Soren stared at the fresh corpse, his breath uneven.
The mercenary's body lay crumpled like discarded meat, a pool of dark blood spreading beneath his shattered skull. The alley was still ringing with silence, the echo of death lingering in the tight space.
He had fought just to stay alive—dodging, casting, running like a desperate animal. And yet, that towering man, a warrior strong enough to wield an aura, had died without ever realizing what hit him.
He didn't even blink. Just one strike…Soren swallowed hard.
And I barely dodged that same attack before. The memory replayed in his mind—how close that energy spear had come, the scream of death parting the air, it even slipping Greed's grasp attempt of possession. The chill of it brushing past his scalp.
He let out a shaky exhale, still crouched on the ground where he'd ducked seconds ago.
"You good?" The voice broke the silence. Smooth. Bored.
"You look kinda pathetic like that," the spearman added, casually slinging his weapon over his shoulder.
Soren glanced up.
It was him. The same man from that night. The one who had spared him. The one Stalker had mentioned.
Lancer. There was no mistaking it now.
"If you join us," Lancer continued, tone half-mocking, "you might even learn a thing or two from me. Like… not being so pathetic. How about it?"
Soren rose slowly, brushing the dust off his torn clothes. His body ached. His mana reserves were spent considerably. But his mind was still keep composure.
"What are you insinuating?" ask Soren. "Why did you recruit me before—and why help me now?"
Lancer clicked his tongue, then looked around the alleyway.
"I think this place is a bit too messy for proper conversation," he said, gesturing with one hand to the blood-slick floor and twitching corpse. "Let's go somewhere more appropriate."
Soren hesitated, eyes flicking toward the alley's exit.
"I need to check on my sister," he said, voice edged with urgency. "The man you killed—he's not the only one. I'm afraid they're after her, too."
Lancer tilted his head slightly, studying him.
The concern in Soren's voice was pure response. Despite being one breath away from death, his priority was still someone else.
He still worries about family even now?
If he becomes my disciple, think Lancer, didn't at least I'd get that kind of treatment too? One hella devoted student is good.
He rubbed his chin, half in thought, half in amusement.
Soren's eye which still not he close twitched. He didn't miss sight the way Lancer appraised him—not like an enemy, but like a project.
This guy… I keep getting the feeling he's planning something.The thought made his skin prickle. Cold sweat trailed down the back of his neck.
Even now, with the corpse cooling behind him, Soren couldn't shake the sense that he had just stepped into something far more dangerous than before.
---
Inside the heart of Astralis Academy, beneath layers of enchantments and stone-carved sigils, the inner sanctum of the Headmaster stood quiet. Light filtered through high-arched windows, casting solemn rays upon the polished floor.
Caelin Draven stood before the great desk, posture rigid, expression grim.
"I have a serious report, sir," he began.
Across the room, Headmaster Eryndor slowly lifted his gaze from a half-written parchment. His sharp eyes, narrowed slightly.
"Speak."
Caelin nodded. "After investigation conducted by the Magic Department's internal intelligence unit… we've uncovered a few concerning matters."
Eryndor said nothing, only leaning back slightly, a subtle sign to continue.
"First," Caelin said, "Instructor Vellian has not reported for any of his scheduled classes. While this alone isn't alarming, there are overlapping disturbances. One of our instructors—Elara Kinsley—has also taken sudden leave. Records indicate she went to the residence of Instructor Soren."
Eryndor arched a brow at that, but still said nothing.
"Second," Caelin added, his voice heavier now, "Soren Noctis has returned from his assigned mission. But he has yet to submit a formal debrief. And… we've detected movements in the outskirts. Several lawless mercenaries were spotted entering the city in the last two days. Their behavior suggests purpose. Targeted action."
"You believe they were hired to eliminate Instructor Soren?" Eryndor asked bluntly.
Caelin didn't hesitate. "It is one possible conclusion."
Eryndor's expression darkened faintly. "They dare go after someone who just came back from slaying a rising S-rank individual? The Crimson Apostle wasn't a name to toss lightly."
Caelin sighed. "Vellian has… begun spreading rumors that Soren killing the Crimson Apostle was a hoax. That the credit actually belongs to the Flower Maiden—Elianne."
Eryndor exhaled through his nose, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
"I allow competition between instructors. It keeps minds sharp," he said. "But this sort of smear tactic—if true—is tasteless and beneath us."
"And unfortunately," Caelin added, "we have no concrete evidence linking him to any of this. Not yet."
There was a long pause.
"Good report," Eryndor finally said. "Send a team to check on Instructor Soren's wellbeing. We should take better care of our people. Especially one with his… potential."
Before Caelin could reply, a voice drifted from the entrance.
"I'll go."
Both men turned.
Mirelle Thalrune stepped forward, her stride elegant, her presence undeniable. A tailored coat swept behind her, and a soft click echoed as she adjusted her glasses with a finger.
Eryndor's only daughter.
"I've got a feeling," she said lightly, "that if I go, I'll witness something interesting. And frankly, I'm getting bored with all my paperwork."
Caelin straightened at her presence. "Sending you, milady, is… something of an overkill," he said respectfully, bowing his head slightly. "After all, you're an Archmage seed."
"Still," she replied with a smirk, "overkill is a valid tactic."
Eryndor chuckled—a rare sound. "If you're going out, then I'll join you. Let's consider it a casual walk for a father and daughter."
"…Huh?" Mirelle blinked, momentarily thrown off.
Caelin sighed inwardly. Well, it started as a small reconnaissance… but now it's becoming a royal visit.
He watched as Eryndor stood, sliding his long coat over his shoulders with practiced ease.
Soren, he thought dryly, you better buy me something later for this.
---
The walk back to Soren's home was tense.
When the familiar structure came into view, his heart sank. The front door was wide open.
He rushed forward without hesitation, ignoring Lancer. Inside, the scent of blood still lingered in the air. A man lay dead in the entryway, a clean stab wound in his chest, his expression frozen mid-shock.
Soren's chest tightened.
He closed his eyes and extended his mana sense outward like a ripple.
Nothing.
No signs of life nearby. No battle traces beyond the single corpse.
No Lyra. No Elara.
That could be a good thing… if they had already evacuated.
Or it could mean something worse.
But given the lack of disturbance beyond this one intrusion, he clung to the first possibility.
"They're gone…" he murmured.
Lancer's voice broke the silence. "So you usually close your eyes like that?"
"This eye drains my energy," Soren answered flatly. "Using it constantly wears me out."
Lancer tilted his head slightly, intrigued. An ocular that specially devours mana. Fascinating.
His gaze fell to the body again. "Seems like someone came uninvited."
"Did you bring the evidence?" ask Soren said sharply. The contract that written about making me target. Please give it to me."
He was done waiting. He had given up staying by his sister's side for this moment. It had better be worth it.
Lancer reached into his coat, retrieving a tightly bound scroll and holding it out between two fingers.
"The contract that marked you," he said with a lazy grin.
Soren stepped forward to take it.
But just as his fingers brushed the parchment, Lancer's grip tightened, holding his hand in place.
Soren's gaze snapped up.
"With this… you're one of us now," Lancer said, voice low. His smile was crooked, almost teasing. "You will taking mantle of the Black Vow."
Soren didn't flinch. "We'll talk about that later."
Lancer finally released his grip—but his smirk deepened.
"You should already consider yourself part of us," he said casually, his tone calm, but iron hidden beneath.
"Because if you ever refuse… I'll erase you myself."
A pause. Dead silence.
"And I mean it."