Mouths agape.
Their eyes locked on Nyx Everhollow, dangling in midair by the throat—suspended with one hand by the masked figure. His limbs kicked. His cloak writhed. But no matter how he twisted, nothing budged Kei’s grip.
It wasn’t just shocking.
It was humiliating.
An assassin, someone most here feared more than they trusted—caught like a child who tried to bite off more than he could chew.
But among them, one man’s reaction stood out.
Tarek Vol.
Leader of the Ghostwalkers.
The Stormborne Juggernaut.
His wide eyes trembled with disbelief.
“…That idiot.”
His voice didn’t leave his lips, but the fury surged behind his clenched jaw. The veins in his neck strained as he took a step forward, stopping himself at the last second.
He was trying to process it.
Nyx had failed. Not just failed—been caught. In front of everyone.
“How did he screw up assassinating Jin of all people? That was the easiest damn window—he was sitting down, drained, wide open. All he had to do was finish the job. One clean strike.”
Tarek’s stare locked onto Kei.
He didn’t recognize the man. Didn’t even know his class. But watching Nyx flail, helpless in his grasp, something in Tarek’s gut turned cold.
“You idiot,” he snarled inwardly. “Move. Phase out. Use your tricks. Do anything!”
But Nyx continued to dangle. Twitching. Choking.
And Kei? He didn’t even seem like he was trying.
His posture was still. Balanced. Effortless.
What none of them could see—what even Nyx couldn’t feel until it was too late—was the reason why he couldn’t escape.
Verdant Volt jolts, pulsed precisely through Kei’s arm and fingers, had locked his muscles into place—tightened his grip with an unnatural force that turned his hand into a living vice. Each surge of green lightning coursed through his arm like a forge, hardening his bones and tendons into steel cable.
Nyx wasn’t being held.
He was being clamped—like prey in the jaws of something that had no intention of letting go.
The more he fought, the more the force adjusted, adapting, squeezing, humming softly with power that made the air taste like ozone and metal.
Tarek’s lip curled.
He’d seen Nyx kill warlords mid-breath. Ambush monsters in total silence. Slip between barriers like smoke.
But here… he looked like a child.
A caught shadow.
Kei stood silent, watching him flail—not like he was in danger. But like he was judging whether this thing in his hand was even worth dealing with.
The pressure in the air thickened.
Somewhere behind the crowd, someone muttered:
“…He’s not letting go.”
Tarek’s boot shifted forward a half step.
Then stopped.
Because he saw it. In Kei’s stance. In the way his muscles didn’t move—not out of laziness, but because they didn’t need to. His whole body was coiled, charged, waiting. As if daring anyone to try.
Everything in Tarek’s instincts screamed not to interfere.
“Damn it, Nyx,” he thought bitterly, hands twitching. “You're on your own.”
Kei continued to stare at the man locked in his grip, eyes narrowed beneath the mask. Nyx twitched in his hand like a caught insect, shadow struggling, desperate—but futile.
Then, without looking, Kei casually flicked a small object toward the edge of the battlefield.
It landed at Talia’s feet.
A small piece of wood—smooth, palm-sized, clearly hand-carved.
She blinked, crouched, and picked it up. Scratched into its surface in clean, sharp lettering:
“Pay close attention.”
Her brows furrowed.
Then she felt it.
A breeze.
The wind, whispering past her ears, curling around her like a hand nudging her forward.
She turned her head slowly, her instincts sharpening. That breeze—Verdant Volt-tinged, subtle but real—was guiding her senses toward a specific point.
Kei.
Or more specifically… around Kei.
Her perception narrowed as she followed the current, focusing on the field of motion and force surrounding him. It wasn’t random. It was precise—like a lattice of flowing patterns folding into themselves, hiding countless vectors of pressure and movement just beneath the surface.
And suddenly, she understood.
It wasn’t just wind.
It was instruction.
The breeze curled through the battlefield like a slow dance, a rhythm waiting to be matched. And as it passed over her again, something clicked—like a switch flicked within her awareness.
She paid attention.
A new layer to her Force unfolded.
