Chapter 6
The bag of money in Zevir's hand was soaked in blood—though not his. The race had claimed seven lives tonight. Limbs crushed. Bodies burnt. Screams drowned under the roar of engines.
But that was normal here.
Even if the government knew, they wouldn't intervene. Every racer had signed a death waiver.
Zevir's grip tightened on the straps.
He didn't feel anything.
He hadn't felt anything in years.
Killing had become a function—an instinct honed over four long years of surviving back-alley fights and assassination attempts.
And yet… that girl.
No mana signature. No words. Just presence. And danger.
It gnawed at him.
He shook it off.
The train pulled into the station, doors sliding open with a mechanical hiss.
He boarded the last line to Thalorion Arcanum.
12:00 AM.
Combat Special Test tomorrow.
He slid into the window seat of Car 4. Five other passengers. Two men reading, one woman near the exit, two sitting far apart. Everything too still.
Then it hit him—killing intent.
Sharp. Precision-crafted. Clean.
He scanned them. Movements too stiff. Postures too straight. Eyes that didn't dart around like normal commuters.
Zevir exhaled, the smirk forming slowly.
"Didn't expect you bastards this early."
A flicker of static passed through the carriage, almost like interference.
He reached out mentally.
"Move on my mark. Bind him once he draws. He'll check the left first."
"Remember: no spells until I disengage the inhibitor."
"This train's heading into a tunnel. Perfect place to clean him up."
Telepathic comms. Encrypted. But not from him.
They had tech—but he had his mind.
He didn't draw. He ducked.
The attacker nearest the door lunged, sword slashing downward where Zevir's head had been a second before. Zevir rolled under the seats, flipped his gunblade to firearm mode, and fired. A clean shot cracked through the train's enclosed air.
The man in black activated his mana shield just in time. Sparks flared as bullet met barrier.
Zevir muttered under his breath.
"Shit. Peak Rank 2. Of course."
Another attacker came from the side aisle, blade flashing. Zevir aimed—clink!—the bullet deflected.
No time.
He flipped the weapon to blade mode, sparks flying as their swords collided. The train lurched—Zevir almost lost balance, catching a pole and swinging his body back in motion.
The assassin used the same momentum—smart. He slashed again.
Zevir ducked low, spinning and kicking with mana-enhanced force. The man flew sideways, crashing into the opposite wall—smashing a window.
Wind howled in as the train shot into a tunnel. Lights flickered.
Darkness. Light. Darkness.
A countdown.
Zevir slashed his sword in a wide arc—Frostfang Crescent.
The icy wave of mana tore through the carriage, slicing through poles and armrests, striking two of the attackers mid-step. One screamed, frozen shards puncturing his thigh. The other staggered back, ice forming across his limbs.
"Now. Hit him with suppressive fire. I'll engage frontal."
"Bind him when I say. Don't miss—he moves too fast."
Zevir grinned darkly.
"I hear you."
From behind, the mage prepared a mana chain bind. Zevir launched into Glacial Step, dashing forward, freezing the floor. The rear mage ran to reposition—slipped—and slammed into the handrails.
Zevir twisted his body, opened his mind—
Mana Interference.
A psychic shockwave erupted, rippling through the train. The magic fields of three attackers collapsed instantly, their circuits destabilized.
Zevir didn't hesitate.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Three bullets, all accelerated with a quad-tuned burst, shot into their core zones.
One screamed as his chest exploded in blood. Another clutched his side as frost spread through his ribcage. The third tried to crawl before collapsing into a pool of red and ice.
Suddenly—
Boom!
The train jerked, entering a bridge. One attacker used the sway to launch fire lances at Zevir.
But Zevir was already moving.
He met the lances head-on—ice lances flaring from his hand, the two elements colliding midair with a detonation that cracked the train's windows.
Glass shattered. Wind roared. The entire carriage tilted slightly as the train banked on a curve.
One of the attackers stumbled into the broken window, catching himself by a pole—barely avoiding being sucked out.
Zevir charged him. Their blades collided again—but this time, Zevir activated his hidden edge.
His blade fragmented mid-swing—Icefang Lacerate—shards piercing into the man's abdomen and freezing the tissue.
"Now!" the mage shouted from behind.
"Fire! Kill him now!"
Zevir already knew.
He leapt high.
The fire spear meant for his back struck the enemy in front, who howled in betrayal.
Zevir landed behind the mage, kicked off the wall, turned his blade back to gun mode mid-air—shot point-blank into the mage's artifact.
A burst of light blocked the bullet.
Zevir snarled, then unleashed another wave of Mana Interference. The mage's spell destabilized.
Zevir lunged, blade first.
