A/n: This will be the last chapter regarding this arc for now before we begin to focus on other characters in this story.

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Screams of horror filled the air.

Death and destruction surrounded a young elf maiden as she tightly held something wrapped in a piece of clothing against her chest as if it were her lifeline.

Her dark green hair and wide brown eyes nervously sauntered back and forth as she was escorted to safety by her three guards, which had been four when they started.

As she ran through the compound, ignoring the burning mansion behind her, or the terror-filled night that seemed to be collapsing on her, her heart raced, each beat throbbing with fear and loss.

'Father and Mother are dead...' She felt hot tears welling up but forced her legs to keep moving.

The darkness of the night made it appear as though she was being constantly watched, but she could not stop moving.

'T-this... this is all too awful!' She wanted to scream and cry, to break down, but she could not.

She squeezed the package she held very close to her ample bosom, and her thic-... I mean mature body... jiggled... with every step she took.

The name of this young elf maiden was Mara Terte Greene, daughter of the Terte Councilor of the Obsidian Council.

Her family had been among the founding members of the Council and the builders of Aquarius itself, which would count as a surprise to see them in such a desperate state.

But Mara knew the reason.

Her father had explained it all, just before sending her off with the Four Cardinal Knights of the Terte's Estate.

Unlike most of the other Obsidian Council factions, the Terte family had always been more like a crime family than a noble house. It was common knowledge. But despite their power, reputation, and influence they wielded, they worked to maintain balance in their realm, paying levies and even serving as informants to many kingdoms.

In essence, they held power by playing both sides.

For years, the Terte family had thrived, rivaling even the ExRump Corporation and the Slave Union as one of the most influential factions in the Third Civilization Zone.

But it seemed now that even their wealth and alliances weren't enough at this point. Despite all the Terte Family had done to stay afloat, the darkness of the world was too much for them to overcome.

And now, they found themselves sinking deeply.

"Huff... huff..."As Mara quickened her pace, seeing as her Cardinal Knights were encouraging her to move faster, she could feel her chest grow hot.

She was nearing her limits, despite her incredible elven stamina.

Unfortunately, combat was not her field of expertise, she was a strategist, a businesswoman. Despite being only 18, her parents had entrusted her with leading branches of the family's business empire, recognizing her sharp, analytical and critical mind.

They'd even started discussing potential marriages for her, a duty she had always managed to evade. But now, as she ran through the shadows, those small rebellions seemed like distant luxuries.

'I wish I should have listened to you, mother, father...' Mara thought, sniffing and choking back tears as her glasses slipped on her face with each step. 'I would have at least made you happy with a grandchild before you passed!'

But now it was too late. All she could do was run with her guards and hoped none of them were caught by the enemy.

"Where do you think you're going?!" a loud voice thundered ahead of her, and someone instantly appeared before them.

The suddenness of the voice, and the abrupt appearance of the leader of the carnage caused Mara to reach her breaking point.

"Kyaaa!" Exhaustion and fear caught up to her, causing her to stumble and fall to the ground.

She screamed as she helplessly felt her hands hit the dirt as she landed and her pretty dress dragging through mud and gravel.

"Lady Mara!" Voices rang in the air as her blurry vision picked up the three guards around her stopping.

Right as they were about to reach for her, blood sprayed over her. One by one, her protectors' heads were sent flying, and their bodies crumpled beside her.

Mara felt herself being drenched by the hot blood of those she saw as family.

They were all decapitated right in front of her eyes.

Without the aid of her glasses, which was now somewhere on the floor, Mara couldn't properly see.

But, she already knew what happened.

"N-no..." Her whimper softly echoed out as her body couldn't properly move. The only thing she could do was hold on to the thing wrapped up in cloth she held tighter against her chest.

"Haha! Weaklings, all of them!"

There were Four Cardinal Knights that served as the Terte Family's most powerful group.

They were all incredibly strong at the level around Level 7 to 9, each with a weapon that they were experts in, and unmatched by anyone within the Terte Estate.

However, to the attackers, or, at least the one who led the charge, he found them to be weaklings.

Gray hair fell around his face in messy waves, and though his body appeared frail with age, he radiated an aura of deadly power.

Her blurry vision couldn't see the man now, but she had caught a glimpse of him moments before, the brief moment when one of her knights offered to distract him while the rest fled with her.

He had a large scar, like a claw mark, implanted across his face, with narrow eyes like that of a sick animal.

He had gray hair that fell around his face in messy waves, and he looked middle-aged. Despite his body appearing very fragile due to his old age, his intimidating presence radiated an aura of deadly power and made anyone who saw him know he was the real deal.

He was Fernand, one of the Eight Heads of Destruction in the mercenary gang that had attacked her home.

"Haaa... haaa..." Her shallow breaths echoed as dread gripped her heart.

The mere presence of Fernand here could mean only one thing.

'Sir Jusirai... he must be dead...'

The strongest of the Cardinal Knights, their only Transcendent, had met his demise when facing this man all alone, and now even the three others were dead.

All of their corpses were lying lifeless on the ground, leaving her as the sole survivor, left to bear witness to the massacre that had gone down to her family and home.

"Hey, young miss..." Fernand's deep, aged voice caused Mara to shudder once she heard it.

"That's a nice piece of clothing you're clinging tightly to. Where'd you get it?"

She couldn't properly see his face, but Mara knew instinctively that he was grinning very widely.

He was like a demon that had been sent from hell, and this gleaming blood-soaked blade in his hand made it clear that he wasn't finished with his task.

There remained one more he had to cut down, Mara herself.

She dared to open her eyes, just in time to see why.

