Date: January 9, 2018 (2 days before present)
Time: 11:22 AM | Location: Requiem Guild, Sylvia's Office, Sylvaris
Perspective: Sylvia
The silence in my office was heavy.
Outside, the Capital was bustling with the sounds of a million people, but my desk was a battlefield of ink and parchment. The bright morning sun streamed through the high windows, highlighting the dust motes dancing over reports of upcoming death and destruction. In less than 24 hours, the raid on the Mother of Despair would begin.
I leaned back, my silver hair spilling over the leather of my chair. My neck ached. My eyes burned from writing strategies since dawn.
"Probability of success: 52%," I whispered to the empty room.
It was a terrifying number. High-risk, high-reward. But in my world, any number that wasn't a 100% felt like a death sentence.
Cid Valthor. The S-Rank Necromancer. He was an egoist with a god complex. He didn't care about "synergy" or "logic." He just wanted to show off his rotting army. If he pushed too far into the Crater, he'd drag everyone down with him.
And then there was Celia.
The Queen of Curses. I looked at her mana-spike reports of the recent quests. It was jagged and irregular, like a heart monitor for a monster. She was the definition of a wild card. If she lost control—she'd probably start friendly firing.
"Alina... please be careful," I muttered, my voice losing its sharp, commander-like edge.
She was a Saint of Technique, a girl built on logic and mathematics. But logic didn't work against egoists and cursed princesses. If the frontline broke, she would be the one trying to patch the holes.
I felt a familiar, sharp pang of stress in my chest. It was a cold, hollow feeling that only one thing could fix.
I looked at the bottom drawer of my desk.
"No. You had two today, Sylvia. You're already getting fat," I told myself, pinching my waist.
But 52%...
I bit my lip. The stress won.
I reached down and shifted a hidden plate. Four distinct clicks echoed in the quiet room. One mechanical, one mana-sensitive, one fingerprint-coded, and one that required a specific sub-vibration of my magic.
The 4-Lock protocol.
The drawer slid open with a soft hiss. Inside, tucked behind a stack of boring budget reports, was a small, ornate box.
Dark Royal. The finest, most expensive chocolate in the continent.
I took out a single, dark square. The smell of rich, bitter cacao filled the air. My heart rate slowed just from the scent. I popped it into my mouth, letting the sweetness melt against my tongue.
"God... I'm a failure," I groaned, leaning my head back as the sugar hit my system. "I'm going to wake up tomorrow with a double chin and the Guild members will laugh at me."
I reached for a second one.
"Last one. Seriously. If I eat a third, I'll officially be a boulder. A silver-haired boulder."
I ate the second one in three seconds.
The guilt was immediate, but so was the clarity. I turned my attention back to the maps.
There was a new set of papers from Navina. It was an Aetherbox idea—a complete overhaul of our communication arrays. I scanned the diagrams. The tactic was... beautiful. It utilized dwarven resonance principles I had only read about in restricted texts.
The Crimson Eclipse is actually importing tech from the Dwarfs? I thought, impressed despite myself. Why didn't we think of that? Requiem needs to step up. We're relying on old mana-crystals while they're using communication devices.
If this worked, our coordination would jump by at least 15%. It was the only thing keeping the "52%" from dropping to zero.
I looked at a separate pile of papers. These weren't tactical. They were financial.
I had already drafted the compensation packages.
If we lost members tomorrow, many families in the Lower District would lose their only source of income. Mothers without sons. Children without fathers. I had already calculated the exact amount of gold needed to support them for 10 years.
"It won't happen," I told myself, my grip tightening on the pen. "The plan is solid."
But I knew the truth. In an S-Rank raid, being "Solid" meant nothing.
I sighed, reaching for the box again. My hand hovered over the 3rd chocolate.
"Sylvia, you pig. Stop it. One more and you'll have to buy new clothes."
"I don't know, it looks like there's plenty for both of us."
I froze.
The voice didn't come from the door. It came from the open window behind me.
I spun around, my mana flaring—a sharp, cold silver light that illuminated the room even in the bright morning.
Sitting on the windowsill, one leg dangling over the edge of the office, was Kaiser Everhart.
