The fifteen-year-old girl snorted, attempting to force her muscles to move. It was futile. Her body felt as if it were nailed to the ground, completely paralyzed from the neck down. Her sharp eyes glared fiercely at the 16-year-old youth standing before her.
"You! What did you do to me, huh?" she demanded in a commanding tone, despite her helpless position.
"Me? I didn't do anything," Zevaron replied casually. He stood with a firm stance, his eyes constantly scanning the surroundings, calculating distances and potential threats.
"If you dare lie," the girl hissed, "when I recover, I'll make sure your head is separated from your neck."
"Save your threats," Zevaron countered without looking back. "I have no reason to lie to someone who can't even move their pinky finger."
CRACK!
The ground trembled. A few meters away, the earth split open. A giant lizard, twenty meters long, crawled out. Its scales were coated in a hard crust of earth, emitting a scent of damp soil and a dense magical aura.
Zevaron moved like lightning, grabbing the girl and slinging her over his shoulder. "A land lizard shouldn't grow that big. There's something wrong with this ecosystem," he muttered, his brain beginning to simulate the fastest escape route.
However, the ground exploded again. A hundred similar lizards emerged, forming a line of hungry predators. They began to run, creating mini-earthquakes beneath Zevaron's feet.
"You aren't strong enough for all of them," the girl's voice sounded near his ear, cold and skeptical. "Their speed exceeds yours by 1.2 times, and the stamina of those subterranean creatures is nearly limitless. Sooner or later, you'll collapse and we'll become their meal."
"Do you have a solution other than complaining?" Zevaron asked, his breathing remaining steady despite his high-speed sprint.
"Use healing magic on me. Now. Let me level them," the girl ordered arrogantly.
"Unfortunately," Zevaron smirked thinly, "I only master destruction and defense magic. I can't use healing magic; every time I try to master it, it fails."
The girl's pupils contracted. Fear began to creep in, but she quickly suppressed her emotions with a long breath. "Fool. It seems there's only one way. Open my storage bracelet. I can still access its dimensional space even though my body is paralyzed."
Magical energy glowed from the girl's wrist. A suit of transparent crystal armor floated out, hovering gracefully before snapping and locking onto Zevaron's body.
"Finish them as quickly as possible," the girl commanded. "That armor is a magic-eater. It will drain your magical energy until it's gone, but your strength will increase exponentially."
Zevaron placed the girl on a sufficiently high tree branch. "Two minutes," Zevaron muttered, clenching his fists. "This armor boosts my strength tenfold, but the drain is insane. I have 120 seconds before I pass out from magical exhaustion."
BOOM!
Zevaron lunged. He smashed the head of the nearest lizard into smithereens. When another lizard tried to pounce from below, Zevaron caught the monster's jaws with his hands and feet.
A blood-red magic circle manifested. "
Suddenly, a giant crystal hand, ten meters tall, soared toward him. "Use this!" the girl shouted from a distance.
However, when Zevaron tried to tap into the crystal hand's magical frequency, a burst of pure rejection exploded. A thick black aura billowed from the artifact, as if a living entity refused to be touched by a stranger's hand.
In a hidden temple dozens of kilometers away, a woman in black robes flinched. Her veil was damp with cold sweat. She was severely injured, gasping for breath, yet her hands still formed a complex magic seal.
"How dare a moth like you touch the weapon I made for her?" she whispered hoarsely. Her eyes flashed sharply as she exerted her remaining energy to block Zevaron's access.
Suddenly, a heavy, unseen voice echoed in her head, striking her consciousness: "Stop! You will kill him! Your sister is in grave danger. If you selfishly continue to reject that man, Lynera will die, eaten by those lizards!"
The veiled woman's eyes widened. Finally, with a stifled roar, she did something insane: she forced a long-distance connection to help Zevaron control the weapon.
The impact was instant. Her already wounded body couldn't withstand the massive magical backlash.
