Chapter 3: Memories
(12:00 AM)
Step.
Step.
Step.
At midnight, in the middle of nowhere, a lone figure walked along a stone road winding up a mountain.
He was shirtless, clad only in loose black prison trousers. His lean yet powerfully built physique was illuminated by the moonlight, revealing a massive azure dragon tattoo stretching from his right shoulder across his back to his lower left side.
Mid-length jet-black hair framed his pale face.
Crimson-red eyes stared ahead — eyes that seemed capable of piercing straight through one's soul.
Around his neck hung a pitch-black grimoire bound by chained extensions.
Prisoner Zero had been walking for three days.
No food.
No water.
No rest.
With his Ancient Energy reserves reduced to barely thirteen percent, even sustaining himself was a strain. The seals etched into his body restricted circulation and output, forcing his power into a constant state of suppression.
Fatigue pressed heavily against him.
A normal person would have collapsed long ago.
He continued walking.
"Finally…"
He stopped before a rusted iron gate barely clinging to its hinges. With the slightest push, it crumbled apart.
Beyond it stood a massive but abandoned estate.
Stone statues lay cracked. Ivy consumed the walls. The air itself felt stale, saturated with decay.
He crossed the courtyard and approached the mansion.
Once magnificent.
Now ruined.
The doors were gone, torn from their hinges long ago.
Inside, dust coated every surface. Furniture lay shattered. Walls were fractured and stained by time.
He moved slowly, brushing his fingers along the wall, dust clinging to his palm.
Then he stopped.
A large cracked frame hung crookedly.
Inside — a portrait of a family of four.
His hand rested against the broken glass.
Memories flooded in.
A young boy sparring with wooden swords.
A middle-aged man teaching him how to control his Grimoire and channel his Ancient Arts.
A woman smiling warmly, reminding him that life wasn't only about power.
A little girl dragging him toward the forest to play.
For a brief moment, warmth touched his crimson eyes.
Then—
Flames burned everywhere.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
"IT BURNS!!!"
"PLEASE SPARE US!"
"MY CHILD! PLEASE, ANYTHING BUT DON'T KILL MY CHILD!"
Shrill screams of agony and desperate pleas echoed through the night.
Smoke rose into the sky, swallowing the stars.
The mansion burned, collapsing into ashes.
Ares' jaw tightened as a small tear formed in his eye. He wiped it away instantly as he tried to calm his shaking hands.
The warmth vanished immediately after.
Only cold remained.
'It was around here… if I remember correctly' he thought in his mind
He moved through the halls, forcing those memories away and focusing on the more important matter at hand.
Eventually, he reached a study.
Bookshelves leaned precariously against the walls. He searched quickly, tossing aside decayed volumes until—
"Found it."
Hidden behind other books was a plain black grimoire.
No markings.
No title.
For the first time, a faint smile appeared on his face.
He removed the chained grimoire from his neck and held both books together.
He began chanting.
Scarlet Ancient Energy erupted outward, filling the room with crushing pressure. The forest beyond the estate trembled. Animals fled within a ten-kilometer radius.
He forced the two books together.
They resisted.
He pushed harder.
The seals carved into his body burned violently as they struggled to contain the surge.
Suddenly—
A violent burst of Ancient Energy detonated between them, flinging the books apart.
He staggered slightly.
"What's going on…?"
"Don't bother. That won't work."
The voice was casual.
Playful.
He spun around.
Seated lazily in a reclining chair behind the desk was a man with snow-white hair and diamond-blue eyes. His legs were crossed atop the desk.
He wore black trousers, a fitted long-sleeve shirt, and ankle boots. His pale skin contrasted sharply with his dark clothing.
"Wow," the man said. "For a six-hundred-and-twenty-year-old geezer, you look pretty good."
Crimson eyes narrowed.
"Who are you?"
"The estate also looks very lovely, although it's a bit too old-fashioned for my taste. The people from six hundred years ago really had bad decorative taste," the man with white hair and blue eyes commented while looking around the study.
"I'll ask again… who are you?" Prisoner Zero repeated, eyeing the man cautiously. He could tell that the man before him was strong… extremely strong.
"Oh, where are my manners? Solomon Zipperman. EX-Rank Magus. The strongest."
He leaned forward slightly.
