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Chapter 125: Alric

[If you stare into the abyss long enough, the abyss stares back.]

Vitaliara said quietly, her tone more solemn now. [The more one delves into acts of destruction and harm, the stronger the abyss clings to them. It's not just about power—it's about the nature of that power. Those who accumulate bad karma, those who revel in the suffering of others, tend to carry the imprint of the abyss within them.]

The concept hit me hard. Korvan hadn't just been strong—he had been consumed by the very darkness he embraced. And now, I was absorbing that darkness.

Vitaliara's gaze softened slightly as she continued. [I can sense it in people, you know. Those who have accumulated too much bad karma… there's something about their aura. It's tainted. The world remembers their actions, and it imprints on them like a shadow that never fades.]

"You can see it?" I asked, my voice tinged with surprise. Vitaliara had never mentioned this before. The idea that she could sense something so profound, so invisible to most, caught me off guard.

She didn't answer immediately, but when she did, it was with a knowing smirk, her tail flicking in amusement. [I wouldn't say I can 'see' it in the literal sense,] she replied, her tone light but firm. [I'm a mythical beast of life, after all. What I can sense is far more… nuanced. I can't discern evil from good the way you might think, but I can feel the energy associated with the abyss.

Those who have steeped themselves in it, who've let it seep into their souls—they carry its imprint.]

I stared at her, absorbing what she said. "So, you can sense anyone linked to the abyss?"

[In a way, yes,] she said, her smirk softening into something more thoughtful. [It's not as simple as good and evil, though. Life and death are intertwined, and it's about balance. Those who embrace the abyss tilt that balance, and their energy becomes… different. I can feel that shift.]

Her words stirred something within me. If Vitaliara, as a being tied to life, could sense those who were touched by the abyss, then what about me? I had a unique condition—a bond with both life and death through my Flame of Equinox. If I could harness it more fully and refine my control over both death energy and vitality, couldn't I do the same?

The thought rolled through my mind, a quiet whisper of possibility. "If that's the case… wouldn't I be able to sense it too?" I mumbled, almost to myself, my thoughts taking shape as I spoke. "With enough control over my Flame of Equinox, over the balance of death and life energy, I should be able to detect the abyss' imprint as well."

Vitaliara's ears perked up at my words, her gaze sharpening with curiosity. [Hmm… It's not out of the realm of possibility,] she mused. [Your connection to both death and life makes you different. If you master that balance, it's very possible you could develop that ability. But you'll have to be careful. Not everything that you see will be helpful for you.]

I nodded slowly, the idea settling deeper in my mind. "I'll need to push my control further."

But for the time being, there was one thing else that I needed to do.

"Though there is one thing left."

One of the lieutenants of the Korvan was now trying to run away.

I rose slowly from my position, feeling the lingering death mana settle into my core as I steadied myself. The faint warmth of the healing potion still coursed through my veins, numbing some of the worst of the pain, but I wasn't fully healed yet. That didn't matter. There was one last thing that needed to be done.

My eyes narrowed as I sent a small pulse of mana into the wind, letting it carry out across the battlefield. It wasn't long before I felt it respond, like a ripple returning to its source, guiding me. A faint silhouette appeared in my mind—a person moving swiftly, too fast for a normal human. I didn't need to guess who it was.

"Alric," I muttered, a grim smile tugging at the corners of my lips. The vice-captain of Korvan's bandits was trying to flee, but he wouldn't get far.

The wind whispered his direction to me, confirming what I already knew. Alric had always been quick, always one step ahead of his enemies, but now he was the prey. And I was the hunter.

Vitaliara's eyes flicked toward me, sensing the shift in my demeanor. [He's running, isn't he?] she asked, her voice calm but expectant.

"He is," I replied, my gaze locking onto the distant horizon. "But he won't escape."

With a deep breath, I felt the mana gather at my feet.

A footwork technique that Master had left behind for me. A Qinggong movement technique.

「Devourer of Stars. Astral Step.」

The familiar sensation of the technique surged through me. In an instant, I moved—swift and silent, the wind bending to my will as I closed the distance between myself and my prey.

*******

The moment Korvan received the news that the boy Ron had disappeared, he stormed through the corridors of his hideout, his fury building with every step. The moment he reached the room where Ron was supposed to be held, he saw the empty space; something inside him had snapped. The boy was gone. Their insurance—vanished. It was all too clear now: they'd been played.

"There's a traitor," Korvan muttered under his breath, his voice barely controlled. His eyes gleamed with murderous intent as he marched toward the heart of his base. "One of our own fouled everything."

As he approached the main chamber that overlooked the battlefield, Korvan's mind raced. It was a perfect setup, he realized. The boy's disappearance wasn't just an unfortunate event—it had been orchestrated. Someone within his own ranks had betrayed him, and now they were facing the consequences.

He burst into the room where his remaining lieutenant, Alric, was standing calmly by a large window overlooking the battle that was still raging below.

"Alric!" Korvan snarled, his voice echoing through the chamber. "The boy—he's gone. There's a traitor in our ranks!"

Korvan's fury was palpable, his eyes blazing as he barked orders to Alric. "Find the boy," he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "Now. We need him as leverage. If we lose him, this entire game falls apart."

