The moon hung high, a pale guardian of the night, spilling its borrowed light over the vast expanse of the Outer Rim's Ulta region. In the heart of this untamed wilderness, a herd of Strokedeers grazed in peace, their sleek, ever-shifting coats blending with the twilight. They moved in a loose cluster, adults keeping a watchful eye while the younger ones pranced playfully, their hooves barely making a sound against the soft earth.
To an untrained eye, they appeared vulnerable—docile even. But these creatures were no ordinary prey.
Unlike their more formidable cousins, the Greindeers, Strokedeers lacked raw power, but their survival did not hinge on brute strength. Their gifts lay in their senses.
Each member of the herd possessed an innate attunement to mana—a biological gift that allowed them to see beyond the physical realm, past illusions and deception. Their sight penetrated magical constructs, revealing the energy flows hidden from human perception. They could feel the faintest shifts in mana pressure, the tremors of a spell forming in the air, the imbalance caused by unnatural presences.
And yet, on this fateful night, they failed to notice the shadows moving between the trees.
They were being watched.
The First Strike: A sharp crack echoed through the clearing—a sound of something moving faster than the ear could follow.
Then came the scream.
A horrific, gurgling cry—one of their own.
The herd snapped their heads in unison toward the source. A senior buck, his coat once glimmering like liquid silver, now twitched on the ground, a hole carved into his ribcage just below the mana core. The life faded from his luminous eyes as blood seeped into the soil.
The attacker? Gone. Vanished before their sharp eyes could catch him.
Panic struck.
The herd leader, an ancient beast with antlers like jagged obsidian, raised his head to the sky and let out a deep, rumbling cry—a signal passed through generations, a command ingrained in their very being.
RUN.
Mana Zone: Flames of Destruction
They bolted, their powerful legs pounding the earth, sending dust and crushed leaves into the air. Their instinct was to scatter, to spread wide and make it difficult for the predator to focus on any single target.
But they didn't get far.
A wall of fire erupted before them, flames licking the air with unnatural hunger. The spell had been waiting for them, placed with calculated precision. Some of the younger deers nearly crashed into the inferno before skidding to a stop, their hooves digging trenches into the dirt.
Then—SAP! SAP! SAP!
From beyond the fire, streaks of flame-laced arcs tore through the barrier, hissing like vipers as they streaked toward the herd.
The elders reacted instantly.
Their antlers glowed, forming interwoven barriers of hardened mana, crystalized shields to absorb the incoming onslaught. Explosions of ember and energy crackled in the night as fire met mana, casting eerie flickering shadows against the trees.
But the real enemy was already among them.
A dark blur sliced through the chaos.
He moved between two Strokedeers in a single breath, a pair of twin blades flashing—one coated in raw, untamed mana, the other radiating a chilling blue aura.
Before either beast could react, one was impaled through the ribs, the blade piercing flesh as easily as a hot knife through wax. The second managed to lunge, swinging its massive head in a desperate attack—its lower antlers scraping against the man's cloak.
It was too slow.
The figure twisted mid-air, sidestepping the strike with fluid grace, his movements as seamless as a leaf in the wind. Then—
SUP!
A streak of light pierced the skull of the charging Strokedeer.
A precise, almost delicate shot—so perfectly timed that the beast didn't even realize it was dead until its legs collapsed beneath it. Its forehead caved in, the wound seared shut by the heat of the attack. A faint, smoky trail rose from the corpse.
A voice, calm and composed, cut through the night:
"Good one, Lav."
The shadowy figure disappeared once more.
The remaining Strokedeers didn't stop to mourn.
They knew what they had to do. They turned in formation, heads low, legs pounding the earth. The herd moved like a living arrow, their speed doubling, then tripling as their desperation surged.
Then—they felt it.
Another presence.
Another predator.
A figure running parallel to them, hidden beyond the trees and bushes, matching their speed with unnatural ease. A hunter with no hooves.
