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Chapter 32 - Thalora Museum (2)

"The first event has begun."

The glass doors of the museum exploded inward with a thunderous crash. Black-clad figures stormed in, moving with ruthless precision. Their leader, taller and cloaked in a suffocating aura, barked a single command:

"Kill them all. Leave no one alive."

And the massacre began.

Screams ripped through the grand hall. Families scattered, parents pulling their children desperately, others stumbling over toppled benches and shattered glass. "Help!" "Somebody, please!" "No—no!" Their cries twisted with the clash of steel as the black-clad attackers descended on them without hesitation.

"You bastards!" Michael's voice rang out like a war cry. He was already moving, spear in hand, golden light igniting along its shaft. He planted himself in front of the fleeing civilians and clashed head-on with the first of the demonic humans. The clang of steel rang out as his weapon met theirs, sparks flying with every strike.

Michael didn't hesitate; his spear surged forward in vicious thrusts, driving back two at once. He was the shield the civilians needed, stubborn and unyielding.

Amelia joined him, fire already swirling at her fingertips.

"Crimsonheart Fire Magic: Fireball!"

A sphere of blazing heat roared across the hall and burst into a shower of flame, scattering three attackers before they could close in. Even so, she held her power tight, measured. Too many innocents still lingered nearby for her to unleash her full strength.

Julia darted into the fray, blade gleaming silver. She moved like a storm, cutting down the closest enemy with a precise strike before spinning to intercept another. Her stance was calm but her eyes burned — battle made her come alive in a way that bordered on madness.

And then he stepped forward.

The leader of the black-clad men. His sword pulsed with demonic energy, the crimson glow crawling like veins across its blade. The pressure of his aura pressed down on the hall, heavy and suffocating.

"Demonic energy…" Julia muttered, tightening her grip.

His blade flashed, faster than the eye could track. Julia intercepted it, but the sheer force hurled her across the polished floor. She skidded, rolled, and slammed into a pillar with a grunt, blood lining her lip. Yet, she smiled — a razor-thin grin that showed she wasn't backing down.

"Crimsonheart Fire Magic: Flaming Spears!"

Amelia's voice rose above the chaos. Dozens of fire spears materialized around her, streaking toward the leader in a storm of burning projectiles.

The man's blade became a blur, slicing through them one after another, explosions of fire illuminating his calm, merciless face. Not a single spear reached him.

Julia pushed herself back to her feet, eyes blazing with even more excitement. Michael gritted his teeth and drove his spear through another attacker, his stance widening to hold his ground.

The clash raged on — Amelia's controlled inferno, Julia's feral swordplay, and Michael's stalwart defense — all holding back the tide of demonic humans. The screams of terrified civilians rang above it all, some crying for their loved ones, others breaking into silence as blades found them. The entire museum had turned into a slaughterhouse.

But in the midst of the chaos, I noticed something.

Three of the attackers broke away from the central fight, slipping toward the grand staircase that spiraled upward to the museum's restricted floor.

I didn't move immediately. Instead, I leaned back against one of the stone pillars, letting the shadows swallow me for a moment. My eyes narrowed, tracking them. So that's where you're heading.

I slipped a hand into my pocket and pulled out a ring — the ring.

I'd bought it a few days ago in the city's market district. There was an artifact shop tucked between a potion stall and a blacksmith, run by a man who looked more asleep than alive. Most of his wares were junk or overpriced trinkets, but this one had caught my eye.

The ring itself was simple, silver with faint etchings along the band that looked like flowing water. At first glance, it was ordinary. But when mana flowed into it, those faint etchings lit up in a pale blue, forming a thin veil around the wearer. Not a shield, not true invisibility — but a distortion. It blurred my presence, muffled sound, and bent light around me just enough that unless someone was actively searching with detection skills, I became little more than a flicker in the corner of their eye.

The shopkeeper had smirked when I bought it. "Not for the flashy kind of adventurer, kid. But if you know how to use it… it'll make you a ghost."

And that was exactly what I needed.

My eyes tracked the three demonic humans as they broke from the fray and charged toward the staircase, tearing through anything in their path. I didn't rush after them. Instead, I leaned casually against a nearby pillar, my arms folded, expression cool and unreadable.