Alric nodded without a word, his calm demeanor never wavering. He understood the gravity of the situation better than anyone. Korvan's rage was a force of nature, but Alric had always been the one who thought three steps ahead. He could feel the weight of the noose tightening around their necks. This wasn't just a raid—this was a well-coordinated attack, a plan months in the making.

And they had walked right into it.

Korvan turned, his eyes gleaming ominously in the dim light of the chamber. "I'll handle those bastards myself," he growled, his voice filled with vengeful determination. "They'll know who they're messing with." Without waiting for a response, Korvan stormed out of the room, his heavy footsteps echoing through the stone halls as he made his way toward the battlefield.

Alric watched him go, his mind racing. As soon as Korvan disappeared from sight, Alric turned on his heel and slipped silently from the chamber, moving with the grace and precision of the assassin he once was. His task was clear, but his thoughts were already several steps ahead. He would find the boy, but not just for Korvan.

Moving swiftly through the shadows, Alric made his way out of the hideout and into the dense jungle that surrounded the base. The air was thick with tension, the sounds of battle ringing out in the distance. Alric crouched low, his senses sharpening as he began his hunt. His eyes flickered across the forest floor, searching for any sign of a trail.

Alric was not like the others; he was never the brute force that Korvan could throw at his enemies.

Alric was a strategist—a former assassin who had turned to Korvan's side after narrowly escaping his previous life. And now, as Korvan's right-hand man, Alric had become indispensable, not because of raw strength but because of his craftiness.

That is why, being a former assassin, Alric had honed his skills in tracking. He knew how to read the subtle signs—the disturbed leaves, the broken branches, the faint traces of movement in the underbrush. He followed the trail with precision, moving like a shadow through the jungle, his breath steady and controlled.

But as he tracked the boy, Alric's mind worked through the larger picture. The attack was too well-timed, too organized. Whoever was behind it had clearly planned every move, which meant they likely had a counter for Korvan as well. Alric knew Korvan's strength—he was a peak 3-star Awakened, nearly invincible in close combat. But even Korvan had his limits.

If they were attacking now, it was because they had something—or someone—who could deal with him.

Alric's lips curled into a grim smile. Korvan was walking into a trap, and he likely didn't even realize it. The realization hit Alric hard: Korvan would be defeated. Whether by Roderick's forces or someone stronger, the outcome was becoming clear. And if Korvan fell, everything would collapse. The bandits would scatter, and the power they had built would crumble.

For Alric, it meant only one thing: survival. He would not die for Korvan's arrogance.

His decision was made. He needed the boy, not just to help Korvan but to secure his own escape. With Ron in his hands, he had leverage. Leverage to barter for his freedom, to negotiate with whoever won this battle. Alric wasn't a fool—he knew how the game was played, and he always made sure to be on the winning side.

Chapter 126: Alric (2)

Alric moved silently through the thick jungle, every step measured and calculated. His eyes scanned the ground, picking up the faintest traces of Ron's path. Broken twigs, the faint imprint of a boot in the mud, a crushed leaf—all signs that his prey was close.

'There's no time to waste,' Alric thought, his expression calm but his mind racing. 'Korvan is walking into a trap, and the longer I linger, the closer he gets to his end. I have to secure my way out before it all falls apart.'

Not long after, Alric's keen eyes caught sight of movement up ahead. He crouched low, his body blending into the shadows of the trees. There, just beyond the clearing, he saw them.

Ron, the baron's son, stood nervously by a large rock, his face pale and filled with fear. But it wasn't just Ron that caught Alric's attention—it was the man standing next to him. A man Alric recognized all too well. One of their own, a member of Korvan's inner circle. The one they had contacted from the baron's mansion, thinking him a valuable asset.

Alric's eyes narrowed as the realization hit him. 'Of course. This snake... He's been playing both sides all along.'

The traitor stood confidently, his back turned to Alric, as if he didn't have a care in the world. He spoke to Ron in low, reassuring tones, as though guiding him through a rehearsed plan. The boy seemed confused, scared, but willing to trust the man beside him—completely unaware of the depth of the betrayal surrounding him.

'That's how it is, then,' Alric thought, his lips curling into a grim smile. 'He was planning this from the start.'

The man had pretended to be their informant, someone working with Korvan's crew, but all the while he had been planning to hand the boy back to the baron's forces. It was a masterful betrayal, one Alric could almost respect if it hadn't been directed at them.

'I should've seen this coming,' Alric mused bitterly, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his dagger. 'He played the game well. Too well.'

He moved closer, staying low in the underbrush, watching their every move. The traitor was too at ease, too sure of himself, completely unaware that Alric was already hunting him. The man thought the plan was perfect, that he would slip away with Ron and collect his reward from the baron.

But Alric wasn't going to let that happen.

'Korvan might be walking into a trap, but I won't be a casualty of this disaster,' he thought, his mind already crafting the next move. 'Ron's my ticket out, and this traitor will pay for thinking he could outplay me.'

With silent precision, Alric drew his blade, the edge gleaming faintly in the dim jungle light. He moved forward like a shadow, ready to strike.

