Arayn's eyes swept across the battlefield, but there was nothing. No footsteps. No scent of blood. Not even the faintest breath to betray their presence. His five senses were utterly useless.

A quiet chuckle left his lips. Lyssa’s illusion magic was remarkable, so precise it distorted all five of his senses. Even the world beyond was cloaked in the same deceptive veil.

He hadn't found them on his own. If not for Darius and his mosquito familiars, even he would not have been able to find their hideout. Their mistake was they decided to hide in the town.

Arayn shrugged off his Robe of Concealment, letting it fall in a heap at his feet. At once, his [Demonic Aura] surged outward, seeping into every corner of the house.

A blur of movement, and then pain. A sharp claw raked his side. Without hesitation, he spun, sword flashing as black tendrils coiled around the blade. [Soul Rend]. The strike was precise. A white-furred arm hit the ground with a dull thud.

His eyes narrowed. Thalric. The furred arm confirmed it. Yet even with a severed limb, the bastard remained unseen.

This time, though, Arayn caught something unmistakable. Blood. The scent barely reached him, but it was enough.

Without wasting a second, he raised a hand, summoning several [Cursed Fangs]. The crimson projectiles shot forward, whistling through the air before erupting in violent bursts.

The illusion shattered. The grand, luxurious house dissolved like mist, revealing the broken remains of a ruined dwelling.

As the dust settled, Arayn's gaze locked onto his target. Thalric crouched low, shielding Alyssa beneath him. His wounds were deep, his body torn and burned. However, the torn flesh slowly knit itself together.

Arayn’s eyes lingered on Thalric, the pieces falling into place. So, his suspicion was correct. Thalric was connected to the Bloodmoon Clan. The strongest werewolf clan, known for their unrivaled soul-body unity and regeneration.

As the son of the Sovereign, Arayn had been taught extensively about the cult and its ties to various beastfolk. He knew their alliances, their rituals, and their bloodlines. The Bloodmoon Clan’s family tree was something he had studied in detail. Yet no matter how far back he searched, Thalric’s name had never appeared.

A smirk tugged at Arayn’s lips. The conclusion was obvious. Thalric was an illegitimate son.

"Even if you carry Bloodmoon blood, I'll kill you today," Arayn declared.

Thalric steadied his breath and said, "Let Lyssa go. If you do, I’ll fight you one-on-one."

Arayn’s expression didn’t change. "Do you think I’m afraid to take on both of you at once?"

Thalric shook his head. "That's not what I meant. I’m asking as a warrior."

Arayn let out a quiet chuckle. "A warrior?" He found the notion amusing. "You’ve ambushed me twice. That’s hardly the behavior of a warrior."

Thalric didn’t argue. Instead, he lowered himself into a deep bow, pressing his forehead against the bloodstained ground. "I know... and I apologize... but please… let her go. She’s injured."

Arayn stared at him for a long moment as if weighing the request. Then, without a word, he extended his hand. Beam flared to life. [Inferno Torrent] shot forward.

Thalric moved instantly, shoving Lyssa aside as the beam pierced through his stomach.

Lyssa hit the ground hard, coughing up blood. Thalric staggered but remained standing, his teeth clenched against the searing pain. His voice rang out, hoarse but furious as he saw his master's pitiful state. "Do you have no honor as a warrior?"

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Arayn didn’t bother to answer. Instead, he raised his hand and unleashed several [Cursed Fangs]. The crimson projectiles whistled through the air before erupting around Thalric, tearing into his flesh. Yet even as his body was ravaged by the blasts, the wounds began to heal.

Arayn glanced at Lyssa, her lips whispering something under her breath. Before she could finish, Arayn extended his hand once more.

Thalric’s eyes widened. He lunged, barely clearing the ground as Arayn fired another beam. The attack tore through the space where Lyssa had been, but Thalric had pushed her aside again, taking the stab of the blast himself.

Lyssa stared at him, watching his wounds close again, his body enduring injury after injury just to keep her alive. Tears welled in her eyes, then spilled down her face.

Thalric pushed himself to his feet, his body still mending from the wounds. He bent down and lifted Lyssa into his arms.

