High above the glowing cityscape of Spain, where the night wind howled like a mourning hymn, a lone figure sat atop the tallest tower.
Draped in a long black coat that danced with the wind, Snow Quincy appeared more phantom than man. His silhouette, outlined against the moonlit sky, was like that of a reaper awaiting judgment. Beneath the coat, he wore a jet-black shirt, dark trousers, and sneakers—every thread designed to disappear into shadow.
He watched the city below—its lights, its people, its noise.
But he was not watching for anyone.
He was waiting...
Then—
// "PATHWAY HAS BEEN CREATED." //
The mechanical yet ethereal voice echoed inside his mind.
// "I HAVE FOUND A PATHWAY ON WHICH TO WALK UPON." //
DING
========================
PATHFINDER HAS DETECTED A PATHWAY
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DING
========================
QUEST
OBJECTIVE
The LAKAN GUILD has risen to infamy tainted by crimes, scandals and unchecked power. though they've escaped judgement tie and again, the CIRCLE OF LIFE has ruled their existence obsolete.
MISSION
Erase the LAKAN GUILD and, Avenge your sister
Reward: OXID ELIXIR
PENALTY: -45,000 POINTS
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SUBQUEST
Vanish from the world's memory.
REWARD: AUTHORITY
========================
Snow's eyes narrowed at the glowing text.
"The Circle of Life...?"
The name meant nothing to him. Not yet. But the mission... that, he understood perfectly.
His gaze turned hollow as the next prompt floated into existence:
DING
========================
PATHFINDER URGES YOU TO WALK THIS PATHWAY
========================
DING
========================
WOULD YOU LIKE TO WALK THIS PATHWAY?
YES / NO
========================
Snow didn't hesitate.
His fingers hovered... then clicked.
YES.
DING
========================
QUEST ACCEPTED
WARNING: This is a chain quest, completion of main quest shall be rewarded accordingly and the side quest that follows must be achieved before the reward are given, please do ensue you do well to be forgotten
========================
He read the words without a blink. Without emotion.
Let the world forget. He no longer cared.
Snow rose to his feet slowly, his coat flaring with the rising wind. Below him, the city shimmered under the stars—clueless of what was to come.
And then, just like a whisper... he vanished.
He reappeared atop another rooftop. The LAKAN Guild Headquarters.
The very place where his sister had once stood—alone and broken—before taking the final step to end her suffering.
Snow stared down at the same ledge, the night wind wrapping around him like a veil of grief.
He didn't need to imagine what she felt. He knew.
Beneath him, the building was alive with motion—hunters, executives, elites. They laughed. They schemed. They planned.
As if nothing had happened.
As if Aura's suicide attempt meant nothing.
A slow rage stirred within him.
But tonight... he would return their sins.
He had already gathered every name—every rank, every accomplice, every enabler. And by a stroke of timing—or fate—his mother's rising pressure on the guild had triggered an emergency meeting. Every S-rank to A-rank hunter was now gathered inside, discussing damage control and future strategies.
Perfect.
Snow raised one hand.
With a snap of his fingers, the world around the LAKAN Guild shifted.
A translucent dome of energy enveloped the entire property—silent, invisible to outsiders. A barrier of the highest grade. No one would enter. No one would escape. No one would remember anything that occurred within.
Inside, time itself seemed to still.
Snow reached into the air—and space cracked open like fractured glass.
From that rupture, a blade slid into existence—silent, deadly, ice-cold. As his fingers gripped the hilt, the temperature plummeted.
Frost raced along the floorboards, up the walls, down the halls. Everything not protected by power or rank below D... froze in place.
Cracks echoed like thunder.
With the sword now in his hand, Snow leapt from the rooftop.
But instead of crashing down with force, he landed with eerie grace—his feet gliding gently onto the ground as if gravity itself bent in reverence.
Cloaked in silent dread, he began to walk.
Each step he took was measured, fluid, regal. The long black coat trailing behind him whispered through the air like the wings of a fallen angel.
Two guards stationed at the guild's entrance locked eyes with him... and froze.
Not out of discipline.
Out of terror.
Their breath caught, their limbs stiffened, and their minds failed to comprehend the overwhelming presence before them. Snow's mere approach had paralyzed them with primal fear.
The moment he stepped inside, the atmosphere changed.
As if some unseen hand had pressed down on reality itself, an invisible weight crushed the guild's interior. People staggered under the sudden force—as if gravity had tripled. The ground moaned. Lights flickered.
And Snow walked... untouched.
A man tried to intercept him.
In a blink, his head was severed, his body frozen mid-swing—still standing like a grotesque sculpture carved from ice.
Another lunged forward.
Same fate. His blood never hit the floor; it crystallized mid-air.