Behind Kei, still clearly annoyed by having missed the Apex kill credit by a fraction of a second, Silvie crossed her arms and huffed. “Hurry up with that guy already. Let’s go,” she grumbled, already strolling toward the site where the Ironsworn Ravager had fallen.
Even as she complained, her movements were efficient. Her Wildsap Coil coiled and slithered with ease as she began collecting the drops from the massive corpse, a faint green shimmer lingering in the air around her.
Several items gleamed in the aftermath of the Apex Boss’s death, radiating faint pulses of residual earth-aether and beastly vitality:
- Titanroot Hoofguards – Heavy greaves made from the Ravager’s rear leg plates. Grant immense shock absorption and stability when bracing, allowing the wearer to ignore knockback effects. Also passively boosts vitality regeneration.
- Boarhide Sunderplate – A chestguard forged from the densest segments of the Ravager’s hide, offering resistance to kinetic and earth-based attacks. Grants temporary invulnerability to immobilization effects when below 30% health.
- Core-Spike Tuskblade – A short-bladed weapon formed from one of the Ravager’s broken tusks. Infused with pulsing earth aether, it deals bonus damage based on the user's current defense stat. Can trigger small tremors on strike.
- Ravager’s Heartcore Shard – A crystallized piece of the Apex’s force core. When socketed into compatible gear, it grants minor Earth Domain resistance and a chance to restore aether when taking damage.
Silvie snapped each item into her inventory with practiced ease. She didn’t even look around to ask. And she didn’t need to.
Because no one said a word.
No one so much as glanced her way with objection.
After what they’d just witnessed—the effortless dispatching of the Ironsworn Ravager by the masked figure and the green-haired girl—no one was foolish enough to complain.
Not when their own full-scale raid had barely kept them alive.
Silvie and Kei didn’t just clean up the fight.
They redefined it.
And everyone on that battlefield knew, in their bones, that whatever loot the Ravager dropped... was already spoken for.
Then their eyes shifted back to the masked figure and Nyx—
—or more accurately, their ears did.
A sharp crack echoed across the field like snapping bone.
And just like that, Nyx’s body went limp.
Dangling from Kei’s hand like a broken doll.
Tarek Vol flinched. His expression twitched—half fury, half restraint—fighting not to betray the connection he’d long buried. To pretend he hadn’t just witnessed one of his own fail so catastrophically in the open. In front of everyone.
At the same time, while others stared in confusion or awe, Talia’s focus narrowed. Not on the fallen body, but on the air. The pressure around Kei. The stillness. Her senses honed, guided still by the wind-laced message carved into wood—pay close attention—and she did.
Which is why she felt it.
The moment everything shifted.
Kei suddenly sidestepped as a long, jagged blade of shadow erupted behind him, slicing through where his heart had just been. The moment the blade missed, the limp body in his grasp let out a guttural, maniacal laugh, then vanished into smoke, dispersing like a phantom never truly there.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“What—?”
Gasps rippled.
Nyx’s voice echoed before anyone could react.
“So much planning... so many steps to take out Number 1… only for you to ruin it all!” he howled, his tone deranged, almost giddy with hysteria. “Do you have any idea what you’ve cost me?!”
The voice bounced across the field, like shadows whispering in stereo. No clear origin. Just sound. Rage. Madness.
“Why don’t you show me that little face of yours, huh?” Nyx snarled, somewhere unseen. “Let me see the terror in your eyes as I carve your mask in half—as I make you regret ever crossing me!”
He was spiraling.
The assassin who’d always been in control. Always vanished before a second strike became necessary.
Now yelling like a lunatic.
And it was clear: this wasn’t just rage at failure.
This was a meltdown. The unraveling of a man whose entire existence was built on being the predator. Never prey.
This was his first failed assassination.
And not against some legendary warlord, not a sovereign, not a beast beyond comprehension.
But a masked stranger whose face he hadn’t even seen.
A figure who never raised his voice, who never spoke a threat.
Only moved when it mattered.
And the worst part?
Nyx had no idea who he was.
As Nyx descended into his meltdown—rage echoing like a wild beast unchained—he wasn’t the only one losing composure.
The Eclipse Sisters—Mira and Lillian—were unraveling too.
They hadn’t just been watching.
They had been helping.