SWOOOSH!

The blade sliced through the air, making its way towards the target in a literal flash.

No one ever detected Fernand's strikes whenever he swung his blade. His attacks were infamous for their speed, striking without a sound and leaving his victims dead before they even knew it.

This earned him the name "The Flash Reaper"

It was a little childish, but the old man took it seriously. He had a track record of killing multiple enemies who wouldn't even know they were dead until seconds, maybe even a minute later.

His record was 93 seconds, and he was proud of that feat.

However, he was in a hurry now. Ending this girl's life and retrieving this document she held was the mission.

And he never failed any missions.

Not now, and not when he was the Head Warrior of the Kingdom of High Tarxa.

'She's probably holding all the important documents relating to the business of the Terte Estate. Taking this from her should earn me even more merit.'

That way, he could finally be recognized enough to ascend to the Trio position.

'I've earned it now, haven't I?'

By completing this mission successfully, surely he had proven his worth enough.

If the kingdom and those royal upstarts like Melian, Acheron, and their father couldn't see his worth, he was sure the Criminal Underworld would.

Soon, he was going to prove himself to them. Then, they'd hand over his position among the Deadly Three.

'And maybe... I'll aim for the position of leader.'

That was his goal!

To rise to the very top of any organization he was in.

And by spilling the blood of this innocent girl, who is the daughter of one of the most powerful figures in the Third Civilization Zone, he would finally be able to fulfill his grand ambition.

'Sorry, little one. This is just the price of ambition!'

CLANG!

'What?!'

Fernand was shocked.

His blade was meant to easily slice through his opponents, like a hot knife through butter.

It was the easiest thing to do.

So why? Why was he experiencing resistance?!

His wrinkled eyelids opened and he could now see the reason for it.

"You..."

Fernand's face twisted with anger as he glared at the figure who now stood before him.

A man now stood between him and Mara, dressed in a dark coat with crimson color in certain parts of his outfit. His face was obscured by a mask, and his presence radiating raw power.

Fernand could instantly tell that the man was strong. He could also detect a growing dislike that rose within him.

He already hated this man.

This stranger's aura alone grated on him, but the fact he'd dared to block his strike was unforgivable.

'How dare you stop my blade!' Fernand snarled as the breeze flowed in the darkness.

"Who are you?"

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'E-eh...?'

Mara Terte Greene blinked, stunned to see someone else standing between her and certain death.

Her vision was still blurry, which made it difficult to really decipher who he was, but she could tell the man had deflected the blade meant for her.

She wasn't dead. And it was all because of him.

'Who is he?' she wondered, and, as if echoing her thoughts, her attacker voiced the same question.

A thick and heavy tense silence fell over them and consumed everything around as if the world itself held its breath, waiting for the man to respond.

"The name's Ghost." The man's voice was deep and resolute, carrying an unshakable calm.

Mara felt her body tremble slightly as she felt his cold statement wash over her. She was immensely grateful she wasn't the one facing him.

"Ghost? What in the world are y-?"

VWUUUSH!

Before her eyes, Mara watched as Fernand was suddenly thrown back, creating an enormous gap between them. He was pushed so far that he became a blur in the distance.

'I really need my-'

Just as the thought crossed her mind, she felt something press gently against her face, and the scent of the man in black overwhelmed her senses.

Within a moment, she could see perfectly.

"Here you go," he murmured softly close to her ear.

With her sight restored, she finally saw him clearly. He looked like the embodiment of chaos and death, dark attire, crimson accents, a mask shrouding his face. And yet, there was something calm, even gentle, in his gaze.

"Much better." He gave her a reassuring pat on the head, his voice still remaining the same as it was.

Calm, collected, and kind.

Despite his fearsome presence that could consume even darkness itself, Mara felt... safe with him. Her panic ceased, her grief lessened, and her heartbeat slowed down in comfort by his quiet strength.

'T-thank you... sir.' She thought as her eyes leaked forth tiny drops of tears before she closed her eyes and felt sleepy.

Mara still didn't know what her fate was. She also held onto the cloth very tightly. But, with this man standing beside her, she felt a deep sense of safety and security.

'Mother, Father... I'm safe now.'

------------------------

'Good. She's asleep now.' Riley sighed in relief as he glanced down at the girl cradled gently in his arms.

He lowered her carefully and let her land softly on the ground as she enjoyed the sleep he induced on her.

'She looks traumatized. It's better she rests for a while.'

He exhaled deeply and studied her a moment longer. She was beautiful, with a delicate, almost ethereal quality. Her cute face was framed by glasses that only added to her charm, and her pale skin gave her an air of fragility that made her seem all the more vulnerable.

From what he recalled, almost every elves in this world were impossibly beautiful, able to make stars of his own world look plain. Even among elves, the Queen Melian's radiance was unmatched, yet this green-haired girl, Mara, had a beauty that could rival any he'd known. And here, she was considered only average.

'The daughter of the Terte family... Mara.' he thought, piecing together what he'd learned from his team's intel. 'Poor girl's lost her parents too... what a sha-'

It caused him to slightly look away from the sleeping beauty and slowly turn back to see the enemy. His glowing crimson eyes increased in intensity as he glared at him.

"Be quiet. I'll attend to you once I'm done."

There was no way Riley was ignoring the old man. He just wasn't the priority at the moment.

'I came to save the Terte family,' he thought, his jaw tightening, 'but it seems she's the only one I could reach in time. If only I'd been faster, or stronger...'

His gaze shifted to the fallen knights around them. Had he arrived even a few minutes earlier, he might have saved them. If he'd pushed his limits further, maybe even her parents could have survived. But he'd wasted precious time experimenting with his new abilities.

