Chapter 4: The Scythe Behind the Smile
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Ten years had passed.
Magnolia had grown busier, brighter, and more dangerous. Fairy Tail itself had doubled in size—new mages joined every year, training yards expanded, and brawls broke out twice as often as they used to.
But Victor?
Victor had become a ghost in broad daylight.
He stood just inside the shade of the guildhall's front archway, leaning against a pillar, arms crossed. His black hair was slightly tousled, sharp eyes hidden behind long lashes, and his expression unreadable. The way he carried himself—poised, precise, detached—made people think twice before approaching.
He looked like someone who could smile at your funeral.
Handsome in a way that unsettled people. Not warm. Not cruel. Just… dangerous.
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The Quiet Shadow
In the ten years since he joined the guild, Victor hadn't made waves.
He hadn't wrecked a tavern. He hadn't started a single fight.
But he also hadn't lost one.
Every now and then, during training drills or sparring matches, Victor would demonstrate his illusions—just enough to be noticed. Just enough to keep people guessing.
No one really understood how deep his magic went. Some said he could create clones. Others whispered that he'd once made a monster appear so real it caused another recruit to faint.
But the truth? No one really knew what Victor could do.
And that's exactly how he liked it.
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Weapon Equip: Belial
Privately, Victor had advanced far beyond simple illusions.
Through silent training, brutal control, and ruthless patience, he'd unlocked Weapon Djinn Equip: Belial.
A sleek, bone-handled scythe formed in his hands when summoned—black as night, etched in glowing crimson veins. The weapon itself was deceptive. It didn't cut flesh.
It cut sensation.
> Belior Goldoreza.
A single strike could sever a person's ability to feel, see, or hear. Worse—if Victor focused the scythe's edge just right, he could send a person's soul into another dimension entirely.
He had never used it to kill. Not yet.
But he had practiced the motion in his mind over a hundred times.
Just in case.
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A Name from the Past
"You hear about the match later?" someone whispered in the corner.
"Yeah. Damon's finally challenging him. For real this time."
Victor didn't flinch, but he heard every word.
Damon.
The name pulled something sharp from the past. He had been one of the two boys tormenting Evan all those years ago—the one Victor had verbally dismantled with a calm threat and a well-placed warning.
Damon hadn't forgotten.
Over the years, he'd tried dozens of times to provoke Victor. Cheap insults, staged accidents, false bravado.
Victor had ignored it all.
But Damon wasn't the same brat anymore. His magic had grown loud, fast, and flashy—enough to catch attention in the guild. Some said he could eventually reach high rank.
Now, finally, Damon had made it public.
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Victor was standing near the mission board when Damon approached, flanked by two younger mages who clearly thought they were about to watch something legendary.
"Victor," Damon said loudly, arms crossed, a crooked grin on his face. "It's about time you and I settled this. One-on-one. Outside. Real rules. Magic only."
A few heads turned. Sparks flickered in the air.
Victor turned to face him. His voice was even, flat.
"Why now?"
"Because I'm not gonna let some ice-cold illusionist keep walking around like he owns the place. You've been coasting for years. Let's see if you're actually worth the whispers."
Victor paused.
Then nodded once.
"Alright."
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The guild hall buzzed instantly.
Damon's magic was well-known. Flashy, aggressive, and destructive. Some thought he had the makings of an S-Class mage, given enough time.
Victor?
Nobody knew what he could do.
But they were about to find out.
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End of Chapter 4
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