The distress signal had been sent.
At the entrance to the underground auction, a handful of Dorian's unit remained, gripping their weapons.
Others had already gone ahead, expecting a routine issue.
But minutes passed.
No one returned.
No response. No sound. Nothing.
A soldier clenched his gun tighter, his frustration bubbling over.
"What the hell is going on out there?" he muttered.
A voice answered—low, chilling, unfamiliar.
"You really want to know?"
The man spun around,
Steel flashed in the dim light.
A sword slid into his throat.
His breath hitched—blood bubbling at his lips.
A whisper brushed against his ear—mocking, cold.
"Why not ask your captain up there?"
The light in his eyes faded.
His body crumpled.
And the Ghost moved on.
"That's the last one."
He crouched, gripping the wooden handle of a trapdoor hidden in the dirt. With a slow creak, it swung open, revealing a staircase leading underground.
As he descended, his steps were silent—his presence, a shadow.
Then he stopped.
His gaze settled on sothing ahead.
A smirk tugged at his lips.
"Looks like I need to find a good spot to watch the fireworks."
***
Inside Storage Room of Auction House
Laughter echoed in the dimly lit chamber.
A fat rchant leaned back against a stack of crates, a self-satisfied grin splitting his face.
"Who would've thought our little lucky find in Fastia Woods would make us this much profit?"
His thinner companion chuckled, shaking his head. "You underestimate the value of elves, my friend. Their worth goes beyond re gold."
Across the room, a man stood with a spear resting against his shoulder.
Unlike the rchants, he wasn't smiling.
He wore a sleeveless shirt, his muscular forearm marked with a sigil—a deep green leaf, pulsing faintly with energy.
His voice was curt. "Enough talking. Stay alert."
The rchants stiffened.
"Why? What's wrong, Master Stuard?" one asked.
Stuard's grip on his spear tightened.
"An intruder."
At that single word, the elves shackled in the corner lifted their heads.
Hope flickered in their eyes.
May be soone had co for them.
The door creaked open.
A figure stepped inside, cloaked in darkness.
The Ghost.
Stuard's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on his spear.
'Early-stage Expert...'
His mind raced, calculating the odds. Against a Late-stage Expert like , he doesn't stand a chance.
Then
"Leaf, huh? Well, that's nostalgic."
The Ghost's voice was calm. Unbothered.
Stuard didn't like it.
Lightning crackled around his feet as he moved. In a blink, he lunged.
His spear thrust forward, straight for the Ghost's chest.
A clean hit.
But
An afterimage.
Stuard's instincts scread. He spun around, raising his spear just in ti—
CLANG!
Steel t steel in a violent clash. Sparks flew.
Stuard took a single step back.
The Ghost staggered five.
"You're fast, I'll give you that," Stuard said, rolling his shoulders. "But you're weak."
A grin split his face as arcs of lightning danced around his body, crackling with power.
The Ghost sighed.
"Yawn."
The Ghost's fingers tightened around his sword.
"Let's finish this. I'm sleepy."
Stuard's brows twitched. 'Mocking ?'
Lightning surged around him as he exploded forward, his speed doubling.
'He beca faster. In that case—'
The Ghost ducked.
A wave of black mist unfurled from his body, swallowing the room in darkness.
Stuard's montum carried him straight into the mist.
A chill crawled down his spine.
Sothing was wrong.
I need to get out.
He spun around and ran, lightning flickering with every step.
But no matter how far he moved, he never reached the edge.
His breath quickened. What—?!
Then it hit him.
An illusion.
His eyes widened. Too late.
SHNK!
His head rolled across the floor.
The mist thinned, revealing the Ghost, standing over the lifeless body.
"Even if you were stronger than ... what's the use if your mind is this weak?"
The Ghost crouched, checking Stuard's lifeless body before slipping a key from his pocket.
Without sparing him another glance, he stepped forward.
The rchants trembled.
He stopped before them. Their knees hit the ground, hands clasped in desperate prayers for rcy.
But the Ghost didn't even acknowledge them.
His focus was elsewhere.
One by one, he unlocked the elves' slave collars.
Click. Click. Click.
Chains fell to the floor.
Then, without looking at them, he tossed a small device toward the elves.
"Take this and get lost."
The elves stared at the item—a one-ti-use teleportation device.
One of them, a female elf, hesitated before bowing. "Thank—"
"I said get lost."
His cold voice sliced through the air, sharper than his blade.
"Because of you, I lost my sleep."
The male elf flinched, fumbling to activate the portal.
One by one, the elves stepped through.
The male elf was about to follow,
"Aren't you forgetting sothing?"
The elf froze, turning back.
Confused, he glanced around before shaking his head. "No, sir. That's everyone."
The Ghost lifted a finger—
Pointing at the rchants.
"They kidnapped you. Now why don't you kidnap them?"
The elf frowned. "I won't gain anything from that."
The Ghost let out a slow, disappointed sigh.
"Then is it okay for them to kidnap more of your kind after this?"
The elf's expression shifted. Understanding dawned.
The Ghost continued, his voice indifferent.
"You can torture them."
"You can kill them."
"Even sell them, if you can."
"I don't really care."
A mont of hesitation.
Then the elf reached for a slave collar.
Click.
The rchants didn't dare resist.
Their own chains now clasped around their throats.
Under the watchful gaze of the Ghost, they remained motionless.
Finally, the elf stepped through the portal—dragging the rchants with him.
The room fell silent.
The Ghost exhaled, rolling his shoulders.
His objective was complete.
With asured steps, he retraced his path—ascending the stairway back to the surface.
Outside, the night had begun to fade.
The first rays of dawn kissed the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and violet.
A mile away.
He sat perched on the edge of a building, his figure silhouetted against the morning glow.
The hoodie slipped off.
A cascade of snow-white hair spilled out, catching the light.
"Yawn."
He blinked, revealing purple eyes that glead like diamonds.
Then— Bzzz.
His phone vibrated. Exile.
Lifting it to his ear, he answered.
"Hello, Whisper... or should I say Dear Alvin. Has the mission been completed?"
The Ghost—alias Alvin—humd.
Then— BOOM.
A thunderous explosion erupted before him.
The entire auction site vanished in a blast of fire and debris, leaving behind a deep, smoldering crater.
A shockwave rippled through the air, heat licking against his face as the night erupted in flas.
He watched, expression calm.
"It just finished."
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