'Enough regrets.' He could still save her, and that, he resolved, was what he'd do.

------------------------

'T-this guy...!'

Fernand felt a burning rage course through his veins as he glared at the man who stood just a few meters from him.

'He has the audacity to show me his back?!'

Yes, he knew this stranger was strong, but wasn't this boarding on the line of hubris? To be caught off guard by that sudden, pulsing strike was one thing, but for his opponent to drop his guard in front of his opponent afterward, Fernand could only see it as arrogance.

'So why is he being so lax? Is he that confident in his victory? Or is he just a foolish man who doesn't know his place?'

Fernand was willing to bet on the latter.

'It seems he hasn't experienced the ultimate disgrace, not like I have. He doesn't know there are bigger fish in this world.'

There was always someone stronger.

As a warrior, that realization had driven him to hone his strength and work even harder to reach his determined destination.

For many, though, this realization often came with despair.

They could never truly be the strongest since there was always going to be someone who was more talented or skilled that would surpass the strongest.

That lesson had hit hard when he was the Head Warrior, and was bested and humiliated by a challenger from within his own ranks.

Back then, he had lost in every sense of the word, a fact that he wasn't willing to accept until he finally reflected on everything.

He was weaker than the current Head Warrior. He knew that.

After his disgrace, he remained in the Kingdom of High Tarxa in an attempt to regain his position, but nothing worked.

No matter how hard he trained, or how much work he put in, the bastards grew stronger.

He struggled against the endless tides so much that he began to sink so deep.

That was when an Epiphany hit him.

'There are some opponents you just can't surpass.'

Rather than try fruitlessly to do so, attention was better spent elsewhere. Perhaps in a smaller place where you could be the strongest.

And when victory is impossible, you take your strength where it can be unmatched.

Thus, in a search for purpose and superiority, Fernand stumbled upon the Mercenary Gang, where he had quickly proven himself and rose to become one of their elite Heads of Destruction.

But... Fernand knew he deserved better.

He was definitely strong enough to be among the Deadly Three, where he knew he belonged.

He just had to merit it.

'And now that I've finally made it this far... I won't be stopped by the likes of him!'

With a sharp glare, Fernand brandished his blade as his eyes locked on the target he would soon cut down.

'I wanted to fight as a warrior, but if he simply want to die a swift death. Fair enough!'

[Greater Ability Boost] [Gale Acceleration]

Fernand activated his skills before taking off at inhumane speed and closing the distance between him and Ghost in just two steps.

WHOOSH!!

With a sharp vertical slash, Fernand's blade aimed to cleave Riley, who simply leaned to the side and evaded the strike effortlessly. Fernand, however, does not falter as he immediately switches his grip and brings the sword around in a horizontal arc, intent on taking Riley's head. Riley once again avoids this by tilting his head back, dodging the strike by mere inches.

Even then, Fernand still doesn't let up and activated yet another skill, [Flow Acceleration], pushing his speed and precision to their absolute limits, where the sword in his hand becomes nothing more than a blur as he continuously throws onslaught after onslaught at the human that would overwhelm nearly any opponent.

Despite all of this, Riley was dodging every strike with minimum, almost lazy movements. The precision and control Fernand had over his weapon were impressive, but Riley's ease in dodging each blow left him shocked.

"Just... how?" Fernand muttered under his breath as he watched in disbelief at the man slipping through his every attack so fluently.

Unbeknownst to Fernand, the truth is that Riley wasn't simply moving, he was barely moving at all.

Despite the elven warrior's impressive speed, even faster than Polyphemus' top velocity, and make Riley feel a little troublesome to follow.

So how is he able to dodge everyone of his attacks like that?

The answer to Riley's secret lay in his new ability!

Though he calls it a new ability, all it really is a new formula or a defensive technique he had created using mana as a foundation.

During his little short journey across literally the entire continent at mach 10, Riley had crafted a second mana-based reflection layer on top of his first mana auto-reflection filter, but this second one acts differently, but rather, it worked as a dynamic redirection field that triggered by any attack containing mana.

When a magic-laden strike reached this second layer, it reflected Riley himself out of harm's way rather than deflecting the attack. The magic and Riley's field acted like opposing magnetic forces, propelling him clear of any blow embedded with mana. Only non-magic attacks could breach it, but fortunately for him, that wasn't Fernand's approach.

There were, however, drawbacks.

For one, he couldn't put up this field subconsciously, this was something he had to do consciously due to him having developed it only recently, and secondly he still had to adjust the arithmetic for its formula, because at this rate it was clear he wouldn't be able to reflect himself out of a wide-area spell in time.

"Hm, it's really unlike me to come up with such crazy ideas, when did I even think of it?" Riley mused as he sidestepped yet another blow without seeming to notice, even if he isn't paying attention to anything at all.

"Tch, how annoying!" Fernand growled in frustration as he ceased his onslaught and pulled back several paces. His breath was uneven, and his eyes blazed with anger.

"How are you dodging every strike? My speed surpasses almost anyone below the Deadly Three, and yet I can't land a single hit!"

Riley shrugged with a slight smirk on his lips. "Sounds like a skill issue."

With a low growl, Fernand tightened his grip on his sword and spun it above his head in a rapid, circular motion. As he did, the blade began to glow a cold blue-white, forming a white ring of light overhead.

Abruptly, he stopped and brought the still-glowing blade down in front of him, and immediately surged forward once more.

