Lucia glanced at Joshey, a question in her eyes. Why are we being so sneaky?
"Information," Joshey whispered back, his gaze fixed on the door. "One or two pieces of intel can change everything. It's important to gather it."
Inside, Viggo's voice, muffled but clear through the thick wood, reached them.
"…as I was saying, Michael, you've been a good support. But once in a while, I need you to follow protocol. You hired someone outside the chain. I don't hate initiative, but I won't permit uncertainties. You'd better make sure it's necessary."
Elias? Joshey's mind reeled. They were talking about him? No—about Elias Vulcrest, the identity.
Michael's voice, hesitant and confused, answered. "Boss… I didn't hire anyone."
A beat of silence.
"What?" Viggo's tone dropped, turning dangerous. "What do you mean? The handler they sent to the Garden literally mentioned your name."
"Who?" Michael sounded genuinely lost. "I didn't hire any handler."
Another heavy silence.
Joshey could almost feel Viggo's uneasiness. Michael couldn't lie to him; his anima made sure of it. So, if Michael was telling the truth…
Then the man calling himself Elias Vulcrest had been lying. And if he was lying about who hired him, then he probably had innate knowledge of this place. He probably wasn't even hired by anyone, but no, that's not possible. Viggo had created a strict system which doesn't permit the existence of an outsider, so he likely wasn't honest about who hired him. Lucia whispered, "What are you going to do?"
"Hold on," Joshey murmured back, listening.
Inside, Viggo was speaking again. "…this looks like a good opportunity to start capturing more elves. I'll handle the Elias situation later."
A third voice—not Michael's—replied, "We already have two elves. Both are minors. They haven't reached their growth threshold yet. When they do, we'll ship them as planned."
That was when Joshey stood up. He abandoned the whole idea of staying hidden.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Viggo, Michael, and a third man—a sharp-faced overseer—spun to face him.
"What? Elias?" Viggo's black eyes widened. "How did you get here? Did one of you bring him?"
Both Michael and the overseer shook their heads, looking just as shocked.
Joshey didn't look at them. He spoke over his shoulder to Lucia, his voice calm. "Lucia, I think Viggo has a way of controlling people under him. Can you go out there and make sure no other handlers interfere?"
He didn't need to ask twice. A faint, almost amused realisation flickered through her—it was the first time she'd ever waited for his permission before acting. She accepted it, nodded, and immediately destroyed the door they just sneaked through, her first victims were the two who guarded the door.
After Lucia left, Joshey looked at Viggo and Michael. "Why shouldn't I burn you both alive right now?"
Viggo said, "Because you can't. I think your plan to kill me and take this place is a bit early, don't you?"
Joshey admitted, "I planned to hold off on killing you until after I saved Minna from here."
Viggo asked, "Who is Minna?"
Joshey didn't answer. He started walking toward Viggo with a deadly look in his eyes.
But the moment he tried to attack, the bodyguard burst into the room and landed a blow on Joshey. Joshey blocked it, but the impact still sent a shock through his body, throwing him across the room.
That's when Joshey knew: Viggo had been stalling for time. The bodyguard was the problem. He had wanted to restrain Viggo before the guard arrived, but that wasn't possible now.
He didn't mind. All he had to do was beat this guy, then restrain Viggo and Michael. Easy in theory, but not simple—because the bodyguard didn't look like a joke.
Joshey stood up and said, "Ready, partner?"
Elias replied, "Hell yeah."
They sprang into action. Elias activated the Seventh Sense. He saw the guard's muscles and internal systems were under perfect, conscious control.
The guard rushed forward, fast as Lucia. He threw a punch.
Using the Sense, Joshey saw the punch's path. He used a tiny burst of Aero mana to nudge the guard's wrist off-course, making him miss.
The guard's side was exposed. Joshey channeled Pyro mana into his fist and struck the opening, sending the guard stumbling back.
In that moment, Joshey glanced toward the door.
Viggo was gone. He had escaped.
