Lucia found three men running toward a safehold. Unlike most, Lucia didn't have the Sixth Sense, but her five senses had been sharpened to their utmost limit. She could see far, hear almost perfectly, smell, and sense everything acutely. So she knew and ran toward them, because she saw Viggo.
Viggo, Michael, and the other man had entered the safe house, which was built for quarantine purposes. The door was made of adamantium—a third upper-class material. Surely no human was powerful enough to break through that, and even if they did, there was an underground bunker right below. They moved down using the elevator, which was guarded by security golems.
In the elevator leading toward the underground bunker, Viggo said, "It seems I have to contact them once again." He held the communication crystal in his hands.
Michael stopped him. "If you do that, you will be considered a failure. Do you want that?"
Viggo replied, "No. But do you think we can stop the carnage? That monster is just as powerful as Kaelen. We've got to do something, or we are fucked. Most likely."
"I get it. Just hold on. We still have the golems they gave us."
They reached the bunker and activated the golems, commanding them to guard the top floor. The golems made a huge jump, destroying a large crater in the floor.
"We'll be fine," all three men said to themselves.
Lucia sprinted. She had noticed them from about a kilometer away and was already close when she began her final dash. Two golems blocked her path, and she smiled, happy that some real competition had finally come her way. She used the Dragon Bite Sword technique on the first golem....a stab-and-spin move that mimicked the motion of a dragon biting. It was armor-piercing, perfect for a single devastating hit, and left a small shockwave in the air as it impaled the construct. The second golem came from behind, aiming to land a mana-field punch. Lucia spun 180 degrees from her forward stance while keeping her head forward. Her sword arced horizontally behind her in a wide crescent, hitting anything approaching from the rear. A faint blur lingered in the air, masking the sword's path, and the second golem fell.
She rushed to the gate and cut it in half with such precision it barely made a noise. Her sense of smell was so intense she could "sniff out" their locations if they were nearby—and they were. She took a leap down into the bunker.
Meanwhile, the three men were talking. "You think the golems defeated her already?" Viggo asked. "Well, most likely. The golems were expensive and red-rated in energy levels… though they were low-end red," said the other man. "But would a red-rated mage wipe out everyone here in the Granary?" Viggo replied, "Shit, I've got no idea. I do know everyone was defeated, though." Viggo started to explain that his Anima could only issue one command at a time, and that controlling a large group used up all of his control points, points he gained by not controlling someone, accumulating about ten per day.
Michael cut him off, telling him he shouldn't bother explaining how his Anima worked, that it was useless now anyway.
And from the shadows, Lucia said, "I agree."
Of course. Here is the revised passage, with the language corrected and the moment given more narrative weight.
"What? How did you get here?" Viggo's voice was a mix of shock and desperation. All three men stared, utterly confounded by her sudden appearance.
Lucia's gaze swept over them before settling on one. "You must be Michael."
Michael froze for a moment, then managed a strangled, "What do you want?"
Before she could answer, Viggo barked a raw command: "Kill her!"
The third man, acting on pure compulsion, lunged forward. He wielded a giant mallet and brought it down in a crushing overhead arc. Lucia didn't flinch; she simply raised the sheath of her sword, intercepting the blow with a dull, resonant clang that shuddered through the bunker.
In the same motion, her sword flashed from its scabbard. The air itself seemed to shred as she unleashed a whirlwind of cuts, carving the space around her into ribbons. The third man threw himself backward, but not fast enough. He stumbled away, blood spraying—his ears and four fingers gone.
Eyes wild with pain and rage, he gathered himself for another desperate swing. Lucia didn't wait. Her blade flickered out once, twice. His mallet-arm fell to the floor, the weapon clattering uselessly. A third stroke followed, clean and final, and his head tumbled after it.
In that moment of chaos, Viggo acted. He clutched the communication crystal, its surface flaring with urgent light. "Handle this!" he snarled at Michael, and then, in a ripple of distorted space, he simply vanished.