One clean motion.
The neck gave way.
The head hit the floor. Blood sprayed against the emergency exit door.
Zevir's chest heaved. Arms trembling.
His C-Rank core screamed for rest.
"Five assassins… damn erand must've sent them. Trying to silence me before I reached the academy ."
Red lights flashed.
Emergency alert activated.
Police were coming.
Zevir bolted to the back of the train. Wind howled through the shattered door.
"No choice."
He jumped.
⸻
He landed hard on the roof of a nearby building, rolling to break the fall. His leg screamed in pain. He kept going.
Hoverbikes descended, lights cutting through the foggy city air.
"You there—STOP!"
"Final warning! Stop or we open fire!"
Zevir sprinted across the rooftop, dodging bullets as they rained down around him. He turned, vaulted over a railing.
One explosion round detonated beside him—blasting him sideways. A bullet tore into his thigh. Blood ran hot down his leg.
He gritted his teeth.
One more burst. One more push.
He leapt again, landing on a lower roof, crashing through a vent, and into the silence of an old building.
His boots slid against the dusty floor. He collapsed into a corner, holding his breath.
Mana sensors. Sniffers. They were combing the area.
"I saw him land over there."
"He's suppressing his mana somehow."
"Keep sweeping. Orders are to kill if he resists."
Zevir reached out—mind-reading again.
Their thoughts were scattered. Some were panicking. Some frustrated.
He read the moment they gave up.
The police vanished into the city fog.
Zevir, bleeding and spent, finally allowed himself to breathe.
The money bag sat beside him, untouched.
Zevir slumped into the dark room of the old building, chest heaving, blood dripping from his leg in a slow, steady rhythm.
The police had vanished into the streets, searching the wrong shadows.
His body was shaking—half from exhaustion, half from adrenaline still wearing off.
The gunblade sat loose in his grip.
He'd survived.
But barely.
Then—
A sound.
Soft footsteps on creaky wood.
Zevir turned sharply, gun raised.
The doorway filled with pale moonlight.
A girl stood there.
White hair cascading to her shoulders. Crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dark.
Wearing a thin night robe, a quiet, calm aura wrapped around her like shadow.
She blinked at him.
"What are you doing here?"
Zevir didn't lower his weapon.
Her mana presence was… eerie.
None.
Like a vacuum.
That alone made him tense.
But she didn't flinch. Instead, she lifted one hand and whispered an incantation.
A soft red light bloomed between her fingers.
Before he could react, the magic pulsed toward him—like breath.
Zevir flinched, ready to fight again, but—
Warmth.
The bleeding slowed. The pain dulled.
Blood Magic: Regeneration.
She exhaled.
"There. Don't die in the hallway."
He blinked, unsure what to say.
She stepped past him like it was nothing and walked into the small room.
"This is my place."
Her tone was flat, almost annoyed.
"I come here on weekends. The dorms are too loud."
Zevir finally lowered his weapon.
"You live here?" he asked, still watching her.
She turned to face him, arms folded.
"Only when I need peace. Now… what about you? Why are you bleeding in my doorway at one in the morning?"
Zevir hesitated.
"Don't lie," she added calmly. "My vampire eyes can tell."
He narrowed his gaze.
He sighed, the strength to deflect fading fast.
"Illegal race."
A pause.
"Won. Got jumped on the train. Five attackers. I killed them. Then police showed up. I ran."
She arched an eyebrow, walking toward a cabinet.
"You've had a full night."
She tossed something to him. A small, glowing vial.
He caught it instinctively.
A healing potion.
Rare. Costly.
His eyes widened.
"This… are you sure?"
"Drink it. You have a combat test tomorrow, don't you?"
He nodded slowly.
"Then be in top condition."
He stared at her a moment longer before drinking it.
The warmth spread through his chest, pulling some of the weariness from his bones.
"Thanks," he said quietly.
She walked to the small kitchenette and began moving bowls.
"You can sleep on the couch."
He sat down. The cushions were soft. Lavender-scented.
Her place felt… lived in. Warm. Small pillows. Books about bloodline magic. A handmade plush bat on the shelf.
Not what he expected from a girl with eyes like blades.
She moved with quiet precision, making soup in the small pan.
Zevir leaned back, scanning the space.
"Sorry for trouble."
She glanced at him.
"No problem ."
It felt… familiar. Somehow. But he couldn't place it.Except for seeing her at academy
She noticed his look, but didn't comment.
He doesn't remember me.
That thought flickered across her mind, but she kept it buried behind her calm expression.
They sat in silence for a while, soup slowly simmering.
She hadn't changed that much—at least not on the inside.
He had.