The shadows in the Spectre office seemed to lengthen, crawling across the floor like ink spilled from a god's quill. Freddy finally stopped his hysterical laughter, his breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches. He wiped the cold sweat from his brow, his eyes darting toward the heavy iron-bound door as if the "Butcher of the Heavens" himself might kick it down at any moment.
"Rayn... you're a goddamn lunatic," Freddy whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of terror and begrudging respect. "You want to dive into a shark tank and you haven't even learned how to swim. But fine. If you want to know the hierarchy of this hellscape, I'll finish the map. Before I tell you about the monster who makes the King shit his silk pants, let me tell you about the remaining two superior towns. You need to know who is coming to Ashburg to spit on our graves."
Rayn leaned back, his eyes like flint. "Speak then, Freddy. Tell me about the competition before I have to start stacking their bodies."
Freddy pointed to a section of the map far to the east, nestled between jagged mountain peaks and a sprawling, sapphire-blue lake. "The third-ranked town is Berlin. It's located about five towns away from the capital, Sterling. If Sterling is the iron fist of the King, Berlin is the velvet glove. It's a 'good' town—or at least, that's what they want the world to believe."
Rayn scoffed, blowing a plume of acrid smoke into the air. "There's no such thing as a 'good' town in a country named King Slay. It's just a prettier mask for the same rot."
"In a way, you're right," Freddy replied. "Berlin is prosperous and helpful. They send aid to the trash towns, they mediate disputes, and they act like the moral compass of the nation. But it's all a fucking game. They've promised the King that they will protect the Royal Family with their lives. In exchange, the King lets them play 'hero.' They are the King's public relations department."
Freddy tapped the table. "Berlin hosts two major divisions: Division 3 and Division 5. Division 3 is known as 'The White Nights.' Their leader is a man named Verlin. He is a Turn 5 powerhouse—equivalent in raw strength to the King himself. They call him a 'pure soul,' but don't let the white robes fool you. I've seen him 'purify' a village of three hundred people because one man dared to steal a royal shipment. He didn't just kill them; he made them thank him for the privilege of dying by his hand. He's a fanatic, and fanatics are the hardest bastards to kill."
Rayn's grip on his knife tightened. "Turn 5. That's a long climb from where I'm sitting."
"It's a mountain, Rayn. And you're still at the base," Freddy warned.
Rayn frowned, his mind cataloging the numbers. "Wait a minute, Freddy. You said there are 9 divisions across 3 towns... but then you said Sterling has 3, Berlin has 2, and we have 4? That's 9. But what about the other two towns in the 'Superior Five'? And what about the remaining divisions?"
Freddy's face twisted into a mask of pure disgust. "That is the cruelty of power, Rayn. The King is a bored god. He doesn't just want soldiers; he wants theater. Aside from the nine functional divisions, there are two more—Division 10 and Division 11. These are based in the two weakest 'Superior' towns. The King calls them the 'Dolls.'"
"Dolls?" Rayn asked, his voice dripping with skepticism.
"They are showcases," Freddy spat. "The King picks the most beautiful men and women from the trash towns, gives them high-tier equipment they don't know how to use, and parades them around during international summits to show other countries how 'prosperous' and 'powerful' we are. They have no real combat experience. They couldn't fight their way out of a wet paper bag. They are literally living ornaments. If a real demon like Elza showed up in their town, they'd spend more time fixing their hair than drawing their swords. It's a fucking joke, but it's a joke that keeps the neighboring empires from invading."
Rayn laughed, a harsh, jagged sound. "So the King keeps a harem of fake soldiers to scare off the neighbors. That's some high-level bullshit right there."
This version flows better by breaking up the long sentence and fixing the grammar around "interest."
"Then who is the strongest person you want to tell me about?"
Freddy laughed and replied, "I want to tell you about the new strongest man in our country now that our leader, Dawinton, has passed. But I think you'll have to wait; curiosity keeps people interested. Wait until the ceremony, and I'll introduce him to you then. He's a good friend of mine."
"And that brings us to us," Freddy said, his eyes finally finding a flicker of resolve. "Ashburg. Rank 2. We have four divisions here, including the Dead Reapers and our own Division 8. In three days, a grand assembly is being held at the Central Hub. Since Dawinton is dead, every division leader in Ashburg is going to fight, politic, and backstab their way to becoming the new 'Representative' of the town. If we don't act, one of the King's cronies will take the seat and sell us out."
Rayn slammed his hand on the desk. "Then there's no more talk. You're taking that seat, Freddy. We're going to make you the new Representative of Ashburg. If anyone tries to stop us, I'll feed them their own teeth."
Freddy let out a mocking laugh. "You? You don't even have the strength to suppress a commoner. By what means do you think you can push me onto that seat?"
Rayn's expression remained cold. "Power isn't the only way to kill a man. I have a mind, Freddy. Keep your eyes open; once I set the board, the game is already over."
Freddy, swept up in Rayn's infectious arrogance, stood up and hit a bell on his desk. Within seconds, the heavy doors burst open. The entire ten-member squad of Division 8 filed in, their faces tight with anxiety and curiosity.
