Chapter 567: City Politics
"Aldric Veltorin."
The moment the words left his lips, Draven's entire posture changed. His fingers, which had been idly tapping against his glass, stilled. His gray eyes sharpened—not wide with surprise, not openly reactive, but tighter. A flicker of something passed through them, too quick to catch.
But Lucavion saw it.
A small, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth. A slight shift in his jaw.
That was enough.
'So the name means something to him.'
Draven exhaled through his nose, his gaze never leaving Lucavion. The tension in the room had shifted yet again—not just thick, but layered.
"There are a lot of people named Aldric in this world," Draven said finally, his tone even, unreadable. "Especially in this city."
Lucavion tilted his head slightly, tapping a finger against his glass. "Maybe. But are there a lot of Veltorins?"
Draven's expression didn't shift, but something passed through his eyes—a flicker, just for a second.
Then, he exhaled, shaking his head. "No one goes by that surname here."
Lucavion watched him carefully. He had expected some reaction, and now he had confirmation.
Maybe not to the surname, but to the name itself.
'So, you know him.'
Lucavion let the silence stretch for a moment, his gaze sharpening before he finally spoke again.
"Let me make this easier for you," he said, his voice smooth. "The man I'm looking for… He's no commoner. A 6-star Awakened, a former Arcanis military captain. Unaffiliated now, but very much active."
Draven's jaw flexed slightly. His fingers curled against the table.
There it is.
"You're talking about a knight," Draven muttered, his voice lower now.
Lucavion nodded. "More than that. A noble-born knight. Thirty, maybe thirty-one by now. Left the war after three years. Officially discharged, but that's just what the records say."
Draven let out a slow breath, rubbing his thumb against the rim of his glass. "You're serious?"
Lucavion exhaled softly. "I don't play games when it comes to this."
Draven's gray eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he remained silent. Processing. Calculating.
Lucavion continued, his voice steady. "He was last seen in Varenthia." His smirk twitched faintly. "And a man like that? There's no way someone like you wouldn't have at least heard of him."
Draven let out a slow, low chuckle. It wasn't amusement—it was the kind of sound someone makes when they realize they've just been cornered into admitting something.
He reached for his drink, took a deliberate sip, and then exhaled.
"Yeah," he muttered, setting the glass down with a soft clink.
"I know him."
Draven leaned back, fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass. He had expected to be surprised at some point tonight, but this? Lucavion asking about Aldric Veltorin? That was unexpected.
Still, he let that thought settle for now. There were other matters to address.
"Firstly, before we start talking about that name let me ask you," Draven muttered. "Tell me—what do you actually know about this city?"
Lucavion exhaled softly, rolling the question over in his mind. He didn't rush his answer.
"Not much," he admitted, resting his chin on one hand. "It's my first time coming here, after all."
Draven raised a brow. "So you came blind?"
"Not entirely." Lucavion smirked. "I've heard things."
Draven waved a hand lazily. "Go on, then. Let's hear what an outsider thinks of my city."
Lucavion tapped his fingers against the wood, tilting his head slightly. "Varenthia is known for its chaos," he started, his voice smooth. "It's not part of any kingdom, no official rule—just power and coin. A place where mercenaries, smugglers, and traders thrive because no one asks too many questions. Law exists, but it's flexible. Strength and influence are what actually matter here."
Draven gave a small nod, his lips curving just slightly. "Not a bad summary."
Lucavion continued, "I've heard that many factions operate here—some open, some in the shadows. The city has ties to mercenary syndicates, crime lords, and even a few nobles who keep their hands clean by working through proxies." He exhaled lightly. "And, of course, it's a haven for those who want to disappear."
Draven chuckled. "That last part is especially true."
Lucavion tilted his head. "And yet, for all its lawlessness, Varenthia isn't just a den of criminals. It's a trade hub. Goods flow in and out of this city like blood through veins. Rare metals, enchanted artifacts, weapons, even illicit alchemy ingredients—you can find it all here, for the right price."
Draven exhaled, leaning forward slightly. "Alright. You've got the surface-level rumors. Let me fill in the rest."
Lucavion leaned back slightly, waiting.
"Varenthia isn't just a city built on chaos—it's a city that exists because of it. We're positioned on the eastern-southern edge of the Arcanis Empire. Close to the ocean, but not enough to be a full-fledged port city." Draven tapped a finger against the table. "That means we're an in-between. A gateway. Goods from the coast flow through here before heading inland, and trade from the west moves through before reaching the sea."
