Georgi’s eyes narrowed as he took in the armed men emerging from the brush.

  “…Lucon,” he said slowly, “you really need to tell me what’s going on.”

  “They’re the Blood Wraiths,” Lucon answered, his eyes never leaving the advancing men.

  Georgi stiffened. “The ones who’ve been harassing the barony for the last half year?”

  Lucon nodded once.

  Georgi exhaled through his nose. “I see.”

  There was a pause—heavy, weighted.

  “…Will you help me fight them?” Lucon asked quietly.

  Georgi’s face contorted in a grimace of conflict. “Monsters are one thing. Monsters choose violence by their nature. To knowingly harm men…that is not my path of Mercy.”

  “Can you at least take Hilda and get her to safety?” Lucon pressed, desperation creeping into his voice.

  Georgi looked at him.

  In that moment, Lucon saw the fat child Georgi used to be—the same boy who grew up to drink the night away with him and Peytr. The same boy who fought his fights for him and pushed people around who called Lucon a failure.

  Finally, Georgi shook his head. “…Abandoning friends is also something I won’t do.”

  That was his answer.

  He was going to fight.

  Lucon closed his eyes for half a heartbeat.

  I’m sorry, Georgi, he thought. I keep dragging you into my messes.

  The Mana wolf’s growl escalated to a snarl. Beside it, Skhav’s body rippled. His Mana surged.

  [Mana Beast Form]

  Mana condensed around his hands into savage claws, and his teeth elongated into predatory fangs. He was ready.

  They were all in.

  But Georgi was the lynchpin. As both their strongest fighter and their only healer, he would be stretched thin—trying to crush attackers while simultaneously keeping his outmatched friends alive.

  The Blood Wraiths slowed to a stop several dozen paces away. From their ranks, a familiar figure stepped forward. His face was still bruised from their last encounter.

  “Young Lord,” the man said. “We meet again.”

  Lucon’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Helto.”

  Helto’ smiled. “I’m sure you’re starting to have regrets.”

  Lucon forced one of his own. “Instead of fighting, how about we go to our favorite tavern? For old time’s sake.”

  Helto scoffed, not even bothering to answer.

  His eyes shifted to Skhav.

  “…Traitor.”

  Skhav spat on the ground. “We’ve fought before, Helto. You know you can’t defeat me. There’s a reason the merchant guild alliance made me leader.”

  To Skhav’s surprise, Helto smiled.

  Then the men behind him began to glow. The area became washed in red light. They weren’t the same ordinary men Helto had commanded before. They were Arisen. At least twenty of them. A few glowed blue. They even brought mages.

  Skhav flinched, his tamed wolf becoming rigid sensing its master’s unease.

  Helto turned his triumphant gaze back to Lucon. “It seems you’ve stirred the hornet’s nest. I don’t know what you did or who you’ve crossed, but the investment in the Blood Wraiths went up. Significantly.”

  Lucon began to sweat.

  Niles, he thought. Ambrosia Lucon’s confronting him had sent him on high alert, and he must’ve put more into the Blood Wraiths, granting them more strength.

  That was another problem with Ambrosia Lucon. His confidence was unmatched, bordering on arrogance. He had confronted Niles. He had confronted Auric.

  It was as if he believed he could take on the world.

  Lucon had to refocus as Helto lifted two fingers.

  Then dropped them.

  The Blood Wraiths charged forward.

  Lucon turned instantly toward Hilda—

  —and something was already in the air.

  A vial fell into his hands, its label reading, “Ambrosia Lucon.”

  “Hilda,” he said, voice steady despite the chaos, “remember this.”

  She blinked. “Remember what—?”

  “I am the real Lucon.”

  Then he uncorked the vial.

  And drank.

  The liquid burned, a familiar fire down his throat. But the true ignition happened somewhere far deeper than bones or blood.

  In the core of his being, in the silent sanctum of his soul, the divine nectar stirred. The Ambrosia, nestled there like a slumbering star, flared to life as the alcohol met his tongue. A warmth bloomed, welcoming—opening a door to find an old friend waiting.

  His focus cleared to invite more than just sight.

  The Flow returned.

  The inner workings of the world revealed themselves to him through a living tapestry of energy and intent. It showed him how the world breathed.

  Lucon swayed slightly.

  Then a lopsided, lazy grin appeared on his lips as his posture loosened, almost sloppy.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Ambrosia Lucon had returned.

  He turned his head toward Georgi.

  Lucon said, “Protect Hilda. Make sure Skhav and his new pup don’t get too beaten up. Keep to your vows, friend. I will handle this.”

  Georgi stared, baffled. The situation screamed for his strength, for the “Tyrant” to emerge. Yet Lucon’s sudden confidence left him faltering.