The guards stationed at the base of the stairs were no mere rent-a-cops. They were Awakeners—trained fighters, men and women who had seen blood before. Their weapons gleamed as they intercepted the attackers head-on, steel clashing against corrupted flesh.

Screams rang out from behind—civilians crying, students shouting, the sound of chaos swallowing the grand hall. The security detail pressed forward with determination, but the demonic humans were like a relentless tide. For every strike blocked, two more came crashing through. Slowly, steadily, the balance began to tip.

And then, in the middle of the clash, one attacker broke off.

A figure, taller than the others, wearing a mask streaked with jagged red patterns. His voice cut sharply through the noise.

"This is taking too long. Make way for me—I'm going upstairs."

The others immediately shifted their stances, attacks no longer aimed to kill but to push, shove, and scatter the guards aside. In seconds, a narrow opening formed.

The masked demonic human sprinted forward, slipping past the defenders.

My lips curved into the faintest of smirks. Perfect.

The chaos kept every eye locked on the brawl. My presence began blur, shimmer faintly, then vanish entirely. With the ring cloaking me, I slipped through the melee like a shadow cutting across the battlefield, silent and unseen.

The masked attacker's boots hammered against the marble staircase, his form vanishing into the upper floor. I followed close behind, each step measured and quiet.

-----

"Damn," the demonic human muttered under his breath as he ascended. His voice was muffled by the mask, but the frustration was clear.

"Who knew it would turn into such a mess."

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. The mission had been clear, clean, and simple: retrieve the legacy of the Mad Sage. Their informant had promised only light resistance—some basic security personnel, nothing more. Certainly not students from Aegis Hunter Academy, nor Awakeners trained for combat.

But plans rarely survived first contact. He adjusted quickly, breaking away while the others kept the guards pinned down.

At last, he reached the second floor. His steps carried him down a wide corridor until his eyes locked on the prize—a reinforced glass container glowing faintly beneath a set of protective runes. Inside, resting silently, was an old book.

The Mad Sage's legacy.

He approached with quick, eager steps. The glass wasn't ordinary—it was designed to withstand strikes from even a five-star hunter, up to three consecutive times. But he hadn't come unprepared.

From his pouch, he pulled out a small cylindrical device, no bigger than a fist. Placing it against the glass, he pressed a switch. The device whirred softly, strange energy waves pulsing out, each vibration spiderwebbing cracks across the container's surface.

The reinforced barrier groaned, splintered, then shattered into a rain of glittering shards.

His gloved hand reached forward, brushing against the book's worn leather cover. His breath quickened as his fingers closed around it.

"This must be it," he whispered, eyes gleaming behind the jagged mask.

But then—

A chill ran down his spine.

He froze, instincts screaming. Spinning sharply, his gaze swept the shadows. And that's when he saw him.

A boy stood only a few steps away.

White-silver hair catching the dim light.

Blue eyes, piercing and unfeeling, locked onto him with the cold precision of a predator.

The demonic human's grip on the book faltered for the first time. His heart skipped. He hadn't heard a sound. He hadn't sensed a presence.

And yet—the boy was there.

Watching. Waiting.

------

"Who… the hell are you?" he asked, his voice guttural, edged with both fury and unease.

I said nothing. My hand rested lightly on the hilt of my sword, its polished steel reflecting faint motes of mana . As I was going to attack a familiar sound rang in my mind.

The system window flickered into existence before my eyes:

[New Quest Detected.]

[Defeat the demonic human.]

[Reward: All of your skills will level up.]

A grin tugged at my lips.

The man across from me wasn't just any enemy. His aura was wrong, corrupted, like something that didn't belong in a human body anymore. Two curved daggers glistened in his hands, crimson energy dancing along their edges. His mask tilted slightly as though he was studying me.

"Instead of running away , you came to me . You must have got a death wish."

The man across from me wasn't just any enemy. His aura was wrong, corrupted, like something that didn't belong in a human body anymore. Two curved daggers glistened in his hands, crimson energy dancing along their edges. His mask tilted slightly as though he was studying me.

