In the blink of an eye, Bastien found himself in an unfamiliar room.

  Still disoriented, the adrenaline from the battle had yet to fade. His mind immediately turned to his father and Elena. How would they make it out? The enemies were too numerous. If his father had chosen to teleport him away, it was because he knew they never stood a chance.

  He also thought of Vice-Captain Bone. His smile, his eyes—they were terrifying. His aura felt like it was composed of nothing but uncontrollable violence.

  Bastien feared for his father. Every fiber of his being urged him to turn back and help.

  "NO!"

  The thought slammed into his mind like a wall. His father had done all of this for him. Bastien had to respect his decision, no matter how much it tore him apart.

  He immediately sat down and assumed a visualization position. Slowing his breathing, his heartbeat, he forced himself to focus on positive and pragmatic thoughts. Re-centering himself was something he usually mastered, but it felt harder than ever. Was it because the seal was weakening? Or was it simply due to the overwhelming events of the past hours?

  He couldn't answer the question. But it didn't matter. He had to regain control.

  A few minutes later, he opened his eyes. His mind was clear again.

  He took the time to observe his surroundings. The walls and floor were wooden, of visibly poor quality. The room was empty, except for a desk near the window and a chest pushed against the wall.

  Bastien glanced out the window—and immediately understood where he was.

  The slums of the capital.

  Here, Concordia’s so-called paradise did not exist.

  Poverty could be seen, heard, and smelled. From the drug dealers lurking at street corners to the filth clogging the gutters, from the crying baby to the couple arguing violently in the house across the alley.

  Everything was louder. Harsher. Different from anything Bastien had ever known.

  The pristine white and gold facades had given way to walls worn by time, dust, and blood.

  The mafia reigned supreme here.

  No schools. No jobs—except for factory work. Only survival mattered.

  Workers trudged home after long shifts. Some gathered at the corner bar, either to smoke or drink away their exhaustion. It was an entirely different world.

  But Bastien had no time to dwell on it. He immediately turned to the desk, where an envelope lay waiting.

  He recognized his father’s handwriting.

  "Bastien, my son, if you are reading this, it means we have been separated. I need you to go to the rendezvous point behind the old Church of the Sage Elias. I have marked the location on your map. Follow the instructions carefully—this place is dangerous.

  Open the chest with the key in this envelope. Inside, you will find part of your inheritance, a map of Tempestas, and clothes to help you blend in. You will also find an envelope addressed to Maurice Green.

  Under no circumstances should you open it. Your survival depends on it.

  When you meet Maurice, hand him this letter personally. Do not trust any intermediaries. Be firm, do not hesitate. If he senses weakness, he will exploit it."

  The rest of the letter provided insights into the customs of Tempestas, along with survival strategies. His father had thought of everything.

  "No matter what people say, you are my son, and I will always be your father. Good luck—I know you will succeed.

  You don’t have to change the world. Just be yourself and live the life you deserve.

  Your father, who loves you dearly."

  These were the last words of a father to his son.

  For the first time in his life, Bastien felt warm liquid streak down his face.

  He had tried everything—meditation, calming techniques, rationalization—but none of it mattered.

  His father’s words had struck directly at his heart.

  Bastien wept.

  The man he had spent years forging himself into was momentarily stripped away—revealing nothing more than a lost child.

  But only for a moment.

  He wiped his tears away. He had no time to dwell on emotions. His father had given him a path forward.

  He had to walk it.

  Without hesitation, he unlocked the chest.

  Inside, he found a sword, sealed within an ornate ruby-adorned scabbard.

  Bastien tried to draw it—but it wouldn’t budge. It was magically sealed.

  The hilt bore an engraving—a name.

  "Ciss."

  His father’s true surname.

  The weapon must have belonged to him.

  And yet, for some unknown reason, it refused to open.

  Also inside the chest:

  — An emerald ring.

  — A set of worn, rough clothes.

  — A bag of unfamiliar gold coins.

  Bastien swiftly dressed in the shirt, pants, and hooded cloak. He strapped the sword to his waist, slid the ring into his pocket, and grabbed the gold, the map, and the letter.

  He had everything he needed.

  Now, he had to leave unnoticed.

  The night had fallen, and the atmosphere had turned menacing.

  In the shadows of the slums, the real Concordia revealed itself.

  Street corners crawled with dealers—men who had no place in society, forced to survive by selling illicit substances.

  Fathers, mothers, even pregnant women queued desperately for their dose of magic powder.

  A drug refined from runic stones.

  A single dose amplified magical abilities, heightened senses, and filled the user with invincible euphoria for 24 hours.

  The price? A terrible addiction.

  And for those who consumed it long enough… it eventually erased their magical abilities altogether.

  Bastien pulled his hood over his head and walked down the street, doing his best to remain unnoticed. He sidestepped two dealers who offered their services and made his way toward the location marked on the map. There were no patrols here.

  The church was crumbling, nearly abandoned, its walls defaced with graffiti.