Joshey could go after him, but the guard was already recovering, blocking the way. The guard would be a serious problem if Joshey tried to leave. Lucia tore away a section of her baggy clothing for better movement and drew her sword. She knew Elias would handle the situation inside his own way.
She left the building the same way she came and immediately started intercepting every handler moving toward the area. As she moved, a thought struck her: How did Elias know Viggo had a power to influence the minds of those under him? The ability sounded familiar, but she pushed the question aside. Details could wait.
About thirty-two handlers were now converging on her position.
Slash.
A head rolled.
She moved fast, her sword faster—a blur of sharp, efficient motion. Handlers fell, but one managed to land a solid jab to her right side, knocking her off balance. She stumbled but instantly regained her footing.
She smirked, her eyes locking onto the handler who'd hit her.
"I guess some of you still have fight in you." Lucia felt a flicker of genuine pleasure when one of the handlers stepped forward, a big man, 6'5" and thickly built. He looked like he could actually fight. She smiled, sheathed her sword, and settled into a kickboxing stance.
"Set yourself," she said. "Use any weapon you want."
The big man scoffed.
"Let's throw hands," she said.
He launched a forward jab. Lucia slipped her head to the side, the punch whistling past her ear. In that same motion, her eyes scanned his entire frame for an opening. She found one and drove a vicious uppercut into his chin. He staggered back, shook his head, and threw a wild underhand punch. She ducked it and slammed a straight right into his jaw with a sickening crack.
"Oh," she said, almost cheerfully. "Seems I broke your cheekbone."
The man's eyes glazed with rage. He roared, brought both fists up high, and threw a massive, two-handed hammer blow straight down, aiming to crush her skull. He left his legs planted, ready to knee her if she tried to dive low.
Instead, Lucia didn't block. She didn't go low. She simply bent her knees, dropped her center of gravity, and let the double-fist smash whistle over her head. As his arms slammed down into empty air, she was already moving.
From the crouch, her right leg snapped upward. It started low, as if aiming for his thigh, then pivoted at the knee and whipped around in a vicious, arcing roundhouse kick. Her shin connected with the side of his face with a wet crunch.
His nose flattened. His lip split open. He stumbled backward, blood pouring down his face.
Lucia straightened up, her excitement fading into disappointment. "Really? That's it?"
She drew her sword again. "Is there anything you can do? Anything at all? I'm in a good mood, so I'll humor you."
The man, half-blind with pain and rage, looked around frantically. He grabbed a loose chunk of stone from the ground and hurled it at her.
Lucia's smile turned ferocious. She tossed her sword aside. As the stone flew toward her, she stepped forward and threw a precise jab, shattering it in mid-air. But the throw was a distraction. The man charged through the debris, swinging a wild hook.
Lucia didn't back up. She closed the distance, inside his swing. One hand grabbed the back of his head, yanking it down as she drove her knee up into his already ruined face. Cartilage gave way. Before he could fall, she pivoted and slammed a side kick into his solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs in a choked gasp. As he doubled over, she grabbed him again, pulled him in close, and slammed the heel of her palm straight up under his jaw.
He collapsed, barely conscious, wheezing through broken teeth and blood.
Lucia stared down at him, her earlier good mood evaporating into pure, cold irritation. "Damn. If you can't fight, then don't fight. It's easy."
She walked over, picked up her sword, and turned back just as the man tried to crawl away.
She moved.
There was no flourish, no drama. Just four precise, blindingly fast flashes of steel.
First, his right arm separated from his shoulder.
Then his left.
Then his right leg at the thigh
Then his left.
He fell onto his torso, a limbless stump, a raw scream tearing from his throat.
Lucia stood over him, her expression blank. She leaned down and, with two more swift, surgical flicks, removed his eyes.
She watched him writhe and gurgle for a few more seconds, then turned away, already scanning for the next wave of handlers. The slow, painful death happening behind her was no longer relevant.
The fight had devolved into a brutal stalemate. The guard was too fast, too durable—every exchange ended without a clean opening. Joshey felt it instinctively: brute force wouldn't win this.
