ivan
Two weeks had passed since they left the Black Forest, two weeks that felt like entire chapters from another life. The sun was rising over a vast plain, surrounded by rocky hills and scattered stones, as if remnants of an ancient battlefield. In the middle of the plain stood Ivan, his body dripping with sweat, his arms heavy with strain, as he panted hard and returned his fists to a ready stance.
In front of him, Van stood as usual—silent, observing without saying a word. Then he broke the silence in a low but clearly audible voice: "We begin."
Ivan surged forward, his feet striking the ground with confidence. His right fist shot toward Van at a speed that cut through the air, but the old man dodged with half a step and replied with a light kick that pushed Ivan back.
Ivan didn't fall, but he regained his balance by firmly planting his feet again, then charged forward once more with an exposed attack.
The air carried echoes of previous blows—days of relentless training. Ivan had spent his mornings carrying heavy stones on his shoulders, climbing steep hills, walking long distances without being allowed to rest.
In the evenings, he sat on the ground, striking dry tree trunks with his bare hands until his fists swelled and his fingers cracked.
At night, Van forced him to fight in the dark, eyes closed, listening for his opponent's movements, learning to sense the attack before seeing it.
All of this... was now evident in his body's movements.
Ivan leaped forward, this time changing direction at the last moment, then ducked quickly and struck Van in the side.
The old man stepped back—for the first time. It wasn't a strong enough hit, but it landed where it should.
Van smiled, then said with a hint of satisfaction in his tone, "You've improved."
But he gave him no time to savor it. With a swift motion, he grabbed Ivan by the shoulder, lifted him off the ground, and hurled him hard to the ground.
Ivan hit the earth, letting out a faint cry of pain, but quickly got up, panting, breathing through his mouth, his body trembling from the effort. He said through clenched teeth, "I won't fall from the same move twice."
Van nodded, then stepped back twice and said, "Then show me."
Ivan looked at Van with blazing eyes, not filled with anger, but with determination.
His body was exhausted, his lungs screamed, and his muscles trembled, but his spirit... remained unshaken.
The old man evaded it with a light jump, but Ivan didn't wait for the outcome—he used the momentum, rose quickly, leapt into the air after him, and threw a punch with everything left in his arm toward Van's chest.
Van blocked it with his arm, took a step back, but never took his eyes off his student.
Ivan continued the assault, a punch followed by a kick, the kick followed by a shoulder lunge. It wasn't a perfect fight, but there was something new in it: heart.
Van suddenly moved toward him, as if deciding to respond seriously.
Their fists met—both lunged forward, a cloud of dust rose between them, then everything vanished for a moment beneath a single quick strike from Van that knocked Ivan to the ground.
But this time, Ivan didn't stay down.
He rose immediately, his face covered in dust and sweat, but he didn't back down.
Van finally said, while brushing dust from his sleeve, "That's enough for today."
Ivan sat on the ground without objection, then let himself fall onto the dry grass, exhaling in reliHe smiled faintly without looking at Van and said, "I feel... like I'm no longer the person I was a month ago.
Van came closer, sat beside him, and simply looked at the sky, then said calmly, "Because you're not."
As the sun rose above the mountains, master and student sat in silence.
Everything around them had quieted. The air was still. Even the sound of the wind had stopped.
Ivan had closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the pulse of the earth beneath his tired body, when he felt something strange... a weight in the air, as if the atmosphere had grown heavier than it should, as if someone else had joined them.
He opened his eyes. And froze in astonishment.
A man who hadn't been there a moment ago—was now standing before them, just two steps away.
As if he had emerged from emptiness, or had been pulled from a deep shadow between the layers of the world.
He wore a long black coat that reached below his knees, with red lines creeping along its sides, as if they were dried blood. The sleeves of the coat were rolled up to the elbows.
On his back, A emblem consisting of a crimson eye, drawn with a thick line. At the center of the eye, where its pupil is located, rests a broken crown divided into five sharp segments, each ending with a small circle, as if shards of an ancient power still holding its majesty.
The background is completely black, making the red elements appear vivid and focused, as if symbolizing an unblinking surveillance.