"I’m sorry," she whispered, her voice weak. "I’m just slowing you down."

"Don’t say that," Thalric replied, his grip tightening around her. "I promised to stay by your side."

He took off, pushing through the pain, but before he could gain any distance, a searing beam shot forward.

Arayn’s attack struck his leg.

Thalric stumbled, his balance lost. He hit the ground hard, Lyssa slipping from his grasp.

Another attack followed, [Cursed Fang], aimed directly at her.

Thalric didn’t hesitate. He lunged, shielding her as the explosion engulfed him. Pain tore through his body, his flesh searing, his bones rattling under the force. His regeneration kicked in, but slower this time. Much slower.

Arayn chuckled, watching the struggle unfold. "So, your healing is finally slowing down." His voice was filled with amusement. "You really are an amusing little toy. Not many people are born with soul-body unity."

Without pause, Arayn raised his hand and unleashed another barrage of [Cursed Fangs].

Thalric braced himself. The ground erupted in a series of violent blasts, sending shockwaves through the ruins. Amid the explosion, Lyssa was thrown clear outside, her body skidding across the road.

Lyssa struggled to push herself up, her arms trembling as she rose to her knees. Her vision blurred, her body aching, but none of it mattered when she saw him.

Thalric.

His body was burning, charred flesh peeling away, yet he still crawled toward her, dragging himself forward with what little strength he had left.

"No…" The word fell from her lips, barely a whisper at first. Then louder. "No, no, no. Thalric! Please, no!"

Her voice cracked with desperation, but he kept moving—slow, agonizing, relentless.

Heavy footsteps approached.

Arayn emerged from the ruins, stepping past the smoldering debris. He halted beside Thalric, staring down at the broken werewolf with an expression of quiet amusement.

"I promised I’d kill you in front of her," he said. His voice was calm.

"No, Arayn, please spare him. I will do anything. Please!" Lyssa begged.

He raised his sword, black tendrils coiling around the blade as [Soul Rend] took hold. Then, with a single swift motion, he swung down.

Lyssa’s scream tore through the air as Thalric’s head rolled on the ground.

Lyssa’s body felt like lead, the weight of despair sinking her to the ground. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, all she could do was stare at Thalric’s severed head. Her mind couldn’t comprehend the reality of it, her heart racing, but no words came. Only silence.

Arayn stood over her, his eyes narrowing, almost pitying.

"Are you longing to die now?" His voice cut through the silence. "I’m disappointed. Among all the participants, I found you and Eryndor to be the most interesting. I thought you might realize your true origin, but now... now you’re just longing for death. It’s over for you."

He sighed. "I’ll tell you your origin now, as a parting gift. Your origin is longing. If you had figured that out sooner, perhaps you could have become more powerful. How unfortunate."

He raised his sword, the blade hovering above her. Lyssa’s eyes locked onto it, her expression vacant, as if life had been drained from her very soul. Then, something strange happened.

Arayn’s eyes widened in shock. He looked to the side, seemingly addressing someone invisible.

"What? I was wrong this time?" His voice was laced with disbelief. "Oi, are you serious, Tyras? Her origin is imagination?"

He turned back to Lyssa, a chuckle escaping his lips.

"Did I startle you? You’ll understand when you reach expert level and open that feature. You are lucky, Lyssa. Rejoice. Your origin is an extremely rare one. I’ll help you this time. Don’t imagine yourself dying. Imagine being alive."

He placed the tip of his sword gently against her chest. Lyssa’s eyes fluttered, still distant, her body numb. The sword pressed down, and in an instant, she collapsed to the ground.

Arayn gazed at Lyssa's lifeless body, a soft smile curling at the corners of his lips. He stood there for a moment, savoring the quiet, before a voice echoed in his mind.

"Lyssa is dead. The killer, Arayn, will be rewarded with 100 points."

Arayn’s smile widened, the praise almost satisfying in its coldness. "Not bad," he murmured to himself.

With a final glance at Lyssa, he turned and walked away, the sound of his footsteps the only thing breaking the stillness.