Void is an option, Elias said inside his mind, calm as ever. But a full release would leave us exposed.
Then what do we do?
A partial application. Don't release the technique—apply only its physics. Localized pressure. Directional impulse. No blast, just the effect.
The guard lunged again, his movement blurring at the edge of Joshey's perception. Joshey couldn't track the strikes visually anymore—only feel where they were about to land. Acting on instinct and Elias's guidance, he contracted his mana field at the exact point of impact.
The punch collided with an invisible wall.
THUD.
The force dispersed outward, the hyper-dense barrier holding for just a fraction of a second. It was enough. As the guard recoiled, Joshey caught his left arm, pivoted with the momentum, and slammed Partial Application: Void into the guard's center of mass.
There was no flash, no shockwave. For a millisecond, a violent, directional pressure erupted outward from the point of contact. The guard's body was launched away as if reality itself had shoved him aside, crashing into the far wall hard enough to fracture stone.
The guard staggered upright, eyes narrowed in confusion. What… was that?
Joshey didn't give him time to recover. Pyro mana ignited in his legs, propelling him forward—and this time, he layered Partial Application: Void behind himself. Not to attack. To push.
The result was catastrophic acceleration.
The world smeared into colorless streaks as air resistance was overwhelmed by raw pressure. Joshey couldn't see—only aim. He drove himself straight toward the guard's last position.
BOOM.
A downward kick crashed toward the guard's head. He barely raised his arm in time. The impact shattered the floor beneath his feet, shockwaves rippling through the stone. As Joshey rebounded, the guard seized his right arm, attempting to hurl him aside.
Joshey let it happen.
Using the grip as an anchor, he twisted his body, pinned the guard's arm, and drove Partial Application: Void directly into the man's sternum—again and again. Not explosions, but short, brutal pressure impulses that hammered inward and rebounded outward through bone and organ alike.
The guard grunted, pain finally breaking through his perfect control. He grabbed both of Joshey's wrists and snapped his head forward, slamming his forehead into Joshey's brow.
A mistake.
You really shouldn't have done that, Joshey thought.
At the moment of impact, he activated Partial Application: Aqua Mana, drawing moisture from his own sweat and blood and hardening it into a microscopic, razor-sharp spike layered across his forehead.
CRUNCH.
The guard's headbutt drove the spike deep into his flesh.
Before he could react, Joshey flooded the spike with Pyro Mana.
The water flashed into superheated steam inside the wound.
The guard screamed, his control shattering as the sudden internal trauma tore through him. He staggered back, clutching his face, disoriented and bleeding.
Joshey stepped in and pressed his palm against the guard's chest.
"This is new," he muttered.
MAXIMUM: VOID.
There was no direction this time. No control.
A perfect sphere of overwhelming pressure detonated outward from Joshey's hand. The air didn't burn or collapse—it was simply forced away all at once. The resulting shockwave slammed into everything indiscriminately.
Joshey was hurled backward, crashing into the wall as the breath was torn from his lungs. The guard flew the opposite direction, his chest buckling inward as the pressure ravaged his body.
He hit the ground hard, gasping, blood leaking from his ears, nose, and mouth. Only his legendary biological control kept the damage from becoming fatal—his body desperately stabilizing ruptures at the cellular level even as he lay broken.
Joshey slid down the wall, ears ringing, blood dripping from his nose. The room was in ruins. The guard was down. Viggo was gone.
One obstacle cleared.
The cost: almost everything he had left. Elias had thrown a protective barrier around Joshey just before the Void detonated, and Joshey had been further from the epicenter than the guard. Still, the shockwave hit him like a hammer, rattling his bones and leaving his ears ringing. But he was standing.
The guard, Gorvan—was not.
Gorvan's left arm, the one he'd tried to block the attack with, was twisted at a sickening angle, pale and already swelling. Blood streamed from his nose, ears, and the corners of his eyes. His breathing was a wet, ragged sound. Internal damage. Likely brain trauma, too. Yet, he pushed himself to his knees, then to his feet, movements jerky but deliberate.
