Riyan's POV...
As I stepped into the sleek, silver elevator, I felt a rush of anticipation coursing through my veins. The doors slid shut behind me with a soft hiss, enveloping me in a cocoon of metallic silence. The LED display above the doors flickered to life, illuminating the digits that would guide me to my destination: the fourth floor, the topmost accessible level of this luxury hotel.
The lift lurched into motion, its gentle hum a stark contrast to the violence I'd just unleashed on the floors below.
As we ascended, the air seemed to vibrate with tension, my senses on high alert. I could feel the weight of my mission bearing down upon me—three more targets, the hostages, and then extraction before Sia Crimson's team arrived.
The lift's smooth acceleration was almost hypnotic, a brief respite before the storm.
Finally, the lift slowed to a stop, the mechanism settling with barely a whisper. The doors began to ease open with a soft pneumatic sigh.
I stood poised, my heart rate controlled despite the adrenaline, as I channeled my mana through pathways that had become second nature.
With an affinity for Darkness that bordered on symbiosis, I reached out with my consciousness, merging my essence with the shadowy silhouette cast by the elevator's interior lighting. My physical form seemed to dissolve, becoming one with the darkness itself—a technique I'd perfected over countless hours of practice.
The two hijackers stationed at the elevator, their faces twisted with a mixture of confusion and alarm, stood frozen in ready positions, their weapons trained on the empty elevator car as if searching for a ghost.
Their eyes scanned the interior frantically—left, right, up—seeing nothing but an abandoned lift with bloodstains on its walls, a grim herald of what had happened below.
"Where—" one started to say, his voice cracking with tension.
Their momentary distraction was all the opportunity I needed.
Seizing the chance with practiced precision, I slipped into the shadow cast by the larger hijacker on the right, my form blurring into the darkness like ink dispersing in water. For an instant, I was one with the shadows, my presence masked by the very darkness that had become my most reliable ally.
The hijacker's eyes, still fixed on the elevator's interior, were mere inches from where I resided in his own shadow, yet they saw nothing. How could they? People never think to look at their own shadows.
It was almost too easy.
...
As I emerged from the darkness, my shadowy form slowly took shape behind the two guards, like a specter rising from the very essence of the night. The shadows that had shrouded me began to dissipate, revealing my blood-soaked figure and the crimson-tipped Yunling Spear that seemed to pulse with barely contained power.
A thought struck me—this would be the perfect opportunity to test the "Essence Word" I'd just acquired. The power that had been born from my darkest moment, crystallized into a single, reality-bending syllable.
My lips curled into a calculated smile as I began to utter the first syllable, "Neh-", the sound hanging in the air like a whispered promise of destruction, the very atmosphere seeming to thicken around the forming word.
But before I could complete it, before I could speak "Nemora" in its entirety, a cascade of notifications erupted from my System, each one a shrill interruption that shattered my concentration.
[WARNING: Conditions are not met to use Essence Word 'Nemora', Host!]
[ERROR: Essence Word 'Nemora' cannot be activated!]
[REQUIREMENT CHECK FAILED:
- Strong Desire/Emotions: INSUFFICIENT
- Strong Mentality: MET
- [LOCKED CONDITION]: NOT MET
- Current Power Level: B- (Required: Minimum Quasi-God for full activation)]
I felt a surge of frustration course through me, my jaw clenching as the implications crystallized. Of course it wouldn't work—I wasn't in the same mental state as when I'd created it. That word had been born from absolute hatred, from the culmination of nine years of cold vengeance. Right now, I was simply on a mission. There was no overwhelming emotion, no consuming desire for destruction.
It was just a job.
But before I could even formulate a proper complaint to the System about the timing of this revelation, the situation deteriorated rapidly.
The third hijacker—the leader I'd spotted earlier through the glass—must have noticed something, because his head snapped in my direction with predatory alertness.
"BEHIND YOU!" he roared at his two subordinates.
All three hijackers whirled toward me simultaneously, their weapons trained on my position with practiced efficiency. The air grew heavy with tension, the only sounds the soft hum of their Mana-infused weapons charging and the heavy breathing of men who'd just realized they were facing something far more dangerous than they'd anticipated.
And then, the only word that seemed fitting in that moment of frustration and tactical disadvantage burst forth from my lips, a primal exclamation that seemed to echo through the corridor:
"FUCK...!!!!"