The man's face was hidden behind a white mask with touches of red—no details, no features—but his presence alone… was enough to make Ivan's body shudder involuntarily.
Beside the masked man stood five others, all dressed in white uniforms and long cloaks, carrying the same mysterious aura… like ghosts stepping out of a heavy dream, though their faces were uncovered.
Van lifted his gaze. He wasn't surprised, but he was alert. He slowly placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, then said in a low yet sharp voice: "This is not a good time for you to appear."
The masked man finally spoke, in a tone laced with false respect, as if coated in a cold smile invisible behind the mask: "My apologies. It seems I've interrupted the disciple's retreat with his master."
Ivan shifted his gaze to Van and noticed a subtle change in his expression—barely noticeable to those who didn't know him. But Ivan saw it… a faint sharpness in his eyes, as if this encounter wasn't new.
"Does he know them…?" Ivan whispered to himself without speaking aloud.
Van spoke, with a tone that carried a hint of threat, as if his words were testing those in front of him: "Who are you… and what do you want? You look like a gang. I advise you not to stir up trouble here."
The masked man didn't move. Then he responded with a voice that carried some forced amusement: "Ah, my apologies again. I forgot to introduce myself properly… I won't tell you my real name, but… you may call me R-seven."
Ivan took a step forward, trying to create space for himself in the conversation. But before he could take another step, Van's hand suddenly extended in front of him, stopping him in place, like a wall not to be crossed.
Van's gaze was clear, his voice calm but firm, leaving no room for argument: "Step back… These are not good people."
Ivan remained where he was. He didn't retreat completely, but his eyes stayed fixed on R-seven, and he asked in wonder: "Who is he then… and what's their purpose in coming here?"
R-seven slowly raised his finger and pointed it directly at Ivan. His voice came out like an arrow—quiet, but carrying a veiled threat: "I don't like to drag things out. Hand over that boy now… He possesses something I'm looking for."
Ivan felt as if the ground was pulled from beneath his feet for a moment. His gaze froze on the mask that concealed all expression, and he murmured to himself: "Something… I possess?"
Doubts raced in his head. What could a man like that want from a boy like him? He had nothing valuable—no strength, no name, no status. Just his life… and a small bag.
Then a single image flashed in his mind—the necklace he saw on the day of his mother's death. The one he knew nothing about, nor how his grandmother had obtained it. "Could it be that?"
He was about to ask for confirmation, but Van cut his thoughts off in a sharp tone, with no hesitation: "What are you looking for? And why do you think the boy has it?"
R-seven tilted his head slightly and placed his hand on it in a way that seemed mildly mocking, then spoke in a low, indifferent tone: "I'm just following orders… I don't owe you an explanation. Hand the boy over now. If you cooperate, we
At those words, Van's body lowered slightly, planting his feet into the ground as if rooting himself in place. His shoulders moved subtly as he assumed a combat stance without hesitation, saying with a voice heavy with experience and resolve: "This boy is under my protection… If you want him, you'll have to get my permission first."
For a second, a heavy silence fell. Then R-seven let out a long sigh, as if tired of the buildup. He raised his head, his voice now colder than before: "So there's no avoiding violence. I was planning to return him to you. But now. I'll kill him after I take your permission. and your soul."
Ivan felt the atmosphere shift suddenly. It was no longer just tense, but distorted. As if the air itself had grown heavy, as if the presence of these two men charged the ground with unseen energy—felt only through nerves and the tremble creeping from his feet to his spine.
He stood still, unable to move. His eyes followed everything, but his muscles refused to obey. As if any step now… would be his end.
Van shouted without turning around: "Ivan, get back! Don't try to interfere. Don't be afraid! I won't let their hands reach you… You're about to witness a real fight—consider this a different kind of field training."
At that moment, R-seven snapped his fingers lightly. That was the only signal his followers needed to launch their attack.
Van stood unmoving, watching the five men who positioned themselves around him in a semi-circle. He raised one eyebrow slowly and said in a calm voice, not lacking sarcasm: "Five at once?... That's a bit much for an old man like me."