  It was because his words weren’t arrogant.

  They were certain.

  [Mercy’s Refuge]

  A golden barrier enclosed around Georgi and Hilda, protecting them.

  The first Arisen reached Lucon.

  The man swung his sword in a heavy, overhead arc.

  Lucon bent at the waist, his back going nearly parallel to the ground, the blade whispering over his hair.

  [Flash Strike]

  Then he snapped upright with speed the man couldn’t keep up with.

  Slap.

  Not a punch.

  Not a strike.

  A full slap of the hand.

  The man’s eyes rolled back instantly, his body crumpling unconscious to the dirt.

  His sword slipped from his fingers.

  Lucon caught it.

  Without looking, he flicked his wrist and threw it backward.

  The blade spun end-over-end through the air.

  It embedded itself in the skull of an Arisen who had gotten past him.

  The man dropped dead.

  They were Spark Arisen, the first level of Arisen. Lucon’s grinned wider.

  Not too bad, he thought.

  [Untamed Mauling]

  Skhav roared and lunged, his claws tearing into one opponent as his wolf tackled another. They fought like beasts—but the Arisen had numbers.

  They were being pushed back.

  Another Arisen leapt toward Lucon, activating a Battle Skill mid-air.

  Lucon simply dropped flat.

  The glowing blade passed above him.

  As the man landed, Lucon twisted his legs.

  Tangling.

  Hooking.

  The man yelped as his footing vanished, crashing face-first into the dirt.

  Lucon rolled across the dirt like a log just as three more closed in.

  He popped to his feet—

  [Flash Strike]

  Slap.

  One man went limp.

  Stab.

  Another fell dead.

  Lucon spun, ducked, weaved—never where attacks landed, always where they weren’t.

  Helto grew tense as he watched, hand on his curved blade tightening around its handle.

  A cluster of Arisen broke through, heading straight for Hilda and Georgi.

  Lucon’s grin widened.

  [Golden Step]

  He became a streak of light. Men who were in the midst of stabbing him found only golden footprints where they unleashed their attacks.

  [Flash Strike]

  A series of loud slaps echoed through the forest as Lucon slapped each man while their backs were turned, about to clash with the barrier Georgi erected.

  Then he was gone again, golden steps leading directly into the middle of the main force.

  Blue lines shimmered into existence around him.

  Guiding light.

  Intent for spells.

  The mages had locked on.

  Lucon tilted his head as the surrounding Arisen dove away.

  [Winter Burst]

  A chorus of cracking sounds rang out as clusters of ice bloomed into existence around Lucon—jagged, crystalline masses forming in midair before detonating outward.

  The explosion swallowed him.

  The Flow showed him every single path each ice shard would go, but there were far too many and he was too slow to avoid them all.

  The ice tore through flesh.

  Blood splashed against bark, dirt, and leaves—snow-white fragments spraying as spikes, ripping into his side and shoulder.

  Helto’s eyes lit up.

  “We got him!” he shouted, triumph flooding his voice. “You see that?! He can’t dodge area spells!”

  Inside the golden barrier, Hilda clasped her hands to her chest.

  Georgi leaned forward, muscles tensing, ready to further break his vow at any moment.

  Skhav, still locked in brutal combat, snarled as another Arisen slammed into him. He couldn’t get free.

  The mages raised their hands again.

  [Winter Burst]

  Blue lines of intent stacked on Lucon’s position.

  Then—

  [Golden Step]

  Golden light burst beneath Lucon’s feet.

  He became a golden firefly, darting away.

  The next wave of ice detonated into nothing.

  He reappeared several strides away—but three Arisen were already there, blades swinging. He was forced to stop, ducking and twisting, barely slipping between arcs of steel.

  And that was all the opening they needed.

  [Drinking Sphere]

  Water surged around him, forming a perfect orb.

  Lucon was swallowed.

  The world became muffled.

  Sound vanished.

  Air vanished.

  Pressure crushed in from all sides.

  His lungs burned as he fought to swim outside the orb of water encasing him.

  The Arisen closed in, weapons raised, ready to stab him while he was trapped.

  Helto exhaled in relief. “It’s over.”

  The water exploded upward.

  [Heaven-bound Phoenix]

  Lucon launched skyward in a kick, the sphere bursting apart like a popped bubble. A fleeting image of a golden phoenix flared alongside him.

  Helto’s jaw dropped. “What kind of holy spell is that?!”

  [Winter Burst]

  Ice formed again—this time around him in midair.

  Lucon twisted.

  [Nimbus Ballista]

  He aimed.

  Then fired.

  He became a golden comet.

  The ice burst behind him, detonating into empty air as he rocketed downward.

