In the study room of the Valtheran manor, Darius stood by the window, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

  "Uncle," Alice’s voice broke the silence, "is something wrong?"

  Darius didn’t respond immediately. "I was wondering," he said at last, "if Arayn will be all right. He’s made enemies of the other candidates."

  Alice, sitting comfortably on the plush velvet chair nearby, gave a faint smirk. "He’s arrogant, yes," she admitted, "but he’s also smart. He knows what he’s doing."

  She leaned back, folding her arms thoughtfully. "Do you remember when the cult held that contest? The one to see who could learn and master a difficult ability the quickest?"

  Darius turned slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "How could I forget?" he replied. "That’s when he won... and used the chance to ask the Sovereign to adopt him."

  Alice laughed, the sound ringing lightly through the room. "And later, he told me the real reason why. He didn’t join our family for loyalty or prestige. He only wanted a chance to be rude to his father—because a father might scold a son for disrespect, but he wouldn’t punish him with death." She shook her head, amusement shining in her eyes. "Truly, Arayn is a shrewd guy."

  Darius raised a brow, his gaze softening. "You seem to care for him a great deal."

  Alice’s cheeks flushed, and she turned away, her voice quick and defensive. "O-of course I do! He’s my little brother, after all."

  Darius chuckled at her response. "Then let’s hope everything goes according to his plan," he said.

  ---

  As Arayn made his way toward the forest, the sound of splintering wood and muffled voices reached his ears. Up ahead, he spotted a group of cult members surrounding the shattered remains of a carriage. Its wheels lay broken, its contents scattered across the dirt path like discarded refuse.

  Walking past the scene, Arayn barely spared it a glance—until two of the cultists noticed him. They stiffened, then quickly bowed. "Lord Arayn Azael," one of them greeted, "we didn’t expect to see you here."

  Arayn paused, turning his sharp gaze on them. "What happened here?"

  The first cultist gestured to the wreckage with a gloved hand. "This carriage belonged to a spy from the Varondale Kingdom," he explained. "We’ve been tasked with ensuring no news of what is happening in Duskwatch Town escapes beyond these borders."

  Arayn’s eyes narrowed slightly, his expression unreadable as he studied their faces. After a moment, his tone turned casual, almost teasing. "You seem to be enjoying yourselves."

  The second cultist scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "Well... it’s our first time outside the cult," he admitted, his voice carrying a mix of excitement and nerves. "We’re just glad to finally be useful."

  Arayn held their gaze, searching for any trace of deceit, but found none. Their sincerity was evident, shining through their words like unpolished gems. A faint smile curved his lips.

  "You are worthy," he said. "Keep up the good work."

  The two cultists straightened, their faces lighting up with pride as they saluted him. "Yes, Lord Arayn!" they chorused, their voices ringing with fervor.

  With a final glance at the wreckage, Arayn resumed his journey, the faint rustle of leaves and distant cries of the forest accompanying his steps.

  The forest stretched endlessly before Arayn. He crouched low, twin [Cursed Fang] blades glinting faintly in his hands with the Bloodthorn Beasts circling him.

  A blur of crimson burst from the brush—thorn-covered hide gleaming like armor. Arayn sidestepped just as its claws raked the space he had occupied. Pivoting sharply, he drove a fang into its exposed flank, the cursed weapon sinking deep before he ripped it free.

  Another beast unleashed a deadly volley of bristles. Arayn dived behind the nearest tree, the projectiles embedding themselves in the bark. He pressed his back to the trunk, eyes scanning for an opening.

  The creatures prowled closer, as if sensing his retreat. Arayn bolted, weaving between the trees until he reached a small clearing. The beasts followed, their snarls echoing as they emerged into the open.

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  He stopped abruptly, planting his feet. The Bloodthorn Beasts hesitated, their thorny hides bristling with menace. Then they surged forward together. Arayn hurled one of his fangs into their midst, the blade spinning through the air before embedding itself into the ground. A flash of energy erupted, scattering the beasts like ragdolls.

  When the dust settled, two remained. One charged, its claws raised high. Arayn ducked under the swipe and plunged his remaining fang into its chest, twisting viciously. With a grunt, he swung the lifeless body into the path of the last beast, momentarily staggering it.

  Taking his chance, Arayn stepped back and hurled the second fang. The blade pierced the creature’s eye. It dropped instantly, collapsing into the blood-soaked dirt.

  [Dexterity increased by 1.]

  Arayn allowed himself a small smirk, wiping the sweat from his brow as he reached into his pouch and pulled out a rolled scroll. He unfurled it, revealing intricate runes etched in dark ink across its surface. The Soul Gathering Scroll.

  The air around him shifted, growing heavier, almost electric. A faint shimmer rose from the lifeless bodies of the Bloodthorn Beasts, their forms trembling as faint wisps of light began to emerge. The beasts’ souls.

  The glowing wisps floated upward, circling lazily before they were drawn to the scroll like moths to a flame. The runes pulsed faintly as each soul entered the parchment, disappearing into its depths.