Michael stood alone, the reality of his abandonment crashing down. "WAIT…!" The word was a furious, betrayed roar. A bitter realization seared through him: he'd had no idea the crystal could do that.
"It seems you were left behind," Lucia observed, her voice flat.
"Hah… yeah, it seems," Michael stammered. He was drenched in nervous sweat, his mind screaming that this was the end.
Before his thoughts could spiral further into panic, a sudden, sharp slam of her sword's pommel against his temple cut the world short. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
Lucia looked down at his motionless form.
"We have questions you need to answer."
The assignment was clear: watch the boy, Elias. Sylvaine's briefing hadn't been the usual dry report. There was a tightness in her mentor's voice, a rare flicker of bewildered concern. He learns in minutes what takes years. He speaks like a guild master. He is and is not the boy I knew. Vale was to be a shadow, noting anything suspicious.
Vale's method was the Shadow Dive. It wasn't invisibility; it was a barrier technique that shifted her phase, severing her connection from the conventional three-dimensional plane and aligning her with the two-dimensional realm of shadows. She didn't become flat, but she existed in the idea of the shadow, its blueprint, untouchable and unseen to normal senses. To travel, she'd hop from one pool of darkness to another. The limitation was absolute dark—no light meant no defined shadow to anchor to.
She had been tailing Elias since he left Oakhaven. She was the unseen passenger in the wobbling wagon he took to Sharp, nestled in the shadow beneath the driver's seat.
A voice cut through the silent, grey world of her Dive. It wasn't heard with ears; it was perceived, a thought inserted directly into her consciousness.
And who are you?
Vale froze, her form rippling in the shadow-stuff. Huh?
Huh???? the voice mimicked, teasing. Who are you? Show yourself.
"No," Elias thought back, the mental projection sharp with defensive alarm. "I asked you first." She tried to trace the voice's origin, to locate the mind it came from, ready to lash out. But it was impossible. The voice seemed to emanate from the wagon itself, from the rolling wheels, from the air—everywhere at once.
A cold realization dawned. This was dangerous. She needed to abort, to retreat and report this anomaly immediately.
The voice spoke again, calm and knowing. Hold onnnnn. Gosh. It's Elias. The boy you're trying to spy on?
Elias? Vale's confusion spiked. How did you know I was here?
Well, let's just say I have good senses.
Internally, Vale reeled. A fluke? But Sylvaine had been adamant: the boy struggled to feel basic mana flow, let alone manipulate it. Something IS going on.
"Why are you here?" Elias's voice-in-her-mind asked, conversational.
"I was tasked to observe," Vale replied cautiously, deciding on a sliver of truth. "By Sylvaine. She is… concerned about your sudden progress."
She would be. It's quite a jump from failing to firebolt to negotiating market leases. There was no malice in the tone, just dry observation. You can tell her I'm still me. Just… more. A lot more. I'm not a threat to her, or to Oakhaven. My business is in Sharp.
"What business?" Vale pressed.
The kind that requires shadows. Both kinds. A pause. You're good. I wouldn't have noticed you if I weren't… different now. But I did. So, here are the rules: You can watch. But do not interfere. Do not reveal yourself to my companion, the woman with the sword. She is… direct.
I mean...that's what i was always doing. Vale said.
Yeah, but this time, I might call you out whenever I need you.
Vale accepted the terms and conditions.
Gorvan pulled himself from the rubble, his body already knitting itself together at a visible, unnerving rate. The price was clear on his face—new lines, a graying streak in his hair. "Equivalent exchange," he growled, his voice rough. "Seven years."
He vanished, appearing before Vale in a blur of motion. His fist, capable of shattering stone, shot toward her face.
It passed through empty air.
Vale hadn't even seemed to move. She was simply slightly to the left, her head tilted. Gorvan's follow-up strikes—a barrage of kicks and punches—all met the same fate. They whistled through space she had just occupied, always a fraction of a second behind.
