In the narrow alley, the clash between Whale and Henderson continued, raw mana lashing through the darkness. Henderson's wind blades sliced the air, each gust as sharp as a razor, but Whale met each strike with equal ferocity. Her greatsword, infused with torrents of water mana, carved arcs through the storm, her stoic resolve unsettling her opponent.

Henderson's face was tinged with frustration. His breathing was labored, and his eyes flickered with exhaustion. It was becoming evident that his mana reserves were nearing depletion. To add insult to injury, he was a mage facing a warrior. Even as a battle-hardened close-quarter combat mage, without mana, he was no different from a blade without an edge—useless, vulnerable, and destined to break.

Whale's grip tightened on her greatsword. As the youngest and least experienced member of Silent Dawn, she wasn't well-versed in prolonged combat. Her stance was firm, but her strikes were starting to lose their sharpness. She needed a breakthrough.

Then, they both felt it.

A surge of mana erupted nearby, thickening the very air as if imbued with a dark, foreboding presence. Both combatants turned, eyes widening as they took in the source of the surge. Standing amidst the chaos was a young boy with pale snow-white hair, his figure ablaze with black and scarlet flames that coiled around him like serpents. His once resilient white eyes were now cold and crimson, casting a faint, soft scarlet glow in the air. His torn rags whipped around in waves, and his ghostly appearance twisted with a newfound intensity.

But the boy's gaze wasn't on them. His attention turned first to the guards and noble knights slaughtering defenceless commoners in the chaotic fray. Then, his cold, ruthless eyes locked onto a particular man.

This... this is the bastard who killed Taran.

He could feel it, for some reason—these odd flames swirling around him, almost as if they were screaming, telling him who was responsible.

The noble knight looked up, momentarily dazed by the sight of Wynn and the seething flames around him. But that hesitation was fatal. In a flash, Wynn lunged forward, swift and ruthless. His blunt wooden sword, ablaze with flames, swept through the air. With one clean strike, he beheaded the knight.

First kill.

I really did it. I actually killed someone.

Wynn picked up the bloodied sword of the beheaded knight, stained not only with the knight's blood but also with the blood of Taran and countless other innocent commoners—merely here to dance and sing with their loved ones.

Wynn turned, his gaze locking onto Henderson, who had seen the entire display unfold. Henderson smirked despite his exhaustion.

"A golden-chained rat is still a rat. You have no technique, no discipline. You're nothing more than a wild child wielding fire—lucky to be alive."

Whale tensed, her mind racing. She would have been overjoyed to have an ally against Henderson, but doubt gnawed at her. Could this boy truly be an ally? Who could say where his loyalties lay? After all, she and her gang of rebels were practically traitors to the Empire—would the boy see them as such too?

For now, she would remain on the sidelines, conserving her mana and biding her time, waiting for the right moment to intervene without putting herself in a vulnerable position.

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In the meantime, Wynn lunged forward, his stolen sword crackling with dark crimson flames. The air thickened as his blade cut through the space between him and Henderson. He swung with everything he had, aiming for Henderson's exposed flank.

Clang.

The sound of metal meeting metal rang out as Wynn's strike was intercepted by a small concealed dagger.

Though small, the dagger was something Henderson was adept with as a backup weapon. While it could never be a match for Whale's formidable greatsword, the rat-like boy was an entirely different case.

Henderson's hand shot out, the dagger flashing like lightning, deflecting Wynn's next blow with ease. Wynn growled, stepping back, trying to recalibrate his next move. But Henderson was already upon him, moving with the precision of a seasoned fighter. He swiped the dagger upwards, aiming for Wynn's throat. Wynn twisted to the side just in time, but the blade grazed his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.

The boy's eyes narrowed. He wasn't an idiot. He knew he didn't stand a chance against Henderson in a one-on-one fight. After all, he was fresh awakened, his powers still raw, and his experience nonexistent. Meanwhile, Henderson, with his noble bearing and battle-hardened experience, was a seasoned mage—whether or not he was out of mana. Wynn had been lucky earlier, catching that noble knight off guard when he was exhausted. If not for that, who's to say it wouldn't have been his own head rolling on the ground instead of the knight? Who would consider his pitiful, almost non-existent amateur fighting skills?

Close your eyes.

A sharp, composed, yet regal voice called out.

Wynn hesitated for a second. It wasn't his own voice. He wasn't thinking—it was something beyond comprehension, something much more complex. Yet for some reason, his gut urged him to follow it.

With no other choice, knowing things wouldn't end well if they continued as they were, Wynn obeyed. His pale eyelids shut tight.

In that instant, everything changed.

His surroundings melted away, not in darkness, but in sensation. The air around him was alive. He could feel every movement—the swish of Henderson's tattered robes as he shifted his weight, the minute trembling of the ground beneath his feet, the subtle shifts in the tension of the air itself.

Wynn sensed everything. The sword, once an alien thing in his hand, now felt like an extension of himself. But more than that, he felt the trajectory of his attack before he even thought of it. There was no deliberate swing, no planning. Wynn was the sword. His movements were instinctive, as natural as breathing. He could feel where Henderson's next attack would land before the mage even thought of it.

Henderson's eyes widened as Wynn moved. His body fluid and precise, Wynn's strikes were almost unnaturally graceful despite the rawness of his style. Henderson barely managed to block the first few blows with a flick of his hand, his daggers forming a barrier between him and Wynn's fiery sword.

Frustration mounted in Henderson's eyes. With a deep breath, he summoned a green magic circle, and a surge of wind tore through the alley, sending a violent gust to knock Wynn off balance. Before the boy could regain his footing, Henderson thrust forward with a burst of speed. His dagger lashed out, disarming Wynn in one swift motion. The boy's sword flew from his hand, landing with a dull thud on the cobblestones.

Henderson stepped forward, his expression cold and calculating.

"Something tells me that if I don't kill you now, boy, something terrible will befall the Sothis Duchy. No. Something extraordinarily terrible will befall the entire Empire," he said, voice laced with finality. "I, Viscount Henderson, honourable servant of the Sothis Duchy and second-in-command attendant to Young Lady Sothis, hereby declare upon you the ultimate penalty."

He took another step forward.

"Oh vermin from the slums, do you not have any last words?"

His voice boomed.

Wynn, breathless and vulnerable, met his gaze. But instead of fear, a smirk curled tugged at his lips, a defiant glimmer in his crimson eyes.

"Rats guide to living in the slums"

Shing.

A flash of steel tore through Henderson's chest, the blade entering one side and exiting the other. Whale's greatsword, infused with the fury of a storm, drove deep into his back. Henderson's eyes widened in shock as the cold steel shattered his defenses, his body seizing in disbelief.

"Stay away from con artists."

The Viscount's lifeless body fell to the ground with a thud, as Wynn finally collapsed.

und with a thud, as Wynn finally collapsed.