Joshey stared, impressed despite himself. "Damn. You've got endurance."
He smirked, then the smirk broke into a low chuckle that grew into a genuine, tired laugh. Gorvan watched him, blood dripping from his chin.
"Ugh," Gorvan grunted, his voice garbled. "Never… would I think… a human as weak as you… would cause me this much… problem." He spat a mouthful of blood. "You applied mana engineering… covered all your weaknesses. Brilliant." His bloodshot eyes fixed on Joshey. "HOW BRILLIANT. Someone… capable of actually making me bleed… making me damaged… exists."
Joshey, his energy is spiking, Elias warned sharply. He's charging up.
What? How? Joshey's own reserves were spent. Maximum Void had taken everything; his mana channels felt scorched and brittle, backlash pain flaring with every heartbeat. Another serious fight now would end him.
Gorvan raised his good arm, fingers curling as if clutching something invisible. His voice was a guttural chant. "Equivalent exchange. Take eight years of my lifespan… and give me strength."
RUN. NOW. Elias's command was a shout in his mind.
Joshey tried to push off the wall.
A fist materialized in front of his face. There was no wind-up, no approach—just there.
Elias threw a barrier up. The fist shattered it like glass and connected.
Joshey's world exploded into white pain. He felt his cheekbone crack. The force launched him like a doll, sending him tumbling through the air. He twisted, trying to get his feet under him, and managed to land in a skid.
A shadow fell from above. A leg, descending like a piston. Joshey threw himself into a roll. The leg missed him and slammed into the stone floor where he'd been. The impact wasn't a crack; it was a crunch, the stone disintegrating into a crater of pulverized rock.
I can activate emergency response mode. Full capacity. We might survive, Elias reported, his tone clinical.
Wait, Joshey thought, gasping. Not yet.
The room became a demolition site. Gorvan moved with renewed, terrifying speed. Joshey evaded by millimeters, each dodge costing him more than the last. A glancing blow from Gorvan's shoulder sent him spinning into a support beam, wood splintering. He was physically spent. Channeling mana was agony; his internal currents were in complete disarray.
He tried a Partial Application: Pyro Mana—Exclusive Burst, hoping for a momentum boost. A pathetic flicker of heat sparked in his legs, providing less thrust than a gentle shove. Useless.
Then Gorvan was in front of him again. No flourish. A simple, straight punch sank into Joshey's abdomen.
The sound was a sickening, deep THUD.
Seven ribs shattered instantly. The air blasted from Joshey's lungs in a silent scream. He was flung across the length of the room, a ragdill in a hurricane, before crashing into the far wall and sliding down into a heap.
He couldn't move. Agony was a white-hot cage around his torso. He lay there, vision swimming, struggling to draw a shallow, hitching breath.
Across the ruined room, Gorvan began walking toward him. Slowly. Deliberately. The guard's ruined face was a mask of bloody satisfaction. He was going to take his time. He was going to enjoy this.
(break scene)
Panning to Lucia.
A piercing, wailing alarm blared through every corridor and yard of the Granary. A full mobilization alert. All handlers were to report to their designated combat stations immediately.
Haitei, a handler with a perpetually nervous look, jumped at the sound. He fumbled with his gear and started running toward the muster point in the main yard. He saw Schitz, a more seasoned handler, sprinting past.
"Hey, Schitz! What the hell is going on?" Haitei yelled, struggling to keep up.
"I don't know for sure," Schitz shouted back, not breaking stride. "But there's a threat roaming the grounds. A serious one."
"A threat?"
"Yeah. Buffalo's been killed."
Haitei skidded to a halt. "Wait, wait, what? Buffalo? The guy who could beat our top five in tug-of-war? Who smashed two men's heads together for talking back and they just… died? That Buffalo?"
Schitz stopped a few paces ahead, his face grim. "...Yes."
"No way." A cold dread washed over Haitei. Every instinct screamed at him to run the other way, to hide, to desert. The Haitei he knew would never walk toward a fight with less than a 100% chance of survival. This was a death sentence.