Is it a barrier? Gorvan thought, panting. No… no mana fluctuation. I'm just… missing?
"Your footwork is sloppy," Vale observed, her tone conversational.
Then she moved. It wasn't a fight-ending blow, just a casual, almost dismissive backhand.
The impact sounded like a cracking whip. Gorvan's vision whited out as he was launched across the room again, cratering the far wall. He slumped down, coughing blood, feeling several ribs re-knit themselves with a sickening itch. More years burned away.
"Six years," he snarled, pushing himself up. His hair was noticeably thinner.
"That's twenty-one now," Vale noted, as if keeping tally.
He burned another three years. And another four. And another one. Each time, he was faster, stronger. The air screamed around his attacks. Stone floors cracked under his launching feet.
The result never changed.
He couldn't touch her. His fists clawed at afterimages. His most desperate, years-costing lunge saw his fingertips brush the fabric of her sleeve before she was behind him, delivering a light tap to his kidney that sent agony like liquid fire through his core.
He staggered back, his body steaming with exertion and rapid regeneration. He looked at his hands—they were the hands of an old man, weathered and spotted. He had paid fifty-six years. He felt the void of those decades, a chilling hollow in his soul. And she stood there, untouched, not a hair out of place.
"Are you finished?" Vale asked, her golden eyes holding no mockery, just a flat, professional assessment. "You'll die if you keep spamming that useless Oath. It only trades time for power. It doesn't grant skill you know.
Gorvan panted, his body trembling from the rapid aging and regeneration. He forced himself to stay still, mind racing. She has to have an Anima. Something that interferes with space or perception. If I'm right... The thought was a dead end. Before he could decide on a course of action, a new pressure flooded the room.
It was a dense, metallic aura, one that felt like a blade held against the skin. Lucia stood in the doorway, her expression cold. She was supporting a gaunt, dazed man—Michael. Her brown eyes swept the scene, lingering on Joshey's unconscious form.
Before Gorvan could even register her presence, Lucia was already behind him walking trying to walk towards elias, he tried looking back but a sharp, dismissive backhand cracked across his face. It wasn't a killing blow; it was a swat to clear a nuisance. The force was immense, snapping his head to the side and sending him stumbling into a wall, momentarily irrelevant.
Lucia's gaze shifted to Vale. "Who are you?"
"Jeez," Vale sighed, a hand on her hip. "Why is everyone asking me that question recently?"
Lucia's eyes found Elias on the floor, broken and still. Her blank expression fractured, replaced by a visible, chilling anger. "Elias..." She reached for the wrapped package on her thigh, her fingers closing around the hilt of her sword. "Did you do this?"
"Wait, wait, wait, nononono," Vale said, holding up her hands in a placating gesture. "I technically helped. That guy over there," she pointed at Gorvan, "is the one who did this."
Gorvan pushed himself off the wall. His body was a patchwork of old and new, his life force a guttering candle. A raw, desperate fury overrode his earlier caution. "Strange," he spat, "how it's women dealing with me like I'm a child. Fine. You both will die with me."
He drew a ragged breath, and his voice became a guttural roar that echoed in the stone chamber. "EQUIVALENT EXCHANGE! TAKE EVERYTHING AND GIVE ME POWER!"
A violent, crimson energy erupted from him, not as an aura but as a visible consumption. His remaining hair turned white and fell out. His skin desiccated, cracking like parchment. He was literally burning away, disintegrating into pure, frantic power.
In a blur of speed that transcended his earlier efforts, he vanished. He reappeared not in front of Lucia, but behind her, a fist already in motion to obliterate her spine.
He never completed the strike.
Lucia's sword was already there. It hadn't been drawn in a conventional sense; one moment her hand was on the wrapped hilt, the next, the black blade was extended, its point having already traversed the space. It entered through Gorvan's eye socket with a wet crunch.