[Ability Boost] [Greater Ability Boost] [Sword Aura]

Launching himself off the ground at an even faster speed than before and leaving a crater in his wake. In no time at all, he once again closed the distance to Riley in an instant and activated another skill.

[Full Throttle]

With his sword raised, Fernand swung down at a speed beyond human perception. Riley didn't even see the attack coming, he only felt the trigger of his second reflection field before his body moved to the side just in time to evade the magical strike.

Fernand's blade struck the earth, Upon hitting the ground, a glowing scar smacked across the ground, splitting the earth in its path.

But this time, Riley decided to counter. He clenched his hand into a fist and aimed a punch at Fernand, who with his quick reflexes, managed to block by holding his sword horizontally across his chest.

Even so, the force of the punch sent the old elf skidding back several meters, but Fernand didn't falter as he smacked his sword deep into the ground and halted his slide, then spun around the blade, using its momentum to propel himself toward Riley at an even greater speed.

Seeing him coming, Riley launched forward as well. Both of them closed the distance in less than a second, seemingly set to collide, until Fernand initiated the attack by swinging his sword down as Riley threw a punch to meet it.

The blade of the sword and the punch connected, but because of the influence of Riley's second reflection, his hand was moved to the side when about to touch the blade and Fernand ended up slashing at the ground instead.

Riley seized the opening and drove his other fist into Fernand's gut, sending him flying to the side. Fernand, however, had seen it coming and activated [Dull Pain] just in time to blunt its force. While airborne, he slashed downward and sent a slicing wave of blue energy hurtling toward Riley in quick speed, ripping apart the earth in its path. Riley countered by stomping down hard, triggering an explosive clash between their attacks.

As the dust settled, Fernand's momentum slowed, and he hit the ground from having been sent flying...

"So... you still want to keep going?" Riley asked as he stepped out of the dust toward him.

"Never..." Fernand muttered as he struggled to rise. "But... I'm not done yet," he said between breaths, forcing himself to stand.

"Is that so?" Riley replied as the grin faded from his face. "If you insist, but I won't hold back this time. Keep pushing, and you may just get yourself killed."

"Then bring it!" Fernand shot back before activating another skill.

[Limit Breaker]

With the skill activated that removed all limits on his body, Fernand charged toward Riley while gripping his sword tightly.

[Pace of the Wind]

He activated another skill and his speed shot up quickly. This was done in order to throw off Riley's timing by dashing towards him at a moderate speed at first, then suddenly accelerating, not giving him time to react. Within moments, Fernand was before him and swung his blade toward Riley's face, only to strike nothing but air.

"What? Where did he go?" he thought, startled by Riley's sudden disappearance.

Quickly scanning his surroundings, Fernand sensed movement behind him. He spun around and found Riley standing there, wielding the AF-3 "Magekiller."

"...Parry this."

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Riley fired a barrage of .50 caliber adamantite-tipped rounds. He handled the sniper, a weapon that could rival a howitzer, with the casual ease of a pistol, a display of both his strength and precision. Futhermore, Riley's control over mana allowed him to compress the mana within each bullet, amplifying their speed and impact to devastating levels, far surpassing the original design by the Austronesia Empire.

These bullets could likely kill even Transcendent Warriors like Polyphemus without an effort.

Seeing the rounds coming, Fernand raised his sword and swung rapidly to intercept the bullets. Each impact forced him back, and his feet began to sink into the ground under the sheer force. With a last surge of effort, he activated another skill.

[Impenetrable Fortress]

Digging in, Fernand deflected the bullets, scattering them into the earth around him and leaving a trail of craters. But as the barrage ended, his strength was visibly drained, barely holding on.

In that moment, Riley appeared above him, moving at lightning speed, and drove his foot into Fernand's stomach, slamming him deep into the ground and shattering a few of his ribs.

Riley planted his foot on Fernand's chest, pushing him down hard.

"How about now?" he asked as he pushed further, eliciting a guttural cry as more ribs cracked under the pressure.

"AGHHH!"

Summoning his last reserves, Fernand erupted in a burst of magical energy that forced Riley's filter to automatically push him back. Rising unsteadily, Fernand decided to go all in.

He exhaled slowly, lowering his stance, and returned his sword to its sheath.

He was preparing for a draw cut.

His breath grew long and shallow.

[Thought Acceleration]. [Mental Field]. [Disastrous Flash].

These were Fernand's trump cards, the very skills that made him a deadly force on the battlefield that could not be stopped.

With [Thought Acceleration], his mind and weapon moved at such incredible speeds that time itself seemed to slow down exponentially, giving him a near-instantaneous reaction time. In these shortest of moments, he could think, strategize, and strike with blinding clarity.

He focused his mind into a single point, and in the moment where it was fully concentrated, his awareness rebounded, expanding back outward. His perceptions were on a level where he was fully aware of everything around him. Sounds, the air, and other sensory phenomena. This move was one of the original skills that he had created, [Mental Field].

Its range was only about ten meters in radius, but the skill allowed him to perceive everything within that radius. Perhaps it might be easier to explain it as boosting his accuracy and evasion while within that area.

This skill alone had allowed him to emerge unscathed from volleys of arrows, his precision so refined he could cleave even a tiny grain of wheat in two.

He had trained himself to strike at his opponent's vitals with pinpoint accuracy, bypassing the need for complex techniques. His single purpose was to strike faster than his opponent, aiming for a decisive, fatal blow.

Through relentless practice, he had developed a second unique skill, [Instant Flash].

That high-speed strike was swift enough to be undodgeable, but he had not stopped there.

