Morning had not yet broken when Harven Lyre called Kael to the training yard.
The wind was cold. The sky still dark. Kael stood shirtless beneath it, breath fogging as he waited. The mark on his chest pulsed faintly beneath the pale light of dawn.
Harven stood before him, arms crossed, face unreadable.
"Cover that," he said flatly, nodding toward Kael's chest.
Kael blinked. "The mark?"
Harven's tone sharpened. "Never let anyone see it. Especially not outside this village."
Kael lowered his gaze. "You think they'd fear me?"
Harven's eyes narrowed. "No. They'd kill you."
A silence hung between them.
Finally, Harven exhaled. "There's something you need to know. You're not the only one who bears Maldrak's Touch."
Kael looked up sharply.
"In the northern provinces," Harven continued, "there's a man. He once bore a mark like yours—but now it's something else. Twisted. Consumed."
Kael's stomach turned. "What happened to him?"
Harven's jaw tightened. "He gave in. The whispers made him promises—strength, vengeance, purpose. He listened. He opened the door."
Kael felt the echo of his own words from the night before.
"What is he now?" Kael asked quietly.
"A monster in human skin," Harven said. "No longer a man. They say his heart is gone—ripped out and replaced by shadow. His power grows with every soul he claims. He hunts at night. Hunters. Civilians. It doesn't matter."
Kael's hands curled into fists. "Why hasn't anyone stopped him?"
"They've tried. B-rank teams vanish. A-ranks fall. Some say he's not working alone. That there are others like him… or worse."
Kael swallowed hard. "You think I'll end up like that."
"I think," Harven said slowly, "you have a choice. Every day. And the only reason you're not already his puppet is because you're still fighting."
He stepped closer, voice firm but not unkind.
"You want to rise? Good. You want to hunt? Fine. But from this point forward—your strength is a threat to everyone if it isn't yours alone. Not his."
Kael met Harven's gaze. The fire inside him didn't waver.
"Then I'll stay in control. No matter what."
Harven nodded once. Then, for the first time, gave the faintest trace of a smile.
"Good. Because today… you take your first mission."
By noon, Kael stood before the village's southern outpost, dressed in light leather armor and a gray scarf that covered his chest.
Velia Lyre waited with a sealed scroll in her hand.
"This is a reconnaissance and elimination request," she said, handing him the parchment. "A pack of Tyrant Jackals broke off from the outer dungeon and are nesting near the river basin. Farmers reported missing livestock. A novice squad was sent yesterday."
She paused.
"They didn't return."
Kael took the scroll without flinching. "Do I go alone?"
Velia nodded. "You've trained for this. Let's see what you've learned."
---
The river basin was a long stretch of twisted roots, half-flooded rocks, and broken reeds. Kael moved through it with deliberate silence—each step measured, every breath controlled.
Observation. Stealth. Mana suppression.
Harven's teachings echoed in his head.
He crouched low, his eyes scanning the dense underbrush. Tracks—light pawprints. Too shallow for Gravetooths. But wide… too wide for normal jackals.
At least four. Maybe more.
He drew a throwing knife, letting a tiny pulse of mana flare from his fingertip—a soft bait.
Seconds passed.
Then—a snarl.
One of them took the bait.
A Tyrant Jackal burst from the thicket, its fur matted with black sludge, jaw twisted with mutation. It lunged.
Kael spun low, sliding under its fangs, and drove his blade into its underbelly. Not deep enough. The beast screeched and whirled—
But Kael was already behind it.
He exhaled.
"Soul Pulse."
A ripple of blue mana surged through his arm as he struck the beast's spine. The energy collapsed its nervous system instantly. It dropped like a puppet with cut strings.
More snarls echoed nearby.
Three more emerged. Eyes burning. Fangs bared.
Kael darted behind a fallen log, calculating. He reached for a pouch at his waist—glass beads infused with mana essence.
Flashburst traps.
He tossed two to the flanks and snapped his fingers—pop!
Blinding light.
The jackals howled in confusion.
Kael charged through the smoke, ducking low. One claw grazed his shoulder, but he ignored it. He dropped low, drew his shortblade, and swept its legs out from under it.
Another jackal pounced—too fast.
Too strong.
It pinned him.
Its jaws snapped inches from his face.
And then—
The mark pulsed.
Kael felt his vision blur. The air shimmered around him. For a moment, he could feel it—power—just beneath the surface.
"Let me in," a voice whispered in his skull.
Kael grit his teeth.
"No."
He twisted his arm under the jackal's throat and released his final technique.
"Voidfang – Breaking Style."
His blade shimmered with crackling dark-blue energy. With a clean, brutal strike, he severed the beast's head in a single motion.
The last jackal fled.
Kael didn't pursue.
He knelt there, panting, blood mixing with dirt and sweat, trembling not from exhaustion—but from how close the voice had gotten.
---
By dusk, he returned to the village, dragging the corpses behind him. The gate guards stared wide-eyed. A few Hunters whispered.
Velia waited by the entrance, arms folded.
"You didn't die," she said.
Kael gave a small, tired smile. "No."
"And the mark?"
He looked down. "Still mine."
She studied him, then nodded. "Then we begin the next phase."
Kael blinked. "There's more?"
Velia smirked faintly. "You think that was a mission? That was a test.