Lucavion nodded slightly, absorbing the information. "And the borders?"
Draven smirked. "South and east, you have the Kingdom of Solmara. They've got a strong navy, plenty of gold, and a royal family that pretends they don't deal with smugglers and mercenaries." He scoffed. "But they do. Their merchants make too much money off Varenthia to ignore us. They just don't like admitting it."
Lucavion's fingers tapped lazily against the wood. "And the west?"
"West is the Republic of Drazhkar." Draven's smirk faded slightly. "They're different. Less centralized, more independent city-states tied together by trade. Unlike Solmara, they don't pretend to stay out of the underworld. They fund some of it."
Lucavion raised a brow. "Including you?"
Draven chuckled, swirling his drink. "Tch. I've done business with some of their merchants, sure. But the Republic funds a lot of things—mercenary bands, smuggling routes, even resistance groups in Arcanis if the price is right. They like having options."
Lucavion nodded slowly. "So Varenthia thrives because it sits at the crossroads of all these powers."
Draven grinned. "Exactly. The Empire doesn't claim us because they can't afford the hassle, Solmara funds us under the table, and Drazhkar uses us as a tool. That's why Varenthia is a city where anything can happen."
Lucavion exhaled, glancing toward the dimly lit room. "Sounds like a place where people like you do well."
Draven chuckled, lifting his glass in a mock toast. "People like me, people like you…"
Draven leaned forward, rolling his glass between his fingers, watching the amber liquid swirl. His sharp gray eyes flicked up toward Lucavion, his smirk still lingering—but there was something more beneath it now. Something measured.
"You're asking about Aldric Veltorin," he murmured. "And I'll tell you. But first, let me explain why I'm even talking about all this."
Lucavion raised a brow, waiting.
Draven exhaled through his nose. "I don't claim to be an expert on the politics of the Empire, Solmara, or Drazhkar. I don't give a damn what the kings and ministers are scheming up there." He lifted his glass slightly. "But what I do know is my city. And things have been shifting here. A lot more than usual."
Lucavion's fingers tapped once against the wood. "Shifting?"
Draven let out a short, humorless chuckle. "Yeah. You see, Varenthia has always been a delicate balance. Factions fight, but no one wins too much. Everyone gets their cut. But recently…" His eyes darkened slightly. "That balance has been breaking."
Lucavion remained silent, waiting for him to continue.
Draven leaned back, rubbing his jaw. "A new organization has made its appearance. Small at first, barely worth noting. But they've been swallowing deals across the city—one by one. Smugglers, mercenaries, trade routes, protection contracts. The usual lines of power?" He exhaled sharply. "They're cutting through them."
Lucavion's gaze sharpened. "And this is hurting you."
Draven scoffed. "Of course it is. I don't mind competition, but this isn't competition. It's a goddamn takeover. And whoever's behind it? They're not some amateur trying to play king. They know exactly what they're doing."
He picked up his drink again, taking a slow sip before setting it down with a soft clink. Then, finally, he looked straight at Lucavion.
"And their leader?" His lips curled, but there was no amusement in his voice.
"That man you're looking for."
A beat of silence.
"Aldric."
Chapter 568: Intent
Lucavion raised an eyebrow, fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass. "What do you mean by that?" His voice was smooth, even, but there was a keen edge of curiosity behind it. "And how can you be this sure it's the man I'm looking for?"
Draven exhaled, shaking his head slightly before taking another slow sip of his drink. "Because I've seen what he can do," he muttered. "And I know exactly what kind of monster we're dealing with."
Lucavion said nothing, waiting.
Draven set his glass down, his fingers drumming once against the wood before he continued. "The organization's called The Black Veil. They weren't here a year ago. Hell, they weren't even a whisper. Then, suddenly? They started moving."
Lucavion tilted his head slightly. "Moving how?"
Draven's expression darkened. "Not the way normal factions do. They didn't negotiate, didn't bargain, didn't even try to play the game like everyone else. They just took."
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp. "My men. The Syndicates' men. Hell, even Drazhkar-backed mercs. We've all been attacked. And not just beaten—wiped out. Trade routes that were untouchable for years? Gone. Smuggling operations that ran smooth for decades? Disappeared overnight. Customers, clients, killed."
