Rage boiled inside him, his breath heavy, his vision red. Heat pulsed from his body, distorting the air around him. Without a word, he lunged. The man barely had time to react before Ronan struck him down, pinning him to the ground. His fury surged; he wanted to end him. His blade hovered at the man's throat, trembling with his wrath.
Then, a soldier's voice came from behind. "They... they're alive."
His sword stopped inches from the man's flesh. His body tensed, his mind torn between vengeance and relief. He turned and rushed to them, kneeling beside his sister. His hands glowed with Blazing Restoration as he poured his energy into her wounds. She stirred, weak but alive.
Her trembling hand touched his cheek. "My little brother... you're strong..." Her voice was soft, yet it struck harder than any blade. "You need to seek revenge… Let no one live related to him." Her hand slipped from his face, her body limp once more.
A roar tore from Ronan's throat, raw with anguish. His entire being twisted with grief, with fury. His flames burned hotter, wilder. His expression turned cold, murderous. He gently laid his sister down, closing her eyes before rising to his feet. The ground beneath him scorched with each step as he approached the bound man, his presence suffocating.
Grabbing the man by the throat, his voice was a low growl. "Why did you kill them?"
The man gasped, his voice shaking. "They took my wife... my children. I had to save them."
Ronan's grip tightened. "And now you're going to die. Was it worth it?"
The man closed his eyes. "At least they will live."
Ronan let out a bitter laugh, his voice dripping with venom. "Look at what you've done. You doomed them. Your death won't free them; it will damn them. They will live in shame, in blame, because of you."
A voice called out. "Young Master! We've captured those behind this attack, along with the hostages."
Ronan exhaled sharply. His eyes flicked toward the newcomers. A woman and two children knelt, their heads bowed. "Please, Young Master, don't kill him."
His brows furrowed. "You know him?"
Tears streaked down their faces. "He is my husband... their father."
He studied the man — once an enemy, now only a desperate, crumpled soul. Ronan raised his sword. The woman and her two children stumbled between them, dropping to their knees and begging, "Please… don't kill him. Please." Ronan barked, "MOVE." The command tore out of him, but beneath it a second, softer thing tugged at his mind: Ronan, be merciful. Everyone deserves a chance to atone. Father Matthias's voice. Then another voice, fragile and familiar: You remember how you saved me. You are kind — you will be merciful.Samantha? Ronan thought, his heart clenching as his mind raced.
He didn't spare the man completely. With a casual flick of his fingers, a vein of fire snaked into the man's core. Heat flared beneath skin and magic alike; the man clutched his chest and howled, rolling on the ground as pain ripped through him. The woman wailed again, "Please—stop! Don't kill him!" Her tears were frantic; her hands clutched her children.
Ronan's face was unreadable, a mask of stone. The woman's grief curdled into fury. "You will die! Your family will die! You killed my husband!" She grabbed the children and screamed into Ronan's face, "What are you waiting for? Kill us now, too!"
A nearby soldier shoved forward, voice low and dangerous. "If you don't stop, I'll end this myself. You should be thanking him — he spared you."
Her eyes flashed. "Thank this monster? Why should I?"
The soldier's jaw tightened. "If anyone else stood in My Lord's place, your husband and his kin would already be dead. He still chose mercy after what was done."
"If this is mercy," the woman shrieked, "then what is cruelty?" She wept and spat in the same breath.
The flames inside the man seared with growing intensity — then, just before they reached a fatal peak, they stilled. Ronan did not look back. "For sixteen years," he said, voice flat and final, "you will only use your power to protect others and your family. I will leave someone to watch over you. Let us see whether you can atone for what you've done."
The woman stared at her husband, still alive but trembling on the ground, shock and gratitude battling across her face. She turned to Ronan, tears falling, whispering, "Thank you… my lord. Thank you."
Ronan turned away, his heart still heavy. As he gazed at his sister's still form, a sharp pain tore through him. He looked down. A sword had pierced his back, its tip emerging from his chest. Pain lanced through him, but something far colder settled in his heart: clarity.
Outside, Alden and Alaric gasped. "This wasn't supposed to happen!"
Mr. Arnold, who had been watching impassively, cut through the moment with a bored, narrowed glance. "Can you both be quiet for a moment?" He sighed. "You should know the test adapts its illusion to break the subject's will. This final stage takes a physical form when other methods fail. If his resolve had snapped, it would have been far worse. Even if Ronan cannot break free from his soul power, his strength is beyond most of his peers."
Ronan gritted his teeth, his hands gripping the blade. He exhaled a shuddering breath, steady despite the agony. "I've been waiting for you. You have been watching for a long time. I thought you would not take any action."
Oh? You knew I was watching?" the man asked with amusement.
Ronan smirked. "Not exactly, but I could sense a powerful presence observing me. Tell me, are you also part of this illusion?"
The man chuckled. "Smart boy. Yes, I am part of the illusion. When did you realise it?"
Ronan's expression darkened. "The moment my sister urged me to take revenge. She would never say to take revenge. My sister would have said 'Show mercy,' not to 'seek revenge.'"
He turned toward the man, his eyes gleaming with cold fury. With a swift motion, he grabbed the man by the throat, lifting him effortlessly. "There are some things you should never toy with."