No one gave him a chance to say more, they all rushed at him together, their movements in perfect sync. The first punch came directly at his face.
But Van tilted his head slightly to the left, and the fist missed his cheek by a hair. At the same moment, he grabbed the attacker's arm, twisted his body with force, and flipped him in the air, slamming him to the ground like a sack of sand.
Another attacker came from behind, aiming a high kick at Van's head. But the old man quickly ducked, lowering his body until the kick passed overhead, then immediately countered, swinging his leg in a half-circle and striking the attacker's leg from underneath, breaking his balance and knocking him down.
Van gave him no time to recover. He flipped backward and delivered a direct kick to his face—strong enough to drive his head into the ground and leave him motionless.
Two others leaped at him together. Their combined strike was so powerful it left a crater where they landed—but Van was no longer there.
He had retreated a moment before the attack, showing no sign of strain in the fight. He dashed forward again in a flash, like he'd broken the speed of time. His sudden appearance near them startled them.
He landed a surprise backhand to one of them, launching him through the air until he hit a tree trunk like a human boulder.
The other tried his luck, attempting to catch Van off guard. But the old man was faster. He spun in the air, kicked him directly in the face, and before he could be thrown away by the blow, Van grabbed him by the arms like a puppet, spun him around, and hurled him hard at the fifth man.
They collided and crashed to the ground in a confused heap. The last man rose after pushing his teammate's body off. He barely saw anything—only the shadow of Van behind him.
Then he felt a direct blow to the back of his knee, dropping him as if paralyzed. Van grabbed his arm, twisted it violently until it broke, then followed with another kick that sent him rolling forward.
Just when Van thought he was done with them, two of the men he had knocked down rose again. Each drew a weapon shaped like a metal glove with a circular crystal that absorbed surrounding energy.
Blasts began firing one after another—not randomly, but precisely tracking his movements. They exploded at every step he took, as if refusing to let him escape.
Van moved like smoke among the trees. Not a single shot touched him. The more the blasts raged, the lighter he became—gliding from shadow to shadow, from branch to branch.
Then he began making faint, intentional sounds—from above the branches, from between the rocks, from behind scorched trunks. Scattered noises that disoriented the attackers.
They stopped advancing and began firing energy balls in every direction. Every sound met with an explosion, every illusion with destruction.
Within minutes, the forest was in chaos, trees falling, ground shaking, and the sky thick with the scent of burning. They were attacking phantoms… and leaving the real one untouched.
Then, in a deceptive moment of silence, Van descended from above—from a thick branch—like a raindrop falling from the sky.
He made no sound, not even the air sensed him. While the two stood dazed amid the destruction, he was already between them.
He suddenly extended his hands, grabbed their wrists, and before they could react, he brought their gloves together. The sudden contact caused the energy circles to merge, and for a single moment—triggered their explosion.
A double scream shattered the silence. The two of them recoiled and collapsed to the ground, their hands scorched, smoke rising from the edges of their explosive gloves as blood poured onto the earth.
Van emerged from the trees, dragging the two men by the collars of their coats, dragging them across the dirt as if they were empty corpses. He threw them at R-seven's feet, then looked at him and said in a voice tinged with disappointment, :"I expected something from them... but they let me down."
Throughout the fight, Ivan stood motionless, not taking a single step. His eyes were wide open, as if they refused to blink for even a second, as if a single blink might steal from him an unrepeatable scene.
At first, he watched the fight with the attentiveness of a student studying his teacher. But with each strike, each dodge, and each fall of those men, something inside him began to change. His heart pounded rapidly—not from fear, but from excitement.
Every part of his body was tense, his breath quickening, because he felt that what he was witnessing... wasn't just a display of power. It was a silent lesson, a direct message to both his body and soul: This is the level of one who hesitates not.
He whispered through his teeth without realizing it, "What is this... how does he move like that? How does he see all those attacks?"
And as Van moved between his opponents like leaves caught in a storm, Ivan imagined himself there, imagined his body one day reaching that level of flexibility, that agility unbound by age or weight.
As for R-seven, he remained still, unmoving, not interfering, not shouting, showing no anger, as if what was happening before him didn't concern him, or as if the outcome had been expected all along.