He was in a simple white shirt and blue jeans, looking like a commoner who had just finished a casual stroll. He looked entirely too comfortable for a man who had just climbed 4 stories of sheer stone in broad daylight.
"What are you doing here?!" I hissed, my heart hammering against my ribs. "The Guild is under high-security lockdown! No visits allowed!"
"Security?" Kaiser hopped down, his boots hitting the stone floor with a soft thud. He didn't even look at me. His eyes were fixed on the open drawer of my desk. "I didn't see any security. Just some very bored guards who should probably spend more time training and less time playing poker down there."
He strolled over to my desk as if he owned the building.
I scrambled to close the drawer, but his hand was faster.
"Wait—!"
Kaiser reached in and plucked a square of Dark Royal from the box. He unwrapped the silver foil with a practiced flick of his thumb and popped it into his mouth.
He closed his eyes, a look of genuine appreciation crossing his face.
"Not bad," he said, leaning against my desk. "A bit too much sugar for my taste, but the cacao quality is top-tier. You have good taste for a Commander who hides her sins behind 4 locks."
"That's... that's top-secret guild property!" I sputtered, my face burning with a mix of rage and embarrassment. "And you just broke into my office! I could have you arrested! I could have you executed!"
"For eating chocolate?" Kaiser raised an eyebrow. He looked at the maps on my desk, his gaze lingering on the Aetherbox papers for a split second. "The Guildmaster of Requiem, executing a commoner over a sweet. That would make for a great headline in the morning paper."
He looked at me, a lazy, cryptic smile playing on his lips.
"You're stressed, Sylvia. Your mind is racing so hard it's making the ink on your desk rattle. Take a breath."
He tapped the Aetherbox papers.
"Trust the 'Dwarf science'. It's much better than the junk your guild is using."
"Get out," I snapped, my face still red from his sudden appearance. I stood up, trying to look as authoritative as possible while still having the taste of dark cacao on my tongue. "This is a restricted area, Kaiser. You can't just climb into high-ranking offices because you're bored."
"I'm leaving, I'm leaving," Kaiser said, though he didn't move. Instead, his hand suddenly darted toward the drawer again.
"Hey!" I barked, lunging forward.
I grabbed his wrist just as his fingers brushed the silver foil of a third square. He laughed, a short, sharp sound, and easily lifted his arm high above his head. I was one of the strongest mages of Requiem. I had survived S-Rank raids before. But right now, I was jumping like a frustrated child trying to reach a shelf.
"Give it back!" I huffed, my silver hair falling into my face.
"You've already had two, Sylvia," Kaiser teased, looking down at me with an infuriating smirk. "If you eat this one, you'll officially become a silver-haired fatty. Why are you keeping it all to yourself? It's not healthy for someone your... size."
I stopped jumping. I puffed out my cheeks, making them as big as possible, and glared at him with every ounce of imperial fire I possessed.
"I am not a fatty!" I shouted, though my voice lacked any real bite. "I am... I am preparing for a war! I need the calories!"
Kaiser chuckled and finally let go of the chocolate, letting it fall back into the box. He leaned against the window frame again, the morning sun catching the messy strands of his dark hair. The tension in the room, which usually felt like a tightening noose during the morning reports, suddenly felt light. Airy.
"Why are you even here?" I asked, finally smoothing out my hair and crossing my arms. "Truly. Don't tell me you climbed a wall just for a snack."
"I told you," Kaiser said, looking out at the city. "I wanted to revisit a friend. See how the 'Commander' was holding up before the big show."
"A friend?" I repeated, my brow furrowing in confusion. "By the window? Kaiser, we are four floors up. This isn't even a balcony. There are no ledges."
I walked over to the window and looked out. The stone wall of the Requiem headquarters was perfectly smooth, polished to a mirror finish to prevent exactly what he had just done.
"How did you even climb this?" I asked, looking back at him. "You're not even wearing climbing gear. You're in... jeans."
Kaiser shrugged, looking entirely too bored. "As a kid, I was a great dancer. My balance is impeccable."
I stared at him. The silence stretched for three long seconds.
"How does being a dancer correlate to climbing a stone wall like a thief?" I asked, my voice flat.
