The atmosphere in the auction hall shifted as the final three lots were unveiled. Shimmering under the concentrated magelight, three Rare-grade artifacts took center stage: a heavy blade, a suit of liquid-silver soft armor, and an ornate bracelet. These were the evening’s crown jewels, the "Apex Trio."
"Mr. Ji, bid for the armor if you like, but give it to Kieran. I don't need it," Ethan said, his voice flat as he looked at the defensive gear. Between the absolute resilience of his Undying Constitution and the Deathless Ward tucked away in his Forbidden Incantations, a breastplate was little more than a fashion statement.
"Kieran is already geared for his level," Mr. Ji replied, his brow furrowing as he studied Ethan. "If it’s not the armor, then the bracelet? It has a decent mana-regen proc."
"No." Ethan’s eyes were locked on the weapon. "I want the sword."
Kieran blinked, looking between his friend and the heavy blade. "Lyle, you’re a Forbidden Incantator. Since when do casters carry three feet of cold steel?"
"I have an Incantation that requires a specific medium," Ethan said, offering no further explanation.
Back in the Initiate's Rift, upon hitting Level 10, Ethan had unlocked a specific branch of his forbidden library. It wasn't a spell in the traditional sense, but a martial paradox.
[Forbidden Incantation: Lifespan Swordsmanship]
Effect: Each strike consumes 1 year of the user’s Lifespan. Damage doubles cumulatively with every consecutive hit, stacking up to 99 times.
To anyone else, the skill was a suicide pact. To Ethan, it was a god-slaying engine. His base strength sat at a modest 160, but the math behind the skill was terrifying. If he ignited Samsara Burn and reached the 99th stack, the resulting damage output wouldn't just kill a target—it would erase their very concept from existence. He didn’t need complex casting cycles or cooldowns. With a blade in hand, every basic swing became a tactical nuke.
The only hurdle was the hardware. He had tested the skill with a kitchen knife back at the slums; the blade had disintegrated into metallic dust by the second swing. He needed a weapon that wouldn't shatter under the weight of his stolen years.
Mr. Ji didn't understand the logic, but he respected the conviction in Ethan’s gaze. He sat out the bidding for the armor—which went to another Verdant City mogul—and watched as Caelum Ashford secured the bracelet for his daughter. When the blade finally hit the block, Mr. Ji struck with the full weight of the Ji Estate’s coffers.
Kensen tried to drive the price up out of spite, but Mr. Ji didn't flinch. For twenty-eight million credits, the hammer fell.
[Starfall: Heavenscar]
Grade: Rare
Requirements: Level 15
Attribute: +300 Strength (Reforgeable)
Passive: [Starlight Surge] – While under the night sky or starlight, the blade’s physical scaling increases by up to 100%.
The weapon was delivered to their private booth. It was a masterpiece of smithing—three feet of deep, midnight steel that seemed to swallow the room’s light, etched with glowing silver veins that mimicked constellations. When Ethan’s fingers closed around the hilt, the metal hummed. The silver etchings flared, casting a rhythmic, celestial glow against the walls.
"Perfect," Ethan whispered.
He was only Level 16, but with six pieces of high-tier gear now soul-bound to him, he was no longer just a "glass cannon" caster. He was a walking anomaly. If he pushed his luck and ignored the risk of being exposed, he felt confident he could trade blows with a Level 30 Awakened.
As the auctioneer, Clara, offered her closing remarks with a practiced, sugary smile, the gala began to disperse.
Kensen paused as he passed their booth, locking eyes with Mr. Ji. He didn’t say a word, simply tracing a slow, jagged line across his own throat with a thumb before disappearing into the crowd.
"Kieran, take Ethan and head back," Mr. Ji said, his eyes narrowing as he watched Kensen's back. "I have business to settle with the organizers."
"You got it, Dad," Kieran said, losing his bravado the moment his father took that tone.
"Let's move, Lyle," Kieran waved. Ethan followed silently. He knew he was using the Ji family’s resources, but he wasn't ungrateful. He’d make sure Kieran hit Level 10—and stayed alive—the moment they stepped outside the city walls.
Near the exit, Nira Ashford watched them leave, her lip curling in disgust. "I don't know what the Ji Estate sees in that coward. Buying him a Rare-grade kit? What a waste of credits."
