The ceiling of the medical tent was white canvas, rippling gently from the wind outside.
It smelled of boiled antiseptic, crushed mint leaves, and burnt fur.
Rush blinked once. He was alive.
He flexed his right hand. The fingers obeyed. They looked like fingers—just a little paler, as if someone had drained the fever out of them.
There was no pain.
Just a quiet vibration deep inside him. Not in the muscles. In the bones.
Like his marrow now hummed to a rhythm older than blood.
You, Rush thought. Answerme.
Nothing.
Rush inhaled.
I know you can hear me. What are you? What did you do—
"You are awake."
The voice didn't echo in the room. It echoed in his nerves.
It was not the clipped command from the cave. This one had weight, age, and the unhurried patience of something that measured time in star collapse rather than seconds.
"You survived," Beelzebub continued, "which is commendable. I had accounted for the possibility that your fragile brain might dissolve under the strain."
Rush's breath caught.
Who— who are you? Rush thought. And what did you do to me?
"Who I am exceeds your current vocabulary, little boy," Beelzebub replied. "And as for what I did—"
It paused. Not for drama. But as though selecting a phrase gentle enough for a child.
"—I intervened. Because you requested assistance."
Rush swallowed.
The Lycan. I saw it— I saw it crumble. Like ash. Violet ash.
What did you do to it?
"I harvested it."
Rush blinked. Once. Twice. The word sank like a stone into a deep well.
Harvested? What does that mean?
"Directive: Harvest," the entity explained, slipping briefly into a colder tone. "Biological material decomposed. Mana density assimilated. Data archived. The specimen was… nutritious."
Nutritious? Rush almost laughed out loud. You eat monsters?
"I preserve information. Matter is simply a storage medium. I have converted the B-Rank beast into usable data for your Evolution Archive."
Evolution Archive? What is—
The tent flap snapped open.
Rush shut his mind down instantly.
Lord Ryanheart entered. He didn't look like a worried father. He looked like a storm contained in a human shape. He wore his black field gear, and his eyes were sharp enough to cut glass.
He didn't sit. He stood at the foot of the bed, staring at Rush.
"Father," Rush said. His voice was raspy.
Lord Ryanheart didn't return the greeting.
"The apprentice lived," the Lord said quietly. "He told us you acted as bait. That was brave."
"It was logical," Rush replied. "He was slower."
"Logical," the Lord repeated. He leaned forward slightly. "Let's discuss logic, then."
He pulled a small pouch from his belt and upended it on the bedside table.
Grey ash spilled out.
It wasn't wood ash. It glittered faintly, like diamond dust mixed with soot.
"There is no corpse, Rush," his father said. "A B-Rank Lycan does not simply vanish. And the scorch marks on the ground… they were not fire. They were violet."
Rush's heart hammered against his ribs, but he forced his breathing to stay even.
"If he identifies my signature, he will view me as a parasite," Beelzebub warned, his voice cutting through the panic. "He will attempt to purge me. You will not survive the extraction."
Think, Rush told himself. He won't believe me if I said I killed a B rank monster all by myself.
What do I say?
"Suggestion," the voice in his head intruded. "Fabricate a scenario involving high-density mana compression. It aligns with your known research habits."
Rush almost flinched. The thing was helping him lie.
"I didn't have a choice," Rush said slowly, meeting his father's gaze. "My dagger shattered. The Lycan was too fast. I knew standard reinforcement wouldn't pierce its hide."
"So?"
"So I stopped trying to reinforce my body," Rush lied. "I focused everything—every drop of mana I had—into my palm. I tried to compress it. I read a theory in the archives about 'Khaos Spells.' About forcing mana to collapse in on itself to create flames strong enough to incinerate the beast."
Lord Ryanheart's eyes narrowed. "That is theoretical magic. It is believed to erase anything from existence. Forbidden because it usually kills the caster."
"I was dead anyway," Rush said simply. "I squeezed it until it felt like my hand was burning. Then… I touched him."
He looked at his hand, feigning confusion.
" It just… unraveled him, Father."
Silence stretched in the tent.
Lord Ryanheart studied his son. He was looking for a twitch, a sweat bead, a sign of deceit.
But Rush was an assassin trained by the best. And the lie was close enough to the truth—he had used dangerous mana, and it had unraveled the beast.
Finally, the Lord exhaled.
"You foolish, brilliant boy," he whispered.
He brushed the ash off the table.
"You created a Khaos spell. You're lucky you didn't take the cave down with you."
"I won't do it again," Rush promised. That part isn't a lie.
"No," his father agreed. "You won't. Because if anyone finds out you used Khaos arts at age thirteen, it will put everyone in the domain at risk."
He turned to leave, pausing at the flap.
"Rest. We break camp at dawn."
As the flap closed, Rush let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
He bought it.
"Deception successful," Beelzebub noted. "However, the term 'Khaos Spell' is inaccurate. The technique used was 'Gluttony Protocol: Level 1'."
Rush closed his eyes, exhaustion pulling him down.
Gluttony, he thought bitterly. Great. I have a sin in my head.
"I am not a sin," Beelzebub corrected as Rush drifted into sleep. "I am your fate. Rest now, young boy. We have much work to do. "