The silence in the room was heavy. Curtains were drawn across the tall windows, the only light coming from the golden chandelier above, casting an amber glow over the polished table where five men sat. These were not just men—they were the apex predators of Valhalla. The top five rankers, whispered about as if they were gods walking among mortals.
Kael, Rank 1, sat at the head. His posture was immaculate, his expression cold. His golden eyes scanned the others lazily, yet every glance felt like a blade pressing against their throats.
Lucius, Rank 5, reclined in his chair with a glass of whiskey, swirling the liquid without care. His long white hair hung freely, his smirk nonchalant. He was the first to speak.
"So… Daniel Valtier, huh? The kid who no one gave a damn about suddenly shows up, beats Ares, and takes Rank 10. That's bold."
Adrian, Rank 2, leaned back, his black hair messy, his shirt slightly unbuttoned. He spoke with a lazy drawl, as if everything bored him.
"Bold… or stupid. Ares wasn't weak. If he beat him, it means he's hiding something."
Rank 3, a man known simply as "Raikuro," rested his katana vertically in front of him, hands on the hilt. His presence alone was sharp, cutting through the room. He chuckled lightly.
"One month of disappearing doesn't suddenly make someone strong enough to beat Ares Kyro. Training exists, yes, but not that kind. No… he must have had a teacher."
Kael tilted his head, his lips curling into a thin, dangerous smile.
"And who," he asked softly, "do you suppose would dare train him?"
Raikuro's smirk widened, and he let his fingers trail down the sheath of his blade.
"There's only one man in Valhalla who could. The one who never left… the Demonic Sword, Ragnar."
The name hung in the air like thunder. Lucius whistled low, finally interested.
"Him? Didn't he vanish after his rank fell years ago? Hiding in the mountains, drinking himself into oblivion? That's the guy?"
"Not just 'that guy,'" Raikuro corrected, his tone sharp. "He was once feared enough to stand against Kael himself. If Daniel was under his wing… then everything makes sense."
Adrian stretched, yawning, his eyes half-lidded. "So what now, boss? You want me to off the old man?"
Kael's smile widened. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, fingers steepled. His aura pressed on the room, reminding them why he was Rank 1.
"Not off him. Not yet. Leave him barely alive. Just enough so our precious number 10 can see what happens when you dance with the wolves of Valhalla."
The others smirked. Plans had been made. And like predators circling prey, they dispersed.
---
The Mountain
The sun dipped low, spilling orange light across the gravel paths and endless trees. Adrian's footsteps crunched softly against the dirt as he made his way higher into the mountains. Unlike the others, he didn't bring weapons—his fists were enough.
His attire was simple: a white shirt, black trousers, hands shoved lazily into his pockets. Yet every movement carried the air of dominance, like a man who could crush bones with a single yawn.
The cabin appeared, a weathered structure nestled between trees. Smoke curled faintly from the chimney. And there, sitting on the wooden steps, was a man. His hair was dark, streaked with gray, his katana resting across his lap. His eyes glowed faintly crimson, sharp and amused.
Ragnar. The Demonic Sword.
He smiled as if he had been expecting this. His voice was low, calm, almost welcoming.
"I guess my student caused trouble for you. I apologize for that. But I don't think you'll be leaving here alive. So please…"
He vanished. His body blurred, appearing instantly at Adrian's left side, katana flashing for the neck. His sentence finished as his blade cut through the air—"…die."
But Adrian didn't flinch. With a sudden twist, his fist shot upward, colliding with the descending katana.
Crack!
The steel shattered at the point of impact, fragments of the blade scattering like sparks.
Ragnar's eyes widened as he jerked back, the broken weapon still in hand. Adrian's eyes—half-lidded, bored—locked onto him.
"Shit," Ragnar muttered under his breath, realizing instantly he was not facing just another ranker.
Adrian sighed, stretching his neck. "You're fast. But fast doesn't mean anything when you're swinging dead metal. You should've stayed in your little cabin, old man."
Ragnar smirked despite the disadvantage, tossing aside the broken half of his katana. His aura flared violently, shaking the ground beneath them. Shadows stretched unnaturally long, coiling around his frame.
"You think a broken blade will stop me?" His grin widened into madness. "Let me show you why they called me the Demonic Sword."
"AND I'M NOT OLD."
Ragnar dashed forward, faster than before. His broken katana was still deadly in his grip, his strikes wild yet precise. Each slash tore through the gravel, leaving deep scars in the earth.
Adrian, with his hands still in his pockets, simply leaned left, then right, dodging with infuriating ease. His expression remained unchanged, bored, as if Ragnar's fury was nothing more than an evening breeze.
"Too slow," Adrian murmured, his leg shooting out casually. The kick collided with Ragnar's ribs, sending him crashing into the cabin wall.
Wood splintered, the structure groaning under the force. Ragnar spat blood, but his grin remained.
"Not bad… not bad at all."
He leapt forward again, this time his aura twisting, forming a demonic blade of pure energy around his broken weapon. The swing screamed with malice, aimed straight for Adrian's neck.
Adrian raised his arm lazily, his skin hardening with raw power. The blade collided—and shattered on impact. The shockwave tore trees from their roots, scattering gravel into the air.
Adrian leaned down, finally pulling his hands from his pockets. He cracked his knuckles slowly, the sound echoing like thunder.
"Alright. I guess I'll stop holding back."
Ragnar's grin faltered. For the first time, a bead of sweat slid down his temple.
Adrian blurred, his body moving with frightening speed. One instant he was standing yards away, the next his fist was buried in Ragnar's stomach.
The Ragnar coughed blood, eyes bulging as his body bent around the strike. Before he could recover, Adrian grabbed his head and slammed it into the ground. Gravel exploded, a crater forming beneath them.
"Pathetic," Adrian said, his tone dripping with disinterest. "If this is what you've been teaching Daniel… no wonder he's still weak."
Ragnar's eyes flickered with rage, but he could barely move. His body screamed in pain, yet his spirit refused to break. He spat blood at Adrian's shoe and chuckled.
"You… think this is enough to scare him? Daniel will surpass you all. He's not just my student… he's chaos itself."
Adrian frowned, annoyed by his defiance. He raised his foot, pressing it against Ragnar's chest. Slowly, he increased the pressure, ribs cracking beneath the weight.
"I'll leave you alive, just barely," Adrian muttered. "So when he finds you, he'll know exactly what happens when you challenge the top."
Ragnar coughed, blood staining his lips, his vision dimming. But even as bones broke beneath Adrian's boot, his laughter echoed through the forest.
"You'll regret… underestimating him."
Adrian's eyes narrowed. His fist drew back, glowing with violent energy. The mountain itself seemed to tremble as he prepared to finish it.
And somewhere, far away, Daniel's system flickered to life with a chilling notification.
[Warning: Mentor Ragnar's life force is critically low.]