Magister Insanity

"Lancer, that damn bastard."

Feeling irritated, Zephyr scratched the back of his head, his annoyance bubbling close to anger.

A few hours ago, he had been humiliated again.

Slapped across the face.

Lancer never missed an opportunity to make a mockery of him, especially in front of others. And of course, Kael and Xyler had been there too, lurking behind him, their eyes filled with pity.

It couldn't be helped.

Zephyr belonged to the Sky Wind Clan, a name that once carried respect but now lingered only as a faint echo in the annals of history. After the tragic events of the Great Old War, where the clan lost the majority of its powerhouses, they were forced to make the bitter choice of being absorbed into the Imperial Clans simply to preserve their bloodline.

Thus, they came to be known as the Lesser Clans. Shadows of their former glory, stripped of pride and autonomy. Many others shared this fate, swallowed by stronger clans and relegated to the margins.

The Imperial Viper Clan, however, was the opposite. They stood as one of the great clans beneath the Imperial banner. And of course, fate had seen fit to bless them with their most promising talent in the form of Lancer.

If there were ever such a thing as a two-faced serpent, he would be its perfect description.

"He did all of that just because I got his order wrong. No, I'm certain he asked for sweet juice. And even if he wanted something, why didn't he just summon the maids? Those idiots are in the same position as me, yet they stood there and did nothing!"

Realizing how absurd it all was, Zephyr gritted his teeth and kicked a loose stone down the path.

He hated it.

He hated being mocked.

He hated the way things were.

But most of all, he hated himself for enduring it.

What else could he do but endure? It wasn't as if he could simply punch Lancer in the face. No matter how satisfying the thought was, it would be nothing short of a terrible idea.

In the end, Zephyr let out a weary sigh and pressed on.

At present, he found himself on the outskirts of the Eldergrove, a shadowed territory known for the demonic beasts that prowled its depths. Under normal circumstances, a Sleepless wouldn't be walking nonchalantly in such a dangerous region considering even experienced Blasphemers lose their lives here.

But that fate awaited only those reckless enough to wander too deep. So long as Zephyr avoided the middle reaches, he told himself, he should be safe from any real trouble.

Today, he was going to hunt down a few small terrors, collect their void cores and be on his way. That was what he did whenever he was troubled, and killing demonic beasts turned out to be a good way to relive stress levels.

Step! Step!

He continued walking along the straight path in a cautious manner. Old trees rose high above with roots crawling across the ground like veins. Their roots coiled across the ground like the bodies of slumbering serpents, forcing Zephyr to watch each step carefully.

A dim haze clung to the undergrowth, pale wisps of fog curling low between the gnarled trunks. The air carried a damp, metallic scent, like rain mixed with blood, that never seemed to fade, no matter how long one lingered. In the distance, the occasional cry of some unseen beast echoed, followed by unsettling silence.

Light barely reached through the thick canopy. What little managed to slip through turned green and sickly, casting strange shadows that seemed to shift when no one was moving.

Needless to say, the atmosphere wasn't really welcoming. But he was already used to it.

His mind began to wander.

'How many shards will I be able to get today? Six last time… but I feel more energetic now. Maybe ten, if I'm lucky?'

Shards were everything in the Soul Realm. They could be traded for others of equal value, spent on weapons, supplies, or even luxuries. Life in the Soul Societies revolved around gathering them. Yet not everyone had the will to fight or the desire to kill monsters. Many chose safer professions instead.

Still, for those who fought, life couldn't be sustained on blood and battle alone. It was too lonesome. That was why the red district existed, lined with brothels where hunters could ease their burdens in a very particular way.

Zephyr, being a lustful sort, frequented them often, seeking to forget what a failure he believed himself to be.

"Hehe…"

A lewd smile tugged at his lips, but it quickly faded as a sharp noise broke the silence.

Creak!

He froze, scanning the area with a wary gaze.

Nothing could be seen. Or rather, nothing was there to be seen.

His brows knit together.

'What was that? My imagination? No… I definitely heard something.'

His eyes lingered on the ghostly surroundings, suspicion sharpening his expression. After a moment, he exhaled and rolled his shoulders, forcing himself forward.

But then,

Thuk! Thuk!

The sound echoed, becoming more louder this time.