The expletive hung in the air, a defiant acknowledgment that my plan for an easy, instant victory had just evaporated. No overwhelming power to erase them from existence. No reality-bending word of death.
Just me, a spear, and three experienced killers who now knew exactly where I was.
Fine then. We'd do this the old-fashioned way.
....
As I grasped the hilt of Yunling tighter, I focused my mana, channeling it through pathways specifically designed for fire-based techniques. The Raging Fire Spirit Spear Art—one of the most devastating offensive styles in existence—responded to my will.
Specifically, the Tenth Form: Solar Eclipse Strike.
The air around me seemed to shimmer with building heat as I prepared to unleash this devastating technique. It was one of the more advanced forms I'd mastered, designed not for precision but for overwhelming, area-denial destruction.
With a swift, calculated motion, I positioned my spear at a peculiar angle—almost horizontal, the blade pointing forward and slightly downward, as if I were preparing to throw it but holding back at the last second.
The tip of Yunling began to glow with an otherworldly golden-red intensity, the ruby embedded in the blade blazing like a captured star. Heat distorted the air around the spearhead, creating ripples in my vision.
I drew in a breath, centering myself, feeling the fire mana coalesce and compress at the spear's point. More. More. The technique required a massive buildup of energy before release—that was both its strength and its weakness.
And then, with a explosive forward thrust and a roar that tore from my throat, I unleashed it:
"TENTH FORM: SOLAR ECLIPSE STRIKE!"
The initial release was deceptively small—a compact sphere of golden fire no larger than my fist that shot forward from the spearhead. But that was merely the seed.
As it traveled forward, cutting through the air toward my enemies, the sphere began to expand exponentially, growing with each meter it traveled. One meter: the size of a head. Two meters: the size of a torso. Three meters: the size of a person.
By the time it reached the two subordinates who'd been foolish enough to stay in a direct line with me, it had expanded into a massive sphere of roiling flames the size of a small vehicle, its surface churning with plasma-like intensity.
The explosion that followed was catastrophic.
*BOOOOOM!*
The flames engulfed both hijackers instantly, their screams cut short as the sheer temperature turned them to ash before they could even register pain. The corridor lit up like the surface of the sun, the walls scorching black, the expensive carpet igniting, sprinkler systems triggering but their water evaporating before it could even reach the flames.
The heat was so intense that I had to reinforce my own defensive barrier, the backwash of my own technique threatening to singe even me from this distance.
When the flames finally dissipated, leaving only smoldering scorch marks and the acrid smell of ozone and burnt flesh, there was nothing left of the two hijackers but darkened silhouettes burned into the walls and floor—gruesome shadows marking where they'd stood.
Two down.
One to go.
...
As I stood victorious over the remains of his subordinates, my gaze shifted toward the mastermind behind this entire operation—the leader who'd orchestrated the betrayal, planned the hostage situation, and intended to sell weapons to terrorists.
My eyes locked onto his figure, and with barely a thought, I activated Reader's Eye, the unique talent that allowed me to peer into the information that defined a person's existence in this world.
The air seemed to shimmer as the translucent interface materialized before my vision, visible only to me.
I didn't bother readying myself for an immediate attack. People like him—mid-level villains with some measure of power and a grossly inflated sense of their own importance—always followed predictable patterns. They saw themselves as important, as deserving of recognition. They needed to make speeches, to justify themselves, to rant about their motivations before striking.
It was a weakness born from ego, and I'd learned to exploit it ruthlessly.
As the seconds ticked by, the holographic display flickered fully to life, casting a faint glow visible only to my enhanced perception. The profile of the enigmatic figure began to take shape, and I absorbed the information with cold efficiency:
[Name: Marcus Verhen
Classification: Minor Antagonist (Unimportant)
Role: Disposable villain - No narrative significance
Rank: B-
Affinity: Wind (A-rank), Lightning (B-rank)
Talents: Sword Mastery (B-rank), Enhanced Reflexes (C-rank)
Additional Information: Former Sirus Organization member. Motivated purely by greed. Will be forgotten by the plot immediately after this event. Not worth extended combat or analysis.]
I almost laughed at the System's brutal assessment. "Not worth mentioning" indeed.
Still, B-rank was B-rank. Same as my current level. And those dual affinities meant he had versatility in combat. I couldn't afford to be completely careless, even against a narrative nobody.
