Chapter 15 – Echoes of the Spirits
Sam and the five spirits with him had already left the abandoned district behind.
It was night.
Sam stood on the rooftop of a high-rise building, overlooking the vast sea of city lights below. Traffic flowed like a slow, glowing river, but his attention was not on the streets.
This time…
he wasn't just watching.
He was feeling.
After releasing thirty percent of his seal, the world had become louder.
The air carried faint whispers—conversations happening on a different frequency, beyond human perception. Sam closed his eyes, allowing his senses to sink deeper.
Behind him, the five spirits stood completely still.
Their presence alone was oppressive.
Sam slowly turned to face them.
"You five," he said in a cold, unrefined voice,
"from today onward, you function as one unit."
All five spirits bowed simultaneously.
"Your designation will be—"
Sam paused for a moment, then continued,
"Team Slaughter."
The air grew heavier.
"Listen carefully," Sam went on, his tone devoid of hesitation.
"There will be no mercy. Anyone who enters my radar—guilty or not—will be erased."
One of the spirits spoke cautiously.
"Master… are there any rules?"
Sam's eyes turned glacial.
"Rules exist when there is time," he replied.
"Right now, I only need results."
The spirits responded without delay.
"Understood."
The next instant—
they vanished.
Only Sam remained on the rooftop.
Something shifted inside his mind.
A vision surged forward.
Buried memories beneath the earth.
Ancient symbols carved into forgotten layers of reality.
And shadows—shadows that no longer fled from him.
They were watching him now.
Spirits.
Sam had always known the truth: the world was never limited to humans and elves.
But tonight…
for the first time…
he could sense them clearly.
The vision changed.
He found himself observing a desolate planet—
a lifeless world beneath a gray sky, where silence ruled everything.
Its name was Graystrom.
At the planet's core stood a divine tree, its roots stretching deep into the planet's heart. At its center hung a glowing fruit—slowly cracking open.
From within that fracture, an entity was born.
Neither male nor female.
Neither human nor beast.
The first Spirit.
Time passed.
More beings like it emerged. A race took form—entities without fixed bodies, forged from energy and will itself.
Their lifespans spanned thousands of years.
Their growth had no defined limit.
They existed within a separate dimension where time flowed differently.
Eventually, when the spirits reached maturity, they left their dimension.
Conquest began.
From planet to planet.
Absorbing power.
Adapting to environments.
Then came the crossover.
Humans arrived on Graystrom.
For the first time, the spirits realized they were not the only intelligent race.
Humans were weak—but they possessed something dangerous.
Potential.
Sam watched as certain human warriors evolved, slowly but relentlessly. Territories were claimed. Empires were formed.
And then the spirits discovered a rule.
Spirits could only obey those who possessed greater will and dominance than themselves.
From this understanding, a system was born—
The Devil Contract.
Anyone who overpowered a spirit, or bound it with their soul, gained control over it.
Thus, balance was maintained.
The universe was never just humans and elves.
There were beasts.
Ancient races.
Thousands of unknown species.
And standing between them all…
were the spirits.
The vision shattered.
Sam opened his eyes.
His chest rose and fell steadily.
"So that's the real reason…" he murmured.
"The moment I loosened my seal… they felt me."
One thing was clear in his mind—
Thirty percent power was only the beginning.
The more power he released,
the more things would start moving.
And with them—
more enemies.
Sam gazed down at the city.
Every face.
Every movement.
"Someone has stepped into my territory," he said quietly.
"And this time… they won't stay hidden."
Cold fire burned in his eyes.
Far away,
an unknown entity began to move as well.
And the hunt…
had officially begun.
Wills Beyond Gods
The ruins of the abandoned library stood like a graveyard of forgotten eras.
Collapsed pillars, broken domes, and walls carved with symbols so ancient that even the gods had erased them from their scriptures.
No normal human could survive here.
But Sam walked through the silence as if it welcomed him.
For him, this place wasn't dangerous.
It was… quiet.
He stopped before a wall covered in deep carvings. The symbols were worn, yet still pulsed faintly with dormant power. Sam ran his fingers across them slowly.
