The masked figure groaned, staggering a step as his knees buckled slightly. The once-pristine white mask on his face was now cracked, a jagged fracture running from the brow to the cheekbone—but it remained in place, clinging stubbornly to his blood-sared face like a symbol of defiance.
"I’ve changed my mind," he said with a light, almost playful laugh. "I’ll be staying a while longer."
Then, after a beat, his smile twisted under his mask, and a rough, rasping chuckle escaped him—darker now, touched with pain.
"Didn’t expect so kids from that academy to hit that hard..."
"But... manageable," he added confidently, brushing soot and debris from his once-flawless black suit. His fingers moved with habitual care, as though straightening a uniform before a formal duel.
"You’re bleeding. How can you say that?" Aveline called out, her voice flat but laced with disbelief. Her eyes flicked to the thin trail of blood running down his leg, a slow, crimson stream staining the edge of his polished boot.
"Oh please, this?" he scoffed, lips curling into a smile beneath the fractured mask. He snapped his fingers with a casual flick, and in an instant, golden energy surged through his body. Flesh reknit itself, the wound on his leg sealing shut with unnatural speed, not even a scar left behind. It was as if ti had rewound for his body—but not his arrogance.
"I was rely trying to test you three... and I can say that you passed with flying colors," he chuckled, arms stretched wide like a showman concluding his grand act.
"How about joining us?" he asked, tone suddenly diplomatic, almost friendly. "You’re investigating that Eastern Dragon myth, right? We may be able to help..."
He tilted his head, voice smooth and enticing. "We have the sa goal after all." Another quiet laugh followed, drenched in layered aning.
Marcus didn’t flinch. With slow precision, he raised his pistol—this ti only one—and leveled it directly at the masked figure’s chest, finger relaxed but ready. His other hand curled loosely by his side, tension hidden in the quiet poise of a gunslinger who’d seen too much.
"Isn’t it stupid to explain your organization’s plans to us?" Marcus asked, tone cool but carrying a sharp edge of curiosity. "What if we refuse?"
He already knew the answer.
After all...
He used to do this before.
’He plans to kill us.’ Marcus thought, eyes narrowing as mories of older missions stirred in the back of his mind.
"Well..." the masked man said, his voice chillingly calm, fingers now fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves. "If you refuse, then I’ll just kill you three."
The air grew heavier.
Aveline’s expression hardened, jaw tight as she stepped closer to Marcus, sword sliding up in a practiced motion. The threat in his voice wasn’t empty—and that confidence, the cold certainty, made it terrifyingly real.
"It won’t be that easy," she said, holding her blade at the ready. "It’s three against one. Your friends here won’t be waking up anyti soon."
She took a defensive stance, body angled between her allies and their enemy, her sword gleaming with faint mana threads. She narrowed her eyes, scanning for any sudden movent. Every angle, every flank—sealed. There would be no surprise attacks this ti.
The masked figure sighed heavily, disappointnt evident in his voice. "Guessing by your reactions you’re not accepting then?"
From behind, Cynthia answered.
A wave of magic pulsed through the air as she raised her hand, a swirl of sapphire light forming around her fingers. With a sharp gesture, a barrage of water exploded forth, streams twisting through the air like living serpents, racing toward their target.
"Quite obvious," she said, her voice as smooth and cold as the elent she commanded.
The masked man shook his head, almost mournfully. "Such a waste. All three of you could have been such useful comrades." A beat—then laughter, lighter now, almost fond.
With a flourish of his hand, a deck of cards appeared out of nowhere, flickering into reality like shadows dancing on firelight. Sleight of hand—flawless. Neither Marcus nor Aveline had caught the motion. It was as if the cards had always been there.
But these weren’t ordinary cards.
The one he plucked from the deck shimred red, the design unfamiliar—no hearts, no clubs. Instead, intricately drawn chess pieces adorned each one, glowing faintly with embedded runes that pulsed like coiled power, hidden behind artistry.
"One last chance. Watch—and then decide." he said, flicking a pawn card from the deck between his fingers.
"If you still don’t join... even after witnessing my power... then so be it."
He tossed the card, slicing it through the air directly into the torrent of water.
The mont it entered the stream, the card began to glow—its edges sharp, motion fluid. The water twisted unnaturally, being siphoned into the card like ink into dry paper. A vortex ford around it, elental magic collapsing into the runic design.
The card was now suspended in mid air, eting the onslaught of water head on.
Marcus’s eyes widened.
That energy—
He’d seen it before. Back at the Reassessnts. The headmaster had used sothing eerily similar, though this... this felt like a more unstable echo.
’It’s weaker... but definitely powerful.’
The space around the card shimred, distorting with the force of clashing magics.
Cynthia clenched her fists, arms outstretched. Her control over water surged higher, and with it, her determination.
"My supply of magic when it cos to water is near-limitless," she declared. "Can that card hold up?"
There was steel in her voice now—freshly earned from her recent ascension as the heir of Tyr’s legacy.
"Just watch, pretty missy," the figure said lazily, reaching toward the still-hovering card.
"Cynthia—cut the stream! He’s pulling it in on purpose!" she shouted, alarm cutting through the air.
Cynthia gritted her teeth, sweat trailing down her temple. Her brows furrowed, focus sharp—but the magic twisted beyond her control.
The water—
It wasn’t obeying her anymore.
It was being drawn to the card, a traitor to her command, siphoned away like it had chosen a new master.
Marcus and Aveline stood ready, tense and unmoving. They didn’t dare interfere yet. Not after seeing how easily the man had regenerated—and especially not with another unknown card already up his sleeve.
Literally.
’Even my connection to water isn’t responding... what is this?’ Cynthia thought, alarm pulsing behind her concentration.
And then—
The card shifted.
Its image transford mid-air, runes blooming with power as the pawn turned into a queen. The mont the elents reached critical saturation, it evolved.
"Let us start the second act, shall we?" the masked man purred, his head tilting as a crimson gleam danced in his eyes.
With a final flick of his hand—
The Queen Card responded, pulsing with deep red energy, humming like a living engine about to ignite.
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