The silence after Kael's departure lingered like a curse.
Dust drifted lazily through the collapsed cabin, glowing pale under the fractured moonlight. The smell of blood and scorched wood clung to the mountain air.
Ragnar pushed himself upright, his legs wobbling but holding. His chest heaved, shirt torn, skin carved with fresh cuts, and his blade nothing more than a shattered stub. Yet his eyes still burned like a wolf's—wounded but unyielding.
He spat blood into the dirt and glared at Adrian. "...So. You wanna finish this?"
Adrian leaned casually against the wreckage, lips curled in a tired half-smile. His knuckles were split, crimson dripping lazily onto the ground. He chuckled under his breath, a sound that grated against the silence.
"Nah." He shook his head. "Got boring after the boss showed up."
Ragnar's jaw tightened. "Boring?"
Adrian pushed off the wall and started walking down the path, hands in his pockets like a man strolling home after a bar fight. His voice carried lazily over his shoulder.
"Watch out, Ragnar. This ain't over, ya hear?"
The words weren't shouted—they were spoken low, casual, but with the weight of an unbroken promise. Like a knife pressed under the ribs, unseen yet lethal.
Ragnar clenched the jagged katana until the metal cut his palm and fresh blood dripped to the earth. His body screamed to lunge, to end Adrian before he could vanish. But Kael's voice still echoed in his head. Stay alive—for now. Barely.
Grinding his teeth, Ragnar let Adrian's figure disappear into the trees.
When he was gone, Ragnar dropped heavily onto the broken cabin steps, breathing ragged. His eyes lowered to the ruined blade across his knees. For a moment he saw his reflection in the steel: bloodied, tired, a shadow of the ranker he once was.
He muttered bitterly, "Damn you, Kael… damn all of you."
And yet, as silence swallowed the mountain again, something stirred in him. His lips twisted—not in joy, not in hope—but in a fiercer grin. A spark that refused to die.
"Daniel…" he whispered. "You've stirred the nest. You've already caught their eyes."
He tilted his head toward the city lights of Valhalla flickering faintly on the horizon. "Good. Let them come. They'll think they're hunting you… but they don't know yet. You'll be the storm that swallows them whole."
At that exact moment, footsteps thundered up the mountain path.
Daniel.
His chest burned, lungs screaming, but he pushed harder, fueled by instinct alone. He knew something had happened—he could feel it.
Halfway up, a figure emerged from the treeline ahead. Adrian.
Daniel froze.
Adrian walked casually, head down, one hand in his pocket, the other dangling lazily. The moonlight painted him in silver and shadow. He didn't even notice Daniel. Didn't care.
Daniel's fingers twitched toward his katana. His body shook with rage. Now. Now's my chance to strike him down.
But his grip faltered. The weight of reality pressed down on him like chains. His legs trembled, not from exhaustion, but from the truth he already knew: he was too weak.
So he watched in silence as Adrian brushed past, vanishing into the night.
Daniel's jaw clenched so tight it hurt. His nails dug into his palms until blood welled. One day. One damn day, I'll cut you down.
When he reached the top, his worst fears confirmed themselves.
The cabin was rubble, half-eaten by flames, the air thick with smoke and ash. Splintered wood and shattered stone littered the ground. And sitting on the steps, wrapping blood-soaked bandages around his ribs, was Ragnar.
"Master!" Daniel's voice cracked as it ripped from his throat.
Ragnar looked up. Despite his wounds, he smiled faintly. "You came, Danny."
Daniel rushed forward, eyes wide at the sight of the carnage. "What happened here? Who—"
Ragnar cut him off with a raised hand. His voice was rough but steady. "Adrian. Kael. And me."
Daniel's stomach sank. "Kael…? You mean the Rank One?"
Ragnar nodded slowly, finishing his bandages. He let out a long sigh and met Daniel's gaze. "Danny… listen. You're going to need help. It's not that I doubt your potential—it's just that you have to."
Daniel frowned. "Help? What do you mean?"
Ragnar's expression hardened. "You have to create a gang. A crew, to be precise."
Daniel blinked, then laughed sharply. "A crew? The hell are you spouting, old man?"
Ragnar didn't laugh back. His tone sharpened, cutting like a blade. "To fight down Valhalla, you'll need one. For your revenge too. You can't walk this road alone."
Daniel shook his head. "That doesn't make sense."
Ragnar leaned forward, eyes burning with old memories. "During my prime as a ranker in Valhalla… I was Rank Two. And my dearest friend was the man who stood against the Divine King to a stalemate."
Daniel froze. "What…?"
Ragnar's voice grew softer, touched by nostalgia and bitterness alike. "We trained together under a master he found. We grew strong—monsters, both of us. But our master warned us: no matter how strong one man becomes, he cannot outlast Valhalla alone. Rank One always has a gang. Always."
His eyes darkened. "In this era, Kael holds Rank One. And his crew is his Top Five. Including himself."
The silence stretched heavy.
"So you need a crew, Daniel," Ragnar said firmly. "Without one, your revenge dies before it even begins."
Daniel stood there, fists clenched at his sides. His mind warred between disbelief and reluctant acceptance.
A gang. A crew. Allies he could trust with his life.
Finally, he exhaled through clenched teeth. "…Fine." His lips twisted into a grin, sharp and dangerous. "I know the right people to find."
For the first time that night, Ragnar's grin matched his.
And in the ruins of a broken cabin, among the ashes of defeat, the first sparks of something greater were born—
The beginning of Daniel's crew.