They knew this was no ordinary foe.
The herd leader sounded another cry, a new signal. Not to flee. To prepare.
But she was faster.
A sharp CLAP!
The air vibrated.
Mana Zone: Dawn of Wind Chester!
From the shadows, a hundred blades of wind tore through the air, twisting and screaming like banshees. Unlike fire, which burned and consumed, these blades were cruel.
They sliced cleanly.
They inflicted prolonged suffering.
The elders reacted first. Their antlers shimmered, forming an overlapping barricade—a defense meant to absorb magic and deflect it outward. A perfect wall against most spells.
But the hunter had anticipated this.
The wind projectiles weren't aimed at the front lines—they were targeting the core of the herd, the young ones, the elders, the ones they could never abandon.
The defenders had no choice.
They shifted their mana barriers inward, protecting their weak.
And that was when she struck.
A gleaming weapon flashed in the moonlight—a trident-like spear, its edges glowing with a blend of deep blue and forest green, shimmering as if forged from the wind itself.
She raised it high.
The night air stilled for a moment.
And then—she moved.
***
he forest stilled, the air thick with the scent of burning fur and blood. The dying embers of the battle flickered, casting shadows against the trunks of the towering trees. The last Strokedeer twitched, its once-proud eyes dulling as the life drained from its broken form.
Lucius exhaled slowly, the grip on his weapon loosening.
"That was the last one, Lav. Leave the rest, and please don't make me repeat myself again."
His voice was calm, but not cold—there was a weight behind those words, a restraint that only those who knew him well would recognize.
Lav—taller, broader, with striking black and ember-orange hair—stood just a few feet away, lowering his bow. The weapon gleamed in the moonlight, its limbs shimmering with a fusion of imbued colors, a craftsmanship beyond the reach of ordinary men.
His expression remained unreadable, but his light brown eyes—calculating, empty of remorse—revealed the truth. Lav had no sympathy for what they had done tonight. Unlike Lucius, who still held onto some vestige of emotion, Lavya saw the Strokedeers as nothing more than meat and mana cores.
He didn't speak. He only nodded, his attention shifting toward the fleeing remnants of the herd. His fingers tightened around the bowstring, mana humming at his fingertips, ready to let loose another meteor-like shot that would cut them down mid-stride.
Lucius, watching him carefully, subtly adjusted his stance.
He needed to be sure Lavya wouldn't disobey.
But before Lav could release, something stopped him.
A small whimper.
The Younglings
Between the fallen bodies, three small Strokedeers trembled, their tiny hooves nudging the lifeless forms of their parents. Their round, wide eyes were filled with innocence, confusion... and grief.
One of them—a fawn with a speckled white coat—lowered its head, nudging its mother's lifeless belly, pushing weakly. When that failed, it tried to lick the wound, as if desperately hoping she would wake up.
A second tried to lift its father's collapsed head with its small horns. It chirped softly, a broken, pitiful sound that carried through the cold air.
The third?
It didn't move.
It simply stared at Lavya and Lucius, its body shaking, but its eyes filled with something deeper.
Hatred.
Both men stood there, watching.
Lavya's fingers twitched, hovering near his weapon. He hated hesitation, and this? This moment of pause? Useless sentimentality.
Without a word, he released his dominant aura, the pressure crashing into the tiny creatures like an invisible wave.
The baby Strokedeers flinched, their instincts screaming at them to run.
And they did.
They turned and bolted into the darkness, their little legs carrying them toward the now-dissipating fire barrier, where the flames had begun to fade into embers.
Before they disappeared, they looked back one last time.
A final, silent promise.
I will remember you.
Lucius exhaled through his nose. He knew this species well. Strokedeers had memories as sharp as blades.
They would never forget their enemies.
Lavya, unimpressed, snorted.
"That look from those little shits… Still think it was a good idea to let them live, Lucius?"
