Arayn hadn’t expected it. Killing a clone of Kaelion had granted him a lifespan increase. That shouldn't have been possible. Clones were complex magic, yes, but they had no souls. Yet, the one he had just defeated contained a soul. However, something was off. It had given him just two minutes lifespan. A normal human soul would have granted him twelve hours.

His thoughts turned, pieces falling into place. Then, his gaze settled on Kaelion and his duplicates.

"You’re all the real Kaelion," he said. "None of you are fakes. There’s only one race that can split its body and share its senses across each form. Kaelion, you’re a doppelganger."

Laughter rang out—one voice, multiplied. Each Kaelion grinned and pointed their fingers at Arayn.

"That’s right," they said in unison. "Because we’re all real, our strength is the same."

Arayn scoffed. "You really are just a worm, Kaelion."

Doppelgangers could split their bodies, yes. Each one carried the same strength. However, there was a cost. The more they divided, the more their potential dwindled. That was why truly powerful doppelgangers never relied on it. They would use other innate abilities granted to them as a doppelganger.

"As long as you cling to this," Arayn continued, his tone sharp, "you’re doomed to be nothing more than worms."

Kaelion’s expression twisted with rage. "I will become stronger," he snarled. "And you won’t be around to see it because I’m going to kill you."

All the Kaelions rushed him at once.

Arayn exhaled slowly and shut his eyes. A familiar pull stirred deep within—[Dark Pact]—a connection to the time he had left. A system window flashed in his mind.

[Lifespan: One year, six months, twelve hours, two minutes.]

His eyes snapped open. "That’s enough," he muttered.

A year of his life burned away in an instant. Power flooded his body, rolling off him in waves. The air grew heavy. The Kaelions faltered mid-step, their charge slowing as if wading through tar.

Arayn didn’t wait. He shot forward, the ground cracking beneath his feet. His blade plunged into Kaelion A’s chest, sliding through flesh and bone. With a pull his wrist, he tore the weapon free and turned, already moving.

Kaelion B barely had time to raise his arms before Arayn’s blade carved through his neck. Blood sprayed in an arc, his head tumbling to the asphalt.

The others hesitated, sluggish under the weight of his [Demonic Aura]. Arayn pivoted, locking onto Kaelion C. He lunged, blade flashing.

Kaelion C blurred, his body twisting like smoke caught in the wind. In an instant, he vanished.

Arayn's senses screamed. He spun around.

A few paces away, space shimmered. Kaelion C reappeared beside Kaelion D.

Arayn smirked. "Teleportation," he murmured.

Without turning, he raised a hand and unleashed a beam. The energy tore through the Kaelions in front of him, their bodies splitting apart, dissolving into nothing.

At the back, Kaelion J sprang onto a rooftop, his cloak billowing as he tried to flee.

Arayn’s gaze snapped to him. His fingers curled, black energy coiling at his palm.

"You’re not going anywhere."

He thrust his hand forward, and [Cursed Fang] shot through the air, racing toward its target.

Arayn cut through the Kaelions with ease, his blade carving through their flesh. Another fell. Then another. His body moved on instinct, honed by countless battles.

When his sword plunged into Kaelion O’s chest, the man didn’t collapse like the others. Instead, his hands shot out, clamping around Arayn’s arms with an iron grip. A grin spread across Kaelion O’s face.

"I got you," he said.

Arayn didn’t flinch. "No, you don’t."

With a sharp twist, he wrenched his arms free as if Kaelion O’s hold had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience. His blade slashed across the man’s neck, cutting off his smirk—

Then, pain.

Cold metal tore through his back. The force of it drove him forward, nearly to his knees. His breath hitched. Slowly, he turned his head.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

Valen stood behind him, one hand gripping the spear buried in Arayn’s body.

Arayn exhaled through his nose. "I see," he muttered. "No wonder I couldn't sense you. All these Kaelions… just decoys. You got me. I commend you."

Valen snorted. "You are still composed, even though you are about to face death? I have to say that I never met someone like you."

Arayn coughed, blood dripping from his lips, but his expression remained composed. "It is what it is," he said. "You two win."

Valen’s grip tightened. With a sharp tug, he yanked the spear free. Blood gushed from the wound, staining the ground beneath them.

Arayn staggered but didn’t fall. Instead, he turned away. The ruined tavern loomed ahead, its broken walls letting him see a throne he had left behind. He moved toward it, each step leaving a trail of crimson.

He sat.

Leaning back, he lifted his gaze to the sky. The night stretched endlessly above him, clear and vast, littered with stars. A streak of light cut across the darkness, a falling star.

A faint smile touched his lips. "The sky is clear today," he murmured. "Not a bad way to go."

His eyes remained open, but the light within them faded.

Arayn was dead.

Darius’s voice echoed in Valen and Kaelion’s minds, confirming that this was not a trick or illusion.

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

Valen exhaled, his gaze fixed on the lifeless figure slumped on the throne. He knew it was true—had seen the light leave Arayn’s eyes—but hearing it confirmed left a strange weight in his chest.

"If I had fought him one-on-one…" Valen murmured, fingers tightening around his spear. "I wouldn’t have won. Not as I am now."

