The wind over the capital tasted like iron.
Deep in the narrow lanes behind the western barracks, a boy sprinted through the fog-like dust clouds, the sound of his breath mixing with distant clangs of weapons. His boots kicked against broken stones, and every step jolted his thin frame, but he didn't stop. He didn't even slow down. He had no time for that, not when he was being hunted.
Orin lifted his head just enough to glance behind him. The shadows were still there, three silhouettes in dark coats, the faint glow of red runes on their sleeves marking them as licensed combat mages. And they were gaining on him.
"Tch… still on my tail."
Arin wasn't strong. He wasn't fast. He wasn't even trained properly. At sixteen, he had the body of a malnourished alley kid and the reputation of a nobody.
But he had something else.
A faint flash crossed his eyes as the lead pursuer swung his arm forward. Flames crackled. The man muttered a short chant. Fire gathered.
Arin's eyes widened, not in fear, but in hunger.
There.
A ripple like static ran through his left eye, as though something inside it clicked into place.
The man cast his spell.
"Blaze Arc!"
A crescent of fire launched at Arin, bright and loud, tearing through the alley like a shrieking comet.
But Arin had already raised his hand.
He didn't chant. He didn't focus. He didn't even know the theory behind the spell.
He simply copied what he had seen.
"...Blaze Arc."
His voice was low, unsure, almost timid. The gesture he imitated was clumsy, and the pose slightly off. His palm burned.
But the spell formed.
A crooked, unstable arc of fire burst from his hand. It wasn't perfect. It flickered weirdly. It strained as though it might collapse at any second.
Still, it met the enemy attack head-on.
The two flames collided in the middle of the alley and exploded in a messy burst of heat, lighting the walls with orange sparks. The shockwave knocked Arin backward, but it also forced his pursuers to shield their faces.
And in that tiny moment, Arin moved again.
He darted into a side street, coughing through the smoke, legs trembling from the recoil. His copied spell had drained him more than it should have.
"...Too rough… I need to watch better next time…"
He muttered weakly to himself as he ran. Anyone watching would think he looked like a nervous kid trying to pretend he wasn't about to pass out. But even while he complained, there was a spark in his eyes, a strange glow of excitement.
His cheat, as he privately called it, had awakened only two years ago. He didn't know how it worked. All he knew was, if he saw a technique, magical or physical, he could replicate it.
Once.
Sometimes twice.
Better with practice.
Never perfectly at first.
Most importantly, it didn't matter whose technique it was. High-rank mage, knight, assassin, noble…
If he saw it, he could take it.
The world of Ignis had rules. His eyes broke them.
Which is why he was being chased today.
The path opened into a courtyard littered with old crates. The smell of rotting wood and dried blood floated in the air. Arin reached it and slowed, panting hard. His lungs felt like they were tearing apart.
But he wasn't alone.
From the far wall, three more men stepped out. Same uniforms. Same runed sleeves. And absolutely no intention of letting him escape.
Orin's heart sank.
...Six in total? Are they crazy? I'm just a kid.
But they weren't actually after him as a person. They wanted what he carried.
He clutched his pocket. Inside was a dull black crystal, no larger than a thumb, yet humming with faint power. A piece of Nox. They called it amplifier stone. Even a fragment like this could raise the strength of any mage by a terrifying margin.
And someone had decided Arin should deliver it.
He wasn't sure why. He wasn't sure how. He only knew one thing:
He was working for the Silent Order now.
For reasons he didn't fully understand, they had chosen him.
Before the new encirclement could close around him, Arin swallowed his fear. He forced himself to look at the four men blocking the exit. Their formation was neat, textbook, the way trained squads moved.
He studied them.
He studied their stances, their foot positioning, the way their fingers hovered above their weapons.
Remember… watch carefully… copy if you have to…
The three men chasing behind finally entered the courtyard, cutting off his retreat. All six slowly closed in.
"You've caused enough trouble, boy," the tallest one said. "Hand over the Nox and maybe we'll leave you a corpse instead of ashes."
Arin blinked tiredly. He wasn't the type to give dramatic speeches. He wasn't bold. He wasn't proud. He just didn't want to die here.
"I'll pass," he said quietly.
The tall man sighed. "Kill him."