Cloaked in layered veils of manipulation, they’d embedded themselves into the background, fully hidden from sight. Mira’s Solar Force bent surrounding perception—casting fine mirages of light that blurred outlines, bent depth, and rendered the twins invisible, even to most sensory skills. They didn’t just vanish. They blended. Camouflaged against the world like heat shimmer in summer air.
And Lillian, using her Lunar Force, had done the impossible—hijacked Nyx’s own Shadow Force, threading it with hers just enough to fake his death, turning the broken body dangling in Kei’s grip into an illusion. A phantom cast in moonlight and deception.
It should’ve worked.
It had worked.
Nyx had reappeared—right behind the masked figure—dagger raised for the cleanest execution he could hope for.
But even that… had failed.
The first time Nyx’s strike on Jin failed—when Kei had intercepted it with that tiny metal sphere—the twins had felt something. A subtle shift.
The wind.
It picked up—not across the whole battlefield, but around them. A stillness unraveling. A quiet current brushing against their veiled forms with unnatural precision.
They moved immediately.
Shifted positions. Reset their mirages. Reeled in their forces.
Then, when Nyx had been caught—suspended in the air, humiliated—they felt it again.
The wind picked up.
Direct. Precise. And... knowing.
They had moved again, each time just before that pressure touched them, each time instinct warning them a moment too late that they were being watched.
And now, after Nyx’s reappearance, after his roar of fury—
The wind curled toward them a third time.
But this time… it didn’t just touch.
It whispered.
Not in words. Not in sound.
In volts.
Tiny, tingling arcs danced against their skin—subtle but undeniable. Flickers of energy that ghosted over their necks, arms, and shoulders. It wasn’t enough to harm them. Not even close.
But it was enough to send a message.
“I see you.”
Wherever they ran.
However they hid.
No matter what tricks they used.
The figure standing so still in the heart of the storm—calm and unreadable—was not blind to them.
Not anymore.
Talia narrowed her eyes.
Something about the way the wind brushed past her cheek—barely there, almost imperceptible—made her pause. It wasn’t wild or erratic. It moved with intention.
And then, suddenly, it clicked.
Her eyes widened.
“There’s someone casting illusions,” she muttered aloud, stunned by her own realization. “Especially… that fake death.” She exhaled slowly. “Illusions can be used that way.”
Her voice held a mixture of awe and frustration—like she’d just unlocked a new layer of understanding in the middle of a warzone.
But while Talia felt enlightened, the Eclipse Sisters felt only dread.
Because they knew.
The moment she said it—the moment the wind responded to her insight with a faint pulse—they felt the change.
Panic set in.
They didn’t need to speak to each other. Mira and Lillian had trained their entire lives to respond as one, but this wasn’t just a failed trick.
This was exposure.
Before either could retreat or brace for combat, the air around them twisted—howled—and without warning, a tornado spiraled into existence.
A vortex of storm-charged wind erupted, its interior lined with volatile green volts. It encircled them instantly, arcs of Verdant Volt lightning snapping like fangs. The air screamed. The pressure suffocated.
But to everyone else on the battlefield, it looked like a surge of electricity had erupted—aimed at Nyx, like a punishing follow-up.
No one realized that within the center of the storm… two more intruders were caught.
The Eclipse Sisters raised their hands without hesitation. Not to cast.
But to surrender.
In perfect sync, their combined forces shimmered—Solar and Lunar weaving into Eclipse—and activated their failsafe technique:
Eclipse Shroud.
Their forms blurred. Warped. Rewritten.
And with that, they vanished from within the tornado—rewriting their presence out of the space entirely and sprinting far, far from the battlefield.
They didn’t glance back.
Because staying?
Suffering through Kei’s attention?
That wasn’t worth it. Not for Nyx. Not for pride.
They had fulfilled their duties—guided Nyx through the dungeon, helped him obtain his Ancient-Class upgrade. That was enough.
Let him dig his own grave now.
They were done.
Seeing the storm spiral toward him, Nyx didn’t flinch.
He sneered.
“Don’t underestimate the power of an Ancient Class.”
His shadow detached.