The man's face paled, his body trembling under Ronan's suffocating Killing Intent. "S-Stop! I'll break the illusion! Just stop!" he screamed, his composure shattering.
Ronan only laughed, a sinister, bone-chilling sound. The flames around him began absorbing the natural fire essence from the illusion itself. The man gasped, clutching his chest as his magical core ignited. His screams echoed through the collapsing world.
The fabricated reality shattered like fragile glass. Darkness swallowed everything, and Ronan floated in the void, his body absorbing the last remnants of flame from the crumbling illusion.
Mr. Arnold turned to Mr. Alden, his gaze sharp. "Why did you insist on this test?"
Mr. Alden exhaled, his brows furrowed. "I saw his Killing Intent. It was overwhelming, too refined, too controlled. At first, I thought he had been affected by corrupted mana. That's why I insisted on this test."
Mr. Arnold nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "As a teacher, you should cherish this boy. His willpower is unmatched among his peers, and his character is... intriguing. But most importantly, his flame is different. The man this kid just killed was in the final stage of the test."
Mr. Alden and Alaric exchanged a glance, confusion flickering in their eyes. "Different how?"
Mr. Arnold smirked. "Normally, a fire user's flame begins to react to its master emotion after reaching Master Tier or above. But Ronan, his flame has already evolved beyond that stage. It possesses something unique, something I've never seen before, only read in books or heard in stories."
Alaric's breath hitched. "What does that mean?"
"Don't ask me for answers," Mr. Arnold said cryptically. "Nurture him well, and we'll understand soon enough."
Moments later, he emerged from the portal, shaking his head. His gaze lifted. "What's the result, sir? Did I fail?"
He fixed Ronan with a sharp look, then nodded. "Ronan, you passed with a perfect score. As a reward, you may choose any beast flame from my collection — but on one condition: you must absorb it here and now. If you accept, make your choice."
Ronan's voice was steadier than he felt. "I nearly killed him. I meant to. But when I saw his wife and children, I couldn't. He was trying to save what was dear to him. Father Matthias taught that everyone deserves a chance to redeem themselves. Those thoughts came over me, and before I knew it, I spared him."
Mr. Alden chuckled then, an amused edge to his tone. "Strange choice." He produced a small, leather-bound catalogue and flipped it open. "Here — this is what I have in my collection."
Ronan spoke, his voice steady and confident. "Then, I would like a Five-Tailed Fox Flame."
Mr. Arnold's eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise, but he waved for his attendants to retrieve the requested beast flame. As he waited, he regarded Ronan with curiosity. "Why the Five-Tailed Fox Flame?" he asked, testing the young man's reasoning.
Ronan's eyes darkened for a moment before he calmly replied, "I struggled during today's illusion test. I don't want to experience that kind of vulnerability again. The Five-Tailed to Nine-Tailed Foxes possess the highest resistance to illusions and soul attacks. With this flame, I'll be better prepared next time."
Alaric Viridion, who had been silently observing, narrowed his eyes slightly, impressed by Ronan's sharp perception and foresight. When Mr. Arnold handed over the beast flame, Ronan didn't hesitate. He reached out, and the moment the flame touched his palm, it flared violently, as if resisting him. But Ronan remained unfazed. With a deep breath, he guided the energy into himself, absorbing it with an effortless grace that left the onlookers stunned.
It took around two to three hours to fully absorb the beast flame, leaving the transparent crystal core.
Once the process was complete, Ronan exhaled slowly, the lingering warmth of the flame settling within him. He bowed slightly to Mr. Arnold. "Thank you."
Both Mr. Alden and Mr. Alaric were surprised to see how quickly he had absorbed the beast flame. Mr. Arnold says, "Good, good, the absorption rate is good." In Mr. Arnold's mind, "This year's students are far more interesting than any other year. A boy with a flame that reacts to his emotions. A boy blessed by the water god. One girl with the water and fire elements. Hahaha."
The group exited the building, stepping into the crisp evening air. Mr. Alden turned to Ronan and gestured toward the man beside him. "Ronan, this is Alaric Viridion, one of the most powerful figures in our kingdom."
Ronan met Alaric's gaze and greeted him with a respectful nod. "It's an honour."
Alaric returned the gesture with a faint smile. "So, what do you plan to do now?"
Ronan answered without hesitation, his voice steady with determination. "I plan to collect more skills from the academy. I also want to take on solo missions; I need the money. And I'll continue my swordsmanship training under Sir Alden. As for my fire magic, I'll wait until Ms. Amara returns to resume training."
Alaric tapped his chin in thought. "The Flamecrest family has some of the finest flame users. They could be of great help to you."
Ronan's expression turned cold, his jaw tightening. "Thank you for the offer, but I'm not interested."
Alaric frowned slightly, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. Before he could press further, Ronan exhaled, rubbing his temples. "I'm tired, Sir." He glanced at both men. "If you don't mind, I'll take my leave."
Without waiting for a response, Ronan turned on his heel and walked away, his strides firm with lingering frustration.
Alaric watched him go before turning to Mr. Alden. "Did I say something wrong?"
Mr. Alden sighed, crossing his arms. "No. A few days ago, during a mission, he witnessed a noble from the Flamecrest family harassing a girl. It didn't sit well with him. Give him time, he'll come around."
Alaric nodded in understanding, his expression unreadable. The two men walked off, discussing the young warrior who had left such an impression on them.