The hollow thud-thud-thud of knuckles against wood drifted into the stillness of the night.
One minute passed. Then two. By the third, the silence was deafening.
Nira Ashford frowned, her patience fraying. She raised her hand for a heavier strike, but the moment her fist connected, the door groaned and swung inward. It wasn’t even latched. Ethan Lyle didn’t believe in locks—mostly because a thief would’ve felt compelled to leave a charity donation after seeing the state of his apartment.
"Ashveil? You in there?" Nira whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs. She peered into the darkness, but the shadows offered no reply. "Ashveil, I’m coming in."
She stepped over the threshold, and the reality of his life hit her like a physical blow. The air tasted of dust and old dampness. A single, grease-stained table sat lopsided in the center of the room, flanked by a stool with only three legs. In the corner stood a rusted iron bed frame topped with a thin, threadbare mattress and a pillow so faded its original color was a mystery.
That was it. That was the entirety of his world.
Nira’s throat tightened. Her eyes stung as she took in the crushing poverty of the place. Is this where he grew up? she wondered, her heart aching. In this hollow shell?
It explained everything—the icy demeanor, the way he looked at the world as if it were an enemy, the walls he built around himself. He hadn’t been born cold; the world had frozen him out. Yet, despite the bitterness of his upbringing, he hadn't hesitated to save her. He lived in the dirt, but his soul was aimed at the stars.
"He had to have a reason," she murmured, her conviction hardening. A man who survived this without losing his humanity wouldn't kill without cause. She was certain of it now: Ashveil was a protector, not a monster.
Ethan Lyle, meanwhile, was blissfully unaware that Nira Ashford was currently canonizing him as a saint of the slums. He was also unaware that his secret identity had narrowly escaped exposure. If he hadn’t relocated to the Ji Estate, he would’ve walked right into Nira’s interrogation.
Right now, Ethan was preoccupied with his new loot. He felt like a walking powder keg. With his current loadout, his raw combat effectiveness had easily doubled, if not tripled. He was itching to let loose, but Verdant City was under lockdown. The Rifts were closed, and the gates were barred.
"I need a place to test this gear, Kieran," Ethan said, pacing the marble floors of the Ji villa. "Somewhere I can actually swing a sword without bringing the roof down."
Kieran Ji didn't miss a beat. "The Awakened Guild, Boss. They have high-tier combat chambers specifically for live-fire training."
As they drove toward the city center, Kieran gave him the rundown. The Awakened Guild wasn't just a club; it was a state-run juggernaut under the Dominion of Xia. They handled everything: material processing, gear auctions, mercenary contracts, and specialized training. If you were an Awakened, the Guild was the center of your universe.
The facility sat near the main city gates, a monolith of glass and reinforced steel. As soon as Ethan and Kieran stepped inside, a receptionist in a sharp uniform—and legs that seemed to go on forever—floated toward them.
"Good evening, gentlemen. Are we looking for a combat suite tonight?"
"Not for me," Kieran said, stepping back to give Ethan the floor. "The Boss needs a room."
"Understood," she said, flashing Ethan a practiced, professional smile. "May I ask your current level so I can recommend a suitable chamber?"
Ethan let his aura flare slightly, revealing his Level 16 status. The receptionist’s smile didn’t waver. "Level 16. Very well. I’ll book you into a Tier 1 room, rated for Awakened up to Level 20. The rate is 200,000 credits per hour."
Ethan winced. Two hundred grand? Being an Awakened was a rich man’s game. Luckily, he had Kieran’s credit line.
"Actually... can you give me something rated for Level 40?" Ethan asked.
The receptionist paused, her professional mask slipping for a split second. She looked him up and down, checking for a hidden aura or perhaps signs of insanity. "Sir, the Tier 3 suites are significantly more expensive. Eight hundred thousand credits per hour. And the defensive arrays are... quite unforgiving if you aren't prepared."
"Just book it," Ethan said.
Minutes later, she returned with a keycard. "Your suite is ready. This way, please."
"Wait out here," Ethan told Kieran as they reached the heavy titanium doors. "I don't want to accidentally clip you."
Kieran flashed back to the image of Ethan’s World-Rending Tempest nearly turning him into mist. He didn't need to be told twice. "You got it, Boss. I'll be at the lounge."
Ethan stepped inside. The room was massive, the size of a professional basketball court, lined with reinforced plating. In the center stood a row of training dummies made of a dull, grey composite. According to the manual, these were crafted by SS-Class Architects to withstand the full-throttle assault of a Level 40 Awakened.
"Do you require a combat sparring partner?" the receptionist asked from the door.
"No. I work better alone."
"Understood. Enjoy your session." She closed the door, the heavy seals locking with a pressurized hiss.
Ethan didn’t move until he’d swept the room for cameras. Finding none, he finally exhaled and drew the Starfall: Heavenscar. The blade hummed in his hand, hungry for a soul.
"Lifespan Swordsmanship," Ethan whispered. "One year of life per swing? Let’s see what a hundred looks like."
He centered his breathing, the world around him narrowing to a single point.
"Forbidden Incantation: Samsara Burn."