Zephyr's steps halted mid-stride. Natural instinct took over as the Crescent Blade shimmered into his grasp while his eyes narrowed into the mist.

"…A beast?"

Most likely.

No sane human would follow him out here. If they did, they would have called out. And if such a thing happened, he wouldn't hesitate to cut them down. Who knew if it was some forsaken creature draped in human skin? He had never faced such a thing before, and even if they existed, they would not be roaming the outskirts.

The fog thickened ahead, curling low across the ground in heavy folds. His pulse began to race.

Step by cautious step, he moved forward, his gaze darting across the shifting gloom. Old branches groaned overhead, scraping against one another in the stagnant air. Then a sound broke through.

Thuk!

This time, it came from behind.

Alarmed, Zephyr spun with his blade drawn, only to find the endless snarl of roots and the oppressive silence staring back at him.

He blinked.

A cold gust brushed the back of his neck.

"Heh…" Zephyr let out a shaky chuckle. "Look at me, scaring myself over nothing. If the others were here, they would have laughed at me for sure."

He turned forward again, forcing his feet to move.

But the next sound wasn't a thud. It was a heavy breathing, as though someone was standing right behind his neck.

His blood turned cold.

Slowly, Zephyr turned his head. A human-shaped silhouette stood before him, around 1.80 meters tall, with its face hidden behind a full-metal helm. The mask's surface was smooth yet etched with faint, flowing patterns, like veins or mythical engravings, all converging at the center. A sharp vertical seam ran down the front, giving it the likeness of a blade.

From the back of the helm spilled long, ghostly-white hair, cascading past the nape and brushing against the shoulders.

The entity wore flimsy, lightweight armor that looked more like a cheap disguise than real protection. At first glance, Zephyr might have mistaken it for an ordinary person if not for one dreadful truth.

The creature had no presence.

He felt nothing. There was no aura or a sense of existence. If not for seeing it with his own eyes, he would have doubted it was there at all.

It was as if the creature didn't belong to this world.

"W-What…"

Zephyr trembled in horror.

What manner of monstrosity was this? Could such a beast even exist? And why was it wandering the outskirts instead of lurking deep within the inner grounds?

Questions flooded his mind all at once, tangling his thoughts and drowning him in unnatural fear. His terror was so consuming that he forgot he could even run.

Still, some desperate part of him clung to reason. He convinced himself that the thing before him was of fallen rank. That, he prayed, was the best case scenario.

Minutes dragged by, neither of them moving, until the silence itself grew suffocating.

At last, the silhouette stirred.

Panicked, Zephyr snapped his sword up and barked.

"S-Stop right there! I— I'll cut you!" He swallowed, forcing the words out. "I don't care how strong you are… I can attack from afar using wind."

It was a lie.

Yes, he could touch the wind but only to the extent of augmenting his body. That limitation was the effect of his first sequence curse.

What good was someone who could only use wind to bolster his limbs, instead of commanding it like the Sky Wins Clan's true heirs? To them, he was nothing but dead weight.

Yet somehow, the bluff worked. The masked figure paused.

Then, without warning, a golden bell appeared in its hand.

Zephyr's heart pounded as he stared helplessly.

The entity shook the bell. A clear, crystalline chime spilled into the mist. It was haunting, enchanting, and sinister all at once. The sound rippled over the mountainside, carrying an eerie weight that made the air itself tremble.

"What…?"

Before his bewildered eyes, the golden bell vanished into nothing. And so too did the masked man, fading into the mist as though he had never been there.

Zephyr blinked.

Once. Twice.

His hand trembled against the hilt of the Crescent Blade. The figure was gone. Not even the faintest ripple of existence remained where it had stood.

Had he imagined it?

He refused to believe that. His body wouldn't still be shaking if it had been a mere trick of the mind.

"…What in the hells was that thing?" he muttered, as if voicing the words might anchor him to reality.

Nothing changed.

The silence pressed in heavier than before. In the span of mere minutes, all the confidence he'd held had drained away. Something was deeply and utterly wrong. His instincts screamed at him to leave this place, and for once, he wasn't going to argue.

He stepped back, unsteady. Then another step.

Finally, he turned to flee—

"...?!"

And froze.

Every muscle locked as his breath caught in his throat.

... Before him loomed a sight far grimmer than the one that had vanished.