A place far from the White Temple Institute, a group of assassins rested quietly inside an inn.
There were four of them. All wore white hooded garments—an obvious outfit for a killer, but they didn't worry about that.
"Are you really sure you can handle this one by yourself?" asked the leader, Paul. His hair—blue as the sea—was tied in a ponytail. Strong-built. Twenty-five, with a humble face. A sheathed sword rested at his side. He sat on the windowsill, back facing the town road, and in front of him was a boy named Raphael—a sixteen-year-old assassin with a katana strapped behind him.
The boy nodded, determined.
Beside him, the two other assassins played shogi. They had not spoken a single word to each other since the game began.
"Alright then, let's move out." With Paul's firm voice, the four disappeared in an instant, leaving several shogi pieces spinning on the board before they settled silently.
The town road looked nearly deserted. A lone man walked through it. Midnight was close. Rumor said the Four White Devils always lurked around the corners of this place—the name known to all for the four man-slayers who targeted cultivators.
Six meters ahead, the man spotted a figure along his lonely path.
With just one glance, the white hooded garment was unmistakable. But instead of fear, he smiled—like the battle had already begun inside him long before he even saw what awaited him.
The assassin he saw was Raphael. Paul and the other two sat on a nearby rooftop, carefully watching their comrade finish another target for the night.
"Former Elder Wayne. A retired teacher of the White Temple Institute. Age sixty-one. An abuser, especially of women. Countless victims—rape and murder. Connected to several bandit groups and their operations on other continents. No permanent residence, and a master at slipping through the land's law and order. Last seen three months ago. A Seventh-Grade Tempest Cultivator. The client who wants his head is one of the family members of the victims."
Leander sighed after speaking, glancing at their leader. "Are you really sure about letting the kid fight this man alone?"
"He's a Disaster-Rank Adventurer, after all." Paul turned to their other comrade. "What do you think, Vince? Should we help?"
The man with round glasses—black-haired, twenty-six—narrowed his eyes at the target before speaking. "There's no need. Raphael can handle this one."
"You sure?" Leander asked again.
Vincent shrugged slightly. "Not really."
"Let's just watch. Keep your eyes open." Paul whispered, as they observed the two figures on the quiet town road.
---
On Wayne's side.
Wayne had felt for a while now that someone was always watching him. It amused him—proof that he had truly become a high-profile criminal. There was no problem with that at all.
"Well, look at that. The White Devils themselves want to kill me tonight. I didn't expect I'd become this famous! This might just be the happiest night of my entire life."
He grinned as he released a spine-chilling surge of electricity through his body.
The wind howled. The ground beneath him cracked. Several houses and townsfolk were disturbed, but they weren't foolish enough to get involved.
Wayne's smile stretched from ear to ear as he stared at Raphael.
"What's your name, kid?"
Raphael didn't speak. Instead, he drew the sharp blade from his back, its edge glowing under the moonlight.
Calm. Expression unchanged.
Wayne exhaled sharply. "What a shame. I was hoping you'd at least try to be friendly."
In the blink of an eye, he appeared right behind Raphael.
"But never mind. You're not a woman, so I won't feel bad killing you!"
Raphael's eyes widened—he hadn't expected that speed. Wayne's right fist, wrapped in lightning, shot down toward the boy's nape.
Fortunately, Raphael managed to duck at the last second, avoiding the surprise attack. While crouched, he swung his blade horizontally toward Wayne's side, but the old man kicked the sword downward with ease.
Wayne then reached out with his left hand, trying to grab Raphael by the neck. The boy spun to the side to evade and, in the same motion, unleashed another horizontal slash toward Wayne's left neck.
But Wayne blocked it with his energy-fortified arm—hard as steel.
A follow-up punch shot toward Raphael's face, but he countered with another slash of his blade.
The clash of fist and steel rang repeatedly between them. Then Wayne found an opening and kicked Raphael in the temple.
Because Wayne suddenly changed form and attack pattern, Raphael failed to react—taking the full force of the lightning-charged kick.
His body shot backward, skidding across the road for nearly twenty meters. A bruise instantly formed on his face. Kneeling, he spat blood onto the ground.
In that moment, Wayne appeared behind him again, lightning-fast. His clasped fists crackled with electricity as he hammered them down toward Raphael's skull.
The moment the attack hit the ground, the earth shattered. Lightning erupted, cracks split the road, and dust burst into the air.
Raphael had leapt away just in time—landing several meters ahead, still fortunate to be alive.
Wayne laughed, eyes wide as he stared at the boy.
"What's wrong?! I thought you were here to kill me?"
His excitement surged. He released an even greater wave of energy—doubling his speed—and fired countless blasts of lightning.
Raphael dodged each one. Explosions erupted across the ground, posts, and several houses, but none of them managed to strike the boy.