"Nira, focus," Violet Liu interrupted, looking at her phone. Her expression shifted from boredom to a strange, pale intensity. "News from the Bureau. About that 'Ashveil' you’ve been looking for."
Nira’s heart skipped. "Where is he? Is he okay?"
"It’s not good news. A farmstead on the outskirts was completely razed. Dozens dead. The investigators found traces of Karmic Flame. They think it was him."
Nira stiffened. "Murder? That's impossible. He saved me. Take me there. Now."
The Verdant Farmstead was a blackened scar on the earth. The fire had been so intense it had vitrified the soil into a dark, glassy crust.
"This is it," Nira whispered, stepping over a charred fence post. "The scent of the flame... it’s exactly like the Rift."
She was a SSS-Rank Pyromage; fire didn't just have a look to her—it had a signature. The power lingering here was ancient, heavy, and undeniably Ashveil’s.
A middle-aged man in a charcoal trench coat approached them, flipping open a notebook. "Nira Ashford? Violet Liu? I’m Inspector Huang. Thanks for coming on such short notice."
Huang was a Truth Seeker, a specialized utility class for the Bureau of Investigation. He didn't need a polygraph; he could feel the resonance of a lie in the air.
"Let’s skip the pleasantries," Huang said. "You claimed Ashveil used Karmic Flame to one-shot a Level 8 elite. Can you identify him?"
"I’ve been trying to find him for days," Nira replied. "He vanished the moment we cleared the Rift."
"Right. One more name for you. Do you know an Ethan Lyle?"
Nira didn't hesitate. "The coward from the Grand Trial? Yes. I know him."
Huang’s eyes sharpened, searching for a tremor in her voice. "Our preliminary profile suggests Lyle and Ashveil might be the same person. The timelines overlap."
Nira burst into a cold, mocking laugh. "Ethan Lyle as Ashveil? Inspector, you’re joking. That man ran the second things got dangerous. He doesn't have a heroic bone in his body, let alone the power to wield Karmic Flame. They couldn't be more different."
Huang watched her closely. He sensed no deception. To Nira, this was the absolute truth. He sighed and drew a thick 'X' through Ethan’s name in his notes.
"If he's not our guy, we're back to square one," Huang muttered, rubbing his temples. The site belonged to Kensen’s corporation, and the victims were all underworld thugs who weren't on any official payroll. Kensen was refusing to cooperate, making the identification of the dead nearly impossible. "Thanks for your time, Nira. If you remember anything else..."
"Of course," Nira said, her face a mask of cooperation.
As they walked back to the car, Huang’s eyes narrowed. He felt a faint prickle of dissonance. Nira hadn't lied about Ethan, but she was holding something back now. But she was a Lord’s daughter; without a smoking gun, he couldn't push her.
"Violet, hurry!" Nira hissed the moment they were inside the car. Her face was flushed with a frantic, excited energy.
"Nira, what's wrong? Ashveil just killed forty people!"
"There had to be a reason! He’s a hero, not a monster," Nira insisted, her fingers trembling as she gripped the steering wheel. "I can still feel it. The embers of his flame are still in the air. It’s faint, but I can track it!"
She wasn't just a Pyromage; she was a SSS-Rank prodigy. To her, the lingering mana was a breadcrumb trail that no mundane investigator could see. She followed the invisible scent of burnt karma through the neon-lit streets of the upper district, down into the gray, smog-choked industrial zones, and finally into the rotting gut of the city: The Hollow.
The two girls, dressed in designer gowns, looked like misplaced spirits amidst the filth and trash of the slums. Men with hollow eyes and predatory grins watched them from the shadows, but one stray fireball from Nira sent a clear message: don't touch.
Finally, Nira stopped in front of a cramped, peeling door in a crumbling tenement building.
"The trail ends here," she whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs. "This is where he lives."
She reached out to knock, then stopped. She frantically smoothed her dress, tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and looked at Violet. "Is my makeup okay? Do I look... alright?"
"You're tracking a mass murderer and you're worried about your mascara?" Violet groaned. "You have it bad, Nira. This is a total disaster."
"Shut up," Nira breathed, taking a deep, steadying breath. With a trembling hand, she finally knocked on the door of the man she thought was her savior.