The window creaked open, and Arayn slipped into Alice’s room; Soren followed behind. Arayn’s crimson eyes gleamed, a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned casually against the wall. "Well, well," he drawled. "Aren't you popular, Alice? That girl is head over heels for you."

Alice, seated in her chair with a book in hand, shot him a glare. "Don't misunderstand. I was merely playing my part. The girl’s desperate and fragile, comforting her was a means to an end, nothing more."

Arayn chuckled under his breath. "Nothing more, huh? Then why do I detect a trace of guilt in your voice?"

Alice stood, her white hair falling over her shoulders as she fixed them with a cold stare. "Guilt? Don’t be absurd. Lyssa’s fate is sealed, and I did what was necessary to push her closer to accepting it. Her feelings are irrelevant, as is her survival."

Arayn stepped forward, his grin widening. "Oh, Alice, your ability to weave webs never ceases to amaze me. That little display of compassion was masterful. You’ve planted seeds of trust in Lyssa, drawing her ever closer to her origin."

Alice arched a brow, folding her arms across her chest. "Are you here to praise my handiwork? That’s uncharacteristically sentimental of you, Arayn."

He laughed "Not sentimental, just appreciative. You’ve taken the first step in turning her into exactly what I want her to be. It's all merely for the sake of my entertainment."

Alice sighed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Just don't forget your real purpose in this ritual."

Arayn’s smile thinned, his gaze sharpening. "Of course. Although I can't control the process, the result is in my palm. I just want the variables to move within my gaze. That said, do you have useful information for me?"

Alice leaned against the edge of her desk, her white hair cascading over one shoulder. "Thalric is dangerous," she began. "That werewolf has a powerful soul-related ability. I figured it out after healing Lyssa."

Arayn crossed his arms, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "I noticed as much. Did you know his severed arm regenerated?" He tilted his head, his crimson eyes narrowing. "I cut it off myself using [Soul Rend]. That ability doesn’t just sever flesh—it severs the soul itself. Healing such a wound should be impossible unless…" He paused, his expression sharpening. "Unless he can heal his soul."

Alice frowned, her fingers drumming on the desk. "That kind of power isn’t ordinary. Soul-related abilities are extremely rare under expert-class. What does it mean?"

"It means," Arayn continued, "that Thalric must have ties to the Bloodmoon Clan. They’re an ancient werewolf clan with innate soul-related abilities. Their existence alone is a rarity these days, but having someone like him in the cult is even more intriguing."

Alice’s eyes widened, genuine surprise flashing across her face. "A man like that, and he’s not even within Azrathar’s top ten ranking for the younger generation?"

Arayn chuckled softly, a note of disdain creeping into his voice. "The ranking? It’s managed by the League of Azure Commerce. While their influence spans the continent, they’re limited. Gaining reliable information on unorthodox factions or non-human races is beyond their reach. Otherwise…" He grinned, his confidence unwavering. "I’d be in first place."

Alice arched a brow, crossing her arms. "You certainly have a lot of confidence for someone who’s lost so much of his power."

Arayn’s smirk didn’t falter. "Lost?" he echoed. "What I’ve lost is temporary. Everything I had, everything I was, I’ll reclaim. It’s only a matter of time."

Alice studied him for a moment before finally nodding. "Let’s hope your arrogance is warranted, brother. The game you are playing has no room for missteps."

"Don’t worry." Arayn turned toward the window. "I'd win."

Alice’s voice stopped Arayn as he prepared to leave through the door. "Arayn," she called. "Did you truly receive 500 souls when you collected the Heralds' souls?"

Arayn turned to her. "That’s the case."

Alice leaned back against the desk, tapping her finger thoughtfully against her lip. "You could’ve earned 1,000 contribution points, you know. The soul of a member of an orthodox faction is worth 2 points each."

"I know," Arayn replied nonchalantly, stepping closer.

"Then why didn’t you demand more?" Alice pressed, narrowing her red eyes.

"I did," Arayn admitted, his smirk faint. "Darius claimed he couldn’t give me more. Said it would raise suspicion if I scored that high. Instead, he promised to pay me the rest after the deathmatch ended."

Alice sighed, shaking her head. "I suppose uncle is right. If you need resources in the meantime, I can lend you mine."

"I won’t be considerate, then. I’ll need a wisp of an expert-class demon’s soul and a potion to enhance dexterity stat growth."

Alice arched a brow at his request. "Both are expensive. I’ll deduct their cost from the points Darius owes you."

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"Deal," Arayn said without hesitation.

Alice raised her hand, rubbing the ring on her finger. A faint shimmer appeared beside her as an inventory portal opened. She retrieved the requested items—a small, swirling wisp of dark energy encased in glass and a vial of blue liquid. She handed them to Arayn.

Arayn accepted the items. "Thank you, Alice. I know I can always count on my older sister."

Alice shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Just don’t waste what I’ve given you, little brother."

Arayn chuckled, tucking the items away before disappearing out the door with Soren, leaving Alice to her thoughts.

Arayn entered Darius’s room. Darius sat at his desk, his brown eyes glinting with curiosity as Arayn approached.

Without preamble, Arayn placed his hands on the desk. "I have two hundred points," he stated coolly. "I want the magic wand that enhances the mana pool and recovery."

Darius smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Are you in a rush, Young Master?" He reached into an inventory portal, producing an elegant wand carved from dark oak, its surface etched with runes that glowed faintly. "This wand is for your disciple, I suppose," he remarked, sliding it across the desk.

Arayn picked up the wand and inspected it briefly before turning to Soren, who stood silently by his side. Handing it to his disciple, he said, "This will amplify your mana reserves and hasten your recovery. Use it wisely."