And then he moved.

The speed was unreal. One instant he was standing still, the next his daggers were flashing toward my throat. I barely got my sword up in time, steel shrieking against steel. His second blade darted in from the side—I twisted, narrowly avoiding it, but his knee slammed into my ribs, sending me stumbling back.

'Fast and Strong.'

I steadied my stance, sparks dancing along my blade. "Arc Discharge!"

Bolts erupted, leaping out in jagged chains. He crossed his daggers, blocking as best he could, but a few strikes tore across his body, leaving scorch marks. He snarled and charged straight through, blades flashing like twin streaks of blood.

The force of his assault drove me back step after step. My sword rang with each desperate parry. Even with sword mastery strengthening my form, I could feel the pressure mounting.

His daggers blurred, aiming straight for my heart. I activated Dimensional Veil.

The air around me rippled, warping unnaturally. His strike should have pierced me clean through, but instead the blade bent mid-arc, twisting aside as though reality had rejected it.

He froze, eyes wide behind the mask. "What…?"

I didn't answer. I swung back immediately, my sword carving across his chest. He leapt back just in time, the edge barely grazing him.

He laughed harshly. "I've cut down hunters stronger than you. Don't think your tricks will save you."

I tightened my grip. "Then let's test that."

We clashed again, his daggers a storm of crimson arcs, my sword answering with precise movements born from Sword Mastery. Each strike rattled my arms, each step dug into the cracked marble beneath us. He was relentless, forcing me back, driving me toward the shattered walls.

His dagger scraped across my shoulder—shallow, but it stung. I grit my teeth.

I channeled my mana into my sword and slashed.

"Moon Slash."

A silver crescent tore through the air. He countered it with a crimson wave, the collision blasting us both apart. I slammed into a wall, stone exploding around me. My chest burned from the impact, dust filling my lungs.

I staggered forward, coughing. I activated Sylandra's Blessing.

Warm light wrapped around me, easing the fatigue in my limbs. My breathing steadied, the ache fading just enough to move again.

He was already on me, blades flashing. This time I met him head on. Our weapons clashed in a storm of sparks. He was skilled, experienced—his strikes were sharp, calculated, merciless. But with Sword Mastery guiding my hand, my movements flowed cleaner, sharper.

His dagger slipped past and darted toward me, gleaming with killing intent. Instinct screamed, and in that instant I invoked Dimensional Veil. A ripple of translucent energy shimmered before me, halting the blade just inches from my chest. The assassin's head snapped up, eyes widening in disbelief.

"Wh–what…?"

He didn't have time to comprehend. I thrust my hand forward, mana sparking at my fingertips. "Arc Discharge."

Lightning erupted, a blinding crackle that danced across my palm and leapt into him at point-blank range. The surge tore through his body, muscles locking as violent spasms wracked him. The acrid scent of ozone and burnt cloth filled the air as he grit his teeth, desperately trying to resist.

I gave him no chance. Channeling everything into my blade, I swung. The sword pulsed with light, a radiant silver glow spilling out into the dust-filled room.

"Moon Slash!"

The arc split the air, cutting across his chest with unrelenting force. Steel bit flesh, and a spray of crimson burst forth, staining the cracked stone beneath us. He staggered back, knees buckling, daggers clattering uselessly from his hands.

For the first time, his voice trembled. "Th–this… can't…"

I didn't let him finish. My final strike was clean, decisive—an end. His body crumpled, lifeless, the weight of his corrupted aura dissipating like mist in sunlight. Silence reclaimed the battlefield, broken only by my ragged breaths.

I stood there, chest rising and falling, my sword trembling faintly in my grip. My uniform was torn, sweat streaking down my face, dust clinging to my skin, but I was alive. Still standing.

Then I saw it. Amidst the shattered glass and rubble lay a single object—the faint glow of a book, untouched by the chaos around it.

I lowered my blade and bent down, fingers brushing over its surface. The leather was worn, yet it pulsed faintly as though it were breathing. Heavy. Significant.

When I lifted it, I felt the weight—not just of the book, but of everything it represented.

A tired smile curved my lips.

"Finally, it's in my hands now."

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