"And you don't need an introduction. Special-Class Threat Prisoner Zero… or should I say—"
His blue eyes gleamed.
"Ares Von Loweswater."
A flicker crossed Ares' face.
"I haven't heard that name in a long time."
His gaze hardened.
"What do you want? To capture me? Kill me?"
"Well, that's what everyone else wants," Solomon shrugged. "The World Magus Association and several major clans have already dispatched their best to hunt you down."
He smiled wider.
"But I've always been curious about the legendary King of Destruction. I'd like to see your full power."
A pause.
"So I'll help you recover it… and then I'll defeat you properly."
Silence filled the room.
"Why?" Ares asked.
Solomon grinned.
"Because it sounds fun."
Something ancient snapped.
Scarlet Ancient Energy exploded outward.
The study trembled violently. The air warped under the density of his suppressed power.
"Fun…?"
Ares vanished.
In an instant, he appeared before Solomon and grabbed him by the collar.
Without hesitation, Ares drove him forward.
They smashed through the study wall.
Wood and stone exploded outward as they tore through the hallway beyond.
Ares didn't stop.
He drove Solomon through another wall—
Then another—
Until the final outer wall of the mansion shattered.
They burst into the courtyard in an eruption of debris.
The ground cratered beneath their landing.
Dust filled the air.
"Damn," Solomon's voice echoed calmly from within the smoke. "Have you considered becoming a masseuse? That was an incredible back massage."
As the dust cleared—
Ares stood with his fist inches from Solomon's chest.
Solomon held his wrist effortlessly with one hand.
A faint layer of blue Ancient Energy coated his palm — nothing more than basic reinforcement. No techniques. No Ancient Art.
Ares' other arm twisted unnaturally behind him.
Solomon looked untouched.
"You're pretty weak right now," he observed casually.
Rage flared again.
Ares instantly circulated Ancient Energy to heal his arm and launched another strike.
Solomon tilted his head. The punch missed by a fraction.
The shockwave obliterated part of the courtyard behind him.
Ares followed with a sweeping kick.
Solomon stepped aside smoothly, released his wrist — only to grab it again mid-spin — and redirected Ares' momentum, hurling him into the ground.
The impact shattered stone.
Ares flipped back to his feet, scarlet lightning crackling around his body as his Ancient Energy surged chaotically.
He charged again — faster.
Their fists collided.
A perfect circular shockwave exploded outward, flattening trees beyond the estate.
Solomon hadn't moved an inch.
"You rely too much on brute force," he said calmly.
Ares unleashed a relentless barrage — punches, elbows, spinning kicks. Each strike lethal. Each fueled by destructive Ancient Energy.
Solomon weaved through them effortlessly, intercepting joints, redirecting force, shifting angles with surgical precision. Every movement reinforced only with basic Ancient Energy output.
Suddenly—
Solomon vanished.
"UGHH!"
A kick slammed into Ares' back, launching him across the courtyard and carving a trench through stone.
He rose again, breathing heavier.
Solomon appeared above him in the sky, suspended effortlessly using minimal reinforcement.
"You're at thirteen percent, aren't you?" he asked lightly.
Ares shot upward in fury.
They collided mid-air, splitting the clouds.
Solomon parried, rotated, and drove a palm into Ares' chest.
The air imploded.
Ares crashed into the ground, forming a massive crater.
Solomon descended slowly.
"Ready to give up?"
Ares surged upward again.
Moments later—
Solomon sat cross-legged on his back.
"What should I eat later…?" he murmured thoughtfully.
Ares roared and exploded upward, attempting an axe kick.
Solomon caught his leg mid-swing and slammed him back into the ground.
Ares twisted, counter-kicked, and landed—
But Solomon was already in front of him.
"This might hurt."
The next sequence was brutal.
A rib strike.
A blow to the solar plexus.
A sharp crack against the jaw.
A precise strike to the spine.
Every attack calculated.
Every counter shut down before it could form.
Finally—
A devastating spinning roundhouse kick connected with Ares' temple.
He crashed into a stone wall and went still.
Silence returned to the mountain.
Solomon walked over casually, lifting him onto his shoulder like a duffel bag.
"Yes… spaghetti sounds good. Though I guess it's breakfast at this hour."
And in the next instant—
They vanished.