Two years have passed.
The MorningStar estate is alive.
Light fills the halls, music plays, voices overlap, laughter and movement everywhere. The whole town is here—knights in armor, adventurers in gear, nobles in fine clothes.
Tonight is Claudia's send-off. Her final night before leaving for the Selene Academy of Mages and Knights.
At the center, she stands. Twelve years old. A blue and silver dress falls neatly around her, blonde hair resting down her back. She looks calm and composed.
She is taking this pretty well, after all, tonight is all about her.
At the edge of the room, Abel adjusts his sleeve. "…This feels unnecessary."
He wears a black coat over a fitted vest and a white buttoned shirt, finished with a black tie. Black trousers and polished shoes complete the look.
A servant smiles. "You look wonderful, young master."
"Thank you," He responds
His eyes move across the room—knights, adventurers, hidden guards.
'Too many.'
His gaze sharpens slightly.
'When is this gonna end?'
"You're staring again."
He turns. Claudia stands beside him. "…You look uncomfortable," she says.
"I am."
She smiles faintly. "You'll survive."
He says nothing. They stand in silence for a moment, watching the crowd.
"Will you miss me?"
"…No, not really."
A scowl forms on her face. "Really? Why?"
"For one, no training."
She exhales softly. "Don't get too happy. When I see you at the academy, we'll make up for it."
He doesn't reply. She studies him briefly, then turns. "Enjoy the party, Abel."
She walks back into the crowd. Abel watches her go as the noise fills the space again.
"…Aside from the training," he mutters, "I'd miss your company."
No one hears him.
From the shadows, they watch. Five figures, still, perfectly blended in.
"Target confirmed."
"Proceed."
A servant passes. A tray shifts. A glass is taken. A vial opens. Liquid pours. Gone. The tray moves again.
Claudia takes the drink. A nod. A sip. Then another. "…Hm." Her eyes lower slightly. "That's… strange…" Something feels off.
Across the room, Abel's gaze locks onto her. Still. Sharp. 'Something's wrong.'
[ Notice ]
"…Hm?"
[ Quest Assigned: Silent clean up ]
[ Objective: Eliminate all hostile targets within the area ]
Claudia sets the glass down. "…I feel a little sleepy." The room tilts slightly. The music feels distant. Voices blur.
"It must be excitement," someone says.
"…Maybe."
Her vision clears. She steadies herself. Nothing more.
In the shadows—"…What? That should have worked."
"It did," the leader says. "She resisted it."
Silence.
"Then we move."
Far from the lights, the night is quiet. Cold. Still. At the edge of the estate, an old entrance waits—hidden, broken, forgotten. Below the mansion lies an abandoned cave. No guards. No reason to check.
It's the perfect place for the assassin's to regroup .
Inside, the assassins gather. Six of them, still in suits, clean and out of place.
"The poison failed."
"Tch. Enough of this," one says. "I'll cut her down myself."
The leader stands still, eyes closed. "…No."
They look at him.
"Someone noticed."
"Who?"
Then—footsteps. Slow. Steady. Echoing.
One turns. "…Someone's here."
A spell activates. A faint glow spreads outward.
Silence.
"…I don't sense—"
The steps continue. Closer. Heavier. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Coming straight toward them.
The air shifts. Something presses down.
The leader opens his eyes.
From the darkness, a figure steps forward. Small. Still.
Abel.
He stops a few steps away. His black hair covers his left eye. Only the right shows—sharp, cold, watching. He stands relaxed. Too relaxed.
The assassins tense.
"A kid…?" one mutters.
"…No," another says. "Something's wrong."
The one in front tightens his grip. "Doesn't matter. We kill him."
" Wait," one says. "That's the targets younger brother. I think his name is Abel. I've heard he had not talent whatsoever."
Abel doesn't react—not to them, not to the weapons.
A blue aura forms, but it is heavy in presence. It coils around him slowly, like it's breathing.
One step back. "…What is that?"
The leader stays silent, watching.
Abel's gaze moves across them, one by one, counting.
Then—"…Found you."
His voice is quiet, but it lingers.
The aura deepens. It twists and spreads. The space tightens, like the cave itself is closing in.
No one moves.
Not yet.
Then—it surges.
Not outward in bursts, but all at once.
A torrent.
His mana floods the cave, rushing forward like a crashing wave.
It engulfs the assassins before they can react, swallowing the space between them.
The air turns heavy.
Crushing.
Breathing becomes difficult.
One staggers back. Another drops to a knee.
"…What—"
'Is that his mana?' The leader wonders.
It was like being dragged underwater.
The leader's eyes narrow, but he doesn't move.
"You are a brave one aren't you," says the boy.
The balance is... No, there was never any balance to begin with.
The authority this kid holds surpassed anything they ever held.
It's too late.