Novara, the team's lead scout, stepped forward, her eyes wide as she saw Rayn and Vespera sitting casually in the office. "Freddy? What the hell is going on? We heard the bell. Is there an emergency? Did these two brats manipulate you into something stupid?"
Rayn let out a lazy whistle. "Manipulation is such a dirty word, Novara. I prefer 'aggressive encouragement.' Freddy just shared his brilliant idea with us, and we're just here to make sure he doesn't chicken out."
"Idea?" Novara turned to Freddy, her voice rising. "What idea?"
Freddy took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. "I'm going to run for the Representative seat. I'm going to lead Ashburg."
The room went deathly silent. You could have heard a pin drop on the stone floor. Then, the explosion happened.
"Are you out of your fucking mind?!" Novara screamed. "Freddy, we are the weakest division in this town! We're basically the janitors of the Spectre organization! The leaders of the other three divisions will eat you alive! They'll turn you into a rug before you can even finish your opening speech!"
Freddy flinched, but before he could retreat, Troy—the massive brawler of the team—stepped forward. He walked past Novara and placed a heavy, calloused hand on Rayn's shoulder.
"Why the hell are you hesitating, Novara?" Troy's voice was like grinding stones. "Just because we've been treated like trash doesn't mean we have to stay in the gutter. We have the right to participate. We have the right to fight for our town. If we keep holding back because we're 'weaker,' we're just being selfish cowards waiting for someone else to save us."
Rayn grinned at Troy. This one has guts, he thought. "Troy is exactly right," Rayn said, his voice carrying through the room like a command. "Strength isn't just about how much mana you can pump into a punch. It's about who the people trust. If we refuse to lead, we're just handing the keys of our homes to a King who wants to burn them down. Let's make them fear the name of Division 7. Let's make them realize that even the 'janitors' can clean up the trash when it gets too thick."
The team looked at each other. The fear was still there, but a new, dangerous spark of ambition began to flicker in their eyes. One by one, they nodded.
"Fine," Novara muttered, though her face was still pale. "If we're going to die, we might as well die trying to be kings."
The sun was setting by the time Rayn and Vespera left the office and began the walk back to their villa. The sky was a bruised purple, matching the mood of the town.
"Did you prepare that thing I asked for?" Rayn asked, his voice low as they moved through the shadows of an alleyway.
Vespera didn't say a word. She simply reached into the folds of her white dress and pulled out a bracelet.
Rayn's breath hitched. It was the ancient bracelet he had found in the treasure hoard where he first discovered Vespera. But it was changed. The gold and black metal was now slick with a wet, pulsing sheen. The red stones embedded in the band weren't just gems anymore—they were glowing with a violent, crimson aura that seemed to beat like a heart.
"I finished it," Vespera said, her voice devoid of its usual playfulness. She handed it to him, and Rayn noticed her fingers were wrapped in bandages.
"I added my blood," she explained, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that made his skin crawl. "And I carved out pieces of my own flesh to fuse into the core. This isn't just an ornament anymore, Rayn. It is a living extension of my essence. It will boost your cultivation speed by 12 percent. In the world of Phase-levels, that is a god-tier advantage."
Rayn took the bracelet. It felt hot—unnaturally hot. "What's the catch? Nothing this powerful comes without a price."
Vespera's expression turned grim. "The drawback is the mental corruption. When you accelerate your growth that fast using dragon-flesh, it puts an immense strain on your psyche. It will feed your rage. It will whisper to your darkest instincts. If you aren't careful, the power will overtake your body, and your brain will become... ill. You'll become a mindless beast, a slave to the powers you want to control".
Rayn slipped the bracelet onto his wrist. Immediately, a jolt of raw, electric power surged up his arm and slammed into his core. He gasped, his vision turning red for a split second before stabilizing.
"I remember you once told me about a black ring you made for your master," Rayn said, trying to steady his breathing. "You said you couldn't give it to him because he was 'too strong.' Was that true?"
Vespera looked away, her gaze drifting toward the horizon. "No. He didn't take it because he was arrogant. He said, 'One day, I will be very weak. I will be in a new place, needing your help. When that time comes, you must find me and give me your strength. Only then will I accept your gifts.' And then... he gave me this bracelet. It was his father's. The father he killed to take his throne."
Rayn froze. The words hit him like a physical blow to the gut.
"When I am weak... in a new place... you have to help me..."
The prophecy felt too close for comfort. Was he really the reincarnation of YAOWANGMING or her master? Or was he just a random soul caught in the wake of a dead man's fate? If he was the master, why was he so weak? And if he wasn't, why did Vespera look at him with that terrifying mixture of love and hunger?
Rayn looked down at the crimson bracelet pulsing on his wrist. The questions were like shadows—the more he chased them, the further they ran.
"Whatever the truth is," Rayn muttered to himself, his eyes glowing with a cold, stolen power. "I'm going to use this flesh and blood to climb to the top. If fate wants to play a game, I'll just have to break the board."