But his legs kept moving. He fell back into step behind Schitz, a sick confusion rising in his throat. He wanted to turn back, but a deep, compelling force overrode his will. It wasn't just discipline. It was a command, layered into the very air, pressing against his mind, forcing obedience on a level deeper than fear. He felt like a puppet. He obeyed, a silent, desperate prayer looping in his mind as he approached the source of the alarm.
They rounded a corner into a storage yard.
It was a slaughterhouse.
Lucia moved through the space not like a warrior, but like a natural disaster. Her dark dress was spattered, her sword a dark blur. Handlers—dozens of them—lay in heaps and pieces. Some had tried to use mana, conjuring weak shields or lashing out with elemental strikes. They were dead too, their techniques severed mid-cast, their bodies opened with clinical precision.
She wasn't breathing hard. Her expression was one of profound, icy boredom. She hadn't killed in a while, and it wasn't that she enjoyed it. In her world, death was a tool, a conclusion. She had seen many who deserved it, but Elias's way had held her back. Now, with him occupied, she had her chance.
But this was disappointing. They were all weak. Fodder. Not a single one had landed a clean hit, made her pivot, made her think. They were just obstacles to be cleared. It was tedious.
She wanted to hurry up. She needed to get back to Elias.
A new group flooded into the yard, Haitei and Schitz among them. Lucia watched them form up, her brown eyes flat. She raised her sword.
Time to finish this.
Schitz and Haitei were not powerful warriors. They were handlers—enforcers of fear, not masters of combat. They were terrified. They absolutely did not want to fight the dark blur of death that was Lucia.
But they fought. The compelling command forced their bodies forward.
The result was over in two motions.
A horizontal sweep of Lucia's black sword divided Schitz's torso from his legs. A reverse flick severed both of Haitei's hands at the wrists.
The compelling command in Haitei's mind shattered the moment the pain hit. The psychic leash was cut with his hands. He collapsed onto the blood-drenched stone, screaming, but alive.
Through the blinding agony, a desperate thought surfaced: Aqua mana. I know a little. He focused, gritting his teeth, trying to constrict the blood vessels at his stumps, to slow the torrent of his own life leaking out. As he worked, his panicked eyes landed on Schitz's corpse, barely a foot away. A fresh wave of terror washed over him.
He remembered. The oath. When Viggo had conscripted them, he'd sealed the agreement with magic. Your life isn't your own on this contract, he'd said.
Someone had done this to the Granary before. A legend. A physically monstrous man who'd torn through the place until powerful outsiders were called in to stop him. That man's name was now banned, his very presence outlawed.
And now, someone else had come. Just as powerful.
Viggo had learned from the last incident. He'd woven a thrall into the contracts, a compulsion to obey and defend, so no insider could ever turn on him again.
So why isn't she under his thrall? Haitei's mind raced, clinging to the question to distract from the pain. Is she from the outside? A random force? Even the slaves were bound by Viggo's magic. It couldn't be a slave's vengeance.
A hot, bitter anger cut through his fear. Viggo. After all his talk, all his magic, he still failed. And my life… is the cost of his failure?
No. He refused.
Haitei focused every shred of his will on his Aqua mana engineering, quietly sealing the worst of the bleeding, buying himself minutes. He wouldn't die here as a footnote to Viggo's mistake. Gritting his teeth, he began to crawl, dragging himself away from the carnage, leaving a smeared trail as he fled.
Lucia moved on, her black sword slicing and dicing with unhurried precision through the last clusters of resistance. Then she saw him.
Gaunt.
He stood frozen at the edge of the yard, his ledger clutched to his chest, his face as pale as parchment. "Lucia… you…" he stammered.
She stopped in front of him. Her brown eyes held no malice, just a flat assessment. "I will spare your life," she stated. "Simply because you also hate working here as much as I do."
Before he could respond, she stepped forward and slammed the pommel of her sword into his temple. Gaunt's eyes rolled back, and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
She stepped over him and kept walking. The path to Elias was almost clear.