Alric's blade flashed under the moonlight, a swift arc of death aimed at the traitor who had foolishly thought he could outsmart him.

SCHLUNK!

The blade cut cleanly through the man's throat. Blood sprayed, and the betrayer's eyes went wide in shock for a brief moment before his body crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Alric's eyes never wavered as he wiped the blood from his dagger, his focus now entirely on Ron.

The boy stood frozen, his face pale as death as he stared at the body of the man who had just been cut down before him.

"You little rat," Alric growled, his voice cold and filled with contempt. "You've caused me quite a pain. But that's all over now." He stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with malice, intent on securing the boy before things could spiral further out of control.

But then—his senses flared.

In an instant, Alric's eyes narrowed, and his body shifted instinctively to the side. Something was coming—fast.

'Qinggong technique,' Alric thought immediately, his heart pounding as he spun to meet the danger. Someone was moving with incredible speed, their presence barely noticeable until they were nearly upon him.

A streak of black starlight flashed through the jungle, a deadly arc of energy slicing through the air toward him. Alric reacted instantly, his aura-covered dagger meeting the incoming strike with perfect precision.

CLANG!

The two forces collided in a burst of energy. Alric gritted his teeth, his dagger cutting through the starlight-infused attack, defending himself from the deadly blow. The power behind it was immense, but Alric managed to hold his ground, the clash sending shockwaves rippling through the jungle.

He didn't need to look twice to know who had arrived.

Out of the shadows, the young man with the scar on his right eye stepped forward, his estoc glowing faintly with the remnants of starlight mana. His expression was calm, his gaze cold as he locked eyes with Alric.

"Impressive," Alric muttered, his voice barely a whisper. 'So, he is the one who's been killing our men...'

The face was unfamiliar, someone that he was seeing for the first time. But at the same time, the wounds of the deceased had fit the weapon that he was using, not that it seemed he had any intention to hide anything.

The air between them crackled with tension, both men poised for the next move.

Alric's eyes flicked toward Ron for a brief second, calculating his next move. 'He's fast, precise, and too skilled for me in a direct confrontation,' Alric thought, weighing his options. 'But if the boy's life is threatened... he'll have no choice but to react.'

His gaze snapped back to the young man, his expression unreadable. "Who are you?" Alric asked aloud, though his mind was already working on a plan.

The young man didn't seem bothered by the question. "Does it matter?" he replied with that same smirk, his stance relaxed yet prepared. "This fight's over."

Alric's eyes narrowed. 'Arrogant... but he's skilled.' He knew that this wasn't going to be an easy fight. Testing his opponent's strength was the only way to buy himself time and set the pieces in motion.

In a flash, Alric dashed forward, his dagger aimed at the young man's chest. The speed of his attack was impressive, but the young man was faster.

CLANG!

The estoc met Alric's blade with a sharp, ringing sound. Alric gritted his teeth as his strikes were parried one after the other, the young man's movements smooth and effortless. Each time Alric's blade came close, the estoc seemed to appear out of nowhere, deflecting it with precision.

'He's too good,' Alric thought grimly as his strikes were thwarted again and again. The young man was moving like the wind, his footwork graceful, his strikes fast and relentless. Alric's dagger felt clumsy against the finesse of the estoc.

But Alric wasn't without his own tricks.

The young man's estoc flew toward him again in a quick stab, but Alric was prepared this time. 'Now,' he thought, activating his [Shadow Arts]. In an instant, his body flickered, teleporting a short distance away from the young man's strike.

The young man's eyes widened slightly as Alric reappeared behind him, but it wasn't the assassin's blade he was targeting this time.

With a flick of his wrist, Alric hurled a dagger directly at Ron.

The boy's eyes widened in terror as the blade spun toward him. Alric's lips curled into a grim smile. 'He's here to save the boy. If I force him to act, I'll have the opening I need.'

In that split second, Alric's plan seemed perfect. But as the dagger sailed through the air, the young man moved.

CLANG!

The estoc flashed like lightning, its black starlight sending a rapid arc, deflecting the dagger before it could reach its mark. Lucavion's eyes, no longer playful, locked onto Alric's. "You're predictable."

Alric's breath quickened as he realized his plan had crumbled in an instant. His advantage was gone, and now, the young man's eyes shone with that eerie purple light—the unmistakable glow of starlight mana.

'Damn it...' Alric thought, tightening his grip on his dagger. 'I miscalculated.'

Before he could even react, the young man dashed forward, moving like a blur, his estoc leading the charge.

CLANG!

The first strike came fast, aimed at Alric's heart. He barely managed to parry it, his body jerking back to avoid the deadly thrust.

SWOOSH!

The second strike was quicker, slashing toward his ribs. Alric twisted his body, evading by a hair's breadth, but the force of the swing made his arm tingle from the sheer speed of the estoc.

'He's toying with me,' Alric realized with a grimace. 'He's not even trying.'

CRASH!

The third strike came crashing down with a force that sent a shockwave through the ground. Alric blocked with all his might, his dagger barely holding against the weight of the estoc. His arms shook violently as his knees buckled under the pressure.

And then the fourth strike hit.

SLASH!

