The auras Lucian sensed came from a small village nearby.
The place stank of sweat and decay. The dirt roads, once worn smooth by generations of footsteps, were now uneven and scarred by careless boots and wagon wheels. Wooden houses stood intact but neglected — doors hanging open, windows clouded with grime, belongings strewn about as though ransacked and forgotten.
The village square, once a gathering place for laughter and trade, had been turned into a stage for cruelty. Villagers toiled under the watchful eyes of armed bandits. Their faces were gaunt, their bodies thin and trembling from exhaustion.
Some carried sacks of grain almost heavier than their frail frames, while others chopped wood or patched broken wagons under the threat of whips. Once-simple garments hung from their bodies as tattered rags, stained by sweat, dirt, and despair.
Children clung to their mothers — hollow-eyed, silent, and too afraid to cry. Some were forced to work alongside the adults, their small hands gripping tools far too large for them. Near the well, an old man knelt, trembling as he filled a bucket, his spine bent from years of labor made crueler by his captors.
The bandits lounged in the shade, drunk on stolen wine and arrogance. They laughed and jeered, barking orders more for amusement than necessity. A few stood on makeshift platforms, whips in hand, striking lazily at whoever moved too slowly.
Then, a lone figure entered the village — walking through the stench and filth as though untouched by it.
His crimson hair, streaked with black, stirred faintly in the breeze. Beneath his hood, sharp red eyes glimmered with quiet authority — detached, assessing, and dangerous.
His attire was pristine: a long black coat, a crimson vest beneath. Black gloves and polished boots completed the look — elegant, but built for motion. Every line of his figure carried an effortless threat.
Lucian had arrived.
One of the bandits noticed first — a broad-shouldered brute with a rusted axe slung across his back. He squinted, sneering as he stepped forward.
"Hey, you lost or just stupid? Nobody comes here unless they want to die."
Lucian didn't answer. His gaze drifted across the square, sharp and measured, as though cataloging every movement, every breath.
"Hey, I'm talking to you, bastard!" The bandit's tone sharpened, his hand twitching toward his axe.
The air shifted. Work stopped. Laughter died. Villagers froze mid-motion. Every eye turned toward the stranger in the black coat.
Lucian's head tilted slightly. A faint smirk curved his lips — more habit than emotion.
"Ah, yes… greetings. I am but a newcomer, seeking a bit of guidance. But before we discuss directions, I must ask — what exactly is unfolding here?"
The bandit's temper, already thinned by drink, snapped.
"Who the hell do you think you are?!"
He swung his axe, aiming straight for Lucian's head.
The strike never landed.
Lucian caught the man's wrist effortlessly, his fingers tightening like iron. The next instant, the axe was torn from his grip, and the bandit was slammed into the ground with bone-rattling force.
"Tsk, tsk…" Lucian's tone was soft — almost disappointed. "Is that any way to welcome a new friend? This is your final opportunity. Answer my questions, and perhaps I'll spare your life."
Around them, the other bandits rose, hands going to their weapons.
The broad-shouldered brute staggered upright, aura flaring around him. "Stupid kid… I'll kill you!"
Lucian's smirk lingered, faint and calm. "If my words have wounded your fragile pride, I understand. Go ahead — unleash whatever feeble attacks you wish."
With a roar, the man lunged again, his fist cloaked in aura. "Die!"
Lucian didn't move. His eyes glowed with faint amusement as the axe in his hand flashed once — a clean, effortless arc. The blade sang through the air.
The man's head separated from his shoulders, spinning away in a perfect red trail before landing somewhere in the dust.
For a moment, no one breathed.
A gasp broke the silence — a small voice.
"Help us!"
A boy, no older than fourteen, had cried out. The hands of a lady beside him instantly clamped over his mouth, pulling him close.
"Shhh…" she whispered, terror trembling in her voice.
Lucian's eyes flicked toward the child — a fleeting glance, unreadable.
The remaining bandits stepped forward, their auras igniting in panic and fury.
Then, a boot stopped the rolling head.
"Hold on now, men. Let's not get too hasty," came a calm, almost amused voice.
The one who spoke stepped into view — a young man with golden-blonde hair and cold blue eyes. His lean build radiated confidence, his every movement measured, and his grin sharp enough to cut.
"Our buddy here got himself killed because he rushed in like a fool," he said, nudging the decapitated head with his foot. "Let's not repeat his mistake."