His training after that was extraordinary, in pursuit of the peak of excellence. He must have practiced it hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions of times. His ceaseless use of the [Instant Flash] had caused calluses to grow on his palms, specializing them in performing the technique, and parts of his sword's hilt had been worn into the shape of his grips.

In his unending quest for perfection, he had once more birthed a new technique.

He could cut his foe so quickly that blood would not even stick to the blade. Feeling that his skill had reached the Tier 2 Transcendent, he named that skill [Disastrous Flash].

With that move, his opponents would not even realize they'd been hit.

Once he combined these two skills, the [Mental Field] which guaranteed a hit and the [Disastrous Flash] that struck at divine speed, there was no way anyone could avoid being slain in one blow.

His strikes were aimed at his opponents' vitals. Specifically, their necks.

'Die for your foolishness. Your head is mine!'

With that mental declaration, Fernand struck with all his might.

"Hah!"

He expelled a short, forceful breath.

His blade cleared his sheath, slicing through the air at Riley.

There was a single word to describe the speed of this movement, lightning. By the time it registered in his opponent's mind, one's head would have fallen, so quickly did it take place. After practicing millions of times of repetitions, it was truly a divine flash.

'Whether or not you have defenses, I'll cut them all down.'

That was the true nature of his blade.

I win.

Fernand thought he had the victory within his grasp-

CLANG!

"W-what?!"

Once again, his blade met heavy resistance. His strike had definitely been heavier, faster, stronger, and sharper than ever before.

So how... Why was this man's defense so strong?

"W-who are you?!"

The masked man looked at him slowly, eyes gleaming with an intensity that froze Fernand in place. His calm voice cut through the silence, each word sinking deep into Fernand's mind.

"I believe I already told you..."

The words rang out clearly, without the distortion of slow motion. Despite his Skills, Fernand realized he was perceiving his opponent in real time.

Why? Were his Skills failing? Had he slowed down?

No... The answer was brutally simple. And utterly unacceptable.

Just like in the moments of his past defeats, the old man could not comprehend what was happening, nor did he want to accept it, but he had to face the truth.

Ghost was moving as fast as he was.

No, maybe even faster.

"I said I'd deal with you once I was done, but it seems you're in a hurry to die."

A chill shot down Fernand's spine as Ghost's words, laced with cold menace, reverberated through the air. Acting on instinct, Fernand leaped back the moment he felt the oppressive bloodlust washing over him, freezing him to his core.

The man before him was no longer his prey.

He was the predator.

Rising slowly, eyes never leaving Fernand, Ghost's presence seemed to fill the entire space.

"W-what's happening? Why... why can't I move?!"

Fernand's body was shaking violently as he witnessed the raw overwhelming force of a single man pressing down on him like a mountain.

A buried terror clawed its way to the surface, a terror Fernand thought he'd left behind. The same dread he'd felt in the presence of the Orcs.

"N-no... he can't be this strong!"

However, now that Fernand felt even more of the pressure that Ghost gave out, he wasn't so sure about his earlier thought.

Now, he wasn't so sure of anything at all.

The scar on Fernand's face was a brutal reminder from an Orc Warlord in a battle decades ago, which had been his introduction to true powerlessness.

That single moment of despair planted a seed of fear that caused a domino effect that ruined his life. His paranoia was so strong that he lost the respect of his subordinates enough to make one of them challenge him and win.

Demoted and humiliated, Fernand was sent to the front lines against the Orc Horde despite his desperate pleas. That experience had been nothing short of hell, but he thought he had left it behind when he deserted the Kingdom of High Tarxa and joined the Mercenary Gang.

As an Executive there, he was well respected and he could do whatever he pleased, especially fighting against weak enemies.

...Until now.

"E-eeeeek!" The old man squeaked pathetically like a rat as he found himself paralyzed, staring into the eyes of his predator standing before him.

"W-what are you? A... demon...?!"

Blood began to flow from his eyes, nose, ears, and mouth. Fernand felt like he was choking on his own life fluids as he struggled to breathe. His face begged for mercy, but the emotionless response of the blank mask showed him was void of any emotion, that there was none to be given.

"Don't worry. I won't kill you."

As Fernand heard this, he felt his heart jump in relief, until-

"A man like you still has his uses, after all..." The words, spoken by Riley, didn't seem at all merciful. Instead, they sounded almost sinister.

"I've been thinking using my power to search the memories of someone like you to access this entire Undertaking. I suppose you'll do."

Fernand could barely process the words as he couldn't comprehend the gravity of what he was to face.

"Don't worry. You won't remember any of this. At least, not in the way you do now."

Fernand suddenly felt himself slowly falling into an endless pit of darkness.

He couldn't scream or shout.

He could only watch powerlessly as his will was stripped away from him, leaving a puppet in an empty shell.

"Now then... let us begin."

------------------------

"I guess I'm done here," Riley muttered.

He glanced ahead and could see Fernand running away with a grin of relief plastered across his face.

'It's probably for the best. Not part of the plan, but I can't leave everything to Ronald.'

Riley turned his gaze away from Fernand and looked instead toward the opposite side of the burning building.

'All his subordinates must be waiting there. Waiting for their leader... too bad.'

He lifted the unconscious Mara and placed her inside a large, floating barrier, a shield that reflected or deflected magic, shielding her from whatever carnage would soon ensue.

'For an old man, he's incredibly fast. Without my filter, I would've taken a lot of hits,' Riley thought. 'He's the strongest Head I've come across so far. Almost as strong as Anukus too, if Woods' reports are accurate...' He gave a wry smile and shrugged a little.

'Polities mentioned he was once a famed General of High Tarxa, back when Melian's father was king, until he deserted. I wonder what might've happened if he'd been an ally.'