"COUGH!" Fresh blood sprayed from behind her veil, staining the stone floor. Her body shook violently; her bones felt like they were being crushed by invisible pressure. Yet, she did not stop. With her fading consciousness, she directed the crystal hand right in front of Zevaron, ensuring it was ready to be used as a shield and sword for her sister.
The moment control passed to Zevaron, the woman lost consciousness. She collapsed into a pool of her own blood.
Back on the battlefield, Zevaron felt the terrifying pressure suddenly soften, turning into a flow of energy ready to be commanded. The crystal hand now felt like an extension of his own body. Sharp thorns sprouted from its surface, moving at a speed Zevaron's naked eye could barely follow.
The crystal hand went berserk—piercing every land lizard with deadly precision. Zevaron moved through the storm of thorns, crushing the remaining monsters.
"Eight seconds until I run out of magic energy, and ten lizards left," Zevaron calculated coldly.
In one dance of death, seven lizards fell. Only the largest one remained. Zevaron leaped, gripped the crystal hand, and slammed it right into the predator's skull.
CRASH!
Zevaron wasted no time. His breath was ragged, but his eyes remained calm, monitoring the tiny spark of magic energy left in his body. With a tactical move, he forcibly pulled his remaining energy to break the locking seal on his body.
CLINK!
The crystal armor detached from his body, floating down as if weightless. Zevaron caught it with a hand slightly trembling from extreme fatigue. The crystal's surface still shimmered beautifully, without a single scratch despite just passing through hell.
"Good thing I always train my magic capacity to the brink of fainting," Zevaron muttered, wiping sweat from his temple. "Otherwise, I'd be a corpse under a pile of lizards by now."
He walked toward the tree branch where the girl was leaning. Without a word, Zevaron handed back the crystal armor. The girl accepted it with an unreadable look—a mix of arrogance, shock, and a hint of respect she kept tightly hidden.
"Your armor," Zevaron said briefly. "The drain is truly insane. It almost made me black out. If I had run out of energy, I would've been lizard food for sure."
The girl snorted, storing the armor back into her bracelet. "That's because you're too weak to control it for long. Be grateful the armor didn't reject you until you shattered."
Zevaron merely shrugged, indifferent to her arrogance. He immediately picked her up again, moving away from the scent of blood that could attract other predators.
Zevaron had just set the girl down under a large tree, about four kilometers away from the site of the slaughter. Silence. Only the sound of their steady breathing remained.
"Watch over me for a few more hours," the girl said, her tone still commanding despite her weakness. "Reinforcements will come for me. And when they arrive, you will be given several artifacts as payment for not letting me die."
"Fine," Zevaron answered simply. He sat leaning against the opposite tree, his eyes closed, though his ears remained sharp, monitoring the perimeter.
"Waiting?" a deep baritone voice suddenly interrupted the silence. The voice didn't come from the bushes, but fell from the sky. "Why wait when I am already here?"
Above them, the previously calm sky seemed to split at the presence of an 18-year-old man. He stood upright in mid-air. His dark red hair fluttered gently, while his eyes—also dark red—looked down with a gaze that could stop a common soldier's heart.
"You—" Before Zevaron could finish his sentence or draw his weapon, the air in front of him shimmered.
WHOOSH!
In an instant, the man was standing right in front of Zevaron. No dust was kicked up, no sound of footsteps. Only a thick, suffocating magical scent suddenly filled Zevaron's lungs.
"We meet again," the man said. Azeron was his name. He didn't look at Zevaron with hostility, but with the calm of an apex predator. "I've come to pick up someone important."
Zevaron took a step back, his muscles tensing, his hand already touching his storage pouch. "On what grounds should I trust you? I don't even know you."
Azeron didn't answer immediately. He glanced briefly at Zevaron, then turned to his sister. "You don't know me, but she knows me very well. Isn't that right, Lynera?"
Lynera, usually arrogant and sharp-tongued, now seemed a bit smaller. She let out a long sigh; there was relief, but also a hint of annoyance on her face. "Yes, that's true... but I didn't expect you to come down here yourself, Brother Azeron."
