Ashan glanced at Narasha, his brow furrowing. "When did he come?"
Narasha crossed her arms and shot Nevil an openly annoyed look. "After you left. He said he had something important to tell you and refused to leave. So I let him in and made sure he stayed put."
Nevil, who was standing stiffly near the wall, wiped the sweat off his forehead, looking like a man awaiting judgment.
Seeing his state, Ashan let out a quiet chuckle and sighed. "Sorry, Nevil. If I knew you were coming, I would've returned earlier."
Nevil waved his hand hastily, forcing a smile. "It's fine, really. I should've contacted you beforehand. That's on me."
Ashan reached for the door and opened it wide. "Narasha, we'll step out for a bit and give you some space."
She nodded, her expression softening slightly, though she still glanced at Nevil with faint irritation.
Ashan turned to him. "Nevil, shall we talk while walking?"
Nevil immediately straightened. "Yeah. That'd be good."
The two left the apartment and walked down the quiet street toward a nearby park. The evening breeze brushed past them, cool and refreshing, easing the earlier tension. Streetlights flickered on one by one, casting long shadows on the pavement.
After a few moments of silence, Ashan spoke. "So… what made you come all this way?"
Nevil adjusted his collar, looking a bit serious now. "About that… next Monday, the Awakeners' Academy will begin enrolling new students. Applications are open until this Friday." He glanced sideways at Ashan. "Aren't we going to apply?"
Ashan stopped for half a second, then resumed walking, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh… right. I completely forgot about that."
Nevil raised an eyebrow, clearly not surprised. "Figures."
Ashan let out a small laugh. "So what do we need right now?"
"Nothing specific," Nevil explained. "First, we just need to pass the selection process. After that, they'll assign classes. Your class and specialty will determine what kind of equipment you'll need."
"Hmmm…" Ashan hummed, eyes narrowing slightly as he thought. "Then we'll probably need a lot of money, won't we?"
Nevil nodded without hesitation. "Definitely. I'm not worried about myself, But for you, it's different." He glanced at Ashan. "Mage equipment is far more expensive than gear for combat fighters."
Ashan slowed his steps and looked up at the sky, where the last traces of daylight lingered between drifting clouds. His expression grew distant.
'I'm not going to the academy to become a stronger mage,' he thought. 'I need opportunities, new abilities, new skills. I'm already strong, but strength alone won't be enough. If I want to save the lives that are destined to end in misery, my power has to go far beyond this.'
His eyes sharpened as resolve settled in.
He turned to Nevil. "I've been busy lately because of personal matters. When you apply… could you apply for me and Narasha as well?"
Nevil halted mid-step, staring at him. "Huh?"
He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, letting out a short sigh. "Ah… so you really are taking her with you." After a moment, he shrugged. "Fine. I'll apply for both of you."
Ashan's expression softened. "Thank you. You really are my best friend."
Nevil's ears reddened instantly. He looked away and rubbed his nose. "T-That's obvious. Who else would do this for you?" He puffed out his chest slightly. "This big brother's got your back."
Ashan laughed openly and patted Nevil's shoulder. "Alright then. Let's hope we all get selected."
…
Inside the Honor Association headquarters, within a vast and luxurious chamber, a middle-aged man in his fifties sat comfortably in an ornate, expensive chair. The room was adorned with various weapons and ancient artifacts mounted on the walls, each radiating faint pressure. Even the air itself felt unnaturally heavy, bending under the weight of his presence.
The man possessed a commanding appearance. White streaks ran through his black hair, framing a well-groomed beard. His half-closed eyes carried a quiet sharpness, as if nothing escaped his notice. The aura of an S-ranker filled the chamber, silent yet oppressive.
He stared at his phone with growing interest, studying a photo of Ashan clad in his mask.
'Who might this person be? That build… It's strange. And those blood manipulation techniques, none of our records match them.'
His fingers tapped lightly against the armrest. 'There's a high chance he's either a dark mage… or something worse. A vampire, perhaps.'
The sudden ring of the landline phone shattered the stillness.
He set his phone aside and answered calmly. "Mr. Blackridge, Ms. Sorin is asking permission to meet you. Should I let her in?"
"Yes, of course," he replied without hesitation. "Tell her to come."
A few seconds later, the heavy door opened. Sorin stepped inside with a practiced smile. Unlike her usual combat attire, she wore a charming sheath dress accented with blue and pink hues. It hugged her figure neatly, her appearance refined yet confident.
(Author's Note: Just to be clear, they are not in a relationship.)
She carried a bag in her hands, one that sagged slightly under its weight.
"Sorin," Blackridge said warmly, rising a little in his seat. "I was looking forward to your return. You've done well. As expected, you and your brother are growing at an impressive pace. If this continues, I'll allow you to go on solo raids soon."
Sorin's smile stiffened. Her fingers tightened around the bag's strap before she lowered her head slightly.
"Head… there's something I need to report."
Blackridge paused. His brows knit together. "Hmm? Is there a problem?"
"To be honest," Sorin said quietly, "we weren't the ones who cleared the dungeon. That masked man… he did it alone."
The room seemed to sink into silence.
Blackridge's eyes widened for a split second before narrowing sharply. He leaned forward, intertwining his fingers, his voice dropping.
"Alone?" He stared straight at her. "You're not joking, right? Explain everything, clearly."
Sorin took a breath and recounted the entire raid from beginning to end. As her explanation progressed, the pressure in the room thickened. Blackridge closed his eyes briefly, exhaling slowly as if weighing each word.
"This is absurd…" he muttered. "From where did such a monster appear?"
His eyes snapped open. "If he can perform the formless sword, then he's already a peak-level swordmaster. That puts him far beyond ordinary battle mages."
Sorin stepped forward and placed the bag on the table with a dull thud.
"I'm sorry, head," she said. "I couldn't save it."
Blackridge opened the bag. Broken sword fragments lay inside, cleanly severed, each cut precise.
His jaw tightened. He picked up one piece, fingers trembling ever so slightly.
"…What a shame," he said quietly. "Seeing this weapon reduced to this state pains me."
Sorin nodded, her expression heavy. "Not only you. My brother almost cried when he saw it. He swore he'd kill the masked one."
Blackridge let out a slow sigh, rubbing his temple. "That reaction is understandable. He cherished this sword."
He looked up. "How is Rowan now?"
"He's physically fine," Sorin replied. "But mentally… not so much. His mana control has worsened. It's leaking more than before."
Blackridge frowned. "Tell him to rest. Proper health is essential for a raider."
Then his tone sharpened. "Especially since he's scheduled to enter the Awakeners' Academy next week."
He returned his attention to the sword pieces, lifting one and studying the cut.
"This weapon was sliced into eight pieces," he murmured. "Perfectly clean."
He glanced at Sorin. "Who else do you know that could do this to an S-rank weapon?"
Sorin thought carefully before answering.
"…Sword Saint Silas Wolven. He's the only one I know capable of such precision."
Blackridge nodded slowly. "Hmph. The same name came to my mind. A prideful man who believes himself unrivaled."
He placed the fragments back into the bag and closed it.
"Listen carefully," he said firmly. "Do not speak of this matter to anyone. If word gets out, it will invite unnecessary trouble."
His gaze hardened. "Make sure Rowan stays silent. Understood?"
"Yes," Sorin replied immediately.
She hesitated, then glanced at the bag. "Can this sword be repaired? We can't just throw it away like trash."
Blackridge paused before answering. "You're right. But repairing a weapon like this is harder than forging it from scratch."
He exhaled. "Still… I'll try to find a way."
Sorin's eyes lit up slightly. "Head, what about asking help from the elves?"