Alric gasped as the estoc pierced through his side, the starlight-infused blade cutting deep. Blood poured from the wound, staining the ground beneath him. Pain shot through his body, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to give in.

The fifth strike came faster than he could react.

SLASH!

Another gash, this time across his chest. Alric staggered back, his vision blurring as blood soaked his tattered clothes. His movements became sluggish, his strength fading with each second.

And then, the sixth strike.

SHUNK!

The estoc sliced through the air, its black starlight trailing behind it, and pierced straight into Alric's neck. His eyes widened in shock as blood sprayed from the wound, his hands instinctively reaching for his throat, but there was no stopping it.

Lucavion pulled his blade free, and Alric's body crumpled to the ground, lifeless. The once-crafty assassin now lay motionless, his final plan shattered before he could execute it.

Lucavion looked down at Alric's corpse, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as he wiped the blood from his estoc. "Told you," he murmured, his voice low. "Predictable."

He turned his gaze to Ron, who stood frozen in fear, his eyes wide as he stared at the young man who had saved his life.

Chapter 127: The aftermath

The sun was setting over the smoldering remnants of the bandit camp. The once-thriving hideout of Korvan's men now lay in ruins, their ranks scattered and broken. Some of the surviving bandits fled into the wilderness, their resolve shattered by the deaths of their leaders, while others surrendered, hoping for mercy that would never come. The expedition team had done its job. The bandits were no more.

Lucavion stood beside Roderick, his arms crossed as they both watched the last of the stragglers disappear into the forest. The tension from the battle had faded, leaving behind a strange calm in the aftermath of the chaos.

"Well," Roderick said, his voice breaking the silence. "It seems we've done it. Ron is safe, and the bandits... well, they won't be troubling anyone again." He glanced at Lucavion, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But Korvan... did you really kill him?"

Lucavion's gaze remained on the horizon for a moment longer before he turned to face Roderick. His expression was unreadable, his eyes glinting with the remnants of battle-hardened focus. "Yes," he said calmly. "Korvan is dead. Along with the rest of his lieutenants."

Roderick raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "And you're sure of that?"

Lucavion smirked faintly. "If you want proof, I can show it to you."

Without waiting for a response, Lucavion reached into his spatial pouch, his hand disappearing into the small, enchanted space. A moment later, he pulled out a gruesome collection: the heads of those he had slain. One by one, he laid them out on the ground in front of Roderick.

Lothar. Loren. Alric. Korvan. Sorn.

Each head, though lifeless and cold, still bore the distinct features of the once-powerful lieutenants and their leader. Their expressions were frozen in the final moments of their lives, some twisted with pain, others with shock. The sight was both grisly and undeniable.

"I brought these with me," Lucavion said casually as if discussing something far more mundane. "Just to ensure that no one else would dare to claim the bounties on them. After all, I did the work."

Roderick stared at the severed heads for another moment, the sheer weight of the scene still sinking in. "You really went all out," he muttered, a mixture of awe and discomfort lingering in his tone. Lucavion's calm, methodical demeanor only made the sight more unsettling.

Lucavion gave a slight shrug, his voice cold and pragmatic. "A job's a job. And I don't leave things unfinished."

Roderick nodded, his gaze flicking back to Lucavion with a newfound respect. "Well… I don't think anyone will doubt your claims now. You've earned every bit of that bounty, that's for sure." He glanced up, catching Lucavion's eyes. "The baron will want to hear of this. You'll be well rewarded."

Lucavion nodded, unfazed by the thought of his reward. "Of course," he said, his tone flat. "I wouldn't expect any less." Then, after a moment of silence, he turned his gaze fully to Roderick, his expression hardening slightly. "But speaking of rewards, are the things I requested from you ready?"

Roderick blinked, momentarily taken aback by the shift in conversation. He frowned slightly as he recalled what Lucavion was referring to—his request for official citizenship in the Arcanis Empire and an introduction to the Adventurers' Guild through Roderick's own status as a knight. These weren't trivial matters, especially in the political landscape of the Empire.

"Ah… about that," Roderick began, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "Everything happened too fast. Korvan's ambush, the boy's disappearance—it's been chaos. It's not easy to secure something like that overnight. These things take time."

Lucavion tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. "I understand," he said quietly, his voice calm, though there was an unmistakable edge to it. "But make sure you're not thinking of going back on your word." His gaze sharpened, and for a brief moment, the air around him grew heavy with a menacing pressure. His bloodthirst leaked out, subtle but suffocating. "You know the consequences if you do."

Roderick felt the weight of Lucavion's presence bearing down on him, but instead of flinching, he let out a low, rumbling laugh. "I'm not a man who goes back on his word, Lucavion. You'll get what I promised you. I just need time to make it happen. But don't worry," he added with a grin. "I'll see to it myself."

Lucavion held Roderick's gaze for a moment longer before finally nodding, his bloodthirst receding. "Good. I'll hold you to that." He turned away, casting one last glance at the battlefield littered with corpses. "Time is the only thing you have for now."

Roderick let out a chuckle, waving his hand dismissively. "You shouldn't be so fierce all the time, Lucavion. You'll scare off potential allies with that attitude."