Kaelion scoffed. "Tch. Troublesome man." He stepped forward, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the tension of battle. "But he was nothing in the end."

His boots scraped against the rubble as he approached Arayn. He drew a knife.

"This is for my clones," he muttered.

He raised the knife, preparing to stab—

"Stop."

Kaelion froze. He felt familiar with the voice.

Valen turned sharply, his body tensing.

A woman stood behind them, dressed in a flowing black gown. The wind carried the fabric, making it ripple like shadows given form. Her long white hair drifted with the breeze, strands glowing faintly under the moonlight. Cold red eyes studied them, sharp as a predator’s.

For a moment, neither Valen nor Kaelion spoke. Then, as if compelled by an unseen force, they dropped to one knee.

"We greet you, Princess of the Crimson Sun Cult," they greeted in unison.

Alice stepped forward, her gaze steady. "Leave me alone with him."

Kaelion frowned. "We can’t do that," he said, crossing his arms. "You have no authority in this ritual. You know the rules—you can’t take sides."

"I’m not taking sides," Alice replied, her voice as calm as ever. "As the daughter of the Sovereign and a member of the cult, I let him die. But now, as his older sister, I want to be by his side and give him a proper funeral."

Silence settled between them. Kaelion glanced at Valen.

Valen studied Alice for a moment, then nodded.

"We’ll leave you alone with him," he said. His tone softened slightly. "I’m sorry. I had to do this... because of circumstances. I hope you won’t hate me for it."

Alice gave a small nod, saying nothing more as she stepped past them.

As she walked by, Valen found his gaze drawn to her. Up close, her beauty was striking—elegant and cold. It wasn’t just her looks. There was something else. Strength. Resolve. She carried herself with the grace of royalty but the heart of a warrior.

His fiancée.

After the ritual, she would be his. Even without his promise to Darius, he would cherish her.

Valen exhaled, tearing his gaze away.

"Let’s go, Kaelion," he said. "It’s time to end this."

Alice watched as Valen and Kaelion disappeared into the night, their footsteps fading into silence. Only then did she move.

She stepped toward Arayn, her gaze falling upon his lifeless eyes. A hollow ache settled in her chest.

Memories surfaced—memories of the first time she met him, reaching out with an open hand. The days of their childhood, running side by side. Arayn, always ahead. Always winning. Always smug.

She sank onto his lap, pulling his head against her shoulder. Her arms tightened around him, as if holding him now could change what had already been decided.

Tears slipped down her cheeks. Her voice trembled.

"Stupid brother," she whispered. "Even if everything went according to plan... can’t you understand?" Her grip tightened. "Someone can still hurt when you’re hurt."

---

By the flickering campfire, Eryndor sat in silence, his face turned toward the night sky. Though his eyes saw nothing, a shadow of melancholy crossed his features.

Aveline, seated nearby, noticed his change in expression. "What's wrong?" she asked.

For a moment, Eryndor said nothing. Then, in a quiet voice, he replied, "Arayn is dead. Valen killed him."

Aveline let out a slow sigh, relief washing over her. "He was dangerous. I'm glad we won’t have to face him in the end."

Eryndor exhaled through his nose. "A pity. Arayn was a good man."

Aveline frowned, giving him a sideways glance. "I’ll never understand your judgment of people," she muttered. "But we need to focus on what’s ahead. Kaelion and Valen won’t be easy to deal with."

"True," Eryndor admitted. "They’ll have their tricks."

Aveline nodded. "They’ll come at us, whether slow or fast. That’s why we should save our strength. We’re not the type to play games. Let’s meet them head-on—with everything we’ve got."

---

Valen stepped into Darius’s office, his stride steady despite the excitement thrumming beneath his skin. Across the polished desk, Darius looked up, eyes unreadable.

“I’ve come for my reward,” Valen said, his tone respectful yet firm.

Darius studied him for a moment before reaching into a black lacquered box on his desk. From within, he retrieved a primordial shard. Power pulsed within it, dark and untamed. "The essence of the Heavenly Demon class," he said, holding it out.

Valen accepted it with both hands, feeling the weight of destiny settle in his grip.

Kaelion, standing nearby, grinned. “Congratulations, Valen. You’ve won the ritual.” He stepped forward and inclined his head. “From this moment, you are the rightful successor of the Crimson Sun Cult.”

Valen exhaled, satisfaction flickering in his eyes, but he shook his head. “Not yet. The ritual isn’t over. Eryndor is still standing.”

Kaelion chuckled. “Then isn’t this the perfect chance to test your new class against him?”

Valen’s fingers tightened around the shard. “You’re right.” He turned to Kaelion. “Prepare the ritual process. I’m advancing to Expert-class.”

Kaelion nodded. “I’ll see to it immediately.”

Both men turned to Darius, bowing slightly. “Thank you for your guidance, Lord Vex. I promise that I will take care of Alice, Valen said.

Darius merely waved a hand. “Go. Finish what you started.”

As Valen and Kaelion left the room, the door closing behind them, a slow smirk crept across Darius’s lips. His fingers drummed against his desk. "If you can finish it."