Marc walked out of the base, his steps heavy and deliberate. His aura followed him. No, it wasn't following him. It was on him. In him. It was him.
His armor merged with it, and his gaze, piercing through the white mask, radiated with overwhelming power.
Anyone who saw him would have mistaken him for a vengeful spirit, a ghost returning from the abyss to claim Garida's life. But no one needed to see his aura to understand.This man was dangerous.
Across every military base, Garid's soldiers watched the terrifying feats of the armored knight. Their commanders—fear etched on their own faces—relayed the images with shaking hands.
Far away, in the city of Barsor, two soldiers stared at a phone screen on which surveillance footage played in front of them.
Marc was fighting an entire detachment near a base swarming with soldiers.They had reacted quickly, taken positions, brought out heavy weapons to stop the knight.
But what they saw next defied reason.
The Knight—the Death of War—struck soldiers down with a single blow, his fist slamming into their abdomens with bone-crushing force. Some took high kicks to the head that sent them flying several meters, collapsing in an instant.
When he was done with the ones outside, he charged straight through the wall, breaking inside like a living battering ram, destroying everything in his path.
Inside, cameras never lasted more than thirty seconds in his presence. Every time the knight appeared on screen, soldiers vanished or hit the ground in less than a second… then the feed went dead.
One soldier, clutching the phone, paled as the white mask came close to the camera—before the image cut to black.
"Impossible…"
The second soldier, holding the device, turned just as pale.
"How are we supposed to stop this monster?"
They shut off the recordings and returned to their posts, terrified. They had just received new orders: serve as bait.
The plan was to lure him into heavily fortified bases, packed with heavy weapons and missiles, and hope it would be enough to kill him.
No matter how strong he was, Emperor Garid was convinced he could die.
But that did not reassure anyone.
The Black Knight could appear anywhere. Anytime. His empty white mask, floating in the darkness against his black armor, haunted the nightmares of every soldier.
And worse were the rumors.
"I heard he deflected an A42 missile mid-air. He's not even human."
"Maybe he's from one of Zvenne's secret projects. My father told me they run weird experiments in hidden labs."
"No way. Something that strong can't just be man-made. He's a spirit."
"You'd rather believe he's a ghost?"
"Why not?"
"Guys… I heard that when he grabs you, a black and blood-red aura engulfs you—like a creature made of something unnatural, ready to swallow you whole."
They all shivered.
"Stop talking nonsense. He must have a weakness."
And so, on one of those cold nights, the rumors of the Death of War spread like a shadow, chilling Garida to its core.
But Marc didn't care.
He walked calmly through the rain, leaving the military base behind. As he pondered his next destination, a voice spoke from nearby.
"You've been a very bad boy, Marc Zeymond."
Another aura blocked his path. A faint, gaseous mass hovered there, confronting the Death of War. Its red glow evaporated almost instantly, twisting upward endlessly into the night sky.
Marc knew this aura and his eyes narrowed as he looked at the mass.
"Aeros."
The mass answered.
"That's right."
The voice that came from the floating aura felt… censored. As if Marc was not allowed to comprehend the full nature of what stood before him. This was the first time one of the Riders spoke clearly to him.
Astra had immobilized him once, then left. And the last time he had seen Aeros, it had been nothing but a shadow within Garid's darkness.
It was unsettling.
Marc knew these things were dangerous. He didn't want to fight them head-on without preparation.
But the rage inside him burned too fiercely to hold back.
"You can come here yourself," Marc said coldly. "That'll make things easier."
The voice sounded amused.
"Don't be so impatient. You can't kill me anyway."
Marc's anger surged. These entities wanted to destroy his world, and all he could do now was talk—while they moved freely, wreaking havoc.
It made his blood boil.
"Why are you doing this?"
The aura seemed almost surprised.
"Didn't I already tell you my name?"
"Tch. Annoying by nature, huh?"
"Warrior by nature."
Marc struggled to contain the rage boiling in his chest, but he forced himself to calm down. He had more important things to do than waste time with this thing.
"Fine. I don't give a damn anymore."
The aura was silent for a moment—then laughed softly.
"Pfft."
ThennMarc was the first to move.
He shot forward, slicing through the air toward the red mass.But as he closed the distance, the aura simply vanished.
Its mocking voice echoed from above as the red glow scattered into the sky like dust.
"We're not ready to face you yet, bastard. We'll meet again soon. The Chosen One…"
Marc watched the aura disappear into nothingness.
He gritted his teeth so hard they almost cracked—and then roared.
A roar so deep, so terrifying, it echoed through the ears of every living soul in the city.
