Nira Ashford let out a sharp, incredulous bark of laughter, the sound cutting through the tension in the room.
"Are you serious? You’re insulting Ashveil just by mentioning them in the same breath," Nira said, shaking her head as if to clear the absurdity of her father’s suggestion. "Ethan Lyle? The guy is a coward. He practically tripped over himself running away from the Dragonblood Colossus. He couldn't even hold a candle to Ashveil’s shadow."
She leaned back, her expression shifting from amusement to pure disdain. "Besides, Ashveil’s mastery over fire is beyond anything a bottom-feeder like Ethan could dream of. He was wielding Karmic Flame, for God's sake. If Ethan Lyle and Ashveil ever turned out to be the same person, I’d spend the rest of my life as his personal servant. But they aren't. One is a god, the other is... nothing."
Nira would rather believe she’d hallucinated the entire encounter than accept a reality where those two were the same man.
Caelum Ashford didn't push it. He merely adjusted his glasses, a faint, calculating glint reflecting off the lenses. "Is that so? Perhaps you’re right."
The moon hung like a silver coin over the city, its light bleeding into the grimy streets of the slums.
Ethan Lyle let out a long, ragged exhale as he stepped into his shack. The Hollow was a labyrinth of open sewers and rotting timber, but for him, it was the only place that felt like a fortress.
He slumped into a rickety chair, his pulse finally slowing, though his eyes burned with a manic intensity.
Level 16.
SSS-rank Forbidden Incantator.
Sixteen Forbidden Incantations burned into his soul.
The days of being a defenseless "Unawakened" were dead. Even if the authorities discovered his Undying Constitution, he wasn't a lamb for the slaughter anymore. He could flee the city, vanish into the dead zones or the deep mountains. He finally had the one thing he’d been craving his entire life: leverage.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
A sudden rapping at the door jolted him. Ethan’s hand instinctively twitched, mana beginning to coil in his veins. Nobody came to The Hollow at night unless they were looking to die or steal—and the people here were too poor to rob.
He stood, moved to the door, and wrenched it open.
Standing in the muck was a middle-aged man in a charcoal-grey suit that cost more than the entire block. He clutched a leather briefcase, looking entirely out of place amidst the filth.
"Ethan Lyle? I’ve been looking everywhere for you," the man said, mopping sweat from his brow with a silk handkerchief. He extended a hand. "Wren, Manager at Verdant NeuroKing Supplements."
Ethan stared at the damp, outstretched hand and felt no desire to touch it.
"Sorry about the sweat," Wren laughed nervously, wiping his palm on his trousers. "The car couldn't make it down these... alleys. Had to hike it."
"What do you want?" Ethan asked, his voice flat.
"Straight to the point. I like that! Look, you’re the SSS-class prodigy who just shattered the record for the Initiate's Rift. My company wants in. We want you to be the face of our new campaign."
Wren held up three fingers. "Thirty thousand credits for a single ad spot."
Ethan didn't blink, but internally, he felt a bitter irony. A few days ago, he’d sold nearly every non-essential organ in his body just to scrape together ten thousand. Now, for a few photos, he was being offered three times that. In the old world, that was the price of ten kidneys.
"Thirty is just the starting point," Wren pushed, sensing the silence. "If you sign on as the exclusive spokesperson for BrainLord Tonic and perform well in The Grand Trial, the board has authorized me to go as high as three million."
Ethan narrowed his eyes. He needed the money. Being an Awakened was a black hole for resources. His Infinite Hex Protocol meant he didn't need to buy skill books, but gear was a different story. Currently, the only "equipment" he owned was a generic ring from Principal Victor Gao that gave a pathetic +10 to Spirit.
"We shouldn't talk shop in a place like this," Wren said, gesturing to the overflowing trash cans. "Let me buy you dinner. We can finalize the details over a proper meal."
"Fine," Ethan nodded.
A black luxury sedan waited at the mouth of the alley. Ethan didn't recognize the brand, but the way the suspension hummed told him it was top-tier. Ten minutes later, they pulled up to a secluded farmhouse on the outskirts of the city.
"Don't let the look of it fool you," Wren chirped as they climbed out. "The Black Broker runs this place. Everything is organic. The chickens are free-range, the fish are fresh-caught, and the vegetables are grown right there in the yard using natural fertilizer. You can taste the difference. The chicken tastes like chicken, the fish tastes like fish, and the greens..."
"Taste like shit?" Ethan finished.
Wren’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "You’ve got a... unique sense of humor, Ethan. Let's head inside."
The interior smelled of fresh paint and expensive wood. They were led to a private booth where plates of steaming, aromatic food were already waiting. Ethan didn't hesitate. He began to eat with a focused intensity. Wren wasn't lying—the food was incredible. The chicken was succulent, the flavors rich and layered. For a kid who had grown up on flavored protein paste, this was heaven.