"Technique, Sylvia," Kaiser said, winking as he hopped back onto the windowsill. "Everything in this world is just technique and timing. You should know that. You spend all day strategizing the obvious."
He didn't leave. He just sat there, the light-hearted banter fading into a calculated, heavy stillness.
"The real reason I'm here isn't for the view," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "I want to cooperate, Sylvia. With you. Only you."
Interesting, I thought, narrowing my eyes. I didn't move. I knew that tone.
He wants something again.
"I took a look at the reports from the Crimson Eclipse," Kaiser continued, ignoring my cold stare. "They're moving tomorrow. The 10th. A raid against the Mother of Despair."
"And Lucas and Celia are on the list as well," I finished for him, my arms still crossed. "And you're worried about them, aren't you?"
Kaiser gave a slow, appreciative nod. "That's why I like you, Sylvia. You're too brilliant for your own good. So, how about we talk about a middle strategy? One where everyone—including your guild—comes out on top."
A middle strategy, I repeated mentally. In Kaiser-speak, that usually meant I did all the heavy lifting while he pulled the strings. The subtext was clear. He wanted to ensure their safety without ever stepping foot into the mud. I was still upset about my stolen Dark Royal, and more than that, I hated feeling like a pawn on a board he had built.
"If you're so worried, join the raid officially," I said, my voice clinical. "Requiem would take you in a heartbeat. You have the skills."
"I'll pass," Kaiser said, his eyes flicking to the city below. "I've done... a few things in the last few days. There are a lot of people in that Crater who would rather stab me than the monster. I can't join directly. I'd be a distraction."
Still pretending I've forgotten the past. He thinks I've forgotten how he was soloing in the grotesque war.
"Then join and reassess your rank," I countered. "With your talent, you'd be an S-Rank in a week. You wouldn't need to hide in windows or live in the Lower District. You'd have everything."
Kaiser let out a dry, short laugh. He held up his hands—long, steady fingers that looked more like an artist's than a warrior's.
"I can barely hold a kitchen knife, Sylvia, let alone a sword or a staff. I'm just an average traveler who got lucky enough to fall in with a pair of geniuses like Lucas and Celia. I'm the baggage, remember?"
Liar.
I narrowed my eyes. Every report I had ever seen on him suggested a level of physiological control that bordered on the supernatural. But here he was, playing the "Baggage" role with a straight face.
"Fine. You won't fight," I said. "So what is this 'middle strategy'?"
Kaiser leaned forward, his casual shirt pulling tight across his shoulders. He reached for a piece of charcoal on my desk and began to sketch three distinct circles on a blank parchment.
"3 options, Sylvia. Each one ensures victory. Each one minimizes the cost. And none of them require me to hold a blade."
He tapped the first circle.
"Option 1: The Death-Ground Protocol. It's the tenth strategy of war: occupy the terrain of no return. You're worried about the lack of synergy between the S-Ranks? Then don't give them the option to leave. I can provide the 'Psychological Traps' that you can plant at the Crater's edge. Once the vanguard enters, the exit stays shut until the Mother is dead. When men have no choice but to fight for their lives, their personal egos tend to vanish. They'll work together not because they like each other, but because they have to survive. You get a unified force; I stay the silent supplier of the locks."
He tapped the second circle.
"Option 2: The Maneuver of the Indirect Goal. Don't hit the monster head-on—hit the one thing the monster depends on. I've been tracking the Aether-flows from the surrounding ruins. The Mother isn't just a biological entity; she's a monster for the region's decaying-soil. If you send a small, low-priority 'Decoy' team to the Northern ridge to sever and poison the soil she uses for energy of the sun, the Mother will weaken instantly. She won't even know she's being attacked until her heart stops beating. It lets your Elites walk in and finish the job without breaking a sweat. I remain the one who gave you the map to the decaying soil."
He tapped the third circle.
"Option 3: The Mirror-Reflection Strategy. The Mother of Despair uses a mental scream to drain stamina, right? Use your Aetherboxes to capture that specific psychic frequency and reflect it back into the Crater at twice the volume. Let her own 'Despair' consume her. It'll confuse her sense of space and time, turning her into a stationary target. You provide the equipment; I provide the 'Reflective Patch' for the software. You win the war of morale without firing a single arrow."
