Lysander emerged from the dense canopy of the Spirit Forest and stepped onto the rolling plains. The grass here was waist-high, swaying in the wind like a green ocean.
He scanned the horizon with his Abyssal Sight.
"No road yet," Lysander muttered. "But the terrain is flattening out. A trade route must be nearby"
He continued walking north, his mind drifting back to the moment of his awakening.
'When I first opened my eyes in this world... I wasn't just weak. I was dying.'
He looked at his hands.
'My body was covered in lacerations. My mana circuits were burnt out. Someone—or something—had tried to erase me. I don't remember their face. I don't remember my own name before "Lysander." But whoever did that to me is still out there.'
He clenched his fist.
'If they find out I'm alive, they will come to finish the job. I cannot let anyone see my face. From now on, Lysander is dead to the world. Only Zero exists.'
"System," Lysander commanded internally.
"Open the Armor Shop"
Ding!
[MARKETPLACE: ARMOR]
[Current Balance: 9,000 SP]
[Current Gear: [Shadow-Weave Light Armor Rank B ]
Here is the rewritten scene with Lysander's specific internal reasoning about the "Professor" and the difficulty of future fights.
Lysander frowned, running a hand over his current leather chest piece.
"Rank B is decent for roaming the forest," Lysander thought, analyzing the durability stats. "But it won't hold a candle to an A-Rank attack. As my own Grade rises, the enemies I attract will only get stronger"
His eyes narrowed behind the mask as a dark possibility crossed his mind.
"If I run into a freak like that 'Professor'... or someone of his caliber in the Human Kingdom... this armor will be useless. It would melt instantly"
He clenched his fist.
"I know I wouldn't lose. Even with this trash gear, I can kill them. But without proper protection, it would be a hell of a struggle. It would be a messy, difficult, bastard of a fight. I don't want a 'hard-fought victory.' I want absolute dominance"
He looked at the balance.
"I need something that turns a difficult battle into a slaughter"
He filtered the search.
"Show me Rank A Armor. Full body. Something that screams 'Don't touch me.' Keep the Mask and the Hoodie integral to the design"
He filtered the search.
"Show me Rank A Armor. Full body. High durability. Something that screams 'Don't touch me.' Keep the Mask and the Clock integral to the design"
Searching...
[ITEM: THE ABYSSAL VANGUARD SET]
[Rank: A] (Epic)
[Type: Heavy Magitech Plate]
[Price: 8,800 SP]
[Effects:Void-Hardened: immune to Rank-B physical attacks]
[Mana Dampening: Hides the wearer's true mana level]
[Auto-Repair: Slowly repairs itself using atmospheric mana]
Lysander looked at the price. It would leave him with only 200 SP. He would be broke.
"Safety first," Lysander decided. "Buy it"
Ding!
[PURCHASE COMPLETE]
A column of black light engulfed Lysander. His old leather armor disintegrated, replaced by heavy, metallic shifting sounds. Clank. Hiss. Snap.
When the light faded, Zero stood there, looking like a terrifying warlord from a forgotten era.
The chestplate it was crafted from Black Abyssal Steel, matte and light-absorbing. The chest piece was segmented like a carapace, protecting his vitals while allowing flexibility. In the center of the chest, a faint, vertical crimson line glowed—the core of the suit.
The gauntlets massive, clawed gauntlets covered his hands. The metal around the knuckles was reinforced for punching through stone.
The hreaves his legs were encased in heavy plating that clamped down with a hydraulic hiss. The boots were magnetic, designed to grip any surface.
The cloak his old red cape was replaced by a tattered, Midnight Blue Cloak with a high collar that merged seamlessly into a dark, armored hood.
The Mask the Iron-Wraith Mask remained, but the armor seemed to grow around it, locking it in place so it couldn't be knocked off. The red eyes of the mask now glowed with a sharper, more menacing intensity.
He flexed his fingers. The metal groaned softly, responding instantly to his movements. He felt heavier, but also invincible.
"Perfect," Lysander's voice echoed, now deeper and slightly distorted by the helmet's modulator. "Now, let the Human Kingdom try to stop me"
He began walking again, a lone black titan cutting a path through the green sea.
Lysander crossed the swaying grasslands, his armored boots finally hitting solid ground.
Clack. Clack.
It was the King's Highway—a paved stone road that connected the rural villages to the trade cities. It was old, cracked in places, but it was the first sign of civilization he had seen in days.
