Jeffery drew himself up, sword gleaming in the sun. His voice thundered across the field.

  “I am a knight of Zitry. Don’t you dare hold back on me, boy. Give me everything you have!”

  Eryndor’s emerald eyes studied him calmly. His voice was steady, unhurried.

  “Are you certain that is what you desire?”

  Jeffery leapt back, grounding his stance. His aura burst outward in a blaze, dust curling around him as the air trembled. He raised his sword to his side, calling out his augmentations like battle hymns:

  “Muscle Augmentation. Accelerated Perception. Indomitable Defense!”

  A storm of mana swirled around him, his body surging with strength.

  Eryndor only tilted his head, his hair shifting in the wind. He planted one leg back, lowering into a loose crouch.

  “You request my utmost? I cannot comply. Firstly— you lack the capacity to elicit such exertion. And secondly— a bona fide release on my part would be nothing short of catastrophic.”

  Jeffery’s teeth ground together. “Are you looking down on me, boy?!”

  He launched forward, the earth detonating under his feet. His sword flared with mana, cutting arcs of light into the air as he swung horizontally. The slash ripped outward, propagating nearly two kilometers before crashing against the containment shield at the edge of the training field. Beyond it lay homes and families—had the barrier not held, they would have been destroyed.

  When the dust settled, Jeffery’s blade rested on Eryndor’s shoulder, pressing against bare skin. His shirt had been shredded to tatters by the force of the blow.

  For a heartbeat, Jeffery thought he had done it. Then—

  Cracks ran through his weapon. With a sickening crunch, the sword splintered, shards falling uselessly to the ground.

  Jeffery’s eyes widened. “Impossible…”

  Eryndor smirked faintly, looking down at him.

  “You challenged me. To refuse you retaliation would be an insult your honor.”

  Jeffery’s mind reeled. How…? Three years ago, he was nothing compared to me. Now… not even a scratch?

  His voice cracked. “How? You’re not even bleeding…”

  Eryndor bent low until his shadow covered Jeffery’s face. He placed a hand gently against the knight’s head.

  “Sir Jeffery, do not torment yourself over this outcome — it was inevitable. Save for Pungence and my siblings, none in this kingdom can contest me, much less draw blood from me.”

  His smirk sharpened. “You demanded my utmost. Very well. I shall oblige—though only with a mere fraction.”

  At once, glowing shields shimmered into existence around Jeffery’s body—dozens, then hundreds, layering over him in translucent arcs.

  Eryndor’s gaze never shifted. His voice was steady, deliberate, and absolute:

  “Indomitable Defense.”

  Gasps rang from the tower.

  “My goodness!” cried the royal mage. “Over a hundred shields at once—without a chant? That’s… that’s impossible!”

  Queen Isebala turned. “What happened?”

  The mage’s voice shook. “He—he cast Indomitable Defense… on Sir Jeffery.”

  King Juval frowned. “And?”

  The mage’s hands trembled. “That skill is an Augmenter’s technique. It can only be applied to oneself… never on another. Yet he… he just…”

  Before anyone could speak further—

  BOOM.

  Eryndor’s palm slammed into Jeffery’s chest.

  The ground caved, a crater a hundred meters wide exploding outward. Blood sprayed from Jeffery’s lips as the shockwave tore behind him, sealed within Eryndor’s barrier. For five kilometers in every direction, the earth shook as if an earthquake had struck.

  In the tower, goblets rattled, shelves split, and even the royal dais cracked under the tremor. Then, before it could topple, Eryndor’s eyes flicked toward it. Instantly, the cracks sealed. The tower steadied, as though nothing had happened.

  On the field, Jeffery’s eyes bulged, his body limp. Consciousness fled him—yet Eryndor had held back enough that he lived.

  The mage whispered, awestruck. “All that… just from a palm strike?”

  Juval’s voice was grim. “And what do you think would happen if he struck me like that?”

  Isebala’s eyes never left Eryndor. “You’d be dead, Juval.”

  The dust settled. Eryndor emerged, walking calmly, Jeffery’s unconscious body slung over his shoulder. He flew to the tower, set the knight gently at the mage’s feet, and conjured a vial between his fingers—a bottle etched with a faint E.

  “Give this to him,” Eryndor said. “He will recover.”

  Juval studied him carefully. “That palm strike. You learned it from Pungence, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” Eryndor replied simply.