"Slow down, there’s plenty more," Wren said, a strange, oily smile spreading across his face as he watched Ethan eat.
"Thanks," Ethan mumbled through a mouthful of meat. "You’re a real pal."
Wren’s expression shifted, the friendly facade melting into something cold and predatory. "I try to be. Tell me, Ethan... are you feeling a bit lightheaded?"
Ethan paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. "Actually... yeah. A little."
His eyes rolled back, and his head hit the table with a dull thud.
"Pathetic," Wren spat, the mask fully off now. "I had three backup plans ready, and the brat falls for a laced chicken leg. What a waste of SSS-rank potential."
He stood up and kicked Ethan’s slumped form. The boy slid off the chair, hitting the floor like a sack of grain. Wren stepped forward, grinding the heel of his polished shoe into Ethan’s palm, twisting it until the skin tore and blood smeared the floor. Ethan didn't flinch.
Satisfied, Wren pulled out his phone. "It’s done. The pig is ready for slaughter."
Minutes later, the door slid open. A sharp-featured man stepped in—the same man Ethan had dealt with in the underground black market. The Black Broker.
"Good work," the Broker said, dismissing Wren with a wave.
"Listen," Wren said, looking uneasy. "This kid is a Grand Trial candidate. If the city finds out we snatched an SSS-rank..."
"The more you know, the faster you die," the Broker snapped. "Get out. Keep everyone away from this room. Kill anyone who tries to enter."
Wren paled, nodded, and scurried out, sealing the door behind him.
The Broker knelt beside Ethan, his eyes wide with a disturbing, scholarly hunger. He reached out with calloused hands, roaming over Ethan’s torso like a jeweler examining a diamond.
"Kidney... spleen... liver... gallbladder... appendix..." The Broker’s voice trembled with manic glee. "It’s all back. I can feel it. Everything I cut out of him... it grew back."
He stroked Ethan’s side with a terrifying tenderness. "If I can unlock the secret of this regeneration... if I can bottle this..."
"If you could," a voice whispered right in his ear, "even the high lords of the city would crawl to you on their knees."
"Exactly! They’d beg—" The Broker froze. His heart hammered against his ribs.
There were only two people in this room. And one of them was supposed to be in a chemical coma.
He whirled around.
Ethan Lyle was sitting up, his face devoid of emotion.
"You... that's impossible!" the Broker shrieked, scrambling back. "That dose could have put an elephant under for six hours!"
"Irrelevant," Ethan said, his voice cold as the grave. "I’m more curious about how you tracked me. I was careful when I left the exchange."
The Broker’s shock turned into a sneer. He drew a jagged, shimmering blade from his belt. "The drug was just to save time. You think you’re a match for me?"
A notification pinged in Ethan’s mind.
[Victor Jace | Phantom Bladedancer | Level 20]
A high-level speedster. No wonder he couldn't detect the tail.
"Kid, give up," Jace hissed, licking the flat of his blade. "I’d rather keep you in one piece, but I don't mind taking a few limbs if you make this difficult."
Ethan looked at him with something bordering on pity. It was like watching a toddler threaten a hurricane with a plastic toy.
Forbidden Incantation: Samsara Burn.
Crimson flames flickered around Ethan’s feet. He considered using World-Rending Tempest, but he didn't want to level the building and attract the authorities. He needed something surgical.
Forbidden Incantation: Eye of Eternal Frost.
(Effect: Sacrifice the user's sight to flash-freeze everything within the field of vision.)
Ethan’s pupils bled into a blinding, crystalline white. The world turned into a portrait of absolute zero.
Before Jace could even register the movement, frost bloomed across his chest.
"What—?"
Jace swung his blade, but the moment the steel touched the ice, sparks flew and the weapon shattered. The ice wasn't just cold; it was structurally reinforced by forbidden mana. Within seconds, the Broker was encased in a jagged pillar of frost from the neck down.
Ethan’s world plunged into total darkness. His retinas had withered to ash.
He didn't panic. He simply waited. A few seconds later, his Undying Constitution kicked in. His nerves reconnected, his lenses reformed, and the light returned. He blinked his brand-new eyes, testing their focus.
"Impossible..." Jace wheezed, his face turning a sickly shade of purple from the cold. "You’re Level 16... I’m 20... no spell can do this..."
"We can talk now," Ethan said, walking over to the table. He picked up the teapot and poured a fresh cup.
"Don't drink that!" Jace screamed, his voice cracking. "That’s loaded with the sedative too!"
Ethan didn't stop. He didn't care about the drugs; he just wanted to see if the Broker would talk faster if he thought his leverage was disappearing. He brought the cup to his lips and drained the poisoned tea in one long, deliberate gulp.