Kaiser leaned back, the three circles looking like a trap I was already walking into.
"Detailed. Rational. And surprisingly cold," I muttered, my mind racing through the strategies. These weren't just tactical adjustments; they were psychological shifts. He was suggesting we manipulate the very nature of the raid's reality. But I couldn't trust them. Not entirely. Because in every scenario, Kaiser provided the 'Key' while I was the one who had to turn the 'Lock'.
"I have a 4th option," I said, looking him dead in the eye.
Kaiser tilted his head. "Oh?"
"You don't join the raid's frontline. But you stay with me. In the crater command center. You join me to command the operation," I declared, my voice regaining its iron authority. "I'll be overseeing the two parties via the Aether-vox with a top-down view of the entire Crater. If your strategies are as perfect as you claim, then prove it. Help me guide them. Two heads are better than one, especially when one of them is yours."
Kaiser went quiet.
The lazy, knowing smile vanished, replaced by a gaze that seemed to peel back the layers of the plans on my desk. He didn't answer immediately.
"I need a minute to think," he said finally.
"Take your time," I said, though my heart was still thumping.
Kaiser didn't move. He didn't look at the maps. Instead, he simply took a seat in the guest chair, leaning back as if he were waiting for a show to start.
"Can I have some water?" he asked, gesturing to the crystal carafe on my sideboard. "Climbing a building isn't as easy as it looks."
I raised an eyebrow but nodded. He didn't wait for me to pour it; he grabbed the bottle and drank it whole, his throat moving as he drained the liquid in one go. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sighed, then rested his cheek against his palm, closing his eyes in concentration.
I moved away from the window and perched on the edge of my desk, facing him. Slowly, almost subconsciously, I reached behind me and slid open a small, separate drawer. My fingers brushed against the cool metal of the object inside. I didn't take it out. I just needed to know it was there.
Kaiser Everhart.
I looked at him—the messy hair, the casual clothes, the infuriatingly calm expression. Two years ago, at the Academy, he had been the brilliant shadow no one could catch. Then he had faked his death. He had disappeared into the cracks of the world, leaving a trail of broken systems and confused investigators behind.
And now he was back, using me as his lever because I was the only person with the tools he needed.
I still hate you, I thought, my grip tightening on the hidden object.
I hate that you can walk into my life and disrupt everything I've built in a single morning.
But what annoyed me more—what truly made my blood boil—was that he had the power. He had the talent. He had a brain that could out-calculate a dozen tactical mages. And yet, he chose to live like a fool, a "baggage" traveler in a ragtag gang, refusing to use his skills for anything other than his own cryptic goals.
If I had half your skill, I would have brought world peace by now, I thought bitterly.
Kaiser opened his eyes. The "thinking" phase was over.
"I suppose I can join," he said, the lazy smile returning. "But I have a counter-strategy. A better one."
"Better than commanding from the most secure tower in the crater?" I asked, my voice dripping with skepticism.
"Much better. Instead of joining you directly as a co-commander, I'll join anonymously. I'll bug the Aether-voxes."
I stared at him. "You're nuts. There's no way in hell you can get your hands on them. Crimson Eclipse is bringing the units tomorrow morning just before the raid. We don't have storage for them. They're high-security tech."
Kaiser winked. It was a look that made me want to throw the carafe at him.
"I'll find a way to become Navina's sweetheart and bug them before they even reach the gate, Sylvia. Don't worry about the 'how'. Worry about the 'why'."
"Even if you could," I snapped, my face annoyed at the comment, "why would they trust an anonymous nobody? They're S-Ranks. They don't even listen to me half the time. They won't follow orders from a stranger."
Kaiser stood up, his eyes turning cold and sharp. "They will if they're desperate."
He walked closer, stopping just a few inches from where I was sitting on the desk.
"A person is most receptive to new ideas when their old ones are failing," he said softly. "During the raid, I'm going to jam your signal. I'm going to cut you loose from the vanguards."
I felt the air leave my lungs. "What the hell? Why would you do that? You'd be killing them!"