  Juval snorted. “What was it he called it? Inferior Blow? I always told him not to shout his attacks aloud. But Pungence—whether you know it’s coming or not—there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

  Eryndor’s smirk flickered. “You are correct.”

  He pointed at his chest, at the faint imprint of a hand across his chest, almost fully healed. “A stern reminder of what that attack felt like.”

  Isebala stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “That’s only the second time I’ve seen you injured…” Her gaze flicked to his hand. “And I could have sworn you lost that hand.”

  But Eryndor had already turned away, rising smoothly into the air.

  “Goodbye. Until our next session.”

  His voice echoed behind him as he disappeared into the horizon.

  The mage looked down at the vial of healing elixir in his hands. His eyes widened at the engraving.

  “Wait… this is the newest edition. It only arrived yesterday, and hasn’t even been released to the public. How in the world… did he get this?”

  ---

  As Eryndor cut through the sky, his strek buzzed. He accepted the call mid-flight.

  “Speak.”

  Valerius’s voice came through, annoyingly casual.

  “Yoo, man. I need a mask. A really cool mask. Can you make me one?”

  Eryndor’s eyes narrowed. “You called me… solely for this? To fashion you a mask?”

  “Dude, you can do magic—like, all sorts of stuff. Surely you can whip one up, right?”

  The line went silent. Eryndor had already cut the connection.

  “Right? …Right? Uh, Eryndor, you still there?” Valerius sighed, tossing the strek aside. “Damn elegant ass.”

  He sprawled across his bed for all of two seconds before vanishing, a blur of speed whipping out the window.

  ---

  At Festitude Academy, Sierra sat outside on a stone bench, bathed in sunlight. A sudden gust blasted across the courtyard.

  “Hey.”

  She jolted with a small scream. “Ahh!”

  Valerius sat casually beside her, the air still trembling from his arrival.

  “Please don’t do that again,” Sierra muttered, clutching her chest. “How did you even get in here?”

  “I have my ways,” he said easily. “Sierra, right?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re still wearing that thing on your face.”

  “Not anymore.” Valerius unwound the bandages, letting them fall away. He exhaled, stretching his jaw. “Much better.”

  He turned, flashing her a grin. “Am I right?”

  Sierra froze. His face — sharp, confident, alive with danger — pulled her in. Her thoughts drifted, her eyes glazed.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “Hey.” Valerius snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Are you listening?”

  She blinked, flushing red. “What? Sorry, what did you say?”

  “I said I want a mask.”

  “A mask?” she repeated. “Can’t you just buy one?”

  “No. I want it custom-made.”

  “You can still do that in town. Shops exist, you know.”

  Valerius leaned closer. “Do you know which one?”

  “…No.”

  He smirked, pulled a notebook, and began sketching. In seconds, a sharp, jagged design filled the page. He flipped it around for her to see.

  Sierra’s eyes widened. “It’s… unique.”

  “So, can you do it?”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. Maybe by tonight.”

  Valerius grinned, satisfied. “Great. See you later.” He turned, already halfway gone—

  —and froze. Across the courtyard, Ziraiah walked with David.

  Valerius’s jaw tightened, teeth grinding. His figure blurred and vanished, leaving only a violent gust in his wake.

  ---

  For days, Valerius watched David from the shadows. Every step. Every conversation. Every stranger he shook hands with.

  One night, he followed him into a narrow alley. David wasn’t alone.

  A man stood there.

  Valerius narrowed his eyes from the rooftop. That face… I’ve seen him before. But where?

  David passed the man — Diel — a stack of photos and invitations. Valerius’s blood ran cold when he glimpsed them. Himself. Ziraiah. Eryndor. Even Zelion.

  Valerius’s fists clenched. I knew you were shady. How the hell did you even get pictures of me?

  His jaw tightened. I should keep Sentinel activated at all times from now on.

  David walked away, leaving Diel behind. Valerius shifted his focus. He reached out with Sentinel, searching—

  —and found nothing.

  His stomach dropped. “What the hell?” His voice was a low growl. “I can’t feel him at all. This… shouldn’t be possible.”

  Then, before his eyes, Diel stepped calmly into a swirling portal.

  Valerius’s chest tightened as recognition slammed into him. His eyes widened, blood roaring in his ears.