  “Paradise doesn’t exist.”

  “No Future.”

  The Order’s religion clearly had no hold in this part of the city.

  Bastien scanned the area, searching for the person he was supposed to meet.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  "Wait… I don’t even know what Mr. Green looks like. How am I supposed to recognize him?"

  He was lost in thought when a voice interrupted him.

  “Mr. Chronos?”

  A woman had slipped behind him—without him noticing.

  Bastien instinctively took two steps forward, startled.

  "Relax. If I wanted you dead, you'd already be dead."

  He slowly turned around and saw the speaker.

  A young woman with delicate features, strikingly beautiful, with red hair cascading down her shoulders. Flecks of freckles dotted her sharp cheekbones. She wore a long black coat over a fitted bodysuit of the same color.

  "I am Bastien Chronos, son of Jacques Chronos. I am here to meet Maurice Green."

  “Keep your voice down. Do you have a death wish? Dropping names like that in public—are you insane?”

  Shame crept up Bastien’s spine. He had been careless. Exhaustion clouded his judgment, making him reckless.

  What if she had been an agent of the Order?

  He needed to be more careful.

  “Follow me.” The woman’s voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument.

  She led Bastien to the church’s back courtyard, where a reinforced vehicle with tinted windows sat idly. Whoever owned it clearly had power—a vehicle like this didn’t belong in the slums.

  The rear left door opened, and Bastien climbed in instinctively.

  Inside, a man in his fifties sat with a relaxed posture, draped in a long black coat over a dark blue suit.

  His gloved hands rested on a steel cane, encrusted with emeralds—a perfect match for his piercing green eyes.

  He studied Bastien without expression.

  "Mr. Green, my respects," Bastien said, keeping his tone respectful.

  Maurice Green was a ghost. A legend.

  People spoke of him like a shadow lurking in children’s nightmares. Everyone had heard of him. Few had seen him. Even fewer had survived meeting him.

  Some whispered that he had slaughtered a hundred elite Concordian guards with his bare hands.

  Others claimed he practiced necromancy, reanimating his enemies’ corpses just so he could torture them again.

  "Welcome to my city, child." Green’s voice was smooth, almost warm.

  "I was expecting Jacques. Where is he?"

  His smile was kind.

  Far too kind.

  For a man responsible for some of the most brutal crimes in Concordia, he radiated an unsettling warmth.

  That was when Bastien remembered his grandfather’s words.

  "Green is an opportunist. Give him the letter."

  "My father couldn’t be here… He is… preoccupied."

  Bastien carefully avoided revealing too much.

  “And I’m supposed to take your word for it?”

  Maurice's smile never wavered.

  “If you don’t prove who you are, I’ll have you executed. Right here. Right now.”

  Even while uttering a death sentence, his voice remained soft. His demeanor, welcoming.

  This man was incredibly dangerous.

  Bastien’s hands felt cold, but he forced himself to stay composed.

  “M-my father gave me this letter for you.”

  He extended the envelope with both hands.

  Green took it, breaking the seal with elegant precision.

  For a few minutes, he read in complete silence.

  Then, he sighed.

  "Life has a way of being ironic..."

  His smile didn’t fade, but his gaze darkened.

  And in that moment, his aura turned black.

  Darker.

  Darker than even Alex Aster’s.

  "Did you read this letter?"

  Bastien’s chest tightened.

  Fear clawed at his throat.

  But then he remembered his grandfather’s warning.

  "Do not show weakness. Not even a sliver."

  Fear had no place here.

  Or rather, if it existed, it had to be hidden.

  “My father forbade me, sir. I would never disobey him.”

  “Do not worry. Trust me.”

  Maurice blinked.

  For a brief second, he looked surprised.

  Then, he chuckled.

  This boy…

  A child was telling Maurice Green not to worry?

  It was ironic.

  It was absurd.

  And yet—Green liked him.

  He had guts.

  His smile returned.

  "Good. Very good."

  He leaned back into his seat.

  "Your father and I made an agreement. I will help you escape the city… and the empire."

  "But," he continued, voice like silk, "nothing in this world is free."

  "The task I will entrust to you is of the highest importance. I need you to cross the magical border between Concordia and Tempestas."

  "Only you can do it. Because of the blood in your veins."

  Bastien’s breath caught.

  "How do you know about that?"

  Maurice’s expression didn’t change.

  "I fought in the Great War, boy. I know things you don’t."

  His tone left no room for doubt.

  "Listen carefully."

  "You will travel through the underground sewer networks beneath the Lower City. Once outside the capital, a transport will be waiting."

  "You will take the main road to Sarnath, a rural town at the empire’s edge."

  "There, you will go to the Old Oak Inn and ask for Ignatus Vincent. He will guide you to the Tempest Border."

  "Once you cross, you’re on your own."

  Bastien nodded slowly.

  "You will not go alone."

  Maurice gestured toward the red-haired woman.