...
As I finished reading his profile, having taken perhaps three seconds total to assess the threat level, Marcus Verhen's face contorted into a twisted mask of fury. His eyes blazed with unbridled rage that seemed to crackle in the air around him—not the cold, calculated anger of a professional, but the hot, emotional fury of someone who'd just watched his entire operation collapse.
"YOU!" he bellowed, his voice raw with emotion. "You destroyed everything! MONTHS of planning! Do you have ANY idea what you've cost me?!"
Without granting me even a moment to respond—not that I'd planned to; what was there to say to a man who'd chosen to betray his comrades and sell weapons to terrorists?—he charged toward me with explosive speed, his feet leaving cracks in the expensive flooring.
His sword, a well-crafted blade that hummed with Mana, flashed in the flickering emergency lighting as he swiftly brought it up into an aggressive stance. Wind and lightning mana swirled around the blade in a dangerous combination, the two elements intertwining like serpents.
"BLIST SWORD ART, SECOND FORM: TRI STRIKE!" he roared, his voice like thunder.
The technique activated with devastating speed—his sword became a blur as it struck not once but three times in rapid succession, each strike coming from a different angle, each one amplified by both wind and lightning mana that created a cascading effect of slashing force.
The first strike came from above, a diagonal slash wreathed in crackling electricity. The second came from the side, a horizontal cut propelled by compressed wind that extended its range. The third came as an upward thrust, combining both elements in a spiraling attack that seemed to tear at the very air.
*CRACK! WHOOSH! BOOM!*
The sheer power of his coordinated assault caught me slightly off-guard—I'd underestimated how much force a B-rank opponent could generate when driven by desperation and fury.
The strikes hammered into my hastily erected mana barrier, each impact reverberating through my bones. The first shattered my initial defense. The second sent me stumbling backward. The third launched me completely off my feet, sending me crashing into the wall with enough force to crack the expensive paneling.
*CRASH!*
Pain flared across my back and shoulder—nothing critical, but definitely felt. My barrier had absorbed most of the damage, but not all of it. A few minor cuts opened on my arms where the wind blades had gotten through, and I could feel the residual tingle of lightning mana trying to disrupt my nervous system.
I slumped against the wall for a moment, assessing the damage. Bruised ribs, minor lacerations, possibly a cracked bone in my shoulder. Nothing that would stop me, but enough to remind me that I wasn't invincible.
'Damn,' I thought, pushing myself back to my feet with a grimace. 'I really am no protagonist. No convenient power-up, no plot armor to minimize damage. Just the consequences of my own slight miscalculation.'
Marcus laughed, a harsh, triumphant sound. "Not so confident now, are you, boy? I don't care if you're a Descartes! I don't care if you killed my men! You're just another—"
He was still talking.
Mistake.
With a fierce cry that cut through his monologue, I channeled my dark mana, calling upon the counterpart to the fire techniques I'd been using. "DARK SPIRIT SPEAR ART, FIRST FORM: DARK BLAST!"
Yunling responded instantly, the crimson blade seeming to drink in the light around it as shadows coalesced along its length. I moved the spear in a swift, circular motion—building momentum, gathering the darkness mana into a concentrated point.
The technique was simpler than Solar Eclipse Strike, but no less deadly. Where fire consumed, darkness erased.
With a final forward thrust, I released the accumulated energy.
A sphere of absolute darkness—not black flames, but literal absence of light, a sphere of compressed shadow that seemed to devour the very photons around it—exploded forth from Yunling's tip.
*WHOOOOOM!*
The Dark Blast shot across the distance between us in an instant, far faster than Marcus could react. His eyes widened in shock as the sphere of darkness slammed into his chest with the force of a battering ram.
The impact sent him flying backward across the room, his body ragdolling through the air before crashing into the far wall with a sickening crunch. The expensive plaster cracked in a spider-web pattern around his impact point, and he slumped to the ground in a heap.
But I knew better than to assume he was finished. B-rank hunters didn't go down that easily.
Sure enough, even as he struggled to rise, coughing blood, I was already moving. My injuries slowed me slightly, but I pushed through the pain, crossing the distance in seconds.
Before he could fully regain his bearings, before he could mount another defense or launch another attack, I was upon him.