Lucavion, for the first time since their conversation began, allowed a small smile to tug at the corner of his lips. "There are times when I'm fierce," he said with a shrug. "And there are times when I'm not."

"Sure, sure," Roderick said with a smirk, waving his hand again. But inwardly, his thoughts were more serious. 'This guy… he's not someone you want to mess with. Stronger than anyone I've ever seen—and with that cold, calculated approach to battle, he's even more dangerous.'

He eyed Lucavion carefully as they stood together, the tension of the battle fading but the understanding of who Lucavion truly was settling in. "Let's get the official side of things done soon," Roderick said, his tone casual but his respect for Lucavion clear. "I'd rather have you as an ally than anything else."

Lucavion's eyes gleamed with a hint of amusement, but he simply nodded. "I'll look forward to it."

********

Lucavion walked through the streets of Rackenshore, his steps measured but purposeful. The cool evening air brushed against his face, and the distant sounds of the city winding down filled the background. His mind, however, was elsewhere—on the events that had unfolded over the past few days.

The mission had been completed, and he had done exactly as Harlan requested: dealt with the bandits without breaking his sword.

The weight of the estoc at his side was a familiar one, though it wasn't quite the same as when he had first set out. His fingers brushed over the hilt, feeling the slight roughness where the once-smooth metal had begun to show signs of wear. There were cracks along the blade, faint but visible, and a few nicks along the edges where it had collided with the weapons of the bandits.

But despite all that, it had held. It hadn't broken.

Vitaliara's voice echoed softly in his mind, breaking the silence. [You seem quite satisfied with yourself, Lucavion.]

He smirked, his lips twitching upward at her teasing tone. "I am," he admitted. "I didn't break it. Harlan can't say I didn't follow through on his conditions."

[True, though I imagine he'll have something to say about the state of your weapon.] She purred, shifting slightly on his shoulder. [But the job's done, and you're still in one piece. That's what matters, isn't it?]

"That's the part I'm most satisfied with," Lucavion replied, casting a glance down at his sword once again. "Could've been worse. A lot worse."

He reached the entrance to the smithy, the familiar building standing just as nondescript as before, tucked away at the edge of town. The faded sign hung above the door, barely visible in the dim light. The rhythmic clang of metal being worked inside was quieter this time, more methodical. It seemed Harlan was at it again, his never-ending work of crafting weapons continuing as it always had.

Lucavion paused for a moment before pushing the door open. The familiar warmth of the forge enveloped him as he stepped inside, the glow of the embers casting long shadows across the room. The racks of old weapons, tools, and artifacts lined the walls just as before, though this time, Lucavion's attention was focused solely on the man at the back of the room.

Harlan stood by the forge, hammering away at a glowing piece of metal, his concentration unwavering. He didn't immediately acknowledge Lucavion's arrival, but it was clear he knew. The old man's senses were too sharp to miss anything, even in the depths of his work.

Lucavion took a breath, walking further into the smithy. "I'm back," he called out, his voice carrying over the steady clang of Harlan's hammer. "And I didn't break the sword."

Harlan's hammer paused mid-swing, hovering above the metal for a brief moment before he set it down with practiced ease. Slowly, he turned to face Lucavion, his gaze falling first on the estoc at his side, then drifting upward to meet his eyes.

The old man's expression was unreadable at first, his eyes narrowing as they took in the sight of Lucavion and the weapon he carried. After a long pause, he nodded, though there was no smile on his face. "Let's see it, then," he said gruffly, motioning for Lucavion to hand over the weapon.

Lucavion drew the estoc from its sheath and held it out, the blade gleaming faintly in the dim light of the forge. The cracks and marks on the weapon were more visible now, the nicks and scuffs telling the story of the battles it had seen. Harlan took it without a word, turning it over in his hands with the same critical eye he had shown before.

For a moment, there was silence as Harlan inspected the blade, his fingers running along the cracks, his eyes narrowing at the damage. Lucavion could feel his heart beating in his chest, though he kept his expression calm. He had done what was asked of him, and now it was time to see if it was enough.

Harlan finally let out a long, low grunt, handing the sword back to Lucavion. "You didn't break it," he said, his tone neutral. "But it's seen better days."

Lucavion took the estoc, sliding it back into its sheath with a soft click. "It held when it needed to," he replied. "Got the job done."

Harlan's eyes flicked back to Lucavion, studying him for a moment before he spoke again. "Aye, that it did." There was a pause, then the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Harlan's mouth. "You've done well, lad. Better than I expected."

Lucavion had finally proved himself in front of the old man.

"….."

And he could not help but smile at that.

Chapter 128: The aftermath (2)

Lucavion couldn't hide the small, satisfied smile that crept onto his face at Harlan's rare praise. He had finally proved himself in front of the old blacksmith. It had been a tough road, and the mission wasn't without its challenges, but now he stood here, victorious and intact.

"Does that mean I'm qualified to get my weapon from you now?" Lucavion asked, his voice calm but carrying a hint of excitement.

Harlan turned to him, raising an eyebrow, and let out a gruff laugh. "It seems dealing with all those bandit bastards made you dumber, lad. Can't you remember what we agreed on?"

Lucavion's smile widened. "Of course I remember," he said smoothly, his tone light. "I just wanted to hear it from you. You know, to confirm."

