The moon hung heavy over the horizon, bathing the vast estate in silver glow. Wind stirred the leaves gently, but beneath the calmness of night, the Duke's manor was under silent surveillance—from within.
Clad in a cloak woven with stealth enchantments, Sion moved like a phantom through the darkened noble district of Jerria County. His eyes, glowing faintly with mana perception, tracked every trail of magical residue. Tonight wasn't about confrontation. It was about gathering truths… and exposing rot.
From the shadows, he watched a group of cloaked figures enter an abandoned manor, protected by illusion barriers. A lesser mage might have been fooled, but not him. With a subtle motion, Sion melted into the darkness and followed them inside.
He perched silently above, using a weak air-levitation spell to hold position. Below, voices rose in muffled tones.
"We move the next shipment of mana crystals by dawn. Count Noah has ensured the border guards are bought."
"And what about the northern passage?" another asked.
"Viscount Elrin has arranged a contact from the Spade Kingdom. They'll smuggle the crystals through neutral ground."
Sion's jaw tightened. Traitors within the merchant union and noble ranks—just as Raphael had warned. What made it worse was the mention of foreign enemies collaborating with Clover's own people.
Then came a voice that didn't belong to this kingdom. Cold, clipped, and foreign.
"The Bethel Empire expects results. If Duke John's bastard boy is truly recovering, he must be watched—and eliminated if he interferes."
So they're already watching me, Sion thought, rage simmering beneath his calm exterior.
"Raphael," he whispered.
The spirit flickered into view beside him, transparent and ghost-like. "Now do you see how deep the roots go?"
"This is more than betrayal. This is invasion by proxy."
Sion carefully placed a recording crystal on the beam, then vanished silently into the night.
By the time he returned to the estate, dawn was brushing its golden fingers across the rooftops. Sion didn't rest. He moved straight to the underground training chamber, where no eyes could follow.
There, he stood in silence. The air shimmered with raw mana as he entered his meditative state.
For days, he had been preparing for this. His body had already borne the weight of 6 Magic Circles, something considered nearly mythical for his age. But Sion knew the battle to come demanded more. He had to ascend.
The ground cracked beneath his feet as torrents of energy burst from him. Lightning coiled around his arms, wind spiraled at his back, and flame flickered along his aura-blade. He let out a breath—and began.
He manifested the aura core, a golden manifestation of soul-essence around his body. His aura techniques, still in development, now responded to his will. From the heat of focus, he forged a new move.
> "Aether Fang."
It was a short-range piercing slash, concentrated into a single point that shattered both magical and physical barriers. The more he trained it, the more unstable it became—yet devastating in power.
Hours passed. By evening, his shirt was soaked in sweat, and blood dripped from his knuckles. But something inside him clicked. With a final push, a new surge of mana exploded from his body, tearing cracks in the chamber walls.
"You did it…" Raphael said, eyes wide.
"7th Circle," Sion murmured, staggering slightly. "It's not perfect yet, but it's there."
His magic had evolved again—and with it, his control over aura manifestation matured. Gold-threaded energy now clung to his limbs even when passive, his very presence now capable of triggering pressure in those around him.
Just as he collapsed onto the chamber's bench, Jerin arrived with a letter in hand. "Young master, a message from the western territories. It's from Lady Sara."
Sion raised a brow, snatching the letter. He broke the seal and read quickly, eyes scanning over elegant handwriting.
"To my dear fiancé,
Word of your recovery has reached even us in the west. I do hope the rumors of your newfound 'monstrous strength' aren't exaggerated.
I shall be visiting soon. Let's see if you live up to the title they've given you—or if I must discipline you myself."
Sion blinked.
"…Discipline?" he muttered, then looked at Raphael. "What kind of woman did they betroth me to?"
Raphael floated down beside him, grinning. "A noblewoman with a sharp tongue and possibly sharper blades. You'll have your hands full."
Sion groaned. "I'm saving the world and now I have to deal with a possibly sadistic noble princess?"
"She's strong. Maybe just what you need to keep you humble."
Sion threw the towel at him. "Remind me again why I agreed to this?"
"You didn't. Fate did."
As night blanketed the sky once more, Sion stood at the tallest tower of the estate, wind brushing his silver hair.
"I'm supposed to unite this broken world, cleanse it of traitors, and prepare for a war no one knows is coming..."
His fists clenched as lightning crackled faintly around his fingertips.
"Then so be it. I'll remake this world—even if I have to burn it down first."
From behind the tower, a shadow watched.
The game had begun