"Listen to me, Sylvia. You'll still hear and see everything they do from your end. But on their end, they won't be able to hear you properly. They'll be alone in the dark, surrounded by the Mother's resonance. That's when I'll appear and lead them for a temporary window. After that, I'll indirectly lead them to unjamming their signal with you."
He leaned in, his voice a low, technical hum.
"It'll be a frequency jam built into the hardware—a bug that triggers specifically when it detects the unique mana-signature of the Mother. It'll look like natural interference caused by the fight. They can only clear it if they realize the bug's internal logic from the inside. It forces them to stop relying on you and start relying on the voice that actually knows how to fix the static."
I stood up, pushing him back. "Like hell that will work," I snapped, my voice rising as I stepped away from the desk. "You're talking about sabotaging a high-stakes raid just to play some psychological game of 'Trust me'. One wrong move and everyone dies. It's a gamble, Kaiser. A stupid, lethal gamble."
"It's not a gamble, Sylvia. It's a path to victory," Kaiser said, his voice flat and devoid of any warmth. He didn't even look up from the drawings. "Are you familiar with Silas Vane's 'Anatomy of the Fractured Mind'? Or perhaps Malakor the Blind's 'Shadow Dynamics'? No? I suppose the Academy doesn't teach the more... pragmatic schools of thought."
He tapped a finger on the desk, his gaze icy.
"Vane's Law of Dislocation states that when a rational soldier is suddenly stripped of their primary authority—your voice—they don't look for the most logical solution. They look for the first person who speaks with absolute certainty. By jamming the frequency, I'm creating a psychological vacuum. When I fill it, my authority becomes absolute. They won't question the voice because their survival instincts won't let them."
"And if they realize you were the one who cut them off?" I challenged, my hands trembling with a mix of fear and fury.
Kaiser looked at me then, and for a split second, I saw a glimpse of the man who had soloed entire legions in the past.
"If I have to explain every nuance of Malakor's Third Paradox to you, we'll still be here when the sun sets on the Mother's corpse," he said, his words coming out like a verdict. "I don't have the time to be your tutor, Sylvia. For now, trust me."
"I hate your attitude," I hissed, my eyes narrowing. I stepped closer, my mana beginning to hum with a dangerous, silver vibration. "I hate how you talk down to me. And more than anything, I hate how you're sitting there pretending to be so weak. An 'average traveler'? A 'lucky nobody'? Stop lying to me, Kaiser."
Kaiser let out a long, weary sigh.
"Well, it's true," he said, his voice returning to its lazy, carefree lilt. "On paper, I'm just an E-Rank. No mana. I can barely hold a decent weapon. I'm just the guy who makes sure Lucas and Celia doesn't get lost on their adventure."
"An E-Rank, huh?"
I didn't blink. I didn't even look down. From the hidden drawer behind me, I pulled out a slender, black-handled balisong.
With a flick of my wrist so fast the metal blurred, the knife spun into life. Clack-clack-clack. The blade danced over my knuckles, spinning in a series of intricate vertical and horizontal arcs that hissed through the air. I caught the handle, flipped it, and within a fraction of a second, the cold steel was hovering a mere millimeter from Kaiser's throat.
The silence in the command center was absolute.
"Then how about you survive this then?" I whispered, my breath hitting his ear. "If you're just an E-Rank, your head should be on my desk by now."
Kaiser didn't flinch. He didn't even move his head away from the blade. His eyes remained fixed on mine—lazy, dark, and utterly unbothered.
"Hey now," he said softly, a small, infuriating smile playing on his lips. "We don't need to fight, Sylvia. We're on the same side, remember? Partners in crime."
"I am not your partner," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous, low register. I pressed the blade just a fraction closer, enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin. "I still hate you. I still remember the Academy. I still remember how you used me. Every time I look at you, I want to kill you."
"But you won't," Kaiser said, his smile widening just a fraction.
"I will," I said, my voice as steady as the blade.
He thinks he still has me. He thinks I'm still the same naive girl from the Academy who he could blackmail. This time, I'm not giving in.
I didn't pull the blade away. If anything, I leaned into it.