Lucavion didn't react immediately, but his fingers tapped once against the wood. "You seem more concerned about your customers than your own men."
Draven scoffed. "Because reputation is everything in this city." He exhaled through his nose. "Men? I can replace. Fighters? I can buy. But customers? If they start believing Varenthia isn't safe to do business, then everything collapses. That's why this is dangerous. It's not just about power—it's about control."
Lucavion studied him for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. "And you've clashed with them?"
Draven nodded, his expression tight. "More than once. And I've seen it firsthand. The wind. The spear." His jaw tensed slightly.
Draven's fingers drummed against the table, his eyes dark and unreadable.
"I've seen him fight," he murmured. His voice wasn't filled with admiration or fear—just the kind of grounded respect that only came from having witnessed something firsthand. "And yeah, his name is Aldric."
Lucavion's gaze sharpened slightly, but he remained silent.
Draven exhaled, rubbing his jaw. "I tried to dig deeper. Find out more about him. But it wasn't easy." His expression tightened slightly. "Actually, it was damn near impossible."
Lucavion raised an eyebrow. "Impossible?"
Draven scoffed, shaking his head. "You know what I do, Lucavion. You know the kind of information I can get my hands on. If I need something, I can find it. Marquis families? I've got files on them. Dukedoms? Give me a few days, I'll get what I need." His gray eyes flicked up, cold and knowing.
"But when I went looking for Aldric?" He leaned back, shaking his head slightly. "Every damn lead I had got cut off. Immediately."
Lucavion's fingers tapped once against the wood. "Someone erased his past."
Draven nodded. "Exactly. I had a lead—one that should have given me something in the Arcanis Empire. But before I could act, it was gone. Shut down so cleanly, so thoroughly, that I didn't even get a whisper of where to go next. Then I was sure that, someone with serious power is covering for him."
Draven smirked, but there was no amusement in his eyes. "At that level? It's either one of the strongest Duke families…" He paused, then let the words settle.
"Or," Lucavion murmured, watching him carefully.
Draven's smirk widened just a fraction. "The Royal Family."
"Yes," Lucavion murmured.
Draven exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders slightly. "If this isn't the guy you're looking for," he muttered, "then I don't have any other leads for you." His gaze locked onto Lucavion's, voice lowering slightly.
"But let me remind you," he continued. "A 6-star Awakened, a knight—" He tapped the table once, deliberate. "—wouldn't just walk into a place like Varenthia without a damn good reason."
Lucavion studied Draven for a moment, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass as if considering something. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a smirk.
"It appears that Corvina has bested you," he mused.
Draven raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"
Lucavion exhaled softly, tapping a finger against the table. "She gave me this information days ago. The name, the history, the disappearance. Everything you just said?" He tilted his head slightly. "Matches exactly with what she found."
Draven's jaw flexed. Not out of irritation—more out of interest.
Lucavion leaned back, his smirk deepening. "And you? You had to stumble through failed leads, dead ends, and cut-off trails. Meanwhile, Corvina had it neatly put together in a folder before I even knocked on her door."
Draven scoffed, but there was a glint in his eyes. "Tch. Should've figured. That woman's got her hands in places even I don't reach."
Lucavion chuckled. "You sound impressed."
Draven swirled his drink, his smirk returning. "I'm always impressed by people who can outmaneuver me. Doesn't happen often."
Lucavion lifted his own glass in a mock toast. "Then I hope you don't mind being bested twice."
Draven snorted but didn't argue. Instead, he exhaled through his nose, watching Lucavion carefully. "So, this is no coincidence. You knew Aldric was here before you even set foot in this city."
Lucavion nodded. "I suspected. Now I know."
Draven leaned forward slightly, his gray eyes sharp. "Then let's stop playing around. Why are you looking for him?"
Lucavion's smirk faded just slightly—not enough to disappear, but enough to change its meaning.
Lucavion's smirk faded completely. His black eyes, usually laced with mischief, sharpened into something colder, darker.
Then, in a voice as smooth as ever, but now devoid of humor, he said—
"I'm going to kill him."
Silence.
Draven felt it before he understood it.
A suffocating weight in the air, a pressure that wasn't physical but felt like a blade being pressed to his throat. His breath went tight, his instincts screaming danger before his mind even caught up.
His men reacted instantly.
The sharp ring of steel echoed through the room as swords were drawn, hands flew to hilts, and the tension snapped into action.
But—
Draven raised his hand.