It slithered outward like a slick oil spill, spreading unnaturally fast across the battlefield—blanketing the ground in every direction. Dark tendrils of force spiraled beneath the dirt like roots seeking blood.
Then it expanded further. A creeping, living stain.
“Nyx, what the hell are you doing?!” Reinhardt roared, staggering where he stood. His voice was ragged, his limbs barely holding together. His armor had long since melted away, fused to scorched skin, and he could no longer lift his shield.
Tarek watched the expanding shadow with a grim expression. He coiled wind around his blade, summoning what strength he had left. “Nyx,” he called out, his voice low and even. “Halt your actions. Now. Before it’s too late.”
There was a heavy pause. The message behind his words wasn’t lost.
But Nyx… didn’t listen.
Didn’t even pretend to.
Instead, his smile widened as he raised his hand—his voice cold and final.
[Ancient Class Skill: Dance of the War-Torn Graveyard]
The ground trembled.
From the expanding shadow, weapons began to rise—dozens at first, then hundreds. Spears. Swords. Cleavers. War fans. Sickles. Shadow-forged and humming with cursed intent.
They jutted from the earth like tombstones uprooted. As if the battlefield itself had become a graveyard for forgotten warriors—and now, their blades answered to him.
Spinning in midair. Hovering with malice.
Ghostlike, glimmering dark steel filled the space between him and Kei.
Nyx’s eyes locked on the masked figure, his voice reduced to a whisper:
“Die.”
A pulse triggered.
And the weapons shot forward in unison.
Spears aimed for the throat. Swords curved for tendons. Axes spun toward his skull.
The air screamed under the barrage.
Annoyed by the whole ordeal, Kei didn’t wait.
He rushed straight toward Nyx.
The Windblade Staff flickered into existence in his hands—despite its material, it moved like a living extension of him, catching the wind and gliding through the air with quiet precision.
With swift, fluid motions, Kei blocked the incoming shadow-forged weapons—deflecting those aimed for vitals, while allowing others to land in non-lethal areas. Blades slashed into his arms and sides, drawing blood—but he didn’t flinch.
Nyx sneered. “You’re really going to tank those just to reach me? How stu—”
He cut off, his body twitching.
His legs buckled slightly, the muscles in his lower back spasming.
Something was wrong.
And then he felt it—a sharp, stinging pressure in the back of his leg. Something Kei had left behind.
A Windpiercer Needle.
Ultra-thin. Forged from condensed wind-aether. Invisible to the naked eye when in flight. It had been planted on Nyx the moment Kei had caught him earlier, slipped beneath his armor without a sound.
Now, its effects were taking hold.
The needle’s coating unraveled inside him, delivering a cocktail of toxins tailored by Kei—paralytics, neuro-inhibitors, and a reactive irritant—all designed to slip past the body’s defenses without triggering alarm until it was too late.
Nyx’s muscles began to twitch involuntarily. His balance wavered. Control over his limbs… eroded.
Just as the realization settled in, Kei’s kick slammed into his chest and launched him straight into the storm—into the heart of the Verdant Volt tornado.
The lightning tore into him.
Nyx screamed. His body spasmed uncontrollably, jolts of green force crawling across his skin like worms made of pain.
Kei stood still. Blood dripping from open wounds, his expression unreadable behind the mask.
With a quiet exhale, he manipulated the wind with practiced ease. It surged along the grooves beneath his hair—grooves designed to carry and conceal custom tools. Another release clicked open, and faint powdered agents lifted into the tornado:
- Neurotoxins to disrupt nerve signals.
- Paralytics to slow movement and dull reflexes.
- A reddish mist to inflame the skin with intense irritation.
Inside the storm, Nyx howled.
Parts of him went numb. Others spasmed or burned. His skin erupted in red splotches and angry welts. He writhed inside the tornado—paralyzed, electrocuted, and itching so violently he nearly tore at his own skin.
But Kei?
He just pulled another weapon from his shoulder, blood trickling in thick lines.
The watchers said nothing.
Then, from inside the tornado, a pained hitch. A whimper. A choked, trembling sob.
Nyx was breaking.
The same assassin whose name struck fear into dozens of groups… now reduced to a trembling wreck of a man, crushed beneath pain and failure.
