Somewhere, inside a mansion near the border of the Holy Federation—
"What? You're telling me the Rats were wiped out? By a kid? A freakin' kid?!"
A brown-haired man in his thirties slammed his desk, his slicked-back hair trembling from the force. His furious voice echoed through the room.
"Y-yes, Sir Jasil!" one of the trembling subordinates stammered. "According to the information we gathered, it started with a small conflict with that kid. Then, one of our branch bases was burned to ashes by him. Not long after, he infiltrated the main base, defeated every member, and even captured the Rat Boss. Judging from how quickly he found them, it's highly likely he got information from an inside source."
Silence filled the room for a moment—
then came a low chuckle.
"Heh… hahahaha! Wonderful! Truly wonderful! A kid dares to challenge me?"
His laughter twisted into fury as his mana flared, the air itself trembling.
"A white-haired brat… or that ridiculous nickname—'White Devil,' was it?"
Jasil leaned back with a cold grin. "Just you wait, boy."
On his desk, a Recording Crystal shimmered faintly—projecting the image of a white-haired boy with sharp eyes and a faint smirk.
Meanwhile, on Knox's side—
"Hmm… actually, I'm pretty confident that if I'm given a little more time, I'll be strong enough to face Jasil."
He tapped his pen against the desk, eyes scanning the papers in front of him. "But considering how troublesome things might get if I just sit still… I'll need to make a plan, and fast."
Spread across the table were stacks of information about Jasil—his name, abilities, personality, age, number of subordinates, possible hideouts, and even a few financial records.
"If my predictions are right, that Jasil guy must be fuming right now," Knox muttered, resting his chin on his hand. "He'll probably start hunting me soon. Based on his last known position, I've got around three to five days before he makes his move."
As he spoke, his hands weren't idle—he was jotting down ideas, connecting lines on the map, and circling key points.
After several minutes, he leaned back with a small, satisfied smile.
"Alright… based on the Thieves' Guild intel, there are a few hideouts scattered across the neutral zone."
He tapped three marks on the map. "After cross-checking the reports, these three are the most likely places he'll stop by before coming after me."
Knox frowned slightly. "The problem is… which one will he actually end up in?"
Knox leaned back on his chair, eyes glinting faintly with amusement.
"...Too many options is just annoying," he muttered. "If I can't predict which one he'll use, then I'll just make him choose for me."
He stood up, taking the map with him, and a faint smirk curved on his lips.
"Let's burn two of them down. That way, the only remaining one will become his 'safe haven'… or at least, that's what he'll think."
The next day, two hideouts hidden deep within the neutral zone went up in flames—
no witnesses, no survivors, only black smoke rising through the morning mist.
Back at the last remaining base, Knox moved silently through the shadows.
He checked every corner, every corridor, placing traps so subtly that even trained scouts would overlook them.
But that wasn't all. Inside the hideout, Knox moved quietly, checking every room with methodical precision.
He made sure every route, every doorway, every dark corner had something waiting — tripwires, explosive tags, and subtle magic traps hidden under layers of dust and debris.
As for the poison… he didn't bother hiding it in food or drink. That would be too predictable.
Instead, he took a small vial from his pocket, the liquid inside faintly glimmering in the dim light. With careful movements, he brushed it across random items — a few cups, some spoons, the edge of a doorknob, and even the handle of a chair.
Nothing looked out of place. Everything looked… naturally messy.
"This will do. Jasil might spot a trap or two, but they're not meant for him," Knox said, his eyes sweeping the room. "They're meant for his men. I need to chip away at his forces before I face him."
After double-checking everything, he stepped outside, closing the door quietly behind him. Then he slipped into the shadows.
Meanwhile, within the Holy Federation, inside a lavish chamber housed in a grand castle-like building, two women sat across a round table.
One had long, sea-blue hair that shimmered under the sunlight spilling through stained glass; the other, a striking beauty with fiery red hair clad in polished paladin armor. Both of them studied the report spread out before them in silence.
"Jasil, huh?"
The red-haired woman was the first to break the silence, her tone laced with disdain. She was Dana — one of the seven Saints of the Holy Federation, and the current bearer of the Essence of Armored Iron. Known to many as the Saint of Judgment.
"I remember him—he used to be a decent Inquisitor. Who would've thought he'd fall this low?"
She clicked her tongue and leaned back.
"Honestly, why should I even bother with this guy? I'd rather spend my time hunting necromancers."
The blue-haired woman exhaled softly as she set down the parchment. She was Israfil Cross, the current bearer of the Essence of Miracle, known as the Saintess of the Divine Sea.
"Because sooner or later, he'll become a real threat," she replied, her voice calm yet firm. "And more importantly… he stole one of our sacred artifacts."
The room fell silent again after Israfil's calm remark. The faint rustle of parchment was the only sound that lingered between them.
Dana sighed, resting her chin on one hand. "So that's why you want to go after him yourself, huh? Makes sense. Still, I can't believe someone would be stupid enough to steal the Lumen Plume."
Her eyes flicked toward the empty crystalline case displayed at the edge of the room. Once, it held a faintly glowing feather — a relic said to contain a fragment of divine light. The Lumen Plume could heal any wound or purify the deepest corruption, but only once. After releasing its light, it would crumble into ash, never to shine again.
Its power might be temporary, but it's worth was immeasurable — enough to turn the tide of a war.
Israfil smiled faintly. "It's not just about Jasil. There are… other matters I want to confirm while I'm out there."
Dana raised an eyebrow. "Other matters?"
"The Neutral Zone," Israfil replied softly, her gaze drifting toward the window. "Reports have been inconsistent lately. Something's stirring there."
"Hah, perfect." Dana leaned back with a grin. "I've been dying of boredom anyway. Might as well make this trip worth something."
Israfil's only response was a quiet chuckle as she reached for another report on the table. But the next document made her pause.
"Hmm? What's this…"
Dana leaned forward. "Another criminal record?"
"No. A child."
They both scanned the page, eyes narrowing as the name came into focus.
"Knox Aznable," Dana read aloud, her tone shifting from curious to intrigued. "White hair, red eyes… ten years old. Says here he single-handedly wiped out a Slippery Rat branch?"
She let out a short laugh. "A ten-year-old kid doing that? Sounds more like a ghost story."
Israfil's fingers brushed the edge of the parchment. "There are multiple reports," she murmured. "After that, he raided their main base in the sewers. Captured their leader alive."
"Impressive," Dana said, tilting her head. "No wonder they're calling him the 'White Devil.'"
Israfil nodded slightly. "That name's spreading fast in the Neutral Zone. Maybe we'll meet him while we're there."
Dana's grin widened. "Heh, now you're talking. Sounds like things are finally getting interesting."
Israfil gave her a mildly exasperated look, though the corners of her mouth softened. "Just promise me you won't pick a fight with a child."
"No promises," Dana replied, standing up from her chair with a smirk. "But I'll try to behave. Maybe."