  The mage watched with wide eyes. A comet descended from the heavens—aimed straight for him.

  He hiccuped as he turned to run.

  Lucon hit him like a falling star.

  The man’s spine snapped as Lucon rode him into the dirt.

  Two mages remained.

  Blue lines pointed at him again.

  Lucon grabbed the corpse and hurled it.

  The body slammed into one mage, knocking him flat, disrupting his spell.

  [Golden Step]

  Lucon sped toward the mage still standing. Arisen closed in to intercept, but the mage—seeing his fallen comrades—panicked. He abandoned precision and unleashed his spell early, wildly.

  [Wooden Hedgehog]

  The surrounding trees groaned. Branches warped and elongated into spear-like spikes that shot inward from every direction, weaving an impaling thicket with Lucon at the center.

  "You'll hit us too!" one of the intercepting Arisen screamed.

  It was too late; the wooden spikes lanced through them without distinction. Lucon couldn’t outrun the spell. He grabbed the two nearest Arisen by their collars, yanking them inward to serve as human shields. The sharpened wood thunked sickeningly into their bodies.

  He hurled one corpse at the mage about to crawl out from beneath the first still pinning him. The other body Lucon sent sailing into the last mage. Both were knocked down, tangled in the dead.

  [Golden Step]

  Lucon was on them in a flash of gold. He grabbed one disorientated mage, lifted him like a weapon, and used him as a bludgeon against the other. It was brutal, efficient, and utterly merciless. When he dropped them, neither moved again.

  Around them, the last of the Arisen were falling.

  Skhav tore out a throat.

  The mana wolf pinned another and crushed his windpipe.

  Helto stood alone, his face a mask of panicked disbelief.

  "How?!" he shouted. "How can someone fight like that—even against this many Arisen?!"

  It made no sense. Lucon wasn't a high-tier mage nor a peak Arisen. He was a wastrel, a failure. Yet he had dismantled so many Arisen and mages alone.

  [Golden Step]

  Lucon appeared in front of him.

  [Savage Rake]

  Helto slashed wildly with his saber.

  Missed.

  Lucon grinned.

  “Remember this one?”

  [Merciless Fist]

  All of Lucon’s holy power compressed into a single point.

  He punched.

  The impact thundered golden and bright.

  Helto was launched backward, crashing through trees like a skipping stone. He tumbled, rolled, and finally slammed into a trunk with a thud.

  Lucon strolled after him, hands loose at his sides. The blow didn’t land cleanly. At the last moment, Helto managed to use the flat of his blade to protect himself.

  “Truly.” Lucon’s tone was conversational. “You are quite skilled. You remembered after seeing it once where my punch would land—impressive.”

  Helto lay broken, blood pooling beneath him.

  Lucon tilted his head. “Working for a money-hungry bastard like Niles seems…ill-fitting for a man like you.”

  He was recruiting. Even now, the Ambrosia-fueled mind was assessing, calculating value.

  Helto, beaten and bloody, didn't answer. Instead, he twisted his head, his eyes wide with a fury that wasn't aimed at Lucon. He screamed into the darkening woods, his voice raw and desperate.

  “ARE YOU JUST GOING TO WATCH US ALL DIE?!”

  The forest answered.

  [Unstoppable Shot]

  An arrow screamed through branches, bark, piercing through all that blocked its path.

  It struck Lucon’s shoulder.

  And his flesh exploded.

  Blood burst outward.

  Lucon staggered, his arm below his blown out shoulder hanging loosely at his side.

  A voice cut through the ringing silence, projected with unnatural force, as if thrown across the distance to land in Lucon’s vicinity. It was cool, analytical, and tinged with genuine curiosity.

  “Impressive. That arrow was supposed to hit your head, but you dodged at the last moment. And I shot when you were wide open, too.” The voice chuckled. “I can’t wait to see you try to dodge another one.”

  Lucon squinted his eyes, scanning the deepening gloom of the forest. The Flow around him was a vivid map of the immediate area—the fading energies of the fallen, Skhav’s bestial mana, Georgi’s golden blessing, Hilda’s nervous flutter. But the voice came from somewhere outside that map. The archer was far beyond the range of his enhanced perception.

  [Unstoppable Shot]

  The sound came a fraction of a second after the arrow itself was already in flight. It tore through the twilight, a line of condensed, furious energy that seemed to ignore distance and obstacle.

  This one was aimed true, a perfect line for Lucon’s skull.

  It was too fast. Even with the Flow, even seeing its trajectory a heartbeat before it arrived, his body couldn't move fast enough to escape its path.

  He would die here.

  He then thought with a quiet, resigned sigh, It was fun while it lasted.