Thousand Blade City was draped in the oppressive grandeur of the Mid-Winter Solstice. Crimson banners, thick with the scent of expensive dyes, hung from every storefront, but the atmosphere was far from festive. The air was brittle with tension. The alliance between the Sterling and Hawthorne clans had turned the city into a fortress. Patrols of armored guards marched through the streets, their eyes scanning every shadow for the "Shadow-Spawn" that had haunted the City Lord's proclamations for months.
At the city's northern gate, the traffic was heavy with noble carriages and merchants. No one noticed the youth in the hooded beast-hide cloak walking among the commoners.
Blake Harrison walked with a measured, heavy gait. Under the cloak, his muscles were coiled like iron cables. The matte-black handle of Silence was strapped to his back, concealed by the rough fabric. To any observer, he was just another traveler seeking refuge from the winter cold. But internally, Blake was a furnace.
[System Scan: Thousand Blade City Gates.]
[Enemy Presence: 25 Guards (2nd-3rd Layer). 1 Deacon (4th Layer).]
[Recommendation: Direct path. Minimal resistance.]
Blake didn't need the system to tell him how weak they were. Compared to the Shadow-Drakes of the valley, these men felt like paper dolls.
As he reached the checkpoint, a guard stepped forward, leveling a spear at Blake's chest. "Face uncovered, traveler. State your business in the city during the Grand Union."
Blake didn't speak. He slowly lowered his hood.
The guard's eyes widened. He recognized the face from a thousand "Wanted" posters, but the person standing before him was different. The boyish softness was gone, replaced by a face of carved obsidian and eyes that held the cold vacuum of the Void.
"Ha—Harrison!" the guard screamed, his voice breaking.
Before the spear could even tremble, Blake moved. He didn't summon the Divine Reaper. He didn't even use his scythe. He simply stepped forward, his shoulder catching the guard's chest.
The sound of the guard's breastplate shattering was like a clap of thunder. The man was launched backward, clearing thirty feet of road before slamming into the stone gatehouse. He didn't move again.
"The demon is here!" the Deacon roared, drawing a longsword and channeling his 4th-layer energy. "Kill him! Gold and titles to whoever brings his head!"
The guards charged, a sea of steel and shouting.
Blake stood his ground. He felt the weight of his own bones—the 4th-layer marrow-tempering making him feel anchored to the very soul of the earth. As the first wave of spears reached him, he moved his hands in a blur of raw, physical speed.
He caught two spears by their shafts, snapped the wood like dry twigs, and used the jagged ends to strike the throats of the attackers. He was a whirlwind of efficiency. There were no wasted movements, no flashy techniques. It was the brutal, bone-crushing combat he had mastered in the valley.
The Deacon lunged, his longsword glowing with a pale blue light. "Die, you tainted freak!"
Blake caught the blade with his bare hand. The 4th-layer Steel-Skin didn't even spark; the edge simply failed to bite. Blake looked the Deacon in the eye, and for a second, the man saw the ring of obsidian within Blake's emerald pupils.
"You're in my way," Blake said.
He squeezed. The steel longsword shattered into a dozen fragments. Blake followed up with a straight punch to the Deacon's face. The man's head snapped back, his body flipping twice in the air before landing in a heap of broken armor.
The remaining guards froze. They looked at their fallen leader, then at the youth who hadn't even broken a sweat. Blake didn't spare them a second glance. He walked through the gates, his presence so heavy that the crowd parted like a sea before a storm.
He didn't go toward the Harrison estate. He didn't go toward the market. He walked straight toward the center of the city, where the Sterling Manor sat like a crown on a hill.
As he walked, the Divine Reaper stirred within his spirit gate. It wanted to emerge, to feast on the terror beginning to ripple through the city.
Not yet, Blake told the spirit. We have a wedding to attend.
The news of his arrival spread faster than a wildfire. By the time Blake reached the Great Plaza before the Sterling Manor, the wedding procession had stopped.
The high gates of the manor were open. Standing on the marble stairs were the elite of the city. Garrett Hawthorne, dressed in gold-plated armor, stood beside Jazmin Sterling. Jazmin looked more beautiful than ever, her bridal veil made of spun silver, but her eyes were cold and vacant, just as Malachi had warned.
Silas Sterling, his arm still in a complex brace from Blake's last visit, stood behind them, his face twisted in a mask of pure, unadulterated hatred.
"You actually came," Silas shouted, his voice echoing across the plaza. "You came to die on the doorsteps of the family you betrayed!"
Blake stopped in the center of the plaza. He reached behind his back and gripped the handle of Silence. With a slow, deliberate motion, he unwrapped the black silk. The matte-black scythe caught the winter light, looking like a hole in reality.
"I didn't come to die, Silas," Blake said, his voice carrying to every corner of the plaza. "I came to show you the result of your extraction."
Garrett Hawthorne stepped forward, his bandaged face contorting. "I've reached the 7th Layer, Harrison! The City Lord gave me the 'Heavenly Marrow Pill.' I'm not the boy you fought in the arena! I'll grind your bones to dust!"
Garrett leaped from the stairs, his golden armor glowing as he unleashed a massive hammer-strike. The air groaned under the pressure of a 7th-layer Master.
Blake didn't summon his Battle Spirit. He didn't even use his internal energy. He shifted his weight, gripped Silence with both hands, and swung the physical blade in a simple, vertical arc.
The collision was silent for a heartbeat. Then, the shockwave shattered every window in the plaza.
Garrett's golden hammer didn't just break; it was erased. The scythe blade sliced through the divine metal as if it were parchment. Garrett's eyes went wide as the black blade stopped an inch from his forehead.
The force of the air pressure alone sent Garrett crashing back into the stairs, his golden armor peeling away from his chest.
"7th Layer?" Blake asked, his voice flat. "Is that all the City Lord's pills can do?"
Jazmin stepped forward, her silver veil fluttering. She didn't look afraid. She looked... hollow. She raised her hand, and a Green-level Fire-fairy manifested behind her, its flames turning blue with the intensity of her 'Purification.'
"You shouldn't have come back, Blake," she said, her voice like cracking ice. "The Sterlings are no longer just a clan. We are the chosen of the Light. Your darkness has no place here."
"Then let's see which one burns brighter," Blake replied.
He finally let the Divine Reaper out.
The emerald-green spirit erupted from his back, its size nearly doubling since the valley. It didn't just hover; it merged with the physical scythe, the blade of Silence bursting into a ghostly, emerald flame that consumed the very air.
The Reaper's roar wasn't a sound; it was a vibration that made the City Lord drop his ceremonial staff.
Blake Harrison, the "trash" of the Sterling house, stood before the combined might of the city's elite. He was alone, outnumbered, and surrounded by enemies.
And for the first time in his life, he felt exactly where he was meant to be.
"Who's first?"