"You forget yourself, Kaiser Everhart. You are a ghost, but even ghosts leave footprints. Knights of Asura are still looking for the man who cost the Asura Empire it's knights of honour. And then there's the Empress. I wonder if Rose Valentine has frequent dreams about the boy who 'murdered' her pride at the Academy? If I send word to the Royal Knights—if I reveal that the master of lies is hiding in an E-Rank skin in the middle of my capital—you won't just lose your freedom. You'll lose your name, your mask, and everything you've tried to build through lies."
I narrowed my eyes, the silver aura of my magic flaring briefly.
"If you know what's best for you, you won't 'negotiate' with me. You'll take my orders. Because right now, Kaiser Everhart, I am the only thing keeping your past from devouring your present."
The silence that followed was different. The playful air, the smell of chocolate, the morning sun—it all seemed to freeze. Kaiser's smile didn't just fade; it evaporated. He didn't flinch, but his expression went perfectly neutral. His eyes became two cold, empty voids.
For the first time since he had climbed through my window, Kaiser looked at me as an equal. Or perhaps, as a threat.
"Is that so?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "A pet chick growing up to peck its own owner. You've grown a spine, Sylvia. It's... impressive."
"I learned from the best," I countered, finally pulling the balisong back. I didn't hide it. I started flipping it again, the clack-clack-clack a steady, rhythmic warning. "Are you familiar with the Elvian sage, Aysha? She wrote a tragedy called 'The Fall of Aelarion'. It's the definitive study on the hubris of the brilliant."
Kaiser didn't answer. He just watched the blade.
"Aelarion was the greatest hero of his age," I continued, pacing slowly in front of him. "He was the only one capable of taming the Star-Maned Wyvern. He operated with a level of calculated brilliance that made him a god among men. But beneath that perfection, he lived with a simmering resentment of the 'lesser' humans and even the gods around him. He saw them all as inferior."
I stopped and looked him dead in the eye.
"He spent much of his life performing impossible tasks for kings who feared him, constantly suppressing his ego just to serve those he considered beneath him. He played the part of the 'loyal servant' and the 'modest traveler'—all while his pride grew into a monster larger than the Wyvern itself."
I leaned in closer, the tip of the balisong tracing a tiny circle in the air.
"Eventually, the mask slipped. Believing he had no equal on the physical plane, he tried to fly the Wyvern to the very peak of the Spire of the Zenith—to take his place among the Sovereigns. He thought his 'hidden' power gave him the right to look down on everyone else."
Kaiser's jaw tightened. Just a fraction.
"The Sovereigns weren't impressed by his cleverness, Kaiser. They didn't even fight him. One of them simply sent a Stinger—one tiny, insignificant insect—to sting the Wyvern's flank. Aelarion fell. He didn't die instantly. Instead, he spent the rest of his life wandering the Grey Wastes as a blind, crippled beggar—shunned by the very people he once looked down upon."
I smiled, and for once, it wasn't a kind smile.
"That's your future. You see yourself as superior, yet you hide in the shadows of 'lesser' people. One day, the ground is going to catch up to you, Kaiser. And when you're lying on the street, blind and dying, nobody from your 'present'—not Lucas, not Celia, and certainly not me—will come to save you. Because you never let them see who you really were."
"You'll die a stranger in your own skin."
Kaiser stared at me for a long time. The tension was a living thing, vibrating between us like a taut wire. Then, slowly, he let out a breath and reached for the carafe again.
"Aelarion," he muttered, his voice taking on a weight that made the office feel suddenly cramped. "You skipped the most important part of the tragedy, Sylvia. The gift of the Goddess Elara."
He leaned back, his eyes tracing the ceiling as if reading the script of the old play.
"The myth says Aelarion didn't just tame the Wyvern by chance. He prayed in the Temple of the Moon and slept on the cold stone. The Goddess appeared to him in a dream, holding a Golden Bridle. She didn't give him a weapon; she gave him the means to control the uncontrollable. That bridle is what made him a 'hidden god' among men. It gave him years of superiority, allowing him to slay the Chimera—that fire-breathing nightmare that turned kings into ash—all while appearing as a humble soldier."
Kaiser looked back at me, his gaze dropping any pretense of laziness.