But for Riley, the Austronesian Empire, and all of mankind, they would never have to find out.

------------------------

"Where's the boss?"

"He's taking too long! I just want to go home already!"

"You think we should go check on him?"

"Come on, don't stir the hornet's nest! Just do what you're told!"

"Aye aye!"

The warriors under Fernand, a hundred strong, sat or stood around idly, waiting for their leader. Although they were supposed to raid the Estate together and kill everyone inside, Fernand had ordered them to stay back and claimed he could handle it alone.

No one doubted his strength, so no one complained in the slightest. Their only job was to set the entire property on fire and look out for any who might try to escape. Beyond that, they weren't to take any other active moves.

"Argh..."

"I'm bored."

"Me too. Why does the boss always do this? We barely get to do anything."

"Shouldn't you be grateful? We don't do anything yet we get paid! Our salary is literally better than these pesky adventurers combined! You know how many people would kill for this kind of opportunity?"

"Yeah, I get it. But..."

For men of violence, they desired that very thing while waiting felt like a punishment. That was why they were growing very restless each passing moment without their leader's return.

Thankfully, they wouldn't have to wait much longer.

"Hm? Who's that?" one of them muttered, pointing at a shadowy figure standing a few meters away.

"A deserter? Looks like it."

"Hehe! You're not going anywhere!"

"Finally, some action!"

The men casually unsheathed their blades and sluggishly rose to their feet with anticipation sparking in their eyes.

None of them had any idea what was coming.

"Hello there," the shadowed figure said, his voice clear in the quiet.

"Huh? What's that?"

"You're not even gonna try running?"

"Hehehe! What an idiot."

Unbeknownst to them, they didn't realize they were already dead, cut down by invisible strings of condensed mana that sliced through them, leaving them standing in silence, unaware that their lives had already slipped away.

When Riley focused his attention on the flow of mana around him, he reached out with his mind and drew upon his innate control over the energy that permeated the very air. Although the mana was thin, his mastery allowed him to gather it and pulled every minuscule particle from the surroundings until the atmosphere crackled with the invisible force he'd concentrated.

Riley's fingers twitched as he began weaving this mana into something more than mere energy, shaping it into tiny, delicate strands, like gossamer threads but potent with deadly power. These invisible filaments formed in the space between him and his adversaries, and he manipulated the threads to spread like a delicate web across the field. One by one, they wrapped around the soldiers, each strand an invisible, deadly tether binding the men where they stood.

The dense mana within the threads was so tiny and finely condensed that, despite the men's mana sensitivity, none of them noticed its presence.

With a flick of his wrist, Riley triggered the deadly snare he'd woven. In an instant, the threads constricted violently and coiled tighter like springs snapping under unbearable tension.

One moment, the men were readying their blades to strike...

Shing!

Then, with a flick of his wrist, Riley let loose the energy he'd been compressing. The threads constricted violently in an instant, and with it, a chain reaction of rupturing power.

SPLOOOSH!!

A soundless eruption followed, and a hundred men were nothing more than chunks of meat and bones swimming in a vast ocean of blood. Even the weapons they held shattered into pieces, as if being sliced apart.

The ground was no exception as they were decorating the floor that entrails and sliced-up human flesh sat on.

"Good riddance," Riley murmured, lowering his hand as he watched the field fall silent. The final traces of his work dispersed into the wind, leaving only the faint shimmer of dissipating mana.

Where they had once stood, there was nothing left but the dissolving residue, fading back into the air as though they'd never existed at all.

------------------------

In a vast and beautiful room, furnished finely with the best kinds of items anyone could find, there was a long table that dominated the space.

This table had five chairs lined before it.

Two were placed in the left, two on the right, and the most distinguished chair at the head. This final seat, more luxurious than the others, marked the position of authority.

Each chair was occupied by individuals dressed rather uniquely, though most of them had fancy wears.

A crystal chandelier hung above, casting a warm glow over the intricate murals, regal carpets, and heavy drapes that adorned the walls, every element steeped in the trappings of elite refinement.

As such, the people presently seated had to reflect such dignity.

Other than a rough-looking man that sat with his arms folded, fleshing his bulging muscles and his barely covered chest, everyone else was dressed appropriately for the meeting.

They also had entourages who stood behind them.

Each of the regular four seats had two people standing behind them.

However, the majestic seat in front of them all had only one person standing.

That person was a young man who stood there wearing a pure black suit, with pure jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes that shone from his blank eyes.

He looked stoic as he placed both hands behind him and stood, silent as he guarded behind his mistress.

Indeed...

Seated in the grandest chair was none other than Scyllary Klinton, the last remaining Slave Trader and ruler of the Third Civilization Zone's wealthiest and most powerful merchant organization, the Slave Union.

Her long, coiled blond hair was coiled and fell on her purely red dress, framing a beautiful, delicate face which would be more than enough to fool anyone and would hide the truly savage and ruthless nature she had within.

Not only that, her fox-like ears and multiple tails made it obvious what her race is.

She is a kitsune.

With her lips giving off the hue of red, and her violet eyes echoing nothing but danger, she smiled at the people who had gathered before her.

Among them were Noir, Rouge, and Bleue of the Obsidian Council.

And then, Fenrir, the notorious Chief of the Mercenary Gang, known as the Apex Predator.



Every single person in this room held rank as a member of her New Order, the heralds of the Undertaking.

Behind them stood their chosen subordinates. For Fenrir, two of the Deadly Three stood watch behind him.

Enry, the Black Magician.



And Ladon, known as the Unstoppable Object or the Immovable Force.