  “…Damn it. I know where I’ve seen him before.”

  The realization hit like thunder.

  “Oh my God. One of them is here.”

  ---

  The Targreen estate slept under a canopy of stars.

  In David’s room, the silence shattered like glass.

  A blur tore through the shadows, before David could even gasp, Valerius’s hand clamped around his throat. The impact drove him back, hard, slamming him against the wall with such force the stone spiderwebbed outward.

  His arms stretched wide, pinned uselessly against the wall as if crucified by sheer pressure. His feet kicked helplessly above the floor.

  He saw a man in a mask, black and green metal curved over his face, sharp edges sculpted into menace. The eye sockets were covered by dark lenses that reflected nothing. When he spoke, his voice crawled out like jagged metal scraping stone, layered with distortion: a deep growl beneath, a broken static echo above. Each syllable cracked the air like a faulty speaker holding too much power.

  “You may have fooled everyone…” Valerius tightened his grip around David’s throat, slamming him against the wall hard enough for plaster to spiderweb. “…but you haven’t fooled me.”

  Valerius quietly fortified the entire house. No sound would escape. No one would come.

  David gasped, eyes wide, and in desperation clamped his own hand around Valerius’s throat, trying to squeeze.

  But Valerius’s head barely tilted. Slowly, with terrifying ease, he peeled David’s hand away finger by finger. Bones cracked beneath his grip. David howled.

  Then Valerius crushed his hand in one squeeze.

  David’s scream tore through the room — unheard by anyone but his tormentor.

  “HEEELP! SOMEBODY! I’M BEING ATTACKED!”

  “No one can help you,” Valerius whispered, voice reverberating like thunder trapped in a cave. “No one can hear you.” He leaned in until his masked face nearly touched David’s. “Why are you working with him? With the Unbound? What are you planning?”

  David froze, mind racing. What? He saw me? But how? I made sure no one followed—

  Valerius slammed him harder into the wall. “Don’t bother denying it. I saw you tonight.”

  David groaned in disbelief. Impossible. He’s not gifted. How is he this strong?

  “As easy as it would be to force the answers out of you,” Valerius snarled, “I won’t pass on the chance to beat the crap out of you first.”

  His fist cracked against David’s face. Three teeth spat from his mouth, clattering across the floor.

  “Ooh,” Valerius muttered mockingly. “Too much?”

  He hammered David’s stomach with blow after blow, each punch folding him tighter until Valerius flung him across the room. The noble’s body smashed into the wall, but it remained intact.

  In a blur, Valerius was there again — lifting him by the throat, punched him upward into the ceiling. As David fell, Valerius was already moving, slamming him across the chamber with another blow.

  David’s aura ignited in desperation, his body blurring at Mach 3. He launched a flurry of strikes, fists splitting the air into sonic booms.

  Valerius didn’t even block. He slipped between them, weaving through like water, before punishing David with a Mach 3 counter that drove him into the wall again. The masked figure blurred forward, fists sinking into David’s gut in a brutal rhythm.

  David’s screams filled the room, ragged and broken.

  “When I’m done with you,” Valerius growled, “you’ll beg for mercy.” He kicked David into another wall at Mach 4. The room itself held — untouched, preserved by Valerius’ fortis.

  He walked forward slowly, every step a verdict. “What happened to all that confidence you had earlier?”

  David crawled weakly across the floor, blood streaking his lips. “Who… who are you? What have I ever done to you? Huh?!”

  Valerius’s head tilted. The mask caught the moonlight through the cracked window, faceless and merciless.

  “I can’t believe you’re asking that.”

  Before David could respond, Valerius blurred forward. His fist collided with David’s jaw, snapping his head sideways — then another strike lifted him into the air.

  He didn’t let him fall. Each time David’s body began to descend, Valerius was already there — punching him higher, smashing him sideways, ricocheting him like a ball through the air.

  Not a single blow missed. Not a single chance to breathe was given.

  Finally, a savage kick hurled David against the far wall. He sagged there, barely conscious, when Valerius stalked toward him.

  One gloved hand wrapped around his throat again, hoisting him up like a doll.

  “Tell me,” Valerius’s distorted voice rattled through the room, his fury pressed into every syllable. “WHAT DO YOU PLAN TO DO HERE? HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT MAN FROM THE ALLY? TELL ME EVEYTHING.”

  To Be Continued...