He watched his men fall one after the other, defeated swiftly and disgracefully, yet no worry showed on his face. He simply tilted his head slightly, like someone observing a disappointing performance.
And when Van threw the half-conscious bodies at his feet, R-seven didn't look at them—he kept his gaze fixed on Van, then said in a tone free of mockery, more like an admission, "As expected of Van... you haven't lost your edge, even after retirement."
The two of them ran straight toward each other, as if there was a knot between them that had to be cut by force. Each step pressed into the earth, each breath stolen from the air, until they met in the center, where their fists collided like two crashing mountains.
The sound of the impact was no ordinary blow—it unleashed a violent shockwave that scattered the leaves around them, and the ground sank beneath their feet.
Van gave the masked man no moment to breathe. He grabbed his wrist, yanked his body forward with a sharp motion, and threw a direct punch at his face, aiming to shatter the mask and reveal his identity.
But R-seven was just as swift. His neck tilted back fluidly, his body bending backward as if his spine were made of water.
He dodged the strike, then leapt over Van's shoulders, locked his legs around his neck, spun his entire body to pull him along, and launched him backward like a missile.
Van crashed to the ground, his body scraping against the dirt. But with a single slap of his palm, he regained balance and slid fiercely to his feet.
The masked man leapt high, avoiding the creeping attack, but Van had already moved. He appeared silently behind him in the air, like a phantom born from the fissure's explosion.
Van kicked him in the back with his full weight, and he crashed to the ground like a blazing meteor, dust rising around him like a cloud.
R-seven rose calmly, no anger showing beneath the mask, only a chilling coldness. He brushed the dust off his coat, as if mocking him, then said: "Van, huh... Sorry, you don't want that boy to know who you are... Old Van, you have incredible speed, that's your greatest asset in hand-to-hand combat. Still, your moves are predictable. I'm not a close-range specialist. I prefer to stay away from my opponent."
Van chuckled and said, "How modest of you. pulling off all that, and you still don't consider yourself a close-range combat specialist."
R-seven pulled out a set of scalpels, their edges dripping with poison, then said, "Thanks for the compliment. And as a gift... I'll kill you with a painless poison."
The masked man launched the scalpels all at once, like a deadly rain—one touch could mean death.
Van circled around the masked man, running in tight loops like a wolf driving his prey into confusion. The scalpels followed him, as if chasing him by intent rather than sight, piercing every space behind him and filling the air with a deadly whistling sound.
He reached for a tree, ripped it from the ground like a training staff, used it as a shield, and charged forward until he was close—then hurled it at R-seven.
This time, the masked man didn't dodge—it was shattered mid-air by his fist, splitting clean in two.
The hand-to-hand combat resumed, a direct exchange with no escape. Every strike met a counter, every move matched by a smarter reaction—until Van landed a powerful punch to R-seven 's abdomen, sending his body flying into the trees, smashing through two trunks and slamming into a third.
Blood welled from his mouth, trickling visibly down his neck. He wiped it slowly, then smiled—like someone who had just awakened to true pleasure.
He launched forward again, as if the pain fueled him rather than weakened him.
He suddenly grabbed Van's leg, then seized his clothes and lifted his entire body, slamming him violently to the ground. the earth cracked and dust burst beneath Van like the blast of an explosion.
R-seven raised his leg high, like a blade about to split Van in two, and brought it down with force
but Van rolled away at the last moment.
The two retreated backward, like a tactical withdrawal to regroup.
Van was breathing heavily, his breaths escaping through clenched teeth, and a faint trace of fatigue appeared on his face, but he wasn't exhausted.
He wiped the blood gathering at the corner of his lips with his thumb, then said with a nostalgic smile:
"I haven't fought like this in a long time… My muscles were asleep, stiff from disuse, but this fight… brought back a piece of those days. Even if my level has declined, the feeling is still alive."
R-seven dusted off his coat with a calm look, adjusted the strands of black hair scattered over his masked face, and said with a hint of mockery in his tone: "From what you've seen of me so far… would I have stood any chance against you in your youth?"