The massacre was surreal—more myth than murder. Like a fairytale curse, beautiful and horrifying.
When the path had cleared, Snow raised a finger—and the earth trembled.
With a single blast, he tore a hole through the guild's marble floor. From that gaping wound, frozen steps erupted upward, one after the other, spiraling into the upper levels like a staircase meant for a god.
And Snow ascended.
Each step echoed with judgment.
At the top of the frozen stairs, he found them.
Dozens of hunters—lined up, armored, ready. Their formation mimicked a dungeon raid, weapons drawn, magic churning in the air.
But this wasn't a dungeon.
He was.
Snow was the boss monster they never expected.
"W...who are you!?" a man shouted, stepping forward. Judging by his position, he was likely the raid leader. Calm exterior, eyes sharp—prepared for war.
Snow said nothing.
He stepped off the last stair. Frost curled around his boots.
The air grew colder.
So cold that those who stood too long began to freeze where they stood—their legs encased in growing ice.
"STATE YOUR BUSINESS!" the man barked again.
But Snow only paused, as if genuinely wondering what this gathering was meant to be.
A flicker of boredom passed through his eyes.
He was exhausted—mentally, emotionally. His thoughts kept returning to Aura... to the Oxid Elixir... to the slim chance of waking her.
He didn't care about titles. Or vengeance. Or names.
Only the elixir.
He moved again.
The man sensed it—and drew his axe.
Too slow.
Before the weapon could even gleam in the light, his head was already gone—frozen midair.
It hit the ground a second later with a dull crack.
Screams erupted.
The hunters charged in waves—A-ranks, B-ranks, a few desperate C's.
Snow didn't break stride.
He walked through them—every swing, every spell, every motion cut down in a single breath.
Heads rolled. Bodies shattered into ice. And still, he walked.
But as the next wave formed, Snow sighed.
Too many floors.
DING
=====================
ZERO BLADE STACKED POINT REACHED
=====================
He stopped.
"...?"
A notification hovered before him.
(Stack point?)
(What's that supposed to mean?)
// "STACK POINT IS A POINT ZERO BLADE ACHIEVES BEFORE IT COULD SWITCH TO ITS SECOND FORM." //
Pathfinder answered, calm as ever.
(Second form?)
// "Think of it as a 'bottlecap' point. Certain unique blades transform upon reaching this stage. For some, it's a new skill. For others, an elemental overload. For Zero Blade..." //
DING
======================
STACK POINT CONVERTED TO: ASTRA POINT
=======================
DING
=====================
ASTRA POINT HAS BEEN DEVOURED BY: FLAMES OF HELL
======================
DING
=====================
ZERO BLADE PHASE TWO: HELL BLADE
=====================
Snow stared at the sword as it began to tremble in his grip.
The once glacial blade shimmered, its icy aura shedding like dead skin. Heat surged forth—molten, violent. In an instant, the freezing air vanished. A wave of heat replaced it, thick and suffocating.
The blade ignited.
Flames of black and crimson consumed its surface, and with a sound like a scream in reverse, every window in the guild building shattered.
DING
=====================
HELL BLADE HAS AWAKENED
=====================
Snow stared in silence.
He felt nothing—no joy, no fear, no excitement.
But deep down... he was intrigued.
This wasn't just a weapon. It was something close to an EGO—a blade nearly sentient, nearly alive.
Almost worthy.
He turned.
The blade followed behind him like a loyal beast.
Then—he vanished.
But the Hell Blade remained.
And with no master to temper it, the weapon spiraled out of control. Flames erupted across the floors. The entire building became an inferno—but oddly, it didn't collapse. The fire didn't spread. It didn't die either. It burned... endlessly, eternally, devouring nothing and everything.
Meanwhile, deep within the summit room of the LAKAN Guild, ten figures sat in tension.
They were the guild's core—ranked A to S.
And their president.
Inside the summit room, ten figures sat around a long obsidian table—each one a key pillar of the LAKAN Guild. Their expressions ranged from impatience to irritation, the growing tension in the air matched only by the unbearable heat rising through the floorboards.
The cold that once cloaked the building had vanished.
Now, they sweated under the weight of something they couldn't explain.
Still, they remained.
They trusted their members—the guards, the hunters, the elites. Whatever was going on outside, they were certain it would be handled... until the meeting was over.
"So... have we decided to lay low until the incident dies down?" Henry Lakan, the guild president, asked coolly as he scanned their faces.
Despite his shady dealings and bloodless leadership, they respected him. He wasn't an honorable man, but he was efficient—and more importantly, he was good at covering tracks.
"I'm not interested," a gruff voice said.
A man leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. His build was brutal—like a military juggernaut carved from stone. His white buzzcut and cold eyes gave off a mafia-like intensity. His name was Blake—one of the guild's S-Rank powerhouses.
