The masked, cloaked man tilted his head slightly, a twisted grin forming beneath the cracked black mask.
"Hmmm…"
His voice was low and raspy, like dry stone scraping metal.
"Looks like my boss will be very happy if I bring him the head of this meathead Hero…"
He slowly raised his gloved hand—then snapped his fingers.
A pulse of black energy erupted from his palm.
In a flash of swirling miasma, a jagged dual-edged sword materialized, dark as night and pulsing with a vile, shadowy glow. The air twisted around it, the ground under his boots cracked slightly as the weight of his aura began to seep out like poison.
Dark energy hissed around him like steam from a dying fire.
Sarios narrowed his eyes.
"This is bad."
Without hesitation, he drew his longsword—both hands gripping the hilt, blade gleaming faintly in the dull morning light.
Just then—
"Wait! What did I miss!?" came a breathless voice.
Stella ran into view, skidding slightly to a stop, her boots clapping against the stone street. She was slightly flushed, clearly having hurried after Dila and Sarios.
Sarios didn't look back. His eyes were fixed on the enemy.
"Stella—run!"
She blinked, confused. "What? Why?"
"I said—RUN! NOW!"
His voice cracked through the noise, sharp and commanding.
Something in his tone made Stella freeze—but only for a moment. Then she turned, gritting her teeth, and bolted without another word.
The street around them was turning chaotic.
Vendors dropped their crates. Customers screamed and fled. Meat, vegetables, and baskets of spices tumbled to the ground. Chickens ran wild.
Even the twitching fish seemed to evacuate.
Dila stood at a distance, wand still in hand, body frozen. She could feel it now too—an oppressive darkness hanging in the air like suffocating fog.
Sarios gritted his teeth as he faced the masked man again.
His arms trembled slightly.
Not from fear—but from the weight of the aura now pressing against him like a stormfront.
Sweat formed along his brow, beading slowly down the side of his face.
This wasn't a regular thug.
This… was something worse.
Something sent with purpose.
The masked man let out a low chuckle—then threw his head back in sudden, manic laughter.
"Hahahahah...! What should I do to you?"
He grinned behind the mask, the cracked edges around his mouthline twitching unnaturally.
His right hand came up, the jagged dark dagger scratching against his chin like a claw, musing mockingly as if pondering a dinner menu rather than a duel.
"Hmm… Should I carve off that smug look first… or snap that shiny blade in half?"
Meanwhile, his left hand spun the other dagger effortlessly—twirling it with practiced grace, as if showing off.
The blades, both twisted in shape and bleeding dark mist, shrieked faintly as they cut the air. They didn't shine—they hissed, the very edges warped with unnatural energy.
The air felt thicker now. As if reality itself recoiled around him.
Sarios didn't flinch, but his grip tightened.
His knuckles whitened around the hilt of his longsword.
He wasn't facing a random brute anymore.
This man was playing with him.
And from the way he moved—like a predator circling prey—he knew this wouldn't be a clean fight.
In the space of a single breath… the masked man vanished.
"—!"
Sarios's eyes widened, instincts flaring—too late.
A gust of wind split the air where the dark figure had stood—and in the very next instant—
CLANG!!
The screech of metal erupted as Sarios barely raised his sword in time. A black jagged blade clashed against it with brutal force, sending a shockwave through his arms.
Dust exploded from the ground beneath them.
Sarios was driven back, boots tearing trenches in the dirt as he skidded several meters. His cape flared behind him, the force nearly knocking him off his stance.
"Not bad… for a novice hero," the masked man taunted, already poised again, both black daggers dancing with hungry miasma.
Sarios crouched low, one knee digging into the cracked cobblestone, his longsword braced in both hands. He clenched his jaw, teeth grinding, sweat forming along his brow.
His eyes narrowed—flicking from the attacker's stance to the warped blades humming with dark energy.
Tch...
This wasn't just some petty thug. This was a trained killer.
A hunter.
But Sarios stood, his cape lifting in the wind, his sword gleaming with sacred light against the creeping shadows.
"I won't fall here."
His voice was quiet—like a vow.
And behind him, far at the edge of the square, Dila clutched her wand tightly, heart pounding.
The battle had begun.
As Sarios stood his ground, blade steady but breathing heavy, Dila's fingers tightened around the smooth shaft of her Arcane staff. Her legs felt unsteady, her heart thudding against her ribs like a warning drum.
Her voice trembled in her mind.
"Nari… what is this guy?"
Her eyes locked on the masked figure whose twin black blades oozed dark, curling miasma—like smoke rising from a dying star. The pressure alone made her ears ring, her breath hitching.
"Why does that energy… feel like the Veil Crystal's power?"
The memory of that sinister relic flashed in her mind—its pulsing glow, its eerie hum. She gulped, her hand shaking more than she liked to admit.
☆ Warning. That man is far more dangerous than anticipated. ☆
Nari's voice was no longer cheerful. It was low, serious, and tight with concern.
☆ At your current level, Master… you won't stand a chance against him. He's radiating corrupted energy that matches Class S threat level… possibly higher. ☆
Dila's breath caught in her throat.
"S-Class?! You're kidding—"
☆ I never joke about death, Master. ☆
Her knees trembled. Her staff pulsed faintly in her grasp, but her magic circuits were reacting erratically—as if even her mana flow was recoiling from the presence ahead.
Sarios still stood firm in the square, unaware that behind him, Dila was paralyzed not by fear… but by the dawning realization.
Dila's grip on her staff tightened as she backed a step, the arcane wand quivering faintly in her hand.
"Wait, Nari… when you say Class S… you mean like, Demonlord level?"
☆ Not quite, ☆ Nari replied quickly, her tone still firm but urgent. ☆ But close. He's more like a right hand to a Demonlord—just shy of qualifying, but still overwhelmingly powerful. ☆
Dila's eyes widened, and her throat went dry. She instinctively gulped.
Her knees nearly gave out.
☆ My advice, Master… is to run. Flee this kingdom if you must. Your life is not worth being thrown away in this fight. You're not ready. Not for that. ☆
Dila's heart pounded, the pulse loud in her ears. Her mouth opened slightly as she tried to argue, "But…"—but the words wouldn't come.
She glanced at Sarios, holding his ground despite the violent aura pressing down around him. Stella had already fled—but even then, she wasn't far. If this masked monster was left unchecked…
They would die.
He would die.
The entire kingdom could fall.
She clutched her staff close to her chest, trembling. Her silver hair fluttered slightly as a chilling wind swept past the square.
The fear was real.
But so was the sinking weight of responsibility.
And still—her body wouldn't move.
Not forward.
Not back.
Just frozen.