"For years, he was the ultimate masker. He performed impossible feats for monarchs who hated him, keeping his true nature quiet until he was ready to strike. He didn't have an ego, Sylvia. He had a mission. He was simply waiting for the world to catch up to him."
He paused, a faint, chilling smile returning to his lips.
"But here's the thing about Aysha's story... there was no goddess in my life. There was no Golden Bridle."
He stood up, walking toward the window where the morning sun was now at its peak.
"I'm not Aelarion, Sylvia. I don't have a simmering resentment for the 'lesser' humans, because I don't see them at all. I don't have a Wyvern to fly because I have my own wings. And unlike him, I'm not trying to reach the Spire of the Zenith. I'm perfectly comfortable in the dirt."
He stopped at the edge of the windowsill, looking over his shoulder. The coldness in his eyes was replaced by a sharp, jagged warning.
"You're playing with fire, goddess. Keep trying to put a bridle on me, and you'll find your own throat cut before you even realize I've moved. I'm not your blackmailing tool. I'm the gadfly that stings the world."
I didn't flinch. I tightened my grip on the balisong, the metal cold against my palm.
"Fine by me, Grey-Wing," I spat, using a derogatory term for birds that were too weak to fly but too stubborn to die.
"If your wings grow too long and start casting shadows where they don't belong, I'll be the one to clip them."
Kaiser didn't move. He didn't even blink. He stood up slowly, his posture shifting from a lazy slouch to something terrifyingly efficient.
"Is that so?" he asked, his voice low.
He spread his arms, exposing his chest. "How about you try it?"
"Sure."
I didn't hesitate. I lunged.
I stepped into his guard, the balisong in my right hand spinning into a reverse grip. My left hand shot out in a vertical punch, aimed straight for the pit of his stomach. It was a strike designed to collapse a lung.
Kaiser didn't step back. He simply pivoted on one heel, the fabric of his shirt whispering past my knuckles as my fist met only air.
I didn't stop. I transitioned into a lightning-fast flow, the blade tracing lethal, triangular slashes. Clack-clack-clack. The metal hissed as I aimed for the tendons in his wrist, then shifted to a horizontal swipe toward his neck.
He was like smoke. He moved with a terrifying economy of motion—no wasted energy, no panic. Every time my blade was inches from his skin, he redirected my arm with a soft touch of his palm or a subtle tilt of his shoulder. It was infuriating. I was trained since childhood for my own self-defense in close-combat. Yet, I couldn't even graze his cheap cotton shirt.
"You're too tense, Sylvia," he whispered, his face inches from mine as I spun into a high kick.
I felt the air rush as my heel whistled past his ear. I landed, pivoted, and drove the balisong held in a needle-grip toward his shoulder.
Finally.
I had him cornered against the heavy oak map table. There was nowhere for him to go. I poured every ounce of my frustration into the strike, the blade a silver streak of inevitable doom.
Then, the world flipped.
Before the blade could touch him, Kaiser's hand moved. It was a blur. His fingers snagged my wrist, his thumb digging into the nerve cluster between my bones. A jolt of white-hot lightning shot up my arm.
He didn't pull. He used my own forward momentum to push me, rotating my wrist in a brutal, outward spiral that forced my body to follow the pain. My feet left the stone floor. The sky and the ceiling swapped places for a heartbeat before I slammed into the rug with a bone-jarring thud.
I didn't even have time to gasp before he was over me.
His right hand was balled into a heavy, reinforced fist, falling toward my face like a hammer.
I reacted on instinct, slamming my forearms together in a cross-block. The impact vibrated through my teeth, making my vision swim. He didn't follow through with the punch. Instead, as I tried to roll away, he surged forward.
Before I could breathe, he locked both hands behind my neck, pulling my head down while driving his knees straight into my solar plexus. Thud. Thud. The air left my lungs in jagged bursts. I wheezed, my eyes watering, and drove my elbow upward into his jaw.
Kaiser's head snapped back, but his grip remained like iron. He shifted his weight, hooking his leg behind my calf while driving his shoulder into my chest.
I hit the floor again, the impact rattling my spine. He tried to pin my arm, but I scrambled, using a quick hip-bridge to roll away. I was back on my feet, gasping, my silver hair a wild mess that clung to my sweaty forehead.