"Forbidden Incantation: Lifespan Swordsmanship."
The air in the room suddenly felt heavy, charged with a terrifying, ancient pressure. Ethan’s eyes turned cold, deep as a void. He swung.
The first strike wasn't a sound; it was a concussion. A shockwave tore through the air, and a sliver of brilliant, white light bled from the blade—his very life force, converted into pure destruction.
He didn't stop.
The second strike was faster. The third ripped the oxygen from the room. By the tenth, Ethan was a blur of motion, the Starfall: Heavenscar carving arcs of ruin through the air.
At the ninety-ninth strike, the training room began to shudder. The reinforced walls groaned under the sheer weight of the energy. Light exploded from the blade, blinding and absolute. A wave of invisible force slammed into the lead dummy, leaving a deep, jagged gash across its neck.
Anyone watching would have lost their mind. These dummies were designed to ignore Level 16 attacks like they were mosquito bites. Ethan wasn't just scratching them; he was threatening their structural integrity.
And he was just warming up.
One hundred. One hundred and one. One hundred and two.
The stacks of Lifespan Swordsmanship reached critical mass. Every swing now carried the weight of a god’s wrath. Ethan moved like a reaper, a whirlwind of forbidden power. With a final, guttural roar, he brought the blade down in a vertical cleave.
CRACK.
The "indestructible" head of the Level 40 training dummy snapped off its shoulders and went bouncing across the floor like a discarded toy.
"Hell of a blade," Ethan panted, wiping sweat from his brow. He looked at the Starfall: Heavenscar with genuine affection. With this weapon and his Forbidden Incantations, he didn't just have a chance—he could carve a path through the heavens themselves.
He spent the rest of the hour testing his other gear. He activated the Gilded Dragon's Grace and the Azure Tempest ring, then dropped a Forbidden Incantation that required the sacrifice of his internal organs.
The result was horrific. The dummy didn't just break; it detonated into a cloud of composite dust.
Ethan stared at the crater where the dummy had been. He’d underestimated himself. If he truly went all out—and didn't have to worry about revealing his Undying Constitution—he could probably go toe-to-toe with a Level 35 Awakened and walk away the victor.
Satisfied, he sheathed his sword and walked out.
"Finished already?" the receptionist asked, glancing at the clock. "I’m afraid we still have to charge for the full hour."
"That's fine," Ethan said, his voice casual. "Quick question: do I have to pay for the equipment in there? If it, uh... breaks?"
The woman chuckled, a light, melodic sound. "Sir, you're very humorous. Those chambers are rated for Level 40 combatants. If a Level 16 Awakened could actually damage the equipment, it would mean the manufacturer’s quality was at fault, not you. There’s no liability for damage."
"Good to know," Ethan muttered. "Let's go, Kieran."
He practically dragged Kieran out of the building. Once they were gone, the receptionist stepped into the room to reset the arrays. She hummed to herself, expecting to see a few scorch marks on the floor at most.
She stopped in the doorway. Her jaw dropped. Her tablet slid from her fingers and shattered on the floor.
"What the hell...?"
The row of Level 40 dummies was gone. In their place was a field of jagged shrapnel and a single, headless torso slumped against the wall.
While Ethan was busy pulverizing state-of-the-art tech, the Ji Estate was being plunged into chaos.
"God, it’s freezing. You got a light?"
At the main gate, two guards—one stout, one lanky—were shivering over a shared pack of cigarettes. They were low-level Awakened, barely past Level 10. They lacked the stomach for Rift-diving, so they settled for the high pay and low risk of corporate security. Usually, the worst they dealt with was a drunk driver.
"Damn it," the stout one grunted, clutching his stomach. "Every time I smoke, my gut does a flip. Watch the gate, I gotta go find a bush."
"The hell? We have a bathroom in the guard shack, you animal," the lanky one sneered.
"Nature is my bathroom, man. It’s about energy flow," the stout guard countered, already waddling toward a thick line of ornamental hedges.
He pushed through the leaves, unbuckling his belt. He looked down to find a spot, and his heart stopped.
The bushes weren't empty. They were packed with men in matte-black tactical gear.
Before he could even draw breath to scream, a gloved hand clamped over his mouth. A blade slid between his ribs with surgical precision, finding his heart in the dark. He felt his life draining into the soil, his "energy flow" ending in a cold, wet heap.
The lanky guard at the gate frowned. The cherry of his partner's cigarette had vanished. "Fatty? You fall in? I can’t see you."
In the bushes, the lead assassin cursed under his breath. They’d planned a synchronized silent takedown, but the fat guard’s sudden bowel movement had forced their hand.
"Go! Now!"
The black-clad figures surged out of the greenery like shadows come to life.
"CONTACT! WE HAVE CONTACT!" the lanky guard shrieked, fumbling for his alarm remote. He didn't stay to fight; he wasn't paid enough to die for Vance Corporation. He slammed the red button and bolted toward the main house.
It was enough.
A piercing siren shattered the silence of the estate. Every floodlight on the property flared to life at once, turning the night into day. Inside the villa, the Ji family woke to the sound of war arriving at their doorstep.