For the others, each leader had the most qualified of their followers standing behind them.

As for Scyllary, the boy that guarded her was more than enough.

"I suppose we should start with some good news," Scyllary's voice echoed in the bright room, causing everyone to give her their full attention.

"We've eliminated numerous major rulers of the Business World. They won't be a threat to our goals." Her charming smile radiated an almost unsettling warmth and so much goodwill. "We owe much of this to you, Fenrir. Your Mercenary Gang took care of it practically overnight."

At her praise, Fenrir gave a dismissive grunt, his wild and bushy black hair shadowing a face that looked more beast than man. His bare, muscular chest was half-covered by a black, sleeveless jacket, and his loose trousers tucked into heavy boots gave him the vibe of a ruffian, who seemed barely interested in the meeting.

"Whatever," he muttered.

"Oh, come now! Don't be so modest, Sir Fenrir," Lord Rouge grinned, leaning in.

"Yes, yes! No need to hold back!" Bleue chimed in with a nod.

The two couldn't have been more different, Rouge was a portly, middle-aged man with thinning blond hair, while Bleue was a slender, dark-skinned figure with a youthful face, one everyone knew was enhanced by magic to appear younger.

"Enough patronizing," Fenrir growled, crossing his arms. "That won't stop me from charging you full price for our services."

"Of course, we understand!"

"Yes, indeed!"

The way the two echoed their words clearly pissed off the Mercenary Gang's Chief, but he maintained control over his emotions.

"I believe we're all gathered here for a purpose. Let's get to it," came a low, smooth voice. It was Lord Noir, an elderly man with silver hair and a snake-like smirk on his sharp, wrinkled features.

Out of everyone in the room, he was dressed the most elegant with a black cape adorned with jewels and set against his pale skin.

His pale skin and composed attitude was reminiscent of a classical depiction of the Vampire Count.

As the current patriarch of the original family that began the Obsidian Council, Lord Noir was met with the respect of everyone present.

His shrewd gaze and immaculate presentation made it impossible not to adore him.

Compared to him, the other two members of the Obsidian Council appeared as lackeys.

And... perhaps they were.

"You're right, Lord Noir!"

"Right indeed, Lord Noir!"

Noir's gaze softened, though a sigh escaped him as he found their sycophantic praise and bickering to be exhausting. He glanced at Scyllary and nodded slightly, his pure black irises telling her to go ahead with the meeting.

"Following our original strategy," Scyllary resumed, "the Mercenary Gang has effectively sent their forces to crippled the Rump House and completely eradicate the Jaune and Terte Houses."

The only reason they hadn't wiped out the Rump House entirely was its stronghold in Aquarius.

It was one of the most lucrative places to be in, but also the most dangerous.

They couldn't simply send their forces to cause chaos in the very city that helped most of their business, considering the security that the place boasted of by the combined forces of many kingdoms protecting the city.

Besides, with the current conflict between the Iron Kingdom and the Tarxan Coalition, especially the latest Orc WAAAGH on the horizon, launching a full-scale assault was out of the question. Timing was everything, and Scyllary knew they had to be patient if their ambitions were to succeed.

"We'll deal with the Rump House after we've consumed everything outside of Aquarius," Scyllary said smoothly. "For now, we'll absorb the resources of every other House."

Her voice carried such finality that no one doubted her words. In her mind, victory was inevitable.

"And as for the Magic Artifacts in ExRump's Western Warehouse, the Mercenary Guild will receive the agreed share," she added, nodding to Fenrir.

He responded with a grunt, his expression a blend of indifference and satisfaction.

"As for the territories and resources of the fallen three," Scyllary continued, turning to the Obsidian Council members, "they'll be divided among you. I suppose it's only fair."

As soon as she said that, the faces of Rouge and Bleue were especially joyful, while Noir kept his usual calm, Scyllary barely acknowledged their reactions as she simply decided to continue.

"We still haven't uncovered what the Rump House intended with so many Magic Artifacts, especially since the Orc and Iron Kingdom wars are still distant threats. But it's fortunate we took control before their plans could take root."

The military force of their New Order would be equipped with so much power that would be enough to rival the might of the Third Civilization Zone's military and their wealth outstripping that of neighboring kingdoms, the future looked bright. Everything was falling perfectly into place.

"Soon, we will be the ones ruling everything here," she declared.

Her words brought a smug satisfaction to everyone's faces.

"Well, it looks like we've covered all the important bits," Scyllary concluded, smiling as she summed up the meeting's core achievements. They had discussed every detail of their territorial takeover and the grand plan for dominion over the Third Civilization Zone.

It was a grand scheme enough to unite them all.

"So... any questions?" Scyllary asked with an innocent face with her fox-like ears twitched.

Her violet eyes scanned the room for defiance, and she certainly found one very quickly.

It came from none other than Fenrir.

"What's your gain in all this?" He asked with a suspicious expression written clearly on his face.

"Hm? What do you mean?" she replied, tilting her head innocently.

"Don't play dumb. You let us split resources that are worth more than you're keeping for yourself. This arrangement leaves you at a disadvantage." He raised his voice with frustration simmering in his gaze. "You must clearly have some scheme, aren't you? There's no way you'd give up so much unless you had something planned."

He wasn't wrong, especially when considering how valuable these resources being given out were. The Magic Artifacts alone were enough to equip every mercenary, the territories more than enough to establish strongholds, and the wealth enough to ensure influence over every House.

"So, where does the Slave Union fit into this?" His question echoed in the room, drawing every gaze to Scyllary.

"Oh? So that's what's troubling you?"