Harlan crossed his arms, his frown deepening as he fixed Lucavion with a stern look. "You take me for a man who'd go back on his word?" His voice was low, gravelly, carrying the weight of his pride.

Lucavion shook his head, his smile still lingering. "Not at all. I just didn't want to get ahead of myself."

Harlan let out a snort, though there was no real malice behind it. "Aye, well, you've proven yourself, lad. I gave my word, and I'll keep it. You'll get your weapon."

Lucavion nodded, a sense of satisfaction settling over him. He had earned this—through sweat, blood, and determination. The road had been long, but now, he was on the cusp of obtaining something far greater than a mere blade.

Harlan uncrossed his arms and turned back to the forge, his gruff demeanor softening just a bit. "But don't think for a second that means you can rest easy. We're just getting started. This sword will be like none you've wielded before. If you're not prepared, it'll break you before you even get to use it."

Lucavion's smile faded, replaced with a look of steely determination. "I'm ready," he said simply.

Harlan gave a slight nod, his back already turned as he reached for his tools. "Good." Harlan waved a hand dismissively, his gruff voice cutting through the quiet of the forge. "Now get out of here. I need to focus, and I can't do that with you hanging around like a damn shadow."

Lucavion opened his mouth to reply, but Harlan was already deep into his work, pulling tools from the walls and setting them around the forge with practiced precision. Realizing there was no point in lingering, Lucavion nodded quietly to himself and turned to leave.

But just as he began to move, something caught his eye—a glimpse of something on the workbench beside Harlan. Lucavion's gaze flickered to the corner of the forge, where a large sheet of parchment lay partially rolled up. It was a blueprint, intricate and detailed, showing the outline of a sword's body, its form sleek yet powerful.

His eyes widened slightly when he noticed the material Harlan was preparing on another table. Large, dark scales—faintly shimmering with an ominous, otherworldly glow. They were unmistakable. The scales of an Abyssal Wyrm. Lucavion had heard tales of how rare and resilient they were, nearly indestructible, forged in the heart of darkness itself.

The fact that Harlan had obtained such material—and had already begun working on it—sent a rush of anticipation through him.

'He's been working on it all along,' Lucavion realized, his heart pounding in his chest. Harlan had already started crafting the blade, even before the mission had been completed.

The realization only deepened Lucavion's respect for the old man. This wasn't just going to be any weapon; it was something extraordinary, forged from one of the rarest and most dangerous creatures known to mankind. And Harlan was the only one capable of turning those materials into something Lucavion could wield.

As if sensing Lucavion's lingering presence, Harlan shot a quick glance over his shoulder, his voice a low growl. "You still here, boy? I told you to leave. Come back when I'm done. You'll know when the time's right."

Lucavion snapped out of his thoughts and gave a quick nod, stepping toward the exit. "Got it," he said, suppressing the growing excitement within him. As he walked out of the smithy, the heat from the forge faded, replaced by the cool air of Rackenshore's streets.

Vitaliara's voice echoed softly in his mind as he left the building. [It seems you'll have quite the weapon soon, Lucavion. Are you ready for it?]

"Heh…..Ready than ever."

[Is that so?]

Just like that, Lucavion had left the place, as he returned to the inn.

*******

Roderick sat at his desk, his fingers tapping lightly against a stack of papers. He had called for Lucavion, and now, he waited. His eyes occasionally flicked to the corner of his office where a leather-bound folder rested—a file containing the identity he had painstakingly crafted for Lucavion. It had taken time, favors, and a considerable amount of money, but it was finally ready.

The door creaked open, and Lucavion stepped into the room, his usual calm and cold demeanor present as always. He glanced around briefly before settling his gaze on Roderick, who gestured for him to sit.

"Well," Roderick said, leaning back in his chair, "it took a bit longer than expected, but I've got everything ready for you." He opened the leather folder, pulling out a set of documents and a small, glowing ID card. "Your new identity."

Lucavion raised an eyebrow, taking the seat offered to him but saying nothing. Roderick smirked slightly, knowing Lucavion was keen on details, especially with something as important as this.

"Lucavion Renwyn," Roderick began, reading from the documents. "That's your new surname. You're an orphan from a small village called Veilcrest, located on the outskirts of the empire near the western border."

Lucavion's eyes narrowed slightly, absorbing the information.

"The backstory we've crafted for you is solid. You were raised in Veilcrest until the village was destroyed by a monster raid about a decade ago. That's when you left and began wandering, picking up various odd jobs in mercenary work. If anyone looks into it, they'll find records of Veilcrest's destruction, as well as a few villagers who were relocated after the incident.

There's even a temple that can verify your status as an orphan, should anyone bother to check."

Roderick flipped through the pages, showing Lucavion a detailed background—meticulously fabricated but convincing. "You've been around for a few years, moving from town to town. Nothing too flashy. Just enough to blend in, but not enough to attract too much attention."

He handed Lucavion the documents, letting him look through them. "This here," Roderick continued, tapping the small ID card, "is the most important part. It's your official identity as a citizen of the Arcanis Empire. It's a magical artifact developed by the Empire's arcane experts. Hard to forge, even harder to come by unless you've got connections."