Soren accepted the wand with a bow. "Thank you, Master. I won’t let you down."

"You still have 100 points left. Do you want to spend them now?" Darius asked.

Arayn paused, glancing over his shoulder. His crimson eyes flickered with thought before he replied, "No. I'll save them for later. The right opportunity hasn't presented itself yet."

Darius’s gaze lingered on Arayn, his interest piqued. "So, tell me," he drawled, folding his hands together, "who’s next on your list?"

Arayn’s lips curved into a sly smile. "That," he said cryptically, "is a surprise you’ll enjoy watching unfold."

Darius chuckled. "Very well. I’ll be waiting. You always entertain me, young master."

As they left Darius’s room, Soren turned to Arayn, clutching the new magic wand tightly. "Master, I will gladly follow your instructions, no matter what they are."

"Good. I like your attitude, but there's no rush of targeting other participant." He gestured toward the town visible through the manor's window. "Saria’s summoned demon beasts are still roaming around out there. They're free points just waiting for someone to claim them."

Soren’s eyes lit up with understanding. "So, we’re going hunting?"

Arayn nodded, his tone laced with amusement. "Exactly. Aren't you lucky? You are going to become stronger at a quick pace. Let’s enjoy ourselves for now. As for who we target next… we’ll decide when someone manages to stand out."

"Understood, Master. Let’s make the most of it," Soren replied.

Arayn chuckled softly, already anticipating the thrill of the hunt. "Then let’s begin." Together, they set off, ready to claim every opportunity the battlefield presented.

---

The storage room was filled with towering stacks of crates. Kaelion crouched behind a pile, his eyes locked on Aveline as she strode in, her axe charging energy.

From his hiding spot, Kaelion launched a volley of knives, the projectiles slicing through the air. Aveline raised her axe, its sturdy blade intercepting each knife with precision. Then, she swung the massive weapon, unleashing a beam arc that split through the crates in its path.

Before the debris even settled, Kaelion appeared above her. Aveline reacted in an instant, raising her axe to parry the blow, the clang of steel against steel echoing in the confined space.

Kaelion landed gracefully, weaving through Aveline’s swings. Dual knives flashed in his hands as he launched a rapid series of attacks, aiming for any opening. But Aveline’s defense was unyielding; each strike met her axe with force. Finally, she swung with all her might. Kaelion crossed his knives to block the attack, but the sheer power behind her strike sent him hurtling backward.

As he flew, Kaelion twisted mid-air and hurled both knives at her. Aveline deflected them with ease, the blades clattering harmlessly to the ground. She exhaled sharply, her focus unbroken—until a sudden, sharp pain seared through her back.

Her head snapped around, catching a fleeting glimpse of a second Kaelion darting between the shadows, retreating behind another pile of crates. She gritted her teeth, her knees buckling as the wound sapped her strength. Dropping to one knee, Aveline used her axe to steady herself, blood trickling down her armor as she glared into the darkness.

Aveline gritted her teeth, pressing a hand to the fresh wound on her back. Her gaze swept across the storage room, searching for any trace of movement. "Cloning abilities…" she muttered under her breath. "They’re not supposed to work like this. Each one has the same strength as the original. That’s not normal." Her grip tightened on her axe. "What kind of power is this? I’ve never heard of anything like it."

The first Kaelion observed her with calculating eyes, crouched silently atop a stack of crates. His thoughts raced as he watched her struggle to remain upright. 'She used that buff, [Box of Providence]. Valen said it was extraordinary. Enough to turn the tide of any battle.'

He gripped his dual knives. 'Something doesn’t add up. If it’s as powerful as they say, why hasn’t her strength increased? And that injury… it’s still bleeding. No regeneration, no vitality boost. Nothing.'

His sharp gaze narrowed. 'It has to be a bluff. A distraction to mask her real condition—she’s weakened. If that’s the case…' He shifted silently. 'This is my chance to finish her.'

Kaelion burst toward her, knives in hand. His smirk widened as he closed in on Aveline, convinced she was too weak to fight back. Just as he was about to strike, Aveline’s lips curled into a confident smile.

“You’ve fallen for my trap,” she said.

A golden aura erupted around her, enveloping her body with radiant energy. [Miracle Resurgence] activated, her strength surging to its peak. She sidestepped Kaelion’s attack, her axe whistling through the air as she struck him in the belly.

The force of the blow was immense, and Aveline pushed her weapon forward, sending Kaelion flying across the room. He crashed into a stack of crates with a grunt, the impact splintering the wood.

Aveline stood tall, her golden aura flickering like a shield of light. Her mind raced as she recalled the meticulous setup. The key to her trump card was the [Box of Providence], which she had filled with seven stacks of [Mystic Flow], a buff designed to enhance mana regeneration. She had bided her time, luring Kaelion into a false sense of security while her mana recovered. Now, her plan had worked perfectly.

Just as she prepared to finish the fight, she caught sight of something that froze her in place, a second Kaelion darting out of the storage room.

Her eyes widened in shock. "So the one I attacked was just a clone?"

She clenched her axe, frustration bubbling in her chest, but she didn’t waste time. She immediately cast her healing magic, a soothing light washing over her body. She tightened her grip on her weapon.

Aveline scanned the room, expecting Kaelion to launch another attack, but the moments stretched into silence. No knives. No shadows shifting. No sign of her opponent.

The storage room was empty, save for her. Alone, Aveline stood amidst the shattered crates, her gaze wary and her mind racing. "Did he really leave?" she muttered, unwilling to lower her guard.