Six men moved at once.
A flash of earth. A slice of wind. Metal glint. Boots grinding the stone.
Arin's eyes darted wildly, absorbing everything. Each attack. Each angle. Each flow of mana. It was like a storm of knowledge pouring into him.
He moved instinctively.
The first attacker swung a curved dagger, its movement sharp and low.
Arin ducked under it, copying the very stance the man used just moments ago, shifting his weight exactly the same way. His body protested. His bones screamed. But the technique activated in his muscles.
He slid along the ground, rising behind the man.
The second mage attacked from the left, thrusting a spear wrapped in wind. Arin sidestepped. The movement was sloppy, but it worked.
"Tch, this brat…!"
Two more came with elemental spells, one water, one earth.
Arin spun. His hands moved without thinking, mimicking the short chant he'd just overheard.
"Ripple!"
A jet of water sprayed from his palm.
It wasn't strong. It was barely enough to disrupt the attack. But that disruption was all he needed. He leapt aside again, using the recoil to hit the ground and roll away.
Dust exploded under his boots.
He heard one pursuer hiss. "How the hell is he using our spells?!"
Arin didn't respond.
His head throbbed violently. His copied techniques drained him unnaturally fast, because he didn't have the foundation to support them. They stressed his body and cracked his mana flow. With each spell he copied, his stamina nosedived.
I can't keep doing this… I need one opening… one chance…
But the men weren't slowing down. If anything, they were becoming angrier, more aggressive.
The tall leader raised his hand, gathering earth mana. Blocks of stone rose around Arin like teeth from the ground.
"Earth Coffin."
The rocks tightened.
Arin's breath hitched.
There was no escape, save one.
He forced himself to stare at the spell, memorizing the way the leader shaped it.
"...Earth Coffin."
His voice trembled. His hand shook.
Mana burst from him.
A single block of stone rose, crooked and tiny compared to the enemy's structure, but it shot upward, smashing into one of the closing pillars. The formation broke for half a second.
That was enough.
Arin dove through the gap, his shoulder scraping stone, his jacket tearing, skin tearing with it, but he slipped out.
He didn't hesitate.
He ran straight at the weakest-looking mage.
"What?!"
The man swung a staff.
Arin copied the motion.
He caught the staff mid-swing, twisted his wrist the same way he'd watched the man do earlier, and pulled. The mage stumbled forward, losing balance, and Arin kicked him hard in the stomach.
The man dropped.
The other pursuers finally realized that letting him act freely was a mistake.
"Use force! Just kill him already!"
Mana flared. Six different attacks prepared at once.
Arin felt his throat tighten.
He didn't have enough mana left to copy anything big. His limbs felt like they were filled with sand. His copied spells were sloppy and unstable. His lungs felt like they might collapse.
I'm out of time…
He stood his ground anyway.
Not because he was brave.
But because he could no longer move.
The attacks shot toward him, when something flickered.
Black shadows fell over the courtyard, dropping from the rooftops like feathers drifting from the sky.
Six figures in gray robes landed around Arin.
Silence followed.
The Silent Order had arrived.
The pursuers froze. Color drained from their faces.
"You! W-We didn't mean… this isn't what it looks—"
One of the gray-robed figures stepped forward. Their mask was smooth and featureless. Their voice was cold enough to chill the air.
"The boy is under our protection. You should not have touched him."
The leader of the enemy squad tried to talk his way out. "Wait… wait… there must be a misunderstanding—"
A blade flashed.
His head hit the ground a moment later.
The rest tried to flee.
None escaped.
Arin watched in numbed amazement as the Silent Order cleaned up the courtyard with frightening efficiency. No wasted movement. No excessive violence. No words.
Just precision.
One of them approached Arin at last. Their mask tilted down.
"You carried out the delivery," the figure said. "Good work."
Arin swallowed weakly. "S-sure… I guess…"
He felt the weight of exhaustion finally crash over him. His vision darkened.
The figure caught him before he fell.
"You've done enough for today.
Rest. From here on, your place in the Silent Order will be formalized."
Arin tried to respond, but his strength had run dry. As he drifted into unconsciousness, the only thought in his mind was…
I lived… somehow…
And then everything went dark.