Lucius didn't respond immediately. He simply watched the trees, as if weighing something heavier than words.
Finally, he murmured, "They hold no value. Unlike these."
It was the logical answer. The one Lavya expected.
But the taller man wasn't fooled.
"Tch. That's not the real reason, and you know it."
Lavya shifted his weight, his bow vanishing into his storage ring. He turned to Lucius, his expression sharp, analyzing him the way a predator sizes up a wounded rival.
"Had we captured them, we'd be walking away with five times the eons we'd make from these corpses. You could've done it. Easily."
Lucius said nothing.
Lavya grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"You're too soft."
Lucius glanced at him, and for a moment, Lavya could see it—the flicker of something unreadable behind his captain's gaze.
Soft?
No.
Lucius knew what capturing younglings meant.
He had heard the stories. The horrors of the illegal beast markets near the borders of Vagsheer—the capital of black trading, where young creatures were ripped from their homes and tortured until their wills snapped like brittle bones.
Even Lavya, ruthless as he was, never dabbled in that trade.
But Lucius? He didn't even need the excuse.
He simply wasn't built for that kind of cruelty.
And Lavya? He hated him for it.
Not because it was weakness.
But because he knew Lucius would never change.
A voice cut through the tension.
"Thank you, Lav, for always being so difficult and stubborn."
Lavya stiffened.
Lucius turned his head slightly, his gaze landing on Sara, stepping from the shadows.
She was beautiful—but in a way that was as dangerous as it was elegant. Dark brown and pearl-white hair, cascading over polished knight-style armor—a design reminiscent of Sia's own. Her blueish eyes held an intensity that few could match, her wind-cloak fluttering in the lingering heat.
She walked past Lavya, toward Lucius, her presence commanding without trying.
"Lucy, I tried my best," she said softly, "to give them a painless death. And the young ones… they didn't see it happen."
She didn't need to apologize.
Lucius knew she had honored his wishes.
She had taken down the rest of the herd. Alone.
Lavya, eager to change the subject, stretched his arms lazily.
"Now then, what's next?"
Lucius answered without hesitation.
"Home. For you two."
Lavya's brows furrowed. "And you?"
Lucius turned away, stepping toward the deeper, darker regions of the Outer Rim.
"I have a personal task. An investigation."
Sara's eyes darkened.
Not again.
Lavya threw his hands up, exasperated. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Lucius! Not again! Sia will kill me if I don't bring you back this time!"
Sara remained quiet—but her silence was just as sharp.
They had been here before.
Lucius had a habit of disappearing into the most dangerous territories, alone, refusing to give them an explanation.
Sara took a step closer. Her voice was gentler, but it held an edge of urgency.
"Lucius, let's not do this. Not this time. Please."
Her black eyes locked onto his, searching for something.
"Not after what happened a week ago."
Lucius paused.
For a moment, they thought he might reconsider.
Then, he smiled—a small, tired thing.
"I promise I'll be back before you know it."
And that was it.
No room for argument.
He tossed his storage ring to Lavya. "Split the profits as we agreed. Just make sure Sia never finds out."
They all knew the deal.
At first, Lavya and Sara didn't mind Lucius's reckless ventures—his earnings were always worth the risk. But now?
Now, it was different.
They weren't just a team anymore.
They were family.
Lavya sighed. "Tch. Fine. Have it your way, asshole."
Sara didn't say anything.
She just watched as Lucius walked away, vanishing into the depths of the forest.
And this time, neither of them could shake the feeling—
That he might not come back, unharmed.
***
Lavya moved through the dense undergrowth with practiced ease, his instincts honed over years of survival. His sensory skill pulsed outward, mapping the surroundings in his mind as he led the way back home. The forest was eerily silent now, save for the occasional rustling of leaves from distant beasts.
Despite the quiet, his irritation burned hot.
"That bastard and his unhealthy obsession… I swear to god, one day, I'll beat the sense of self-preservation into him."