Van smiled arrogantly, and said with a calmness that felt like an honest confession:
As for your chances against me in my youth? The answer is: no."
R-seven sighed, lowered his head slightly as if Van's words pierced something inside him, then spoke with a heavy tone:
We gave up our personal desires and united under one goal only… to fix this world. To cleanse it of what corrupts it."
Van raised an eyebrow in slight disapproval, and his voice shifted to a soft harshness:
What kind of positive image do you expect me to have of you?"
R-seven laughed, spread his arms in a theatrical gesture, and said while taking a step forward:
"As if you would have opened the door and welcomed us with open arms if we had knocked politely, and handed us what we were looking for with kindness. Don't be naive, Van. The world doesn't work like that.
The problem isn't us… it's those who make things more complicated."
Van's voice came out charged, his eyes gleaming with contempt: "What a foolish way of thinking. You put the killer and the victim on the same level, then blame the victim for not surrendering!
You want everyone to stand still so they don't get in the way of your will… that's not reform, that's selfishness disguised as a noble cause."
R-seven went silent for a moment, then spoke in a tone that carried a hint of disappointment:
"Everyone says the same thing. You people… you'll never understand.
Your perspective is narrow. You only see what's in front of you.
That makes arguing pointless.
We started this conversation with fists, not words — so let's finish it the way we began."
Then he added in a low voice, almost like a threat: "It's time to take this fight to another level. Show me what you've got, and don't hold back.
I'm going to use my ability , so I don't advise you to play the tough guy and try to face me without activating yours."
He slowly raised his hand in front of his face, as if gathering a hidden energy in the palm of his hand.
The air around him began to shimmer lightly, but before the movement could be completed, a sharp, sudden sound rang out from the communication device embedded in his wrist . a short tone, but one that decisively cut through the moment.
He paused briefly, then lowered his hand and pressed the side button. A blue light appeared, followed by a clear, firm voice, leaving no room for discussion: "Return immediately to headquarters. This is an order from the captain . Do not act on your own."
His body language shifted as his shoulders dropped slightly, and he quietly ended the call.
He remained standing in place for a few seconds, as if his mind was revisiting something he didn't like. Then he said in a cold voice while staring at Van: "Damn it, he always calls at the worst time. Looks like time's up... unfortunately."
R-seven turned toward Ivan, as if his gray eyes were taking brief glances of him to imprint his image into memory.
Ivan couldn't be certain of the look in his eyes because of the mask. R-7 spoke in a calm tone that carried a clear warning beneath it:
And remember this name well... Unisire. He is the nightmare that will follow you in both reality and dreams.
I'll see you years from now. If you cooperate with me, I might make you one of my followers. Until then, grow stronger."
Then he turned quietly, his steps steady and unhurried, as if everything that had happened was just a warm-up before the coming storm.
But Van wasn't about to let him leave that easily. He moved behind him, attempting to surprise him from the back , but R-seven had anticipated it.
He leapt lightly into the air and landed on a tree branch, as if the air itself had carried him.
He spoke in a clear voice without turning back: "Our fight ends here, old man. And to be honest, I find no pleasure in facing a man who is no longer at his prime ... Even if I defeated you, I wouldn't feel satisfied."
Then he turned his focus to his followers lying on the ground — their breathing was heavy, their bodies torn in parts, but they were still alive.
He didn't look at them with pity, but with a coldness closer to disgust.
He reached for his belt and pressed a small button.
Blood erupted from their necks, shooting up like a fountain for a second before falling in scattered spots across the ground, as if the earth itself had rejected them.
R-seven muttered to himself:
He reached a finger to the side of his mask where a hidden button was located, pressed it, and immediately a teleportation gate opened in front of him.
A portal that allowed him to cross to headquarters in a fraction of a second, no matter where he was.
Inside, it looked like a fold in the air, a faint crack belonging to another world.
He stepped into it without hesitation and vanished.
Leaving behind silence, the scent of blood, and open eyes that never completed their final gaze.
Ivan woke from the daze that had surrounded his mind like an invisible veil throughout the past events, and he moved slowly from his place, his steps dragging along questions with no answers.