"I'm not hiding because your cousin couldn't handle his mess."
"You don't have to put it that way, Blake," a woman replied coldly.
"Oh? Are you going to sweet-talk me now, Hannah?" Blake snapped, eyes narrowing. "Everyone here knows this disaster was your doing. You bullied that girl for two years—drove her to suicide—and you did it in the open."
"She was rude," Hannah retorted, voice sharp. "And she got too close to Theresa and CLAIR—"
Blake cut her off with a scoff. "Jealous she made friends you couldn't even look in the eye?"
"Tch. Pathetic," another muttered.
"She's just an A-rank, yet you argue with this self-absorbed brat?" said a boy, barely looking up.
The youngest at the table—CHROS. No older than fourteen, but an S-Rank nonetheless. Dangerous, volatile, and spoiled by power.
"Don't forget," he sneered, "the only reason Hannah's even at this table is because she's screwing Kyle Fredhind. One of our sponsors."
"CHROS! Don't talk about her like that!" Lorenzo shouted, standing up.
CHROS slammed the table. "Did sniffing that gutter of a hole fry your brain, Lorenzo?! You're just an A-rank. Who gave you permission to speak to me?!"
The room tensed as CHROS' energy spiked, cracking the table beneath his hand. Lorenzo flinched, realizing—too late—who he was dealing with.
CHROS leaned forward, eyes glowing.
"You don't even know who you messed with, do you?"
Henry blinked. "What are you talking about?"
CHROS smirked. "I did some digging after the Association raised a flag on the suicide case. Turns out... that girl?"
A pause.
"She's the daughter of Benedith Bloodfallen."
The room exploded.
"WHAT?!"
"That Bloodfallen?!" Hannah gasped.
"Are you stupid?" CHROS hissed. "How many Bloodfallen families do you think exist?"
Silence fell.
CHROS stood, heat rising from his body. "You idiots... you messed with the daughter of our guild's most powerful backer."
Henry's face turned pale.
The Bloodfallen family. The very ones who had bankrolled the LAKAN Guild's rise for the past two years. The reason their influence spread like wildfire. The reason they even had a name.
"And it gets worse," CHROS said, voice dropping low. "She's not just the daughter of Benedith Bloodfallen."
A beat.
"She's the younger sister of the Potion Maker."
A beat.
"Snow Quincy."
Silence gripped the room like a death knell.
And then—
FWOOOM—
Without warning, a figure appeared.
Right at the center of the table.
He hovered slightly above the polished surface, his feet barely touching it. And yet, the moment he arrived... they knew.
Every single person at the table felt it.
"/Did you call my name?/"
His voice was low, icy—calm like a winter storm before it devours everything.
The walls glowed red.
The four corners of the room began to warp, melting inward like they were made of wax, as if lava churned just beneath the surface.
CHROS' eyes widened in panic. "Sn... Snow Quincy—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
In the next instant, his body ignited—from the inside out.
Flames burst through his skin like ruptured veins, and he was gone.
Just like that.
The others stood in horror, paralyzed.
Except Blake.
He reached for his weapon, charging his aura—ready for war.
"/I'm grateful you all gathered in one place. Saves me the trouble./" Snow said, voice void of emotion.
"How dare you barge in—" Blake began.
SHING—
A streak of flame.
The Hell Blade struck from behind—cleaving through Blake's chest, igniting his body in a cyclone of hell fire.
He collapsed.
Another S-rank... gone in seconds.
Panic overtook the room.
"W-Wait! Please!" Henry begged, sweat running down his temple as he looked at Snow with trembling eyes.
Snow didn't reply.
He simply looked at him.
That was enough.
"We... we've wronged you... please... show mercy!" Henry cried out.
"/You're two years too late for mercy./"
Snow's eyes then drifted to Hannah.
She was shaking—frozen in place, breath caught in her throat.
Lorenzo and his brother, desperate and reckless, lunged at Snow with battle cries.
They never reached him.
A single swing from Hell Blade sliced the air—and sliced them from existence. Their bodies burned, their souls extinguished.
The rest—those who remained—were caught in the arc of that same swing.
They died without even understanding how.
Ashes fell like snowflakes.
The bodies did not collapse.
They burned. Endlessly.
Only one remained.
Snow stepped forward and seated himself on the table, his black coat still fluttering gently in the unnatural wind swirling in the chamber.
"/Finally... it's just us./"
His eyes rested on Hannah—now on her knees, eyes wide, lips trembling.
The Hell Blade hovered silently behind him like a beast awaiting its master's command.
But Snow said nothing more.
He simply watched.
As Hannah crumbled—into fear, into despair, into silence.
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to be continued...