"At last," Lucian replied smoothly. "A mind worthy of notice. Unlike these drunken fools, you seem capable of thought."
The young man chuckled softly. "Was that a backhanded compliment? You should know who you're talking to. I'm Arthur — The Frost Prince. I'm sure you've heard of me by now… and are probably trembling in fear."
Lucian's expression didn't change.
"Forgive my ignorance. I have no knowledge of who you are."
Arthur's smile faltered, pride flashing to anger. "You've never heard of The Frost Prince? I'm the third division commander of Karn's War band — 'Karn' the Old Beast! I'm his third-strongest warrior, and I'm only seventeen. Everyone knows who I am!"
"Karn, you say?" Lucian's tone remained curious, detached. "My, how intriguing… Please, would you be so kind as to enlighten me on who that individual might be?"
Arthur's jaw clenched. "Are you messing with me? You don't know 'Karn'? You're really starting to get on my nerves."
He inhaled, forcing his temper down, a smirk returning to his face. "Fine. Since you claim ignorance, allow me to show you why they call me the Prince of Frost."
The ground beneath his boots shimmered. Ice bloomed outward in a spreading web, crawling toward Lucian's feet like living frost.
Lucian didn't move.
The ice reached him, encasing his legs, climbing to his knees. Still, he stood perfectly still — his gaze calm, his amusement faint but undeniable.
Arthur's smirk deepened. "So you're not even going to try to escape? How arrogant."
"You seemed so eager to display your strength," Lucian said evenly. "I find myself… intrigued. Go on, then. Show me the grand spectacle you've prepared."
A vein throbbed at Arthur's temple. "Those eyes…" His voice cracked with fury. "That overconfident stare — I'll wipe it off your face!"
Frost thickened in the air. His aura flared icy blue, his breath misting with each word.
"You wanted a spectacle? Then behold!"
Vapor condensed above them, twisting into a massive shape. A boulder of jagged ice formed high in the air, its shadow swallowing the sunlight.
Arthur grinned.
"Ice Meteor — CRUSH!"
The colossal ice mass plummeted, roaring toward Lucian like the fist of a god.
Lucian raised a single hand and his palm made contact.
And then — silence.
The impact never came.
The iceberg hung suspended above him, balanced perfectly on his open palm. No explosion. No shockwave. Not even a ripple of disturbed air.
For one frozen heartbeat, the world stood still.
Arthur's eyes widened. His breath caught.
Lucian flicked his wrist.
The ice shattered into a billion glittering shards, cascading down in a storm of diamond dust. Snowflakes drifted lazily through the light — a beautiful, silent mockery of destruction.
Gasps broke across the square. A bandit's sword slipped from numb fingers. Even the villagers forgot to breathe.
Arthur's knees nearly gave out.
Lucian brushed a single snowflake off his shoulder.
"Ah yes," he said softly. "Quite the grand spectacle indeed. However, I can no longer indulge in such trivialities."
The air darkened.
A black mist began to rise from Lucian's form — thick, pulsing, alive. It clung to him like a shadow given shape, swallowing the light, bleeding into the ground around him. The world itself seemed to hush as The Void stirred awake.
The frost binding his feet vanished, devoured by the darkness.
He exhaled slowly, his voice calm as ever.
"I required only answers. Nothing more. You had your chance to prove your usefulness… but alas, it seems you are nothing but a waste of time."
The bandits' resolve shattered. Their weapons trembled in their hands. None dared to move.
Lucian's smile deepened, eyes glinting like polished blood.
"Black Pulse."
A wave of pure darkness rippled outward — silent, absolute. It devoured everything in its path. No sound. No light. Only void.
The bandits collapsed one after another — their eyes wide, their bodies hollowed out, their life force drained to dust. In mere seconds, silence reclaimed the village.
Only Arthur remained, face-down, trembling but alive.
Lucian stopped before him.
"He's merely unconscious? How… impressive. I was certain that would suffice. It appears I may have underestimated him after all."
*You could've killed him if you released a 'Black Pulse' a little stronger,* came Malphas' voice in Lucian's mind, quiet and amused.
Lucian conjured a black rod and drove it through Arthur's back, piercing his heart.
"There we go. He has taken his last breath."
He turned his gaze toward the villagers. They stared back, trembling — torn between awe and terror.
Was this their savior… or their executioner?