The halls of Valhalla were restless. Rankers gathered in hushed tones, murmuring among themselves about one name.
"Daniel…" one muttered, tapping his fingers against a wooden desk. "It's been a month. No one's seen him."
Another ranker leaned against the marble wall, arms crossed. "A brat like him doesn't just vanish. Either someone killed him, or…"
"Or what?"
The man's eyes narrowed. "Or he found someone who's teaching him in secret."
A third scoffed. "Ridiculous. No one would waste time on that failure. He's talented, sure, but Valhalla is ruthless. Weaklings don't come back alive."
Yet beneath their words lingered unease. The memory of Daniel's defiance—the way he faced down Ares Kyro—was still fresh. Something about his disappearance gnawed at them, a silent storm building out of sight.
But none of them could trace him. His trail had gone completely dark.
High above the mountains, Daniel stood bruised and sweat-drenched, katana at his side. His hands trembled, not from weakness, but from relentless repetition. A full month had passed since Ragna had broken him on this plateau.
The Copy Technique burned through his body day after day, his muscles torn, bones nearly shattered, skin cut open again and again. He could copy movements, even mimic strikes, but the True Copy—the flawless reflection—remained out of reach.
One evening, the dying sun stretched orange light across the plateau. Ragna rested his katana on his shoulder, expression unreadable.
"You've hit the wall," he said finally. "No matter how much you sweat here, you won't perfect True Copy."
Daniel clenched his fists. "Then what do I do? What's left?"
Ragna's gaze hardened. "Fight. Not shadows. Not weaklings. Strong opponents." His voice cut like his blade. "Weak people aren't shit, Daniel. You can't grow by breaking ants. You need wolves. I suggest…" His eyes glinted with dark amusement. "…you strike the rankers of Valhalla."
Daniel's lips twisted into a grin. "Then I know where to start."
Valhalla's Rank 10—Ares Kyro.
The man Daniel had once fought. Their clash hadn't ended cleanly, but Ares had walked away laughing, his pride intact, while Daniel had been left humiliated. That memory burned deep in Daniel's chest, a scar of failure.
And now, he would return it.
The city pulsed with neon when Daniel finally came down from the mountain. His destination loomed ahead: a karaoke complex so massive it dwarfed nearby buildings, a palace of glowing lights and glass.
Daniel pushed open the main doors. Music and chatter filled the lobby—until the atmosphere shifted. His presence was sharp, radiating intent like a storm front. The air turned heavy.
The first line of guards froze in place. Their instincts screamed danger, but training forced them to step forward.
"You can't be here—" one began.
Daniel's katana flickered once. The man was hurled into the wall, unconscious before his body hit the floor.
The rest lunged. Daniel moved through them like a phantom, each strike precise, brutal, unrelenting. Bones cracked. Teeth shattered. The lobby's polished floor grew slick with blood.
He didn't slow.
Every step forward was destruction.
By the time Daniel reached the elevator, bodies littered the hallway, groaning or silent. He pressed the button calmly, crimson handle of his blade resting against his shoulder.
The doors slid open on the top floor. A long corridor stretched out, lined with velvet carpet and golden lights. At the far end waited a set of double doors.
The moment Daniel stepped forward, they opened.
Inside, a group of men stood—Ares's trusted lieutenants. Each one bore scars of battle, their eyes sharp with loyalty.
"Stop here," the tallest growled, cracking his knuckles.
Daniel smiled coldly. "You're in my way."
They rushed him.
The conference room floor shook with violence. Daniel's katana blurred, arcs of steel carving through the air. He weaved between blows, countering with ruthless efficiency. A jaw snapped beneath his elbow. A rib cage caved under his kick. His blade slashed shallow lines across skin, each cut leaving screams echoing in the chamber.
But Daniel didn't relent. He beat them mercilessly, not killing but destroying their pride, their strength, their loyalty.
One by one, they fell, until the last man lay gasping against the wall, eyes wide in disbelief.
Daniel stepped over the bodies and pushed the inner doors open.
The conference room was dim, lit only by a single hanging lamp above a long table. At the far end, Ares Kyro sat calmly, a laptop glowing before him. His sharp suit contrasted the raw violence Daniel had left behind.
Without looking up, Ares spoke.
"I've been waiting."
Daniel tightened his grip on the crimson-handled katana. "Then stop wasting my time."
Ares finally raised his eyes, a slow grin spreading across his face. "I knew you'd come back."