"Finally," Lysander muttered, his voice amplified by his new mask. "This leads straight to Kingdom"
He began to walk north, his pace steady and imposing. The heavy Abyssal Vanguard Armor didn't slow him down; the magitech hydraulics in the legs actually made him faster.
Rumble... Creak...
From behind him, the sound of wooden wheels grinding against stone echoed.
Lysander didn't turn around. His [Abyssal Sight] (Radar) picked up the movement instantly.
[ENTITY DETECTED]
[Object: Armored Transport Cart]
[Speed: Moderate]
The cart overtook him. It was a heavy, reinforced cage on wheels, pulled by two muscular beasts. As it passed, the wind blew the tarp covering the back slightly open.
For a split second, Lysander saw inside.
Sitting in the dark, cramped cage was a young woman. She was curled into a ball, wearing nothing but rags. Heavy iron chains bound her wrists and ankles to the floor.
But it was her features that caught his eye.
She had long, majestic ears that twitched nervously, and a thick, dark mane of hair that trailed down her back like a horse's tail. Her legs, visible under the rags, were powerful and shaped like hooves.
[RACE IDENTIFICATION: centaur-kin / equus tribe]
She looked up as the cart passed. Her eyes met the glowing red eyes of Lysander's mask.
There was no hope in her eyes. Only dead, hollow resignation. She looked like a broken animal waiting for the slaughterhouse.
The cart rumbled past him, kicking up dust. The drivers—two fat, greasy men laughing about their "merchandise"—didn't even glance at the armored figure walking on the road.
Lysander stopped.
He watched the cart get smaller in the distance.
'Humans...' Lysander thought, a cold fury rising in his chest. 'They have become arrogant. They think they own this world. They think they can treat living beings like cattle'
He clenched his gauntleted fist. The metal groaned under the pressure.
'That woman didn't ask for this. She is innocent. And I... I am in a bad mood'
He didn't need to save her. It wasn't his mission. He was supposed to be low-profile.
But the image of her dead eyes angered him. It reminded him of how he felt when he first woke up—helpless and broken.
"System," Lysander whispered. "New Objective"
Ding!
[Goal: Intercept the Slave Cart]
[Condition: Eliminate the Drivers. secure the Cargo]
[Reward: ???]
Lysander lowered his stance. The hydraulic pistons in his greaves hissed as they charged up with mana.
"Let's go hunting"
BOOM.
He launched himself forward, cracking the stone road beneath his feet, sprinting toward the cart like a black missile.
The wooden wheels of the heavy transport cart rattled violently against the uneven stone road. The two massive beasts pulling it—Iron-Hide Oxen—were foaming at the mouth, forced to gallop at full speed.
"He's still coming!" one of the drivers shouted, looking back. He was a rotund man with greasy skin, sweating profusely as he whipped the oxen.
"Let him run!" the other driver laughed, his belly shaking. "He's wearing full plate armor! No human can outrun a carriage at this speed. He'll collapse from exhaustion in a minute. We are the Red Viper Slavers! No one messes with us!"
They looked back again, expecting the black figure to be a small dot in the distance.
Instead, their eyes widened in horror.
Lysander wasn't falling behind. He was gaining.
His armored boots struck the stone with the force of pile drivers—CLANG. CLANG. CLANG. He was sprinting like a machine, his blue cloak snapping in the wind, the red eyes of his mask locking onto them like a predator chasing a wounded deer.
"He... He's a monster!" the driver shrieked. "Faster! Hyah!"
Lysander didn't slow down. He watched the cart swerve slightly as the drivers panicked.
"You are too loud," Lysander muttered. "And too slow"
He reached for his waist.
Schwing.
The Twin-Star Mana Revolvers materialized in his hands. The violet runes on the barrels lit up, humming with charged energy.
He didn't aim for the drivers. He didn't aim for the beasts.
He aimed for the axle.
"Stop"
BANG! BANG!
Two streaks of condensed violet mana shot out from the revolvers. They moved faster than sound, tearing through the air.
[THE CRASH]
The shots connected instantly.
CRACK! SHATTER!
The rear wooden wheels of the cart didn't just break; they vaporized. The mana bullets blew the axle apart.
Without wheels, gravity took over.
The heavy wooden box holding the prisoner—the Carriage—slammed down onto the stone road with a deafening screech.