His voice was a low growl, filled with frustration.
Sara, walking a step behind him, remained silent.
Her gaze stayed locked onto the back of Lavya's armor, but her mind was elsewhere—stuck on the image of Lucius disappearing into the darkness.
She had known.
The moment he tossed his storage ring to Lavya, the moment he gave that half-hearted promise to return—she had known.
He wasn't coming back in 'no time'.
Not because he couldn't.
But because he never intended to.
She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms.
A thought flickered through her mind. One she had buried long ago.
'If only that day...'
She shut her eyes for a moment. No. Never mind.
They had tried. Again and again.
But Lucius was a force beyond persuasion—a wildfire that refused to be contained.
This had become a pattern, a habit.
Every time their mission ended, he vanished. Into the depths of the Outer Rim—into lands where beasts grew more monstrous, where adventurers far stronger than him disappeared without a trace.
And yet, he kept going. Alone.
Why?
Sara knew the answer.
Because he had to.
Because Lucius wasn't like them.
Lavya let out a deep breath, his irritation ebbing slightly as he sensed Sara's silence behind him.
He knew what she was thinking.
They should've stopped him.
And in another life? Maybe they would have.
But not after that day.
"I know what you're thinking, Sara."
His voice was lower now, not filled with anger—but something heavier.
"That duel… It was planned. It was always planned. We didn't lose because we were weaker. We lost because that smartass knew everything about us."
Sara remained quiet.
She didn't need the reminder. She remembered every second of it.
The fight that took place two and a half years ago.
The moment their world shifted.
They had been a team—Lucius, Sara, Lavya, and their assigned guardian, following standard protocol for young adventurers.
The rule was simple: until an adventurer turned fifteen, they were required to train and grow under the watch of an experienced mentor. It was a structured system meant to prevent reckless deaths.
And Lucius? He had been the youngest of them.
But the moment he turned fifteen—
He challenged them both.
And he won.
He beat them into the dirt with nothing but his sheer adaptability, his ability to read, learn, and counter them as if he had lived their fights a hundred times over.
By the time they realized what was happening, it was too late.
Lucius wasn't just a fighter—he was an observer. He watched, he memorized, and then he exploited.
They had trained together for years.
And he had learned everything about them.
Sara's footfalls slowed slightly as the memory resurfaced, playing out like a scene etched into her bones.
The way he moved. Fluid. Unnatural.
The way he dodged without hesitation, countered without flaw.
He knew exactly when Lavya would fire. He knew exactly how Sara's wind spells functioned.
By the end of it, they were on the ground—exhausted, broken, and defeated.
And Lucius?
He just stood there. Not smiling. Not gloating.
Just waiting.
For their acknowledgment.
And in the end… they gave it.
Sara inhaled sharply, shaking the thought away.
That duel had sealed his freedom.
Their guardian, seeing his victory, had accepted the outcome. Lucius was no longer bound by the restrictions placed on young adventurers.
And this? This constant wandering into danger, this obsession with testing himself against the unknown?
This was his reward.
And that was the truth neither of them wanted to admit.
Lucius wasn't running from something.
He was chasing something.
And nothing they said would stop him.
Lavya's pace slowed slightly. He turned his head just enough to glance at Sara.
"We don't have much time."
Sara looked up, her dark eyes flashing with understanding.
She knew what he meant.
Lucius was seventeen and a few months old now.
Which meant—
Less than a year now.
Once a mage turned eighteen, all restrictions were lifted.
There would be no more barriers between him and the deepest, deadliest parts of the Beast Rim.
And if he disappeared there?
No one would be able to pull him back.
Lavya sighed, rubbing the back of his head. His frustration hadn't faded. But beneath it, there was something else—a rare flicker of something Sara rarely saw in him.
Genuine worry.
"We have to do something," she said.
She didn't need to explain what.
Lavya already knew.
They had around half a year to stop him...
Or Lucius was probably never coming back.