  "Selena will accompany you."

  "She will oversee the mission."

  "She will keep you alive."

  Bastien glanced at her.

  Her face was expressionless.

  "Understood?"

  Maurice’s voice cut like a knife.

  Bastien nodded again.

  "Give me your hand."

  Maurice’s tone brooked no refusal.

  Bastien obeyed, offering his left hand.

  Green pulled a razor-sharp knife from his belt.

  Before Bastien could react, a deep slash cut across his thumb.

  “What are you doing?” Bastien gasped.

  Maurice caught a drop of blood in a small glass vial and sealed it shut.

  "This is the initiation rite we all go through."

  "From this moment on, your life belongs to the family."

  Maurice clapped his hands.

  The car door swung open.

  A silent command.

  Bastien **understood.

  "He is my... former master. A close-combat specialist. He wields a divine blade—be careful. If you get too close, it will slow your movements… and accelerate his."

  "Chronos, enough talk. You’re coming with me. If you surrender now, I will plead on your behalf. I know this is all your father’s doing. Surrender, admit your mistakes, and the tribunal will grant you a short sentence. I promise—I will save you.

  This is your last chance. If you refuse, I will execute you myself."

  As he finished his words, he unsheathed his white and gold sword, and the sheer pressure of his magic filled the tunnel, even making a seasoned warrior like Selena tense.

  "He’s strong," she noted. "We attack together."

  "I know. I’ll engage him head-on, and you’ll take his back using your stealth. Execute the plan."

  Bastien gathered his magic, channeling it into every muscle, fueling his brain, activating his combat analysis mode. In an instant, he identified the weak spot—opposite the blade’s trajectory—and launched himself toward his former master.

  Aster saw him coming and swung a circular slash in anticipation. Bastien halted just before impact, dropped low, planted his feet, and launched an uppercut. Aster evaded with a half-step back—just enough time to counterattack.

  A devastating punch slammed into Bastien’s abdomen, sending him stumbling. He barely kept from being thrown by gripping Aster’s left arm, instinctively activating a rarely used magic—manipulation.

  A telekinetic force wrapped around Aster’s sword arm, locking it in place.

  "Now!"

  Selena emerged from the darkness, moving with grace and precision. In an instant, she was behind Aster, twin daggers in hand—Thoron, the dagger of lightning, and Emilius, the dagger of ice. They were not legendary weapons, but they were lethal.

  Just as her blades neared their target, an explosion of magic repelled them both.

  Aster had activated a defensive barrier, an advanced magical shield standard among elite police officers. The strength of the barrier depended on the user—and Aster was one of the strongest.

  Bastien and Selena were on the ground, at his mercy.

  "You’re weak, Bastien. Too weak."

  He stepped toward his fallen student, sword ready, and swung horizontally.

  Desperate, Bastien blocked with his still-sheathed runic sword—he would fight to the end.

  "Give up, or I’ll kill you… just as I killed your father."

  "What?"

  Bastien had avoided the thought, perhaps out of fear. But now, there was no denying it.

  "Your father is dead?"

  "I severed his head myself."

  The world collapsed beneath Bastien’s feet.

  Everything—his past, his beliefs, his last ties to Concordia—shattered.

  The father he loved had been slain by the mentor he had once revered.

  How?

  Why?

  Was it his fault?

  Confusion turned to sorrow.

  Sorrow turned into something else.

  A violent wind burst from Bastien’s body.

  Selena and Aster were hurled backward.

  Bastien stood alone. The storm within him had awakened.

  It was midnight. The seal had broken.

  Bastien’s body transformed.

  His hair darkened.

  His muscles expanded.

  His skin took on a deeper hue.

  His facial features changed entirely.

  Pure rage radiated from him.

  He hated the world.

  He hated Alex Aster.

  Instinctively, he unsheathed the runic sword, and in an instant, an electric surge coursed through his veins.

  Bastien was powerful.

  And the world was not ready.

  "What are you?" Aster murmured. "Who are you really?"

  "Shut up, scum."

  "You will pay for your crimes—I will kill you myself!"

  With a flick of his wrist, Bastien redirected the lightning magic and unleashed it toward Aster.

  His former master, momentarily caught off guard, failed to activate his barrier in time.

  Selena watched in shock.

  This boy, who only hours ago had struggled to match her speed, now surpassed her entirely.

  Bastien gave Aster no room to breathe, immediately slashing at his left flank.

  Aster barely blocked with his divine sword.

  At the same moment, another lightning surge hit him. He countered instantly, releasing a time-slowing curse—Bastien was hit directly.

  His body lagged.

  Bastien swung again. Missed.

  A second strike. Missed.

  A third—only air.

  Aster was too fast.

  Bastien could feel it—the power boost from the seal breaking was fading.

  He had to end this.

  So he channeled everything into one last strike.

  Both master and student lunged at the same time.

  Their blades clashed.

  No one could tell—

  Who would be the last one standing?