That day, people remembered it as the most terrifying sound ever recorded since the era of the Red Emperor.
On the other side of the world, in the Mezenne region, a young boy strolled casually, a lollipop in his right hand.
His short black hair was a complete mess, and he wore a loose white hoodie covered with black letters, paired with equally baggy black pants.
He walked calmly down the street—until suddenly, someone brushed against his shoulder.
The boy turned around to face the person, clearly displeased.
"Oh, sir, couldn't you at least apologize?"
But the person didn't answer.
So the boy continued.
"You're not very polite, are you? This is my first time here, and I'm treated like this?"
In truth, the stranger didn't reply because they were lying motionless on the ground.
Blood leaked from their mouth, their body covered in sores and boils. They were barely recognizable as human.
The boy tilted his head innocently, popping the lollipop back into his mouth.
"Oh… you were sick? I didn't know. Sorry."
Then, with a cheerful smile, he turned away from the corpse.
"Well, at least now you won't bump into anyone in the street again."
Far away, on the other side of the world, in the hill-town of Rab. A man stepped outside to gather firewood. This region was lush and green, the hill sitting right next to a small sea — the Sea of Rab.
A man named Simon lived in this village and often took advantage of the morning breeze to go cut wood.
He called back to his wife as he stepped out.
"I'm going now, dear."
His wife answered with a sing-song voice.
"All right, have fun."
Though Simon was an older man, he still loved going out to fetch firewood for his wife. The wind was gentle, the ground not too muddy, and the birds were singing with all their heart that morning.
Simon let the breeze caress his face and took a deep breath before exhaling.
"All right. Let's do this."
Suddenly, a loud sound echoed from the hill. The birds scattered in panic.The sky darkened. Animals fled, running in the opposite direction of the noise. The ground trembled slightly, leaves fell from the trees, and the once-peaceful morning became heavy with dread.
Simon turned in place, alarmed, searching for the source of the danger.
"What is happening?"
He squinted, trying to see through the dense trees blocking his view.
Then he saw it — a wall of water rushing toward him.
Relief washed over his face.
"Oh… it's just rain."
But Simon was wrong.
At this height, such a thing was inconceivable. His aging eyes could not see clearly what was truly coming.
This was no simple rain.
Of all the forms water could take, this was perhaps the worst.
The hill of Rab stood about a hundred meters tall.
Simon could not imagine that the wave approaching him was one hundred and twenty meters high.
Marc continued his search for the books.
He had already combed through more than a quarter of the city, looking for a possible base that might be hiding them—without any success.
Even with his sharpened senses, the aura of the books seemed to have vanished from the surface of the world.
"Did they find a way to hide them?"
In the middle of this thought, his phone suddenly rang.
Marc was surprised when he saw who was calling.
It was Chris, calling from the capital. His voice was rushed, annoyed—like he didn't really want to make this call, but did it anyway.
"Marc, have you found anything?"
Despite everything they had been through, Marc still didn't fully trust him.So his answer was cold.
"What do you want?"
Chris shot back immediately.
"Hey, you don't have to talk to me like that. For once, I'm actually trying to help, okay?"
Marc raised an eyebrow, suspicious, but eventually accepted his classmate's supposed desire to help.
"If you say so. Why are you calling?"
Chris paused for a moment before continuing.
"I saw on social media that the Emperor's carriage passed through Stanbright. You should check it out. People sometimes record what happens there. It might be useful."
Marc was surprised at Chris's involvement in this.
He thought that he was only there to accumulate power and surpass him. It was nice to see that the young man perhaps only wanted to save the world too.
Strangely, it made Marc smile, and he decided to tease the blond-haired boy a little.
"I see. You're being pretty nice these days."
But Chris, clearly embarrassed, raised his voice in irritation.
"Shut up. The future of the world is at stake. Have you even considered that if that damn emperor reads those books, we could all be screwed?"
Marc suddenly grasped the gravity of the situation.
He had no idea what those books contained—he had never read them.But if they revealed a way for Garid to win the war, then the world was doomed.
"Dealing with the Riders and that insane emperor… not exactly a walk in the park."
"Huh?"
"Forget it. Just let me know if you find anything else. Thanks, Chris."
Chris hesitated for a moment before replying.
"I didn't do this for you."
They hung up at the same time.
Even if the situation was dire, they still couldn't stand each other.But Marc was… happy.
He had finally seen something good in the insolent young man. And it was rare, so he wanted to savor it for a moment.
But before he could, another call came through.
"Nath?"
"Marc… I'm afraid I've found our third Rider."