And still—Kei said nothing.
He bled. He stood. He waited.
Until one final sharp pain hit his ribs—one last embedded shadow weapon—and in that tiny delay…
Nyx vanished.
He dropped into the shadows like water into a drain, gone before the wind could strike again.
Kei looked down at the blood pooling near his feet.
“Hm,” he murmured. “Now I’m bleeding profusely.”
He pulled a few basic healing potions from his pouch—each one simple, low-grade, marked with the crests of Kai, Talia, Reese, and Owen.
He drank two. Paused. Swirled the third.
“I wonder how these handle internal bleeding,” he said idly.
Then drank that one, too.
With one last glance at his friends—and a few others he recognized—Kei gave a small nod.
Their eyes were already on him.
“Alright,” he muttered. “We can go.”
He walked toward Silvie, and without another word, the two of them vanished. Gone in a flash of green light and scattered wind.
Beneath where Reese stood, carved neatly into the grass, was a single word:
Clearing.
Reese nodded in understanding and passed it along to the others. But no one moved.
They knew their limits. And right now, none of them were in any shape to follow—not even close. Their bodies were battered, their aether dry. All they could do was rest, breathe, and recover.
Talia lay quietly, eyes half-closed as her Mirage Force danced at her fingertips. What she’d observed… it stuck with her. The illusions. She didn’t understand it all yet—but she’d felt it. A spark of possibility.
It would take time, but she’d use what she learned to grow stronger.
Meanwhile, Owen spotted a small vial of blood lying beside him in the grass. There was a message scratched next to it, written directly into the dirt:
Healing guy.
He blinked once, then turned to Seth.
Without hesitation, Owen grabbed him mid-heal, dragged him back, popped open the vial, and shoved it down his throat.
Seth gagged, eyes wide. “Wha—what the—?!”
He tried to protest, but the contents of the vial hit him fast. He froze.
Bliss. Pure, rich, aether-infused vitality coursed through his body.
Seth slumped to the side, half-glowing, half-horrified.
“I feel better,” he mumbled in disbelief. “But I also feel… violated.”
Elsewhere—on another planet.
A group of nine figures marched across an open expanse, trees whipping in the breeze around them.
“Tsk,” one of them scoffed. “Too bad Prince Alix couldn’t come with us. If the Crown Prince were here, this would’ve been a walk in the park. Might’ve even bagged an Apex Boss or two.”
“Yeah, well, all we were told was that someone tried to assassinate him, and he suffered backlash,” another replied with a sigh. “They said it was too risky to wait. Told us to go on ahead or risk losing the opportunity.”
The group kept walking, muttering quietly to one another.
Then—
Bleeeeeaaat.
The air shifted.
A gust of violent wind howled through the trees. Leaves scattered. The ground trembled.
And from the clearing ahead, something emerged.
No, not something.
A Fellhorn.
Massive. Towering. Wreathed in stormlight.
Atop its head, glowing with dormant power, sat the Crown of the First Storm—resting as if it had always belonged there.
Its wool sparked with arcs of green lightning. The wind howled around it, laced with current. Pressure filled the air like a storm preparing to crash down.
“H-Hey,” someone stammered. “Wasn’t the Apex Boss supposed to be the Frost Tyrant Fellhorn?”
They weren’t answered.
Because the truth stood before them—radiant and undeniable.
The Stormbringer Fellhorn.
It stood taller than before. Its aura was heavier. Its presence, commanding. It had once been defeated by Kei… and now, reborn through that defeat, it had claimed something greater.
Now it stood as the Apex Boss of this expanse.
Its eyes gleamed with force and intelligence, staring down at them like a sovereign surveying new pawns.
The crowned king of Fellhorns.
…
Elsewhere, far removed from the battlefield and tucked away in a sunny clearing, Wooloo—an Ardent Eclipse Fellhorn—rolled over onto his back with a sleepy huff.
The black-furred beast blinked once.
Then let out a slow baaa, nuzzled deeper into Kei’s spare cloak, and promptly went back to sleep.
If the crowned storm goat wanted to play Apex King, Wooloo had no objections.
Let him have it.
Being spoiled was far better anyway.