Lucian watched Ned, the man's raw, unfiltered anguish spilling into the quiet cabin. He nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the pain, the regret that resonated so deeply. His mind, however, was already working, analyzing, confirming. "System," he thought, his voice a whisper only he could hear, "did you analyze properly?"
The System's voice, devoid of emotion, responded instantly in his mind. "Yes, Host. All data has been recorded. The generated mind spell works with optimal efficiency against a mortal like this person."
Lucian sighed, a faint exhalation. "But he truly is pitiful," he murmured, his gaze still fixed on Ned's tear-streaked face. "It's fortunate he hasn't consumed any mana potions, or who knows what might have happened."
The thought sent a faint shiver down his spine. The consequences of such a powerful Wizard potions on individual like Ned were unknown, potentially catastrophic.
The reason behind Ned's sudden, raw outpouring of grief and insecurity, his treatment of Lucian as a lifelong confidant, was due to a newly developed spell.
Lucian had created it with the System's assistance, using a reference spell he had got from Leora.
This spell, named 'Opening Regrets,' was designed to dismantle psychological barriers, to make the target feel an overwhelming sense of trust and familiarity, as if speaking to their oldest, dearest friend.
It worked with terrifying efficacy on ordinary mortals like Ned, whose minds lacked the reinforced defenses of a seasoned Wizard or a truly unyielding will.
It was less effective on children, whose minds were often unburdened by regret, or on individuals hardened by relentless self-discipline. The spell was still in its nascent stages, a prototype that Lucian knew could be refined, perfected, given enough time and, crucially, a vast library of arcane and mind type spell knowledge.
Ned, still sobbing, stumbled closer to Lucian, his eyes wide and pleading. "I... I'm not going to participate anymore," he choked out, his voice thick with despair.
"There's no point. And since we're such old friends, you... you could give me some money, couldn't you? Just for a night at the brothel, to forget all this..."
Lucian's breath hitched. A cold, nauseating wave washed over him, a sudden, visceral revulsion that had nothing to do with Ned, and everything to do with himself.
He remembered. The endless hours he lost himself on porn videos and porn comics, the digital haze, the hollow escape. Back on Earth, before the System, before this new life, he had been consumed by a similar emptiness, a similar desperate need for oblivion.
He saw his own shadow in Ned's pathetic plea, a distorted, grotesque reflection of the man he had once been.
It was his deepest insecurity, a vulnerability known only to his closest friends: Jugo, Alina, and Albert.
The assassin feared by the underworld, known by a dozen chilling aliases – 'Perfect Assassin,' 'The Zero among the Natural Assassins,' 'The Anomaly' – was, at his core, nothing more than an insecure man who had once lost himself in the seductive, fleeting comfort of fiction and pornography.
The fear, cold and sharp, clawed at his throat. He was terrified that if he spent another moment with Ned, those buried memories, those shameful, suffocating moments, would come flooding back, overwhelming him, dragging him back into the abyss he had fought so desperately to escape.
His entire body began to tremble, a cold sweat breaking out on his skin, his breathing growing shallow and ragged.
What is happening? he thought, his mind racing, a frantic scramble for answers. Is this some spell? No, this man can't use mana. Is this because of 'that' trauma? No, it can't be. Yes... the mana spells are reacting. They are so dangerous, even though I have balanced them and I am at the peak of Rank-1, No system scan can't give wrong results, then who?
The internal conflict, the resurfacing trauma, was causing his carefully managed mana to destabilize, threatening to rip open old wounds.
Suddenly, the cabin, Ned, the arena – everything dissolved. Lucian found himself in the familiar, mysterious expanse of the System's inner space, a swirling nebula of light and shadow.
A small boy, ethereal and luminous, floated before him, his form shimmering like starlight. The boy's eyes, ancient and knowing, fixed on Lucian, who stood in a daze, his emotions flickering across his face like unstable flames.
The boy raised a translucent hand and gently, almost imperceptibly, touched Lucian's forehead.
The daze shattered. Lucian gasped, a horrified realization dawning on him. He looked at the System, his eyes wide with a sudden, chilling clarity. "This isn't an effect of mana potions, is it?" he demanded, his voice raw. "Someone used a spell on me."
The System's mechanical voice responded, calm and reassuring. "Correct, Host. An external magical influence attempted to manipulate your mental state. However, Jugram had already programmed me for conditions such as this. I am equipped with countermeasures to detect and neutralize attempts to control your brain or induce illusions."
