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Chapter 2 - Chapter 2:Unknown Man

The heavy sound of steel dragging against stone echoed through the crowded marketplace, silencing idle chatter and drawing heads toward the source.

Kael'Vorn walked slowly, his silhouette unmistakable—draped in black Aetharion armor that pulsed faintly with residual energy, a crimson cloak fluttering behind him like a dying ember. In his gloved hand, he dragged the severed head of a colossal dragon—its obsidian scales cracked and smoldering, its eyes long extinguished. Smoke still hissed from its torn throat. The beast had ruled the volcanic ridges of Karthmere for over a hundred years. Now it was nothing more than a carcass scraping along the dust-ridden ground.

Children laughed in awe, running beside him, pointing.

"Look! The Dragon-Killer!"

"He's not human—he's like the old ones from the scrolls!"

But their parents held them back, eyes wide with reverence and unease. Whispers followed him like a tide.

"Where did he come from?"

"That armor... it looks a Royal—forbidden relics, perhaps."

"His skin... almost white as crystal—too pale for any man from this continent..."

"And those eyes... blood-red. Is he even mortal?"

Some murmured that he must hail from the far reaches of Thal'mire, a continent so vast and ancient that half its noble bloodlines had long been forgotten. Yet none could recognize the sigil engraved on his shoulder guard—an obsidian crescent cradling a red, upside-down flame.

"A hidden house?" someone suggested.

"Or an extinct one," another whispered.

But one truth remained undeniable: the dragon was real, and he had killed it alone.

Eventually, Kael'Vorn arrived at an unremarkable stone building tucked into the edge of the merchant district. There were no signs, no flags—only a dull iron door and faint markings that shifted subtly under the moonlight. To outsiders, it looked like a warehouse. But to those who lived by the blade, it was something far more useful: The Guild of the Worth, a hidden market where merchants trafficked in the corpses of monsters, demons, and mythical beasts.

Kael dropped the dragon's head outside the door with a sharp thud, leaving blood trails behind him.

Inside, the room buzzed with voices—hunters boasting of near-death encounters, mercenaries bartering for fang-dust and wyvern hide. The moment Kael'Vorn stepped through the threshold, silence fell like snow.

He passed through without looking at anyone, but their stares clung to him like shadows.

"That skin... like carved moonstone."

"Red eyes, like an imperial ruby…"

"Is he Thal'miran nobility?"

"No sigil like that has ever been documented…"

"I heard he fought the dragon like a god—his movements didn't belong to this world."

Kael'Vorn approached the central counter where a stout man with silver rings on every finger waited, polishing a piece of sunstone. The merchant blinked, glanced at the door, then back at the man before him.

"You brought it?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Kael gave a slight nod.

The merchant gestured for one of his assistants to verify it, but quickly waved them off—he already knew the truth just by the atmosphere that followed this man.

From beneath the table, he retrieved a heavy bag—fat with gold coins. He placed it down with reverence.

"I would've paid twice that, you know," the merchant muttered. "It's a legendary creature… lived for centuries. They'll be arguing over its skull in academies and war councils for decades." He leaned forward, eyeing Kael with something close to admiration. "You could've forged a weapon from its bones… mounted the head in your estate—made it a legacy piece. Are you sure?"

Kael took the bag silently. His voice came low and cold—barely above a whisper, but sharp enough to hush the room again.

"I do not need reminders of death."

The merchant blinked. Then sighed.

"…Even his voice sounds like a song carved from frost," he thought bitterly. "Damn it, I envy this young man."

Kael turned and left without another word, cloak sweeping behind him. The crowd parted like water.

Outside, the crimson moon still hung in the sky—watching.

Kael'Vorn returned to the inn, its aging stone walls groaning softly as if they, too, bore ancient burdens. His steps echoed through the empty hallway, a muted rhythm against the weary floorboards. Within the confines of his modest room—unadorned, dim, and shrouded in shadow—he shed his war-worn armor piece by piece. The steel whispered with each release, as though reluctant to leave his body.

The wash basin in the corner steamed faintly, and Kael'Vorn cleansed himself in silence, his expression like carved marble. The scent of old wood and iron filled the room as he climbed into bed, letting the weary weight of exhaustion pull him downward.

Through the narrow window, the moon bled silver light over his bare chest, tracing the runes and scars branded by a past that never truly slept. Outside, the wind moaned through broken chimneys and over frostbitten shingles. The cold was bitter, clinging not just to the skin but to the bones—as if the night itself whispered of death.

Kael'Vorn stared at the distant moon, its pale eye watching as it always had, uncaring and constant.

He whispered to the void, voice like drifting ice:

"Orr'Kalos… I will not let your memory fade. I will end them. All thirteen..."

The weight of the Azürhein's final words hung like chains upon his heart. Then, the stillness took him.

Hours passed.

Kael stirred awake without a sound, eyes opening to the gloom. Something… shifted.

He did not rise immediately. Instead, he stilled—listening to the world.

Then, as swift and precise as a blade unsheathed, his left hand slashed through the darkness—and gripped flesh.

A young man—cloaked in the veil of stealth magic—materialized in the air, his feet flailing above the floor. Bright violet hair fell over wide, panicked eyes of the same color. He gasped and kicked, but Kael'Vorn's grip was absolute, fingers locked around his throat like iron.

The assassin struggled, hands grasping at nothing, as Kael'Vorn's crimson eyes bore into him—cold, merciless, devoid of curiosity.

Then something whistled.

Kael's right hand moved without thought, snatching a small arrow mid-air—its tip glistening with venom, likely alchemical.

His gaze snapped to a rooftop nearby, eyes narrowing.

A second pair of violet eyes widened in horror.

Kael vanished.

Like mist scattered by sudden wind, he appeared behind the source—a girl, no older than twenty, with long violet hair and a startled face caught between cunning and fear. She opened her mouth, feigning innocence with childlike cadence:

"W-Who… who are y—?"

Before the sentence could finish, Kael's palm struck her neck, disrupting the flow of her etheric core. Her body collapsed instantly, consciousness swallowed by a black tide.

Back in the room, the young man still dangled from Kael'Vorn's grip, trembling as he witnessed the girl's fate.

Kael returned without a word, eyes unreadable, and stared into the boy's terrified face. Not a flicker of pity stirred in his gaze.

Only judgment.

And silence.

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