With a swift, precise motion—no hesitation, no mercy, just the clean efficiency of a mission being completed—I thrust Yunling forward, the spear now wreathed in dark aura that made it cut through his weakened barrier like tissue paper.
The crimson blade pierced deep into his chest, the tip punching straight through his heart.
Marcus's eyes widened, shock replacing fury. His mouth opened, blood bubbling at his lips, but no words came out. His hands weakly grasped at the spear shaft, as if he could somehow remove it, somehow undo what had just happened.
I looked into his dying eyes with cold indifference. "You made your choices," I said quietly. "This is just the consequence."
His grip weakened, his body going slack. The light faded from his eyes as his final breath rattled out.
I withdrew Yunling smoothly, letting his corpse slump to the floor.
Mission complete. All eleven traitors eliminated.
...
The moment Marcus Verhen's life force completely faded, I felt it—a sudden shift in the atmosphere, like pressure releasing from a sealed container.
The massive Mana barrier that had been imprisoning the hostages, powered by the artifact Marcus had been maintaining, flickered once, twice, then shattered like glass, the fragments of magical energy dissipating into harmless motes of light.
Immediately, the conference suite erupted into chaos.
"We're free!"
"The barrier's down!"
"Someone saved us!"
Nearly fifty hostages—wealthy merchants, guild officials, socialites, influential business owners—surged forward from where they'd been trapped, their faces a mixture of relief, shock, and lingering terror.
Some collapsed to their knees, weeping. Others embraced loved ones they'd thought they might never see again. Parents clutched their children close. The emotional release was palpable, a wave of human relief washing through the suite.
And then they saw me.
Standing there, covered in blood both my own and my enemies', holding a crimson spear that still dripped with fresh gore, surrounded by the corpses of the men who'd held them hostage.
For a moment, there was absolute silence as they processed what they were seeing.
Then someone shouted: "It's him! It's Riyan Descartes!"
The recognition spread like wildfire through the crowd.
"The Descartes heir!"
"He saved us!"
"Thank god, thank god!"
The room erupted into a chorus of cheers and shouts of gratitude as the hostages, now liberated, rushed toward me, their faces aglow with admiration and relief.
I quickly stored Yunling in my inventory before they could get too close—no need for them to accidentally hurt themselves on a bloodied weapon.
"Thank you! Thank you so much!"
"You saved our lives!"
"How can we ever repay you?"
A middle-aged merchant with tears streaming down his face grabbed my hands. "My daughter—my little girl is safe because of you! Please, anything you need, anything at all—"
I extracted my hands politely but firmly. "No payment necessary. I was simply in the area and—"
"Kyaa~! It really is Riyan Descartes!"
A group of younger hostages—women in their late teens and early twenties who'd been attending some sort of event in the hotel—pushed forward, their fear apparently completely forgotten in the face of celebrity recognition.
"Oh my god, I can't believe it's really him!"
"He's even more handsome in person!"
"I heard he's attending Reyas Academy now!"
"Can we get your autograph? Please?"
I felt a headache building. This was... not ideal. I'd wanted to complete this mission quietly, efficiently, without drawing attention. But of course, when you save fifty high-profile hostages in a luxury hotel, discretion becomes impossible.
"I, uh..." I started, trying to figure out how to politely extract myself from this situation.
But the crowd wasn't having it. Multiple people thrust forward papers, hotel stationary, even expensive business cards, begging for autographs. Several were already taking photos on their phones—wonderful, this would be all over social media within minutes.
'This is what I get for not wearing a mask,' I thought with resignation.
Still, I couldn't exactly refuse these people I'd just saved. That would be needlessly cruel and would damage the Descartes family reputation.
So I sighed internally and began signing autographs with the most gracious smile I could manage, even as I mentally calculated how long until Sia Crimson's team arrived and how quickly I could slip away after...
....
That's when I felt it.
A presence—powerful, controlled, radiating the kind of focused intent that only comes from someone with serious combat experience.
The grand, ornate doors of the Hotel BlackMoon's fourth floor conference suite swung open with dramatic timing, as if the universe itself had been waiting for this exact moment.
The figure that emerged commanded immediate attention.
She was tall—easily matching my height—with an athletic, powerful build that spoke of countless hours of training and real combat experience. Her physique was that of a warrior, toned and strong, yet unmistakably feminine with curves that somehow didn't diminish the aura of danger she projected.
