Monday, July 26, 1740
Train Station
At 7:00 a.m., a crowd of reporters gathered at the train station, waiting for the arrival of the Second Prince of the Jahanam Empire, Claudius Jahanam.
In the same place, Lyxander and the other Ravens were also waiting for the Second Prince's arrival.
They were not alone. Hitmen lurked in the shadows, watching from the darkness.
In the smoking area, Zirkon lit a cigarette. Even though he wore a military uniform and carried a sheathed sword on his back, he remained relaxed instead of standing on guard.
The Ravens were forbidden from appearing in the news. That was only natural, considering they were a secret military unit.
Because of this, most of the Ravens chose to remain at the edge of the crowd and avoid the cameras.
Lyxander was no different. He stood beside Zirkon. Though he did not smoke, there was nothing he could do—he was currently under Zirkon's command.
Although his partner was Vivi, her identity as a sniper was far more useful for surveillance. She had been assigned to the reconnaissance squad and was forced to separate from her beloved junior.
"You didn't bring a sword?" Zirkon asked.
Lyxander frowned. "Come on, why would I bring a sword? Besides, I have these gloves."
After the battle with Entity 03-124, Lyxander's gloves had been completely destroyed. Now he had a new pair—stronger than before. As for their features, he had yet to test them.
"It's just that you've nearly surpassed my swordsmanship. Wouldn't it be a waste not to use that talent?"
Zirkon wasn't offering empty praise. In less than a month, Lyxander had achieved extraordinary progress in swordsmanship.
"I'm not talented at all," Lyxander denied. "My rapid growth is only because I've seen the Path before."
He was clearly lying. In truth, he had been born with natural talent in combat. It was something that had manifested in his previous life as an MMA athlete.
Zirkon noticed the lie but was more curious about this "Path."
"The Path? What's that?"
"You don't know about the Path?" Lyxander raised an eyebrow unconsciously.
In Lyxander's previous world, there were many humans with monster-like strength. Lyxander had been one of them.
This was because martial arts had developed extensively on Earth—unlike in this world. Many hidden martial arts masters had surpassed physical limits.
In his previous life, Lyxander had surpassed the limits of speed and reflexes, developing accelerated thought processing—a technique he still used to this day.
He had also surpassed the limit of strength once, but it destroyed his body, ended his athletic career, and left him with a tragic conclusion.
"The Path seems similar to a characteristic trait. I thought a Two-Star like you would know?"
Zirkon simply shrugged. "So? What is the Path?"
"It's like when you can see the trajectory of a sword strike, or perceive the exact line of attack to counter."
Lyxander continued, "Each person's Path is different, and it's not limited to combat. It's accumulation—whether experience or talent—all converging to reach the highest point."
"Once someone sees their Path, they can easily enter and exit the Zone."
"Zone?"
"When someone's mind is completely focused, that's called the Zone. I've seen the Path before, so I can enter the Zone like flipping a switch. That's also why I can learn swordsmanship so quickly."
Zirkon wanted to ask more, but a woman's voice echoed throughout the station, interrupting him.
"Attention all passengers, please stand behind the yellow line for your safety."
The Second Prince had arrived.
Lyxander and Zirkon immediately grabbed black umbrellas from the umbrella stand and moved toward the train carriage.
The other Ravens did the same. In their left hands, they held black umbrellas. In their right hands, black briefcases.
Dozens of Ravens moved in unison, roughly pushing the reporters aside. The sight angered the journalists, but they were also stunned by the Ravens' physical strength.
Even One-Star individuals possessed enhanced physical abilities far beyond ordinary humans.
Whoosh!
The train came to a stop.
The carriage doors opened slowly. A man with long golden-blond hair stepped out. His hair, like molten gold, was tied down into a low ponytail. Neither tall nor short, his physique was perfectly proportioned. He wore a white shirt and long black trousers.
The most striking thing about him was his face.
His round eyes were beautiful—not overly large, nor narrow. Their bright red color resembled precious gemstones.
His skin was fair with a faint rosy hue, smooth and flawless.
His nose was sharp and straight.
His face was pleasing to behold. Anyone who saw him would feel a sense of calm. Not just his face—his upright posture radiated strong charisma.
Indeed, Claudius Jahanam had been born with a perfect physique.
The reporters were mesmerized. Seeing him in person was completely different from seeing him from afar. His aura was powerful, yet warm—not oppressive.
Camera flashes exploded around him.
But the Ravens did not stop. They advanced, immediately shielding Claudius and his attendants beneath black umbrellas.
The reporters tried to push through, but the Ravens easily forced them back.
Claudius disappeared within the sea of Ravens and was escorted toward the waiting black vehicles.
The car doors opened, and the Ravens slipped inside.
The reporters refused to give up. They tried to locate Claudius, but it was futile. He had vanished along with the Ravens.
The black vehicles began to move.
Strangely, they split up.
Panic erupted—not among the reporters, but among the hitmen.
They had waited in the shadows for so long. Now Claudius had disappeared, and he was inside one of the scattered vehicles.
The hitmen panicked.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Thousands of bullets rained down upon the vehicles, attempting to stop them from escaping.
Boom!
It wasn't just gunfire—dozens of bombs were thrown. The once peaceful street instantly turned into a battlefield.
Dozens of hitmen emerged from buildings, charging at the halted vehicles.
One man stopped beside a car.
He raised his palm—
Crack!
A long spear grew from his hand, shattering the bulletproof glass with ease.
But moments later, his head vanished as if swallowed by the earth.
The battle between the Ravens and the hitmen erupted.
The reporters, trapped in the chaos, could only freeze. Some screamed. Some cried. Some ran.
Soon, smoke bombs dropped from the rooftops, obscuring the reporters' vision—and their cameras.
"It seems I should start working."
A man in a wrinkled black suit stood atop a building.
2 o'clock.
No scope.
He was Winter Ghost.
"That's Winter Ghost!" a hitman shouted.
"Damn it! Who said O'clock wouldn't interfere—"
A hitman's head was severed mid-sentence.
Two seconds later, the same fate befell seventy-eight more hitmen.
In just three seconds, the entire battlefield turned into a sea of blood.