The night air hung heavy, thick with smoke from torches, but nobody could have guessed what was coming.
Indra's body shimmered faintly as strands of slime unraveled from his hands, crawling like living cords across the walls and doors of the auction house.
They wound around hinges and locks until every exit was sealed. A cocoon of string, invisible in the dark.
Satisfied, he slipped in through a roof window. Selene followed, her white hair glinting in the moonlight, her golden eyes narrowed.
Below them, the auction was already in motion. Auctioneers in silks and armor lounged across velvet seats, while shackled bodies stood on stage like cattle.
And in the center, forced beneath the torchlight, was a girl.
Her silver hair hung unkempt around her pale face, her red eyes dull and lifeless. She was young—fifteen, perhaps a little older—but her features carried the sharpness of lineage.
The auctioneer's voice rang out with theatrical flourish. "A virgin wolf-girl! A rare beauty, descended from the Silverblood clan! Her blood alone could fetch a king's ransom!"
The crowd stirred, greedy laughter rising.
Selene's lips pressed thin. She leaned closer to Indra, her whisper a tremor. "If we don't stop this… you know what they'll do to her."
Indra's gaze never wavered. He gave a single, sharp nod. Strings unspooled from his fingers, stretching across the rafters into an enormous web.
The pattern shimmered faintly in the torchlight, a trap suspended over every head.
"Burn it," Indra whispered.
Selene lifted her hand. Teal flames danced from her palm, leaping onto the string. The web crackled, shuddered—then collapsed. A rain of fire cascaded downward.
"Run!" A knight bellowed from the front row, his armor gleaming as he leapt to his feet. But the warning came too late.
The fire devoured the crowd in a scream of heat, turning flesh and silk to ash in an instant.
The knight roared, drawing his blade, but Indra was already moving. "Free the slaves," he said sharply. "I'll handle him."
Selene hesitated only a moment before vaulting from the rafters, trailing fire as she landed behind the stage and sprinted toward the cages.
Indra dropped after her—only to be met by steel.
The knight's strike cracked through the air, slamming into him with brutal force. Indra flew across the hall, smashing into the wall hard enough to leave a crater.
For a moment there was silence. Then—laughter.
Indra rose from the rubble, blood trailing from his lip, blue eyes gleaming with hunger. "Finally… someone interesting."
The scythe slid free from his body with a wet hiss, black steel gleaming under the flames. He leaned forward, posture low, then launched.
The knight raised his blade to block, but the sheer weight of the scythe's strike shattered his stance. His arms buckled, ribs cracking under the force.
He trotted backwards, even through his armor, the pure weight of Indra's strike crushed his ribs.
The knight wouldn't go down without a fight, he raised his blade above his head, a golden and white energy swirling around it.
"You shall die!" He began his stride, attempting to strike down Indra in a single blow.
Indra grinned, using the scythes' pure power to do the same as the knight.
Only one would come out of this clash alive. It was over in an instant, the true victor appeared through smoke.
Indra drove the scythe through his chest.
The knight's sword clattered to the ground. His eyes widened, breath rattling. "H-how…?"
Indra grinned, teeth sharp.
He never answered. Instead, he ripped the weapon free in a spray of blood, ending the man without ceremony.
The hall stank of char and death. Indra strode past the fallen body, his hands flicking out to snap the lock.
The silver-haired girl pressed herself against the far wall, teeth bared in a desperate growl. Even half-starved, she looked ready to bite.
Indra crouched by the bars, his tone low and measured. "Your body's at its limit. If you keep resisting, you'll die here. I didn't come to hurt you—I came to take you out."
Her red eyes flickered, doubt warring with the faint spark of hope. Slowly, her guard faltered.
Without her own volition, her body collapsed forward into his arms, unconscious.
Indra laid her gently against the wall, then turned his attention to the dead. Gold rings, jeweled pendants, purses heavy with coin—he stripped them with practiced ease, sliding wealth into his pockets until nothing was left but bloodstains.
Selene returned soon after, leading a group of freed slaves. Six in total. Their faces were pale with fear, eyes darting at every shadow.
One of them was only a child, no older than seven, clutching at Selene's sleeve.
"They don't know where to go," Selene said. Her voice was sharper than usual, but her hands were gentle as she rested them on the child's shoulder. "They're terrified they'll be caught again."
Indra's gaze softened slightly. "There's an orphanage nearby. It's not perfect, but it'll hide them until the city forgets tonight."
The group hesitated, but the boy clung tighter to Selene, and that was enough. They followed.
Indra wrapped his arms around the fox girl, carrying her along with them.
Indra walked with them through the winding streets, thoughts distant. In past lives, whispers had spread about Fasl's orphanages—experiments, children molded into soldiers for wars yet to come. I can't prove it. But if it were true, these children might one day become useful pieces.
He crouched and pressed his finger to the boy's chest. A rune flickered into existence, glowing faintly before vanishing beneath the skin.
"The Puppeteer's Rune," he murmured quietly, allowing only the boy to hear him. "Ancient runes few remember. This one will protect you."
The boy blinked at him in awe.
At the orphanage gate, a kind-faced woman welcomed the children inside. Selene lingered, whispering quiet goodbyes to the ones she had freed. Then, together with Indra, she vanished into the night.
————
The next morning, a faint rustling woke Indra. The silver-haired girl—Naaji—sat upright on the bed, eyes sharp and guarded.
She tensed as he approached. "What do you want from me?"
Indra stopped, expression calm. "Only your loyalty. Nothing else."
Her jaw clenched. She stared at him, then lowered her gaze. "If I give you that… then you'll help me save my village?"
