Then
The grand hall of the Rustalian castle shimmered with golden chandeliers, casting light over the polished marble floors. Rows of knights stood like statues, their armor glinting faintly under the glow. A tense silence filled the throne room.
Seated atop the dais was the young king—barely in his mid-twenties—with messy brown hair peeking out from beneath a golden crown. His yellow royal cloak draped regally over his shoulders, and beneath it, he wore a crimson shirt tucked into crisp white trousers. His right hand rested calmly inside the folds of his cloak, but his gaze was sharp.
He leaned forward slightly.
"Arvaris… tell me," the king said, his voice heavy with expectation, "why hasn't Leo—the Dark scorpion—come yet?"
He narrowed his eyes. "You know the disruptions are getting worse. I need someone strong to accompany me. Didn't he say… he would come?"
Arvaris bowed with measured grace, though a trace of nervousness danced in his eyes. "My lord… Leo never said exactly when he would arrive. Only that he would 'see' if he could come."
The king leaned back with a frustrated sigh. "Tch… If he doesn't show up by the final day of the Empire Competition, then I'll go ask him myself."
Arvaris's face paled slightly. "M-My lord, please… That would damage your reputation. A king shouldn't lower himself to seek help personally—"
"My empire comes before my reputation, Arvaris," the king interrupted firmly. "I will do whatever it takes."
Arvaris bowed again. "Yes, my king."
He turned, his cloak swishing behind him as he walked away. Outwardly, he looked composed. But in his mind, frustration boiled.
"Tch… This is becoming more troublesome than I expected".
A thunderous blast echoed across the wasteland as Leo's body tore through the sky like a broken comet, trailing dust and shards of shattered stone in his wake.
What the hell… was that punch?
His vision blurred. The world spun. He wasn't flying by choice—Zama's strike had launched him like a cannonball. Bones ached. Ribs screamed.
Leo twisted mid-air and forced himself to crash into the ground feet-first, sliding across the dirt, his boots carving deep grooves in the earth. He staggered, trying to regain balance, only for the wind behind him to shift violently.
A flash—something fast.
He spun instinctively. A beam of energy sliced past his cheek, grazing it with a sizzle.
He barely dodged it.
But then—silence.
A shadow loomed in front of him.
No… too fast.
Zama was already there, standing barely a meter away, unmoving yet exuding overwhelming pressure. His long white hair flowed like silk behind him, eyes pitch black and glowing faintly purple—terrifyingly calm.
Leo's heart pounded.
Damn it… I can't read him at all. Lili's mask—it's not working. I can't reach her. Am I being jammed?
The wind stilled for a heartbeat.
Then—
Zama's fist came down.
A single punch.
It didn't land like thunder. It was thunder. The ground shook as Leo was sent flying once more, this time in a brutal arc across the battlefield. His back hit the earth first, rolling uncontrollably, his breath knocked out of him.
He coughed, tasting blood.
Dirt settled.
Silence fell again, broken only by the low hum of Zama's aura—wild, unstable, unrelenting. Leo struggled to rise, arms trembling under the weight of his own body.
What… the hell is this guy?
Leo coughed, still standing, barely—but standing. Dust clung to his clothes, his ribs ached like cracked glass, and his mask flickered slightly from the spiritual pressure around him. Across the wasteland of warped space, Zama floated effortlessly, arms folded, eyes cold.
Then came the voice—calm, deep, ancient.
"Why did you wake me up, mortal?"
Leo raised a hand casually, shaking dust from his cloak like he wasn't just turned into a human ragdoll.
"Well, technically speaking," he said, "I just bought you from a slave merchant, alright? I came looking for someone who could help me in the competitions—they're kind of a big deal where I'm from."
He gestured vaguely, then added with a smirk beneath the mask, "And when I peeked into your cores, they weren't all dead. Still flickering. Still breathing. So I figured, 'Hey, maybe if I poke it, it'll growl.'" He shrugged. "But look, if you really wanna go back to sleep, that's fine. Just… do it after I register for the competition."
Zama blinked.
Then vanished.
Leo's mask didn't even register the movement before a fist slammed into his chest like a meteor strike. The impact sent him rocketing backward—but this time, Leo managed to twist mid-air, dig his feet into the spiritual ground, and grind to a halt.
He staggered forward, exhaling.
Still standing.
Through the dead silence, his voice cut in—calm, but with a glint of defiance.
"I wasn't done talking… was I?"
Zama remained still.
Leo's gaze narrowed behind the mask. "Also, what is this place?"
Zama's tone was neutral, like he was discussing the weather. "This is my world of consciousness. Your soul and mana cores are here now in spiritual form. If you die here, you won't wake up in the real world again."
Great, Leo thought. A warm welcome and a death warning. How cozy.
His fists clenched slightly.
Even if I go full power… he's too much. What is this guy? A god? No… worse.
Zama tilted his head. "You're pretty tough. So let me ask—are there any Dragonoids left?"
Leo blinked. "Huh? Dragonoids?" He rubbed the back of his neck, still sore. "Well… I'm not sure. You're the first one I've met, honestly. The slave merchant said your kind is nearly extinct."
He paused, then added under his breath, In my world, you hit the gym, you get abs. In this world, you hit the gym and you might accidentally punch a mountain in half.
Zama looked upward, his expression unreadable. A whisper escaped him—so soft it seemed like memory.
"…So they left me behind. Again."
But Leo heard it.
He tilted his head and said with a grin, "Hey. Pretty sure that's not what being left behind means. I mean, if you're here, then you're not—"
Before he could finish, Zama appeared in front of him like a vengeful ghost.
"No one asked."
The punch crushed into Leo's chest again—this time sending him tumbling backward with no time to recover. His limbs went limp midair.
Then Zama appeared again.
A second punch, this one to the head. Leo spiraled downward.
Before he could hit the ground—
A boot slammed into his face.
BOOM!
The earth cracked.
Leo groaned under the crushing weight, soul screaming in agony. His body wasn't breaking—his mask remained intact—but this pain wasn't physical.
It was deeper.
Raw.
Like his soul was being torn open.
And still—he clenched his fists.
Because he wasn't done.