A simple motion, but firm. A command.
His men hesitated, their gazes darting between him and Lucavion, but they didn't lower their weapons.
Draven forced his breath to steady, his grip tightening around his glass before he set it down. His voice, when he spoke, was rougher than before.
"Why?"
Lucavion's glare didn't waver. "Why?" he echoed, voice quiet, controlled—but beneath it was something sharp. "That is none of your business."
The air around him still hummed with the weight of his killing intent.
"I am just here to kill him."
His voice was flat, simple. As if it were just another fact of the world.
Draven swallowed down the instinct to shift in his seat. His fingers twitched slightly, but he didn't let it show.
He had been around killers before. Men who had taken lives without remorse. Men who had turned slaughter into an art.
But Lucavion—
This was different.
The way he said it. The way the room itself seemed to shrink under the weight of his words.
This wasn't a job.
This wasn't business.
This was personal.
Draven exhaled slowly, but his lungs still felt tight. He moved his fingers, testing, forcing his body to loosen up again. But even then—
A single cough escaped him.
Lucavion watched him, eyes still cold. But after a moment, just as easily as he had released it—
The bloodlust vanished.
Like a blade being sheathed.
The air lightened again. The room breathed.
Draven inhaled slowly, adjusting his grip on the table, shaking off the lingering weight of it. His men hesitated before finally lowering their weapons, glancing at each other warily.
Lucavion leaned back in his chair, his usual smirk flickering back into place—but it wasn't quite the same.
Draven scoffed lightly, shaking his head. "Tch. You bastard." He rubbed his temple, exhaling. "Warn a guy next time before you pull something like that."
Lucavion chuckled, tilting his head slightly. "Would it have made a difference?"
Draven clicked his tongue, still feeling the tension in his shoulders.
No. No, it wouldn't have.
Chapter 569: Deal
Draven rubbed his temple, shaking off the lingering weight of Lucavion's bloodlust. But even as the tension in the room eased, his mind was already working. Calculating.
Can he really kill Aldric?
That question lodged itself in Draven's mind, unwilling to leave.
And he knew why.
He had read Lucavion's file before.
The Cloud Heavens Sect had shoved it into his hands when they first approached him for the assassination request. At the time, he had barely skimmed through it—thinking it was just another grudge they wanted settled. Some rogue swordsman who had pissed off the wrong people.
But now? Now the details resurfaced in his mind clearly.
Draven narrowed his eyes slightly, fingers tapping against the table. "Tell me something, Lucavion."
Lucavion raised a brow, waiting.
Draven leaned forward slightly. "Can you really kill him?"
Lucavion's smirk didn't fade, but there was something more amused in his expression now. "You sound doubtful."
Draven exhaled through his nose. "I remember your name." His gray eyes sharpened. "And I remember what I read about you."
Lucavion tilted his head, saying nothing.
Draven continued. "At the time, Cloud Heavens Sect came to me with a request. And in that request was a file." His voice lowered slightly. "One that described you."
Lucavion chuckled, resting his chin against his knuckles. "Oh? I didn't know I was so famous."
Draven ignored the remark. His voice was measured. "It said you bested Varen Drakov."
Finally, Lucavion blinked.
A small flicker of something passed through his expression—too fast to catch, but Draven saw it.
"So you read that," Lucavion mused, his voice still smooth.
Draven smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Of course I did. Varen Drakov. The rising prodigy of the Silver Flame Sect." He exhaled sharply. "One of the so-called 'Rising Dragons.' And in the Vendor Martial Tournament finals, you beat him."
Lucavion's smirk twitched slightly, but he said nothing.
Draven tapped the table once. "It said you won convincingly."
Silence stretched for a moment before Lucavion finally sighed, tilting his head. "Well… it wasn't that convincing."
Draven scoffed, shaking his head. "And it wasn't just Varen Drakov." He tilted his head slightly, watching Lucavion's reaction. "Everyone knew how you humiliated your opponents in that tournament. Lira Vaelan didn't escape that fate either."
Lucavion's smirk twitched, just slightly.
Draven exhaled sharply. "You made her disappear. Last I heard, Lira doesn't even show her face in public anymore. Word is, she went into seclusion after that match." He tilted his glass slightly. "Rumor has it, she's too ashamed to step into the arena again."
Lucavion let out a quiet chuckle. "Ah… Lira." He rolled the name over his tongue like an old memory, his smirk turning faintly amused.
