(The Guest Who Wasn't Invited)
The hooded man smiled.
History had corrected itself.
Pryan was on one knee.
Ashveil's tip rested against the broken stone floor.
Blood dripped steadily from his fingertips.
His breathing had become shallow.
His mana was gone.
His body was finished.
The hooded man walked forward without haste.
"This is where possibility ends," he said quietly. "Every variable eventually reaches its limit."
He raised his sword.
"You adapted well."
Another step.
"You delayed the inevitable."
The blade rose.
"But history always returns to its proper course."
Pryan didn't move.
His head remained lowered.
The hooded man brought the sword down.
It stopped.
Not because Pryan blocked it.
Because someone was holding it.
One hand.
Bare.
The hooded man's eyes widened.
Impossible.
Pryan slowly stood.
His wounds remained.
The blood remained.
Nothing had healed.
Yet somehow...
He looked untouched.
The darkness around him no longer drifted.
It had settled.
Like a cloak wrapping itself around his shoulders.
The hooded man instinctively pulled his sword back.
It didn't move.
Pryan's hand still held the blade.
Then—
Crack.
The sword snapped in half.
Silence swallowed the chamber.
The hooded man stared at the broken weapon in disbelief.
"...What?"
Pryan looked at the shattered steel for a moment.
Then casually dropped the broken half onto the floor.
His voice came a heartbeat later.
"...He's sleeping."
The hooded man frowned.
"What?"
"He fought enough."
Pryan slowly rolled his shoulder once.
Almost as if stretching after waking up.
"My turn."
For the first time since entering the tunnels—
He smiled.
It wasn't cruel.
It wasn't angry.
It was relaxed.
Almost friendly.
Which somehow made it horrifying.
The hooded man immediately stepped backward.
"Who are you?"
Pryan tilted his head.
"Hm."
He actually thought about it.
"Good question."
Then he disappeared.
The hooded man didn't even see him move.
Pain exploded across his chest.
His body was thrown through three stone pillars before crashing into the far wall hard enough to shake the entire tunnel.
He coughed blood violently.
"What—"
Pryan was already there.
Standing beside him.
Hands in his pockets.
"...You're slower than I expected."
The hooded man forced mana into his body.
Synchronization Art erupted instinctively.
"Twelfth Sequence—"
"Too slow."
Ashveil appeared.
One swing.
The mana circles shattered before they completed.
The technique collapsed.
The hooded man staggered.
"No..."
He tried another sequence.
"Seventh—"
Ashveil flashed again.
The casting formation split cleanly down the middle.
The mana dispersed harmlessly into the air.
"...Impossible."
Dark Pryan sighed.
"You people really love announcing your attacks."
He scratched the side of his head.
"Honestly, just hit people."
The hooded man's heartbeat became uneven.
This...
This wasn't stronger.
This was impossible.
Every technique he tried was interrupted before completion.
Every movement he planned had already been answered.
No.
Already ignored.
He attacked desperately.
Knife.
Mana.
Hidden blade.
Synchronization Arts layered together.
Dark Pryan simply walked through them.
One blade passed centimeters from his neck.
He didn't dodge.
He leaned.
Another aimed for his heart.
He turned half an inch.
A kick came toward his ribs.
He caught the man's ankle without looking.
"...Predictable."
The hooded man's eyes filled with genuine fear.
"Who are you?!"
Dark Pryan looked disappointed.
"I already told you."
He smiled again.
"I'm the one cleaning up after him."
Ashveil moved.
There was no named technique.
No explosion.
Just a single horizontal slash.
The hooded man's body froze.
His eyes slowly widened.
He looked down.
A thin red line crossed his chest.
"...No..."
Dark Pryan turned away before the body hit the ground.
Behind him—
The hooded man collapsed.
Dead.
Without another word.
Dark Pryan looked toward the deeper tunnels.
His smile slowly returned.
"...Hm."
He could feel it.
Mana gathering.
Ancient.
Old.
"...Another party?"
He started walking.
Elsewhere...
The ritual chamber echoed with chanting.
Nearly forty mages stood in layered formations surrounding the ancient stone seal.
The carved name upon it glowed faintly.
The final preparations had begun.
An old man in crimson robes raised both hands.
"The relay network has succeeded."
"The academy is occupied."
"The nobles remain unaware."
"The Kingdom still sleeps."
He smiled.
"Begin the final extraction."
Mana surged.
The chamber trembled.
One of the younger mages suddenly frowned.
"...Did anyone hear footsteps?"
"No."
"You imagined it."
Another step echoed.
Closer.
Everyone turned.
A lone figure walked into the chamber.
Covered in blood.
School uniform torn.
Sword resting casually across one shoulder.
The old man frowned.
"...A student?"
Dark Pryan looked around slowly.
He counted the ritual circles.
The mages.
The seal.
Then nodded to himself.
"...Quite the gathering."
The old man raised his staff.
"Kill him."
Nobody moved.
Because before the order had fully left his mouth—
Ashveil flashed.
The old man's head separated cleanly from his shoulders.
It landed beside the ritual circle with a dull sound.
Silence.
One heartbeat.
Then panic.
"STOP HIM!"
Magic erupted from every direction.
Fire.
Ice.
Earth.
Wind.
Dark Pryan sighed.
"...Now this is more interesting."
He stepped forward.
The massacre began.
Minutes later—
The chanting had stopped.
The ritual circles were broken.
Mana crystals shattered across the chamber floor.
The seal remained untouched.
Bodies didn't.
Blood flowed between the ancient carvings like small rivers.
The last surviving mage crawled desperately toward the damaged ritual platform.
"...Please..."
Dark Pryan crouched beside him.
"...You're trying to wake something."
The mage smiled weakly.
"You...cannot...stop..."
Ashveil pierced his chest.
"...Didn't ask."
Silence returned.
Dark Pryan looked around the chamber.
Satisfied.
Then casually climbed onto the broken ritual platform.
He sat.
Resting Ashveil across his knees.
Waiting.
Several minutes later—
Footsteps.
Many.
Professor Kaien entered first.
Behind him—
Mireya.
Aurelian.
Lucien.
Nyra.
Jorn.
More academy instructors.
Everyone stopped.
Nobody spoke.
The chamber looked like a battlefield abandoned by an army.
Bodies.
Broken staffs.
Collapsed ritual circles.
Blood everywhere.
And sitting quietly in the middle of it...
Was Pryan.
He heard them enter.
Didn't turn immediately.
Instead he looked at the broken seal for another second.
Then spoke.
"You guys are late."
He finally looked over his shoulder.
His smile was calm.
Comfortable.
Almost welcoming.
"Yo, Kaien."
Silence.
No one moved.
Mireya's breathing stopped.
Aurelian's hand slowly reached for his sword.
Lucien forgot to blink.
Kaien stared at the boy before him.
Then quietly asked the only question that mattered.
"...Who are you?"
Dark Pryan's smile widened.
Finally.
Someone had asked the right question.