Indra's smile curved like a blade. "Yes."
Naaji exhaled, tension loosening from her shoulders.
"Good," he said, glancing toward Selene. "The two of you—go into town. Buy what you need. Spend the day together."
Selene frowned but said nothing. Naaji followed her hesitantly, leaving Indra to his own path.
————
The gates of Class Crown Academy loomed high, guarded by armored knights. Indra walked straight toward them.
"Halt." Spears lowered across his chest.
"I bring information," he said smoothly. "The academy will want to hear it."
The knights exchanged wary glances, then frisked him thoroughly before allowing him through.
He ascended marble steps and entered the Headmaster's wing. But it was not the Headmaster who greeted him.
A young woman sat at the desk, her short brown hair hung parallel with her face, her blue eyes as sharp as cut glass. She didn't rise.
"I'm Mona," she said flatly. "The Grandmaster's daughter. If you have information, you'll give it to me."
Indra's lips twitched. "I prefer a trade. You grant my companions and I entrance to this academy, and I'll give you what you want."
Her brow lifted. "A bold demand. I'll counter it: a show of strength. Show me why you deserve to be here and you'll have your wish. Fail, and you'll give me the information freely."
Indra chuckled. "Fine by me."
Indra followed Mona through the hallways of Class Crown Academy, her footsteps sharp and deliberate against the polished stone.
She said nothing as she guided him, but her eyes flicked back every so often, testing, weighing. Finally, she stopped before a set of tall iron doors and pushed them open.
"Here," Mona said, her voice cool but tinged with curiosity. "If you have something of worth, use it on one of the large blue crystals in front of you. The left is for physical strength and the right is for amount of essence."
Indra stepped forward, rolling his shoulders. His grin crept wide as he pressed his hand against the left crystal. "Watch closely."
Without another word, he drew on his unnatural strength, the number on the crystal instantly changed. "1000", the max level the crystal could register.
Her eyes widened, this was an institution made for the strongest prodigies and talents of the Fasl Kingdom, yet this cocky random somehow got the highest score without the use of essence; just pure unadulterated strength.
Indra turned slowly, flexing his hand before glancing back at her with that same dangerous grin. "Was that enough?"
For a long moment, Mona just studied him. Then, to her own surprise, she chuckled. "More than enough."
She turned sharply, her composure snapping back into place, and gestured for him to follow. "Come. We'll speak in my office."
Back in her office, she crosses her arms, her expression sharpened into suspicion.
"Strength is one thing. But strength alone won't get you or your companions through these gates. Why should I risk the academy's reputation for you?"
Indra leans back in the chair, smirking, and taps his temple. "Because I know something you don't. Something that could tear this academy apart if it stays buried."
Mona narrows her eyes. "What exactly do you mean?"
Indra's grin fades into a colder seriousness. "There's a spy here. Someone working for the Saibai Kingdom. I don't know who yet—but I will. And when I do, you'll be the first to know. That's my offer. I keep your academy clean, and in return, you let me in."
Her fingers tighten against her sleeve. She doesn't confirm or deny, but the twitch of her brow gives her away—she knows there have been rumors.
"And what if you're lying? What if this is all just a trick to worm your way inside?"
Indra chuckles low, tilting his head. "Then you'd be letting in just another brute with a bit of strength. Annoying, maybe—but nothing compared to the rot of a hidden spy. Ask yourself, Mona; would I really risk bluffing about something this dangerous?"
He leans forward, voice dropping to a whisper. "I've heard enough stories and read enough books to know how kingdoms fall. They never collapse from the outside. It's always the knife in the dark, the traitor behind the walls. If you're smart—and you are—you'll see that I'm offering you insurance."
The silence stretches. Mona studies him, searching for cracks in his words. Instead, all she sees is conviction, dangerous and unshakable. Finally, she exhales, a reluctant smirk tugging at her lips.
"You're a gamble, Indra. But maybe the kind worth taking."
She pulls out three acceptance letters and uniforms before sliding them across the desk. "Fine. You and your companions are in. But if you're lying…" Her eyes flash cold. "…I'll personally make sure you never see the light of day again."
Indra grins, taking the letters. "Fine by me."
————
Elsewhere in the city, Selene and Naaji sat on the edge of a fountain.
At first, silence stretched between them, heavy and awkward. Then Naaji broke it, her voice soft. "I was taken when I was thirteen. Through the depression, abuse and heartache. You learn to stop hoping anyone will come for you."
Selene's eyes flicked toward her. Her usual sharpness softened. "Hope's a cruel thing. But sometimes it's all that keeps you alive."
Naaji gave a faint smile. "And you? What keeps you going?"
Selene hesitated, then looked away. "Spite. Mostly. And maybe… the thought of breaking every chain I see."
Naaji's smile grew, small but genuine. "Then maybe we're not so different."
For the first time, Selene didn't argue.
————
By nightfall, Indra returned with letters and uniforms in hand. He set them on the table.
"Welcome to Class Crown Academy," he said.
Selene scowled, muttering something under her breath. Naaji, however, lit up, her eyes wide with something that almost looked like hope.
————
That night, the three set out for Naaji's home village.
It took them two days to reach the edge of the human land's. But when they arrived, what awaited them was no village.
It was a camp of misery.
Naaji's people were broken—beaten, forced to labor under whips, their cries echoing in the night. Women were dragged by their hair into tents, men shackled to carts until their hands bled.
Naaji froze, her red eyes wide with horror.
Selene looked at Indra.
Indra's expression was unreadable. But the scythe pulsed faintly beneath his skin.
The village was no longer theirs. It was a battlefield.