Draven narrowed his eyes. "What, you proud of that?"
Lucavion exhaled, resting his chin against his knuckles. "I did what I could."
Draven clicked his tongue. "Hmph. I'm not here to condone you. Nor am I in any position to." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "But that doesn't mean I won't ask the question that matters."
Lucavion tilted his head slightly, waiting.
Draven's gaze sharpened.
"You were a 4-star Awakened, not even a year ago." His voice was low, controlled, but there was something weighty behind it. "And now, you're claiming you can kill a 6-star?"
He let the silence stretch for a moment, letting the words sink in.
Lucavion's smirk didn't waver. If anything, it grew sharper, his black eyes gleaming with something undisturbed.
"It doesn't look convincing?" he mused, tilting his head slightly, as if genuinely curious.
Draven exhaled through his nose, rubbing his jaw. "No," he admitted bluntly. "It doesn't."
Lucavion chuckled, resting one elbow against the table. "Then, tell me, Draven—what rank do you think I am right now?"
Draven narrowed his eyes.
He studied Lucavion carefully, this time with full intent.
At first glance, the man didn't feel overwhelmingly powerful. He wasn't radiating an oppressive aura, wasn't letting his mana spill out carelessly like some arrogant noble trying to flaunt his strength. If anything, he seemed controlled, contained.
But that was exactly the problem.
Draven himself was a 5-star Awakened. He had been for years, and he knew the way power worked. Normally, a 5-star could sense another's rank just by reading their mana signature—by the way it moved, by the density, the weight of it in the air.
But with Lucavion?
He couldn't see anything.
Not at the start of their meeting.
Not even now.
It was like looking at a void.
Draven's fingers drummed against the wood. This wasn't normal. Even if Lucavion had improved over the past year, it still wouldn't explain this absence.
And most importantly—
Draven clenched his jaw slightly as a memory flashed in his mind.
That moment earlier, when Lucavion had released his bloodlust.
For that single, terrifying instant, he had felt as if—
As if his own head was about to roll.
Draven had faced plenty of killers before. He had fought men stronger than himself, had clashed with monsters in human skin who enjoyed the thrill of slaughter. But none of them had made his breath hitch the way Lucavion did.
And now, this bastard was sitting here, asking him what rank he thought he was?
Draven exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around his glass.
"...Tch." His smirk returned, but it was laced with something tense. "You bastard."
Lucavion chuckled, resting his chin against his hand. "You can't tell, can you?"
Draven didn't answer.
But Lucavion already knew.
His smirk deepened. "Then, Draven—what does that tell you?"
Draven exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "This is absurd."
Lucavion chuckled, his smirk never faltering. "You're free to believe what you want." He tilted his head slightly, his black eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "But if I didn't have the capability…" He let the words hang in the air before finishing smoothly, "I wouldn't have come here."
Draven's fingers stilled against the wood.
For a long moment, he just looked at Lucavion.
Really looked.
And the more he studied him, the less sense this all made.
Lucavion wasn't normal—that much was clear. His control, his presence, the way he carried himself with such effortless confidence.
Draven had walked into this room knowing he was one of the strongest men in Varenthia. A 5-star Awakened. And just to remind himself—
A 5-star Awakened was not average.
It was more than just another step up in power.
It was a threshold.
The point where an individual stopped being just a strong warrior and became a force. The kind of fighter who could take on dozens, even hundreds of trained men alone. The kind who could tip the balance of a battlefield.
And Draven was one of them.
One of the strongest in this city.
And yet—
When he had stepped into the room earlier, expecting at least a reaction from Lucavion, the bastard hadn't even flinched.
Not even a twitch.
Most people, when they stood before someone of Draven's caliber, showed something. A flicker of unease, a second of hesitation. A small, instinctive shift that acknowledged, this man is dangerous.
Lucavion?
Nothing.
It wasn't arrogance. It wasn't overconfidence.
It was certainty.
Draven exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Tch."
Lucavion chuckled. "Something wrong?"
Draven shot him a look. "You really expect me to just believe you jumped from a 4-star to a 6-star in under a year?"
Lucavion's smirk deepened. "You tell me, Draven." His black eyes gleamed. "What do you think?"
Draven exhaled heavily, shaking his head. "Whatever."
This guy…
From the way he carried himself, the way he spoke, the way he didn't even consider failure—