilderment. She wasn't running away from him; she was running directly to him. In her hands, she clutched a large, crumpled piece of parchment—the weekly imperial gazette that the courier dropped off at the village gates every Sunday.
"Lily, wait!" Silas hissed, half-rising from his chair, but the little girl ignored him.
She skidded to a halt in front of Alden, holding the newspaper up with trembling hands. "Brother, you... you came in the newspaper! Look!"
Alden's stomach dropped into a bottomless abyss.
He gently took the paper from Lily's hands. The coarse parchment rustled loudly in the dead silence of the room.
His single eye scanned the front page. There, taking up the entire top half of the broadsheet, was a flawlessly sketched portrait of his face. It was the face he had before the eyepatch, looking calm, composed, and undeniably like him.
Above the portrait, printed in massive, bold, blood-red ink, were words that made Alden's blood run entirely cold.
[WANTED: TRAITOR OF HUMANITY]
[CLASSIFICATION: S-RANK EXISTENTIAL THREAT]
[TARGET: ALDEN VON ASTRA]
[BOUNTY: 100 BILLION GOLD COINS — DEAD OR ALIVE]
Alden stopped breathing.
His eyes darted down to the smaller print, rapidly absorbing the imperial decree.
...accused of high treason, consorting with demonic entities, and launching a cowardly, unprovoked terrorist assault against the esteemed SS-Rank Pillar of the Empire, Lord Liam von Ravel.
...Target is highly deceptive. Known to harbor a parasitic, foreign soul. Approach with extreme caution. Lethal force is pre-authorized and heavily encouraged.
'Liam,' Alden thought, a dark, murderous rage erupting in his chest. 'You absolute, magnificent bastard.'
It all clicked together in a horrifying second. Liam von Ravel had been struck by [Divine Judgment]. The System's retaliatory lightning strike had likely severely injured the Arcane Leech, maybe even permanently scarring him. But an SS-ranker couldn't just admit that he was punished by the heavens for trying to steal a student's soul. He couldn't show weakness.
So, Liam flipped the narrative.
He framed the anomaly. He claimed Alden was a demonic parasite who had attacked him. And because Liam was a Pillar of the Empire, the entire human domain had just declared war on a single, nineteen-year-old boy.
An S-Rank threat. 100 Billion gold.
That wasn't a bounty. That was a localized lottery meant to mobilize every assassin, guild, noble house, and military battalion on the continent.
"Alden..."
Alden slowly lowered the newspaper, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the parchment. He looked up.
Silas swallowed hard, forcing a strained, desperate smile onto his face. "Listen... it's... it's got to be a misunderstanding, right? The papers, they get things wrong all the time. The capital is miles away, they don't know what they're talking about."
"He's right," Elara chimed in, her voice shaking slightly, though she took a brave step toward him. "You're a good boy. We've lived with you for three weeks. A demon doesn't chop wood for an old woman or tell stories to children. It's just a mistake."
They were terrified. Alden could see it in the way Silas's hand hovered near the hilt of his guard sword, and the way Elara kept putting herself between Alden and Lily. But despite that primal, instinctual fear... they were trying to defend him. They were trying to convince themselves that the boy they had saved wasn't a monster.
Alden's heart physically ached.
'If they harbor me,' Alden realized, the cold logic piercing through his anger. 'If a bounty hunter or an Inquisition hound tracks me here... they won't just kill me. They'll burn Oakhaven to the ground for hiding an S-Rank threat.'
He had seen what happened to the Red Devil Forest. When the powerful felt threatened, the innocent always paid the price.
Alden folded the newspaper neatly and set it on the table. His expression smoothed out, becoming an unreadable, calm mask.
"It's not a misunderstanding," Alden said. His voice was quiet, but it carried a heavy, absolute finality that echoed in the small cottage.
Silas flinched.
"I am Alden von Astra," he continued, looking Silas dead in the eye. "And I am currently the most wanted man in the world."
He turned away, walking briskly toward his small room. He grabbed his travel bag—the simple leather sack Silas had given him—and packed it with ruthless efficiency. A spare shirt. A canteen of water. The crystal sphere went deep into his inner pocket.
Within two minutes, he was walking back into the main hall, strapping the bag across his chest.
"Alden, wait," Silas said, stepping forward, his paternal instincts warring with his fear. "You can't just walk out there. If the whole Empire is looking for you... where will you go?"
"Away from here," Alden replied firmly. "Silas, Elara... you saved my life. I owe you a debt I can't currently pay. But if I stay in this house for even one more hour, I am sentencing you to death. The people looking for me do not care about collateral damage."
"But—" Elara started, a tear slipping down her wrinkled cheek.
"No buts," Alden interrupted gently, offering her a soft, grateful smile. "Thank you. For everything."
Sniffle.
Alden froze. He looked down.
Lily was standing by the table, her small hands clenched into tight fists. Fat, heavy tears were rolling down her cheeks, dropping onto the wooden floorboards.
"You're leaving?" she whimpered, her voice cracking.
Alden felt a massive lump form in his throat. He unslung his bag and dropped to one knee, bringing himself down to her eye level.
"Hey," he said softly. "Don't cry."
"But the paper says you're a bad guy!" Lily sobbed, suddenly rushing forward and throwing her arms around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder. "And the bad guys in the stories always get chased away! I don't want you to be a bad guy!"
Alden closed his single eye, wrapping his arms around the little girl, holding her tight.
"I'm not a bad guy, Lily," he whispered into her hair. "But sometimes, the world gets confused. And I have to go fix it."
"Will you come back?" she asked, pulling back slightly to look at him with large, tear-filled obsidian eyes.
Alden reached up, his thumb gently wiping a tear from her cheek. He thought about the mountain of gold he still owed this family. He thought about the SS-ranker who had tortured him. He thought about the Ice Queen waiting for him at the Academy.
He smiled. A genuine, bright smile that reached his one good eye.
"I will," Alden promised, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. "Did you forget our promise in the courtyard? I told you, if you ever need me, I'll be there. And I never, ever break my promises to big ten-year-old girls."
Lily let out a watery giggle, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands. "Okay. Okay."
Alden stood up, giving Silas and Elara one last, respectful nod.
He turned his back on the warm hearth, pushed the heavy oak door open, and stepped out into the blinding morning sunlight.
The villagers were peeking out from behind drawn curtains and cracked doors, watching him with fearful, wide eyes as he walked down the dirt path. He didn't look at them. He kept his head high, his posture straight, the black cloth of his eyepatch stark against his pale skin.
He walked past the village gates, leaving the safety of Oakhaven behind, and stepped into the dense, sprawling wilderness of the Elderia mountains.
He had no money. His system was fractured. His mana was barely functional. And the entire world wanted his head on a silver platter.
Alden von Astra looked up at the endless blue sky, a dangerous, thrilling smirk curling his lips.
'Alright, Liam,' he thought, the anticipation humming in his veins like electricity. 'You want a monster? Let's see what happens when the monster bites back.'