  Arayn watched the process with detached interest, his gaze flicking from the empty husks of the beasts to the now-glowing symbols on the scroll. This was the item granted to every cult member—a tool to harvest the remnants of the fallen.

  Once the last soul vanished into the scroll, he rolled it up and tucked it away. His hunt was far from over. He needed to gather more souls to purchase items he had been eyeing since the start of the deathmatch.

  But his focus was interrupted. A sudden rustle from the bushes drew his attention, followed by a blur of motion. Arayn twisted just in time to avoid a swipe from sharp claws.

  Standing before him was a towering man with unkempt hair and eyes that gleamed with a feral light. His lips curled into a grin that revealed elongated canines.

  Arayn took a step back and asked, "You dare to ambush me, Worm?"

  The man’s grin widened. "Sorry about that. I was just testing you. The name is Thalric of the Silverfang Clan. Prepare yourself, Arayn Azael."

  Arayn tilted his head slightly, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "A werewolf? Ah, I see." His voice lowered, laced with subtle mockery. "So, you’re helping one of the candidates, then."

  Thalric chuckled. "Who knows?" he said, his words as ambiguous as his grin.

  Without warning, Thalric lunged forward again, his clawed hands slashing through the air. Arayn barely managed to sidestep the attack. The force of the swipe tore into a nearby tree, leaving deep gashes in its bark.

  Thalric swiped his claws through the air, unleashing slash beams that cut toward Arayn. As the beams expanded, their reach widened to block any chance of a sidestep. Arayn, unfazed, activated [Demonic Step], propelling himself backward.

  The slash beams twisted midair, relentlessly pursuing him. Arayn’s sharp eyes caught the growing gaps between them, and he shifted his weight. With a leap, he darted between the openings, narrowly escaping.

  Thalric narrowed his eyes, observing him closely. "It’s not just speed. "What’s this? Your movements—they’re agile, flexible. That’s not the grace of someone with low dexterity stat."

  Arayn stayed silent. In one fluid motion, he hurled three fangs at Thalric. The man crouched low, dodging the projectiles with ease.

  A faint smile tugged at Arayn’s lips as he murmured in the ancient demon tongue, "Kharz'othan, syrr vosh ul’tar."

  The fangs, as if obeying his command, twisted mid-flight and veered back toward Thalric. Before they could strike, a burst of purple beams shot out of nowhere, colliding with the fangs and detonating them in a fiery explosion.

  Arayn’s gaze snapped toward the source of the interruption. "Which worm dares to interrupt our duel?"

  A woman’s laughter echoed through the trees, sharp and mocking. From behind a thick trunk stepped Saria Kaelthara.

  Arayn turned his gaze toward her, then flicked his eyes to Thalric. The slight tension in their postures told him enough—they didn’t know each other.

  A faint smirk curled on Arayn’s lips. "I see now whose master you serve, Mutt. Eryndor wouldn’t stoop to this. No, the way my senses dulled here—it’s clear. Your master is Lyssa. So tell me, Lyssa, where are you hiding?"

  The air warped unnaturally as a figure stepped forward. Lyssa emerged, her expression uneasy as she approached Thalric.

  The werewolf shook his head, a faint growl rumbling in his throat. "You should’ve stayed hidden, Master."

  Saria chuckled softly, folding her arms as her eyes glinted with amusement. "Lyssa," she drawled, "it seems we’re after the same target. How about we join forces, as fellow girls, to eliminate him first? Wouldn’t that be efficient?"

  Thalric glanced at Lyssa and nodded. "It’s not a bad suggestion," he said flatly.

  Lyssa hesitated, shifting uncomfortably under Arayn’s piercing gaze. Finally, she gave a shaky nod. "Fine."

  Arayn’s laughter rang out. "Typical, but knowing you... I knew you wouldn’t dare face me alone. So, where’s your mercenary, worm?"

  Saria tilted her head. "I’ve no idea what you mean," she replied, her voice honeyed with false innocence. "But let’s be real. You have made enemies of other candidates. Besides," she added with a sly grin, "you’re misunderstanding something important. You’re no longer in your prime, Azael. Oh yes, I know. The final fight in the Pit took its toll, didn’t it? You’ve lost a hefty chunk of your dexterity stat since then."

  She leaned forward, her tone taunting. "I could take you down on my own, but… why take the risk? Teaming up to crush you sounds like a much safer bet."

  With a sudden rustle of leaves, Kaelion leaped from a high branch and landed before Thalric. His sharp eyes swept over the group, lingering briefly on Lyssa and Saria before his lips curled into a smirk. "Hold on, can I join this little temporary alliance?"

  Saria’s grin widened. "With pleasure," she replied.

  Thalric rose to his full height, rolling his shoulders and stretching his limbs as if preparing for a long battle. His gaze locked onto Arayn. "So, Big Deal Arayn, will you run, now that it’s four against one?"