Her hair was a striking shade of deep blue with subtle dark undertones, cut in a practical shoulder-length style that wouldn't interfere with combat but still managed to be eye-catching. It framed a face that was beautiful in a sharp, intense way—high cheekbones, a strong jawline, features that were more handsome than delicate.
But it was her eyes that truly captured attention.
Crimson irises that gleamed with fierce intelligence and barely contained intensity, like smoldering coals that could burst into flame at any moment. Right now, those eyes were fixed directly on me, analyzing, calculating, taking in every detail of the scene with the practiced efficiency of a seasoned professional.
She wore combat gear—practical hunter's attire designed for both protection and mobility, in dark colors with red accents that matched her hair. Multiple weapons were visible on her person, and I could sense the powerful mana signature radiating from her form.
SS- rank. Definitely SS- rank.
This was Sia Crimson. The leader of Sirus Organization. The woman whose team I'd just saved by eliminating all the traitors before they could complete their betrayal.
For a moment, our eyes met, and I saw her expression shift through several emotions in rapid succession—surprise at the scene
before her, recognition of who I was, assessment of the situation, and then... something else. Something calculating.
A faint, enigmatic smile played at the corners of her lips—not flirtatious or romantic, but the smile of someone who'd just witnessed something unexpectedly interesting. The smile of a professional who'd just seen another professional's work and found it... impressive.
Her voice, when she spoke, was low and husky, carrying easily across the room despite the crowd noise:
"Impressive~, Riyan Descartes~"
The way she said my name—with that slight emphasis, that knowing tone—sent a clear message: She recognized exactly what I'd done here. She knew I'd eliminated all eleven traitors. She understood the level of skill and ruthlessness that required.
And she approved.
Not in a romantic sense—there was no flirtation in her gaze, no attraction. This was the acknowledgment of one apex predator recognizing another. The respect of a warrior seeing true combat prowess.
Our gazes held for another moment, a silent exchange of mutual assessment.
Then, just as suddenly as she'd appeared, she turned and disappeared back through the doorway, her team undoubtedly waiting outside to secure the scene and process the aftermath.
She'd come to see the results herself. To assess whether the rumors of my transformation from "King of Dog Lickers" to something far more dangerous were true.
And now she had her answer.
I stood there, surrounded by grateful hostages still clamoring for attention, covered in blood and minor injuries, and couldn't help but think:
'This is going to complicate things.'
Sia Crimson now knew exactly what I was capable of. She'd be watching me. Maybe as a potential ally. Maybe as a potential threat to monitor.
Either way, I'd just made an impression on one of the most powerful and influential figures in the underground hunter community.
The mission was complete, but something told me this wasn't the end of the story—merely the beginning of something far more complex.
Mission: Complete
All Eleven Traitors: Eliminated
Hostages: Saved
Witness Count: Too many to count
Complications: Significant
'Just another day,' I thought with dark amusement, 'in the life of a villain protagonist.'
...
Q&A CORNER
Questions for Readers:
Nemora's Limitations - What do you think the third locked condition for using the Essence Word might be? Why couldn't Riyan use it even though he tried?
Sia Crimson's Interest - Now that she's seen Riyan's capabilities firsthand, how do you think this will affect future events? Will she become an ally, a rival, or something else?
The System Mission - The original mission was to make Sia into a "fanatic follower." Do you think Riyan's display of power moved him closer to that goal, or will he need to do more?
Public Exposure - Riyan just saved fifty high-profile hostages who all saw him. How will this affect his "villain" status and his plans going forward?
The Mysterious Broker - Who do you think the silver-haired information broker is? Why is she so interested in Riyan specifically?
Drop your theories and predictions in the comments!
SUPPORT THE STORY!
⚡ Power Stones - Every stone helps! Vote to push us higher!
💎 Golden Tickets - Premium support for premium chapters!
🎁 Gifts - Your generosity fuels more chapters!
💬 Comments & Reviews - Let me know what you think! Feedback is invaluable!
🔖 Add to Library - Don't miss the Academy arc starting next!
Please comment with your preference! Your input will help me decide when to transition to premium. I want to be fair to readers while also supporting continued writing.
Thank you all for your incredible support so far!
— Lone Raut
📢 ANNOUNCEMENT 📢
Arc Complete: Hotel BlackMoon Hijacking
The game has only just begun