Lucian stared at the small, glowing boy, a whirlwind of thoughts spiraling through his mind. Jugo... he set up so many countermeasures to help me. A profound sense of gratitude, tinged with a deeper mystery, settled over him.
This makes it clear that he wants me to return. But the 'other person' in the System's programming... they hindered Jugo from telling me the reason why I was sent here. His mind raced, connecting disparate pieces of information.
A person capable of forcing Jugram to do so much, playing him like a puppeteer... there are not many who can do that. Is it... is it that person who appeared when I was betrayed by Alina? The memory, sharp and unwelcome, flashed through his mind – the fleeting glimpse of an impossibly powerful entity during his darkest hour.
He shook his head, a faint, dull ache blooming behind his eyes, a small migraine from the mental strain. He looked at the System, at the luminous boy, and silently conveyed his command to be sent back.
The world solidified around him, the cabin reappearing with a jarring suddenness. Ned was still there, his shoulders slumped, his tears still flowing.
Lucian looked at him, and for a lingering moment, he still felt a tremor of fear, a phantom echo of the trauma that had almost resurfaced. He had to sever this connection, this dangerous reminder.
"We are good friends?" Lucian said, his voice carefully neutral, a hint of confusion in his tone. "Who know each other for years? I guess you are confused, Ned. We just met."
Ned blinked, his tear-filled eyes widening. He scratched the back of his head, a bewildered expression replacing his anguish.
Yes, we just met. The thought seemed to surface slowly, like a bubble from deep water. How can he be my friend? Then why did I feel like he was my best friend, whom I could share anything with? The spell's influence was receding, leaving him with a vague sense of disorientation, a lingering echo of an emotion he couldn't quite place.
He finally shook his head, a flicker of his old, boisterous self-returning, albeit subdued. "Mr. Prince," he said, his voice regaining some of its usual cadence,
"I'm not going to participate anymore. There's no point. With your body strengthening technique and your demeanor, you're clearly from a rich household, aren't you? If I were to win, by some miracle, that would be like offending your family.
And besides," he added, a wry, self-deprecating smile, "defeating someone like you is impossible for me."
He turned, his shoulders still slightly slumped, and walked away, his shadow stretching long behind him in the cabin's dim light. For a fleeting second, Lucian saw it – countless fine, almost invisible strings, like those of a puppeteer, attached to Ned's shadow. They seemed to converge, primarily concentrated around his head, subtly guiding his movements, his very thoughts.
It was only for a fleeting moment, a blink-and-you-miss-it anomaly, and then the strings vanished, dissolving into the air. Lucian's mind, perhaps as a self-preservation mechanism, immediately lost all memory of what he had just witnessed or it might also be influence of such entity that even system could not detect.
He stood in a daze for a second, a vague sense of unease settling over him, then sighed. He had advanced to the second round without even fighting.
At that moment, a cold voice, sharp as ice, cut through the air directly behind him. "How does it feel to be a clown of your own spell?"
Lucian shivered violently. Every hair on his body stood on end, a primal alarm screaming through his veins. His heart hammered against his ribs, so fast and hard he thought it might explode.
Someone came behind me, and I didn't even notice? The thought was terrifying. And 'clown of my own spell'? What does that mean? Oh, wait... that earlier hallucination, the trauma resurfacing... was it because of this guy?
He spun around, his movements fluid, assassin-quick. Standing directly behind him was a figure, tall and cloaked, wearing a strange, intricately patterned mask that completely obscured their face.
The mask itself seemed to absorb the light, its patterns shifting subtly, almost imperceptibly. The person's eyes, visible through narrow slits, were cold, piercing, and utterly devoid of warmth.
"I will allow this offense once," the masked figure said, their voice a low, chilling whisper that seemed to echo directly in Lucian's mind.
"If you use magic spells to remove your opponents from the tournament again, the consequences will not be good, Mr. Prince!" The alias, spoken with such cold precision, felt like a deliberate taunt.
Lucian met the masked figure's gaze, his own blue eyes, hidden beneath the disguise, hardening. Now he knew. This was an enemy, a powerful one. As an assassin, he knew how to be calm in such situations. Showing fear, showing weakness, would only invite more aggression. He straightened his shoulders, his posture radiating a quiet defiance.
"I understand," he said, his voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil within. "But if I am not wrong, you are already a peak Rank-2 Wizard, judging by the level of the spell you just used. Why are you participating in this tournament?"
The masked man didn't respond immediately, Then, without a word, he turned to walk away, his cloak swirling around him.