"It's just a coincidence I was nearby for other business," Azeron looked back at Zevaron. The corner of his lip curled slightly—a rare show of appreciation. "Since you saved her life, I will give you the honor of choosing. Tell me, what artifact do you desire? Offense? Sealing? Or defense?"
Zevaron, with his pragmatic mindset, asked for something specific: "I need something to seal power... even power that comes from the subconscious."
Azeron went silent. He pulled out an ancient stamp that radiated a bloodthirsty aura. "This stamp can seal anything. But the price is high: your blood for activation, and a hundred human bodies as a sacrifice every time it's used. The sacrifice can be living bodies or those who have been dead for no more than 100 days."
Zevaron weighed the stamp. In his mind, he imagined the Water Dragon residing in his sister's subconscious. A hundred strangers' bodies, or my sister's life? His calculation finished in an instant.
"I'll take it," he said firmly.
"Just that stamp won't be enough to protect you in a world that is about to fall into chaos," Azeron said. He opened his hand, showing three glowing red pills that throbbed as if they had a heart inside.
Zevaron stared at the pills warily. "What are these?"
"Destruction Pills," Azeron replied shortly. "Use these if you are cornered. One pill can trigger an explosion capable of severely wounding an Imperial General. It can save your life, but there is a cost."
Azeron's gaze turned deathly serious, giving a warning that could not be ignored. "Get away from the center of the explosion as soon as you activate it. If you inhale the residue or get too close to the blast wave, you will lose control of your sanity. you will be consumed by pure killing intent that knows neither friend nor foe."
Zevaron accepted the three pills carefully. He calculated the risks in his head: a weapon of mass destruction with insanity as a side effect. Dangerous, but useful.
Azeron then produced ten small bottles containing the same pills, with each bottle holding 10 pills.
After Zevaron received the cursed stamp and the lethal pills, Azeron turned and approached Lynera, who was still unable to move. With an efficient motion that still displayed his authority as an older brother, Azeron lifted Lynera and carried her on his back.
Lynera could only lean her head against his shoulder, her arrogant face now looking much calmer behind her brother's friend's shoulder.
"Remember," Azeron said, looking back slightly, his dark red eyes glinting. "Because you have done us a favor by saving the life of that person's sister, you have the right to ask for help one day."
Azeron paused, a subtle, meaningful smile playing on his face.
"We, Black Dawn, do not destroy our own friends."
WHOOSH!
Without waiting for a response, Azeron tapped his foot lightly against the ground. Air pressure exploded beneath him, and in an instant, the two of them shot into the sky, leaving a trail of red energy that slowly faded.
Zevaron stood still, staring intently at the point where Azeron had vanished. His hand gripped the sealing stamp he had just acquired.
"Black Dawn?" Zevaron muttered to himself. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "That name sounds like a coming storm. I need to find out what that organization really is before I get any deeper into their plans."
Without wasting another moment, Zevaron turned and disappeared into the darkness of the forest.
Meanwhile, several kilometers above the ground, Lynera, nestled on Azeron's back, could no longer contain her curiosity. A strong wind whipped against her face, but a thin magic shield from Azeron kept her comfortable.
"Brother Azeron... do you know him personally?" Lynera asked softly.
"Not directly," Azeron replied flatly, his eyes focused on the horizon. "But I once saw him do something quite surprising. Do you remember when we destroyed one of the branches of the Iron Cold organization?"
Lynera frowned. "I remember, but what does he have to do with that?"
"He indirectly helped us," Azeron explained, his voice sounding slightly amused. "As you know, those Iron Cold people disguised themselves as ordinary merchants to trade dangerous goods. One of them recognized him because he is the younger brother of the owner of Caelvion Company."
Azeron chuckled softly. "They tried to offer him something tempting, but he realized something was wrong. Funnily enough, the refusal he gave was so long, so polite, yet so full of logical traps, that he unknowingly stalled them in one spot for quite a while. That's what gave us the opening to ambush them, gather intel on their headquarters, and ultimately wipe out their branch."