He approached Van, who was standing amidst the rubble, his eyes fixed on those headless bodies, his face bewildered, as if something unspeakable had been spinning in his mind since R-seven appeared.
Ivan placed his hand on Van's shoulder as he shared the gaze at the blood that stained the ground. a scene not new to him, but still unsettling to the eye: "He killed his followers in cold blood… I knew the world was cruel, but not to this extent. Tell me, who are these people, old man? And who are you really? Every time, I get shocked by something about you. Why did that masked man act like he knew you?"
Van sighed, trying to ease the burden pressing on his chest, then slowly turned to him. He had begun to feel some muscle pain after his body temperature had dropped. He said as he folded his arms: "I don't know what you're talking about. Don't be ridiculous, this is the first time I've seen him. Don't forget I'm a lawyer, meeting criminals is part of it. He might be one of the criminals I sent to prison. But I know nothing about him."
But Ivan wasn't in the mood for evasions. Some trust had begun to form between them, but it seemed its foundation was now shaken. He said with a tone that blended anger with confusion: "Enough. I'm tired of lies and tired of your excuses. I'd rather you stay silent if you're not going to tell the truth. Also, why are you so calm? Can't you see what's happening? Someone just tried to kidnap me minutes ago, and you just came out of a fight. Yet you act like nothing happened."
The old man sighed deeply and didn't respond. Meanwhile, Ivan added, clenching his fists in a speech that felt like an internal debate: "I don't understand what's happening… Since my mother died, everything has turned upside down. I'm living in a story whose ending I don't know. Every day I wake up to a new threat, a new mystery… My mother was right—everything has its own price. Escaping the spiral of boredom will pull you out of safety."
Van spoke this time in a sharp tone: "If life has become overwhelming, you can back out. I can secure a safe shelter for you, away from all this madness. A quiet life… without fear." From his tone, it sounded like a proposal, despite its firmness.
Ivan gave him a firm look, one carrying deep rejection, and said in a low but non-negotiable voice: "No. That's not what I want. I didn't mean I wanted to run away. I still want to become one of the Riters, that hasn't changed. It's just… events are accelerating strangely. From what that masked man said, it seems he's going to hunt me… He said something called Unisaire will haunt me… like a nightmare."
He paused for a few seconds, then continued in a voice close to a whisper: "Do you think what he's after is my grandmother's pendant? It's the only valuable thing I own."
Van shook his head in denial and replied calmly: "I don't think they're after money… These people are after something bigger. Something that could shift the balance of this world , and they're the only ones who know it exists. That's why they won't reveal what it is."
Ivan repeated the sentence to himself, as if it were a personal echo he'd never known before, then asked in frustrated confusion: "But I don't have anything like that! What could a poor boy like me possibly possess that could change the world? Did they mistake me for someone else?"
Suddenly, he clutched his head in pain, then collapsed to the ground and began rolling on his back and stomach, side to side, moving as if the headache was trying to swallow his skull.
Van raised an eyebrow and asked with concern: "What are you doing?"
Ivan replied while still rolling : "This movement. it helps me get the tension out of my head. Don't ask me how, but it works."
Van chuckled lightly, breaking the layer of tension that had filled the space, then said with a sarcastic tone: "Weird… but everyone has their own habits and their own brand of madness."
Then he straightened up and gazed toward the horizon as if weighing something with his eyes, and said seriously: "From now on, we'll double the training. Only four days separate us from the test. four days that will be harsher than all the ones before."
He paused for a moment, as if carefully choosing his words, then continued in a low but intense voice: "It seems I did the right thing by agreeing to train you. To be honest, I wasn't planning to let you take the Riters' test, not because I thought you couldn't pass, but because I don't want you to live in a world that will force you to fight at any moment, even against your will, where killing and death will become normal due to how much you'll witness."
And with your unsociable and confrontational nature, it'll be hard for you to form friendships or worse, you might end up turning everyone into your enemies."
He took a deep breath, then looked forward again, as if seeing beyond tomorrow: "Things have changed now. Joining the Riters will give you protection, at least for three years at the academy."