Lucavion picked up the ID card, watching as it shimmered faintly with magic. "How does it work?" he asked quietly, his gaze fixed on the card.

Roderick grinned. "It's tied to your mana signature. It's essentially proof that you're an official citizen. The Empire's bureaucracy is strict, so without this, you're no one. With it, however, you've got access to guilds, trade, even travel permits within the Empire's borders. Anyone who tries to verify your identity will find you in the official records—name, origin, and backstory.

You're now Lucavion Renwyn, orphan of Veilcrest."

Lucavion nodded, inspecting the card further before slipping it into his coat. "It'll do," he said, his tone as calm as ever, but there was a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.

Roderick leaned back, satisfied with his work. "Good. This wasn't easy to pull off, but it should hold up to scrutiny. You've got the identity you need, and if you ever run into any issues, you know who to call."

"Thanks."

Roderick leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the desk as he watched Lucavion tuck the ID card away. "With this," he said, "the first part of our deal is finished. But, as you know, there are two more things still outstanding."

Lucavion's eyes flickered with curiosity, though his face remained unreadable. He stood quietly, waiting for Roderick to continue.

"First," Roderick began, sliding a neatly folded letter across the desk, "just as you requested, I've written a reference letter for you to the Adventurer's Guild. While you're not well known in their circles yet, this should smooth things over. Having a knight's recommendation will certainly make the process easier for you to register and begin working under their system."

Lucavion picked up the letter, glancing over the seal before slipping it into his coat alongside the ID card. "Efficient," he remarked.

Roderick gave a small smirk, nodding. "I do try. Now, about the money." He leaned forward slightly. "The reward that I had promised for taking care of Korvan and his lieutenants—it's being processed as we speak. You'll have your payment soon, so you don't need to worry about that."

Lucavion remained silent, his gaze unwavering as he listened.

Roderick paused, then sighed. "And that brings me to the final matter. The baron himself wants to meet you."

At that, Lucavion's eyes narrowed slightly. He had expected this, but hearing it confirmed sparked a flicker of annoyance in his gaze.

"Why?"

Roderick raised a hand as if sensing Lucavion's frustration.

"He's... interested. After all, you saved his son and took down the most dangerous bandit lord in the region. It's only natural that he'd want to meet the man behind the blade."

Hearing that, Lucavion will smile slightly.

"If that is the case, there is no way a commoner like me can refuse an order from a noble, can I?"

To that, Roderick could not help but look at Lucavion like a madman.

'This bastard's mood swings too fast.'

Chapter 129: Gratitude

Lucavion stepped out of Roderick's office, the cool evening air brushing against his face as he made his way down the cobbled streets of Rackenshore. The town was quieter than usual, the tension of the recent bandit threat finally lifting. With Korvan and his lieutenants dead, the people could breathe again, free from the terror that had plagued them for months.

He could sense the subtle shift in the atmosphere—an underlying relief that pulsed through the town.

He walked with purpose, but his mind wandered as he surveyed the people around him. Some had begun to return to their routines, children playing in the streets, merchants setting up their evening stalls, and villagers chatting outside their homes. The shadows of fear had retreated, replaced by a cautious optimism that life could return to some semblance of normalcy.

[Vitaliara's voice echoed in his mind, soft yet playful.] [So, how does it feel to be Lucavion Renwyn, orphan of Veilcrest?]

Lucavion smirked, his eyes scanning the bustling market. "It has a certain ring to it, doesn't it?" he replied, the weight of his new identity settling comfortably on his shoulders. "Though it'll take some getting used to."

[You'll manage,] she purred, her presence warm against his consciousness. [You always do. But I have to say, this new identity suits you. A wanderer with no ties—free to go wherever you please.]

He chuckled under his breath. "I suppose it does. Though I doubt freedom ever comes without strings."

[True,] Vitaliara agreed, [but at least now you have the means to move more freely through the Empire. No one will question who you are.]

Lucavion continued down the main road, watching as the town's inhabitants began to relax, some even laughing as they passed by. The air felt lighter, and for the first time since arriving in Rackenshore, he noticed the absence of the oppressive weight that had hung over the town.

"The threat of the bandits is gone," Lucavion mused aloud. "The villages surrounding Rackenshore will be safer now. They'll be able to rebuild, and the people here can finally have some peace."

[Thanks to you,] Vitaliara added, her tone matter-of-fact. [You did more than just kill Korvan. You gave this place a chance to recover.]

Lucavion nodded, though he didn't dwell too much on the thought. While it was not like he was a heartless bastard, it was not like he did all this just to help the people around here. If not for the fact that Harlan had given him such a request, he would take his time rather than directly fighting like this.

The town's survival was a side effect of completing his mission, but it wasn't what drove him, that was definitely a fact.

As he walked past the market stalls, one of the merchants called out to him, a middle-aged man with a grizzled beard and tired eyes. "Hey, you there! You're the one who helped take down those bandits, right?"

Lucavion glanced over, his expression neutral. "I suppose so."

The man gave him a wide smile, his face creasing with relief. "You saved us all, you know. If it weren't for you and your group, we'd still be living in fear of Korvan and his men. We owe you our lives."