There was no pause. Still in the same fluid motion, Lucia twisted her wrist. The blade severed through bone and brain matter with brutal efficiency. A diagonal slice cleaved upwards, shearing off the entire top of his skull from his forehead back.
The crimson energy around Gorvan winked out. The stolen power vanished as its source was erased. What remained of him stood for a second, a grotesque statue, before collapsing into a heap at Lucia's feet, finally and permanently still.
Silence returned, heavier than before, broken only by the drip of blood from her blade.
Got it. Here's the corrected version with improved flow and clarity:
Gorvan was dead. He had already been dying, but had tried to sacrifice his life to take them out. He was simply too far behind to succeed.
"So, who are you?" Lucia demanded, pointing her blade toward Vale.
"I am your ally. And before you argue, know this: Elias is dying. He needs immediate medical attention."
Lucia sheathed her blade. "Can you do anything for him in his condition?"
"Yes. I can at least assess what's wrong. Then we'll know what to do from there."
"Thank you," Lucia said, her voice low and steady. "But we can't treat him here. There's likely an infirmary nearby."
"I know one," Lucia replied. The map was etched in her mind with photographic detail. "Follow me."
Vale lifted Elias's unconscious body, and together, they moved.
They were walking, and Vale, being the conversational type, immediately broke the silence.
"So, you're an Earelvel."
"Yeah. And how do you know that?"
"Well, your sword techniques aren't exactly subtle. I've heard the rumors—your family tree is something of a pivot point for humanity."
Lucia stayed silent, offering no answer.
"So," Vale continued, shifting the subject, "the guy you're carrying… what's his purpose? I'm sure you have something in mind for him, right?"
"I need to ask him questions," Lucia said flatly. "But the most important thing right now is Elias waking up."
They walked for several minutes before arriving at the infirmary. Along the way, Vale witnessed countless dead bodies scattered in their path.
"Well," she remarked, "you've certainly made an unnecessary mess here, haven't you?"
Lucia told her to ignore it—that she rarely returned to places she'd been for this very reason. She truly didn't give a damn either way.
They reached the infirmary, and Vale calmly placed Elias on one of the beds. "Alright, let's see," she said, her tone focused.
She observed him, not by seeing through his body, but by reading the subtle cues of blood flow, temperature, and tension just beneath his skin. Her trained perception pieced together the damage.
"Hmm. It seems Elias has several broken bones and a head injury," she noted aloud.
Vale could use her Anima to interfere with his Somagenesis Cortex (SGC) and accelerate his natural regenerative capacity.
The Somagenesis Cortex (SGC): Baseline Functions
Located deep in the brain, between the hypothalamic complex and the brainstem integration zones, the SGC naturally governs:
Cellular resource distribution
Protein synthesis prioritization
Tissue repair routing
Growth limitation to prevent runaway mutation
In most people, the SGC operates autonomously—conscious access is locked, and its output is capped at natural healing rates. This is why bones take weeks to mend, cuts take days, and organ damage heals slowly, if at all.
Got it. Here is the corrected and storylined version:
"If I extend my field, I can increase its output," Vale explained to Lucia. She finished her assessment and added, "Don't worry—he should be fine in the next two or three hours."
Lucia sighed in relief. "Okay," she said, followed by a quiet, "Thank you."
Vale nodded.
Just then, Michael began to stir. Lucia's hand moved to her sword as his eyes fluttered open.
"Uh… where am I?"
He saw Lucia standing over him and, strangely, didn't look scared. If anything, he seemed resigned—almost welcoming death.
Vale cut in dryly. "If you want to die, at least wait and see how the rest of the day goes."
Well, fuck, he thought, his expression weary. Just kill me. Get it over with.
But Lucia held up a hand. "We have questions for you."
"What do you want to know?" he mumbled.
"Wait," she said, her gaze shifting to the still-unconscious form of Elias. "Let Elias wake up first."