"So this is where you hide the truth," he muttered.
His voice echoed faintly.
"Spirits are not gods," Sam said, more to himself than anyone else.
"Not demons. Not angels."
He closed his eyes.
"They are wills."
When a concept became absolute in an era…
When belief, power, or emotion grew so strong that reality itself bent around it—
That will gained form.
Fire.
War.
Judgment.
Protection.
Some spirits were born from chaos.
And some…
…existed only for a single master.
---
Knightwell's Origin (A Glimpse)
A familiar pressure filled the air behind him.
Not hostile.
Not aggressive.
Respectful.
Knightwell's presence emerged—not fully materialized, only an armored outline, as if even existence itself required permission.
"You are ancient," Sam said without turning around.
"But you are not independent."
Knightwell's voice was metallic, calm, and deliberate.
"I was born the moment you chose protection over destruction."
Sam's eyes opened slowly.
That… wasn't a standard spirit response.
For the first time, Sam realized something unsettling.
Some spirits weren't created by power.
They were born from decisions.
From choices.
Knightwell wasn't bound to Sam's strength.
He was bound to Sam's will.
Sam stored the thought away.
Later.
There would be time to understand it later.
---
The Hunt Begins
The city below was restless.
Sam moved through it unseen.
He didn't confront.
Didn't interrogate.
He observed.
Guilds that should've been dormant were suddenly active.
Underground markets pulsed with dark mana.
People who once blended into crowds now carried unnatural auras.
Too many movements.
Too many coincidences.
Sam entered an underground bar—dim lights, cracked walls, stale mana in the air. He sat in a corner, a cup of bitter coffee untouched before him.
Dark mana residues clung to the ceiling like smoke.
This wasn't random.
Then—
He felt it.
Hot.
Heavy.
Violent.
Volcanic.
A familiar presence.
Sam's lips curved into a cold smile.
---
Varkhad's Return
Shadows condensed.
The air distorted.
A massive figure emerged from darkness—molten obsidian armor, glowing cracks like flowing lava, eyes burning with restrained fury.
Varkhad.
The former general.
The moment he fully materialized, he dropped to one knee.
"Master."
Sam didn't respond immediately.
He watched.
Measured.
Loyalty wasn't given.
It was tested.
"I told you," Sam said finally, his voice calm but sharp,
"not to walk my path."
Varkhad lowered his head further.
"I came anyway," he replied.
"Because the moment you released part of your seal…"
He paused.
"…the universe noticed."
Sam's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Who noticed?"
Varkhad didn't name them.
Instead, he said—
"Those who desire immortality."
"Those who see the God Slayer not as a myth…"
"…but as an opportunity."
Sam stood slowly.
"So the shadow…"
Varkhad nodded.
"A signal."
"The moment your seal cracked—every sealed predator heard it."
Sam clenched his fist.
So the hunt wasn't one-sided anymore.
---
The First Assault
That night, the first move was made.
Three figures attempted an ambush in a deserted sector—ancient assassins cloaked in layered concealment spells, weapons forged from cursed relics.
They never reached Sam.
The ground beneath them twisted.
A spear of light tore through one's chest.
A shadow blade erased another before he could scream.
The third tried to escape.
He didn't make it five steps.
The five summoned spirits moved without hesitation.
No mercy.
No hesitation.
No emotion.
They were beautiful.
And absolutely lethal.
By dawn, seven hidden factions had lost operatives.
By nightfall, rumors spread.
Whispers of divine hunters.
Of spirits answering a forgotten master.
Of the God Slayer walking again.
Sam stood atop a silent building, city lights beneath him.
The hunt had officially begun.
---
End – Phase Two
"I ran from the past," Sam said quietly.
"But now it seems…"
"…the past is hunting me."
Varkhad lifted his head.
"Orders?"
Sam's answer was short.
"Observe."
"Collect names."
"Anyone who speaks the title 'God Slayer'…"
"…I want them."
The wind grew colder.
Spirits moved through the city like unseen executioners.
And somewhere far away—
An unknown entity smiled.
Phase two had begun.