Lucavion simply nodded, offering a polite but distant acknowledgment. "I'm glad I could help."

The man beamed and waved him off, returning to his stall as Lucavion continued on his way, his thoughts turning inward once more.

[You've made quite an impression, Lucavion Renwyn,] Vitaliara teased, her voice filled with amusement. [The hero of Rackenshore, whether you like it or not.]

"I'm no hero," Lucavion repeated, his smirk fading slightly as he glanced at the bustling marketplace around him. "If not for the fact that there was something for me to gain from all this, I wouldn't have done it. Harlan's request, the reward, the opportunity—it's all business. That's what drives me."

Vitaliara's tail flicked lazily as she rested on his shoulder, her golden eyes gleaming with amusement. [Really?] she asked, her tone light but probing. [Is that really the case? Would you have just stood by and watched while these people were taken advantage of?]

Lucavion's steps slowed for a moment as her question lingered in the air. He didn't answer immediately, his gaze sweeping over the streets where life had begun to return to normal. The children playing, the merchants hawking their wares, the villagers moving without fear—it all felt… different now that the threat was gone.

He remained silent, unwilling to engage in the argument. He wasn't some savior, and he certainly hadn't acted out of altruism. But there was something in the back of his mind, something he couldn't quite shake, a faint echo of a conscience he preferred not to acknowledge.

Vitaliara, sensing his hesitation, let out a soft purr. [You're not being honest with yourself, Lucavion,] she teased, her voice warm but firm. [You can tell yourself it was all about the reward, but I see through you.]

Lucavion chuckled, a low, almost resigned laugh. "Maybe," he muttered, a trace of amusement tugging at his lips. "But if I'm not being honest, at least I'm consistent."

[That's something,] Vitaliara replied with a playful tone. [Still, deep down, I think you care more than you let on. Even if you won't admit it.]

Lucavion shook his head, the smirk returning to his face as he resumed his pace. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said lightly, though the lingering weight of her words stayed with him.

As Lucavion approached the familiar inn, the building stood like a beacon of comfort amidst the winding streets of Rackenshore. The evening air was cool, and the sounds of the town settling in for the night filled the background. He reached for the door and pushed it open, stepping inside. The warm glow of the hearth greeted him, and the scent of freshly baked bread filled the air.

The inn had changed in subtle ways since he had first arrived. People no longer stared at him with suspicion or fear. The atmosphere was lighter now, more welcoming, and that fact wasn't lost on him.

Elena, the owner of the inn and Greta's mother, was behind the counter when he entered. Her demeanor was noticeably different from when he first came to stay. Back then, she had been skeptical, even fearful, after seeing the scene with Ragna and witnessing his formidable presence. But now, after his involvement in the bandit subjugation had become known throughout the city, things had shifted.

"Ah, Sir Lucavion," Elena greeted him warmly, her face lighting up with a genuine smile. She came around from behind the counter, her tone filled with respect that hadn't been there before. "Welcome back."

Lucavion could not help but sigh inwardly at the change in her demeanor but offered a polite nod in return. "Good Evening, Miss Elena."

"Would you like a meal, Sir Lucavion?" Elena asked, her tone warm and welcoming, as she stood by the counter. The respect in her voice felt almost too much, but Lucavion understood it came from a place of genuine gratitude.

He sighed inwardly at the title, knowing there was little he could do to change it now. "One dinner, please," he replied, keeping his tone polite but measured.

Elena nodded eagerly, already turning to head toward the kitchen. "Right away, Sir Lucavion. It'll be ready in no time."

As she disappeared into the back, Lucavion let his eyes wander around the inn. The last week had brought a significant shift in how people viewed him. After word had spread that he had played a key role in the bandit subjugation, it wasn't just the locals' stares that changed.

Elena and her husband had come to him the day after the event, returning the money he had paid for his stay, insisting that they couldn't take payment from the town's hero.

At first, he had refused, not wanting the special treatment. He wasn't one to revel in praise or accept handouts. But their earnestness had been palpable. This was their way of showing their gratitude, and to refuse would've been disrespectful. In the end, he accepted their gesture with quiet humility.

[They see you as a hero, and that makes them feel indebted,] Vitaliara's voice echoed in his mind, her tone contemplative. [It may be a small thing, but for them, it's a way to honor you.]

Lucavion leaned back slightly in his chair, letting the warmth of the hearth settle over him. "I didn't do it for this," he muttered softly, though there was no real frustration in his voice.

[Of course not,] Vitaliara responded, her presence warm and soothing. [But that doesn't mean you can't accept their gratitude. Sometimes, letting people show kindness is part of the balance.]

He smirked slightly at her words, watching as Elena returned with a tray in hand. The meal was simple but hearty—a plate of roasted meat, fresh bread, and some vegetables. She placed it gently in front of him, beaming.

"Enjoy, Sir Lucavion. And please, if you need anything else, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you," he replied, offering a nod of appreciation. As she left him to his meal, Lucavion took a moment to savor the quiet, letting the reality of his situation sink in.

He may not have sought their gratitude, but for now, he would accept it. There was still much to be done, and this brief moment of calm was just a respite before the next step in his journey.