The Dragon Heart beat within Cian's chest like a trapped storm. It was a heavy, rhythmic thrum—not the soft pulse of a human, but the mechanical vibration of a god. His body was no longer flickering; he was solid, dense, and anchored to reality with terrifying weight.
But the "healing" was a lie. The Dragon's vitality had knitted his skin and reinforced his bones, but it could not mend what the Void had claimed as its price. His throat remained a landscape of scorched, silver-white scars. When he tried to speak, only a hollow, whistling air escaped—the sound of a tomb.
Part I:Crippling of the Heir
The Grand Gala was ending, but for Julian van Astra, the night was just beginning.
Julian walked through the darkened Academy gardens, heading toward the Astra carriage. He was frustrated. Lucian's talk of "ghosts" had put him on edge, and the sudden security breach at the Vault had thrown the entire noble class into a panic.
"Security! Where are the perimeter guards?" Julian called out.
Silence answered him. Not the silence of an empty garden, but a heavy, artificial quiet.
Cian stepped out from the shadow of a willow tree. He wasn't wearing his student disguise anymore. He was clad in the dark, practical leathers of the Guild, his face partially obscured by a mask of frozen shadow.
Julian stopped, his hand flying to the hilt of [Sun-Eater]. "You. You're the one Lucian was hunting."
Cian stood before Julian van Astra. The Dragon Heart was a sun of molten lead in Cian's chest, its power so immense it was literally tearing his still-healing mana-vessels apart. Every beat sent a spray of internal blood into his lungs.
"You're the one," Julian hissed, his SS-Rank sword [Sun-Eater] erupting in a blinding pillar of solar fire. "The Ghost who dares touch the Astra name!"
Julian moved like a streak of golden lightning. He was a master of the Astra Sword-Arts, and unlike the prisoners, he fought back with the fury of a god.
Clang!
Cian parried with a void-condensed dagger, but the force of Julian's strike sent him reeling. His legs buckled. The Dragon Heart flared, rejecting his E-rank frame.
'My body… is too weak,' Cian thought, spitting out a mouthful of blood. 'The vessels are leaking.'
Julian didn't give him a second to breathe. "Die, rat!" He unleashed [Nova Strike]. A wave of heat melted the stone statues around them.
Cian phased through the fire, but his timing was off—the Dragon Heart's resonance caused him to rematerialize too early. Julian's blade caught him across the chest, carving a deep, cauterized trench through his leather armor.
Cian collapsed to one knee, gasping. His vision was blurring. He was covered in his own blood, his ribs cracked, his mana-circuits screaming in protest.
"Is that all?" Julian laughed, stepping forward for the killing blow. "You're just a defect!"
Cian looked up. A terrifying, jagged smile broke across his blood-stained face. The self-hatred, the agony of the graft—it all converged into a single point of absolute insanity.
He didn't dodge the next strike. He stepped into it.
Julian's sword ran through Cian's shoulder, but Cian didn't flinch. He used the momentum to close the gap. He grabbed Julian's sword-arm with a grip that shattered bone.
"Wh-what are you?" Julian gasped, his golden aura flickering in terror.
Cian didn't answer. He couldn't. He drove his palm into Julian's solar plexus, triggering a [Void Collapse] that shattered Julian's mana-core.
As Julian fell, Cian lunged. He pinned the heir to the ground, his knees crushing Julian's chest. Cian's eyes were wide, glowing with a manic, golden-black light.
He grabbed Julian's right arm.
"Wait! Stop!" Julian screamed.
Crr-ack. With the mechanical coldness of his training, Cian twisted. He didn't just break the arm; he ripped it from the socket, the tendons snapping like piano wires. He tossed the limb aside as if it were medical waste.
Julian was howling, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony. Cian didn't stop. He moved to Julian's legs. Instead of phasing, he began to stomp.
Crunch. Squelch. Crunch.
He pulverized the femurs and shins into a slurry of bone and marrow. He did it methodically, his face inches from Julian's, that mad, silent smile never wavering.
Finally, Cian gripped Julian by the throat, lifting the mangled, limbless torso into the air. Julian's eyes were rolling back, his life fading. Cian leaned in, his ruined throat let out a chilling, airy whistle—a mockery of a laugh.
Suddenly, Cian's senses flared. Lucian and the High Inquisitors were coming. He could feel their massive golden auras approaching the garden.
He dropped Julian's broken body into the dirt like a piece of trash. He took one last look at the "Perfect Heir"—now a limbless, gurgling ruin—and vanished into the shadows just as the first golden arrows of the guards pierced the air where he had stood.
The Ghost was gone. But the Astra family's nightmare had only just begun