Suddenly, her innocent smile twisted into something darker, and her eyes slanted in the most ominous way possible.

The grin on her face was the very definition of evil.

"Isn't it obvious?" Scyllary's voice softened to a chilling murmur. "You... all... are mine."

As she spoke, the room seemed to tremble with an invisible kind of pressure that could be felt by everyone in the room that made them stiffen in their seats.

"Take all the riches, seize as much power as you desire. So long as you belong to me, there's no loss on my part." Her words spilled from her moist lips, each syllable resonating with the conviction she'd carried in her heart since founding the New Order. "Gain whatever you desire, conquer the world's farthest reaches, it won't change a thing."

Years as a veteran Slave Trader had cemented this certainty and made her understood this principle too well. As long as she was the one in power, nothing could threaten her.

"In the end, I'll be the one who wins."

She let that statement settle in the air, the final word on the matter.

"Pfft! Bravo! Bravo!" Fenrir, for the first time since the meeting started, genuinely laughed while his deep chuckles accompanied by a slow clap that echoed through the room.

The echoes radiated throughout the room, and the shockwaves from his claps caused everything to shake the very walls.

"So you're finally showing your true intentions, Scyllary. Took you long enough!"

The other three council members who sat on their table said nothing. If they were surprised, they didn't show it. Perhaps they had long accepted that this was their fate. The revelation made no difference to them.

"You've grown even bolder, I'll give you that." Fenrir's grin was feral with a dangerous amusement in his tone. "I can't say I dislike that, so I guess I can play along... for now."

"Glad to hear it." Her smile was as sweet and kind as her words were sharp that responded to Fenrir having just as many undertones as he had.

Despite being allies, there was a certain friction between the two that just couldn't be missed.

Suddenly, Noir cleared his throat. "I also have a question," he said, his cold eyes shifting to Fenrir, who sat beside him. "But it's directed at you, Mr. Fenrir."

He regarded the mercenary chief, unfazed by his hulking presence. Fenrir was a mountain of muscle, yet Noir's voice was steady as ever.

"I've always wondered why you're on board with all this," Noir continued. "The Mercenary Gang is known for staying neutral in political issues like these. And from what I can tell, you don't seem overly fond of working with Lady Klinton."

His tone was calm and comported, and despite being but a fragile broomstick when compared to the absolutely ripped Fenrir, he still spoke his mind.

"So why are you exactly here? Why align yourself with her?"

Scyllary heard this question and her violet eyes sparkled as she turned to Fenrir with a smile. She knew he couldn't ignore this question. Now, all attention shifted to him, the man who suddenly held the spotlight.

"Besides her promise of giving me those little male toddlers to play with, I simply chose the most logical option, the winning team in this war." Fenrir's voice was low, but his words reverberated with a matter-of-fact confidence.

Noir raised an eyebrow slightly, still not completely convinced by the answer he was getting.

Fenrir noticed Noir's doubt and let out an exasperated sigh before elaborating. "And I guess you could say Scyllary, or rather... her bodyguard over there was quite persuasive."

"Bodyguard?" All eyes turned to the young man standing silently behind Scyllary at the head of the table.

His black hair framed intense blue eyes, and his stoic demeanor revealed from his calm gaze did not change even though so much focus was on him.

His white mask remained as well.

His stoic posture remained unchanged, as if oblivious to the attention now fixed on him.

He appeared to be nothing more than a statue.

"Yes, bodyguard," Fenrir confirmed. "I'm well aware of my own strength, and I know my limits. But that guy over there... he's stronger than I am."

Gasps filled the air as everyone in the room, with the exception of the smiling Scyllary, the frowning Fenrir, and the expressionless figure, kept interchanging glances between the two involved parties.

"You're a Transcendent Tier 2, Lord Fenrir. Surely you aren't serious..." Noir's tone held a rare note of hesitation.

"I don't joke about things like this," Fenrir replied bluntly. "Even if I and all the Deadly Three... no, every one of my Executives faced him together, I doubt we'd escape unscathed. Winning might not even be an option."

It was surprising to the majority of the people within the room, especially since they all knew how powerful the Mercenary Gang's Chief was.

Despite him not having any special magic abilities compared to the majority of his Executives, his raw strength, physical abilities, combat skills, and his level makes him one of the rare Tier 2 Transcendents in the Third Civilization Zone. But if he was admitting an opponent stronger than himself, that meant the threat was real.

"You could call it a mix of fear and personal interest," he continued with a shrug, as if everything he just said was no big deal. "For now, our interests happen to align."

He shot a look at Scyllary, his frown deepening at her satisfied smile as he laid out the truth. That smile gave him an uneasy feeling, but he kept his misgivings to himself. There would be time to address it later.

"Now that you've all satisfied your curiosity and we're done with our discussions for today, I'd say the meeting is adjourned," Scyllary said smoothly, her smile never fading.

Everyone nodded in agreement and rose from their seats.

"Until next time."

*

*

*

*

*

Now that all the members of the Eight Heads of Destruction all shown, here are the list of the members, titles, their Magicule Levels, and their ranks:

Fenrir, the Apex Predator (Chief) - 97,517

Enry, the Black Magician (Deadly Three) - 85,213

Ladon, the Unstoppable Object/Immovable Force (Deadly Three) - 79,336

Anukus, the World-Burning Warlock (Deadly Three) - 61,418

Fernand, the Flash Reaper - 56,618

Phobio, the Crimson Angel - 48,310

Claudia, the One Man Army - 33,641

Polyphemus, the Warrior of Blood and Iron, or “The Rock” - 25,230