"Stop... hiding!" I hissed, lunging again.
But the "E-Rank" was gone. The man in front of me was a nightmare. When I tried to grab him, he used a series of short, brutal elbow strikes to break my grip. When I tried to create distance, he dropped low, his hands snagging my ankles and pulling me into a grapple that felt like being crushed by a machine.
I fought with everything I had—fingernails, teeth, the last of my pride. I reached for my balisong, still clamped in my hand, and tried to drive it into his thigh.
Kaiser's hand was there before I could even think.
He used a lightning-fast sequence of palm-strikes and wrist-deflections that looked like a blur. Pop. Crack.
A sudden, agonizing pressure exploded in my wrist bones as he twisted the joint beyond its limit. My fingers went numb. The balisong—the knife I had mastered over a thousand hours of practice—simply slipped from my grasp.
He caught it in mid-air.
In the same breath, he spun me around. He was behind me now, his chest against my back, his arm locking around my throat in a deep, tight sleeper hold. He kicked my feet out from under me, and I felt the sickening lurch of losing balance.
I didn't hit the floor. He didn't let me.
He moved us both in a single, powerful burst toward the wall. Bang. My back hit the cold stone. He pinned me there, his body heat felt like a furnace against my skin, his arm a tightening noose around my neck.
I clawed at his arm, my lungs burning, my vision beginning to grey at the edges.
The silence returned. The only sound was my own ragged, desperate gasping.
Kaiser looked at me. His face was a mask of cold, neutrality. No anger. No joy. Just the clinical assessment of a predator who had finally finished the hunt.
Slowly, he raised his other hand. Between his fingers, the silver blade of my own balisong caught the sunlight.
He pressed the edge against the soft skin of my throat. It was so close I could feel the microscopic imperfections in the steel. One twitch, one heavy breath, and my life would end.
"Listen to me, Sylvia," he said, his voice a low, terrifying chill.
He leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear, the cold steel of the knife a biting reminder of who held the power.
"The world isn't a game of 'Pride' or 'Orders'. It's a slaughterhouse built on the remains of those who hesitated."
He tightened the pin, his gaze boring into mine.
"Those who are willing to kill must be the first to prepare for their own coffin. Don't brandish a weapon at me unless you're ready to drown in the blood you're about to draw."
His eyes drifted down to the silver blade pressed against my pulse.
"Your Arnis is decent," he remarked, the clinical tone returning, though now it was edged with a terrifying expertise. "Your flow is based on the Sinawali weaving patterns, isn't it? Very fluid. You transition from the Labit slashes to the Saksak thrusts with almost no tell. Most professionals would have been gutted in the first three seconds."
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze examining the weapon.
"A Benchmade 42," he noted, his voice devoid of any emotion. "Classic. Titanium handles, 154CM steel, and the spring-latch for a faster deploy. You've even weighted the pivots for a more aggressive center of gravity. A specialized tool for a specialized killer."
I swallowed, the move making the blade bite slightly into my throat. I felt a bead of cold sweat trace a path down my spine.
"How..." I managed, my voice a broken whisper. "How do you know all of that? Have you... have you mastered it as well?"
Kaiser didn't answer. Instead, his eyes darkened, the last trace of the lazy E-Rank mask dissolving into a void of pure, lethal intent.
"Mastery is for those who want to show off," he said softly. "I only care about what works."
In one swift, almost casual motion, he shifted the blade and stroke across my right cheek.
The sting was immediate—a thin line of fire that bloomed across my skin.
"Ouch!" I gasped, the pain sharp and jarring. I felt the warm, metallic trickle of blood begin to run down my jaw, staining the collar of my pristine uniform.
I looked at him, my breath hitching in my chest.
"Quiet now," he whispered.
"Save your breath. Because this is your last."
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"What... what do you mean?" I stammered, the terror finally fully taking hold. "You can't be serious. Kaiser, stop... you can't be serious!"
Kaiser didn't blink. He just moved his hand back to my throat, the blood-stained blade of my own knife resting exactly where it had been before.
"You're a threat to my freedom, Sylvia," he said, his voice as flat and cold as a tombstone.
"And as such, today your story will end."