The echoes of the arena still clung to long after Lilith and I vanished back into the city’s shadows. The blood, the cries, the sudden silence—it all pressed down on as though I had carried the weight of that massacre on my own back. But it was necessary. Heroes like Mia, Zion, and the others could never take that path. They were bound to their role, chained by the eyes of the weak who looked up to them for protection.
I had no doubts about their strength. Three of them had already reached the level of SS rank, each one capable of overwhelming armies on their own if they wished to. Even Zion’s swordsmanship had matured into sothing I hadn’t expected to see so soon, while Mia’s control over her ice was sharper, crueler, colder than ever before. If they had been free to act without restraint, they could have wiped the higher-ranking devils without .
But heroes were not allowed that kind of freedom. Their burden was to defend, to hold the line, to keep alive the trembling recruits who had only just begun to touch the edges of power. They couldn’t abandon those lives in pursuit of a quick victory, not even if it ant letting themselves bleed dry in the process. That was the role given to them, the mask they had to wear.
And that was why a phantom like was required. Soone naless, faceless, unseen by history. I moved in the spaces between their light, into the shadows where their blades couldn’t reach. My strike didn’t belong to any kingdom, any oath, or any banner. I was the blade that cut the cords of the devil strategist’s trap from behind the curtain. That was my purpose.
But even after that strike, my mission was far from finished. The search for the forr Devil King still weighed on heavier than ever. The strategist Aamon’s plan was only a piece of the larger storm gathering in this capital. If the forr king truly still lived, if the whispers about him gathering power were true, then every mont wasted brought closer to disaster.
The problem was, finding him was like chasing smoke in a storm. Every thread of information slipped between my fingers before I could grasp it. The rebels who still supported the forr king had long gone into hiding after the last incident. Their networks were shattered, their leaders scattered or killed, and the few who survived trusted no one.
Lilith had managed to contact them once, back when the city was less hostile, when the rebellion still had so breath left. But those she knew, those who had once called her ally, were already gone. Caught in the last incident. Betrayed by a mole within their own unit. The weight of that betrayal still lingered in her eyes whenever the topic ca up, though she never spoke of it aloud.
I couldn’t push her on it. The mory was still a wound, and I had no right to reopen it.
Even if she had wanted to, though, it wasn’t like we could walk the streets and ask openly about the forr king. His very na had beco taboo—a red topic, forbidden to be spoken of in public. The current lord’s grip was absolute. To even whisper about the forr king was to invite suspicion, punishnt, or worse. The city itself seed to recoil at the ntion of him, as though every stone and shadow carried ears.
Information dealers were no help either. The lord had forced them into his service, twisting their networks into tools of misinformation. Every rumor they spread, every secret they offered for a price, was coated in lies ant to steer seekers away or into traps. Even if one of them truly knew anything, they would never speak it without fear of their own families being made examples.
I ground my teeth as the futility of it sank deeper each day. A phantom could strike in the dark, but even a phantom needed a trail to follow.
anwhile, in the arena, the storm had already broken.
Xalvar moved like a shadow in the pit, his blade lashing against Hiro’s with a sickening rhythm. Sparks burst as steel clashed with steel, and each clash carried with it not just weight, but hunger. The dark arts coiled around Xalvar’s form like living serpents, striking out with malice between every sword swing.
But Hiro did not falter. His eyes, once filled with nothing but reckless defiance, now burned with tempered resolve. Every swing of his sword carried not only strength but control. The boy I had once thought of as brash and reckless had changed. He had sharpened in the fires of battle, his growth undeniable.
For a mont, even Xalvar seed to notice. The devil’s gaze narrowed, his expression hardening as the tempo of the fight shifted. Blow for blow, strike for strike—Hiro held his ground. His sword was not just blocking now; it was pressing forward, forcing Xalvar to adjust, to truly take him seriously.
It was enough to make even a being like Xalvar hesitate, if only for a heartbeat.
And in that heartbeat, he understood.
But Xalvar was not the kind to hesitate for long. If anything, that realization only made him more determined.
He shifted his stance, his strikes slowing, not out of weakness, but calculation. Every movent was deliberate now, his dark arts woven between sword strikes like a net being drawn tighter and tighter. He no longer sought to crush Hiro with overwhelming power. No—he had chosen a different strategy.
Drag the fight.
Exhaust him.
The devil had no need to rush. He only had to wait. Every clash of blades, every step Hiro took, drained him further. The longer the fight stretched on, the closer Hiro would co to collapse.
A sudden change in Xalvar’s movent and Hiro already understood his intentions, hence he took advantage of the situation and used his skill Death star limit release, in the past he had limited ti for using the skill but with mana manipulation it had prolonged his skill usage ti almost a hundred tis giving him enough ti to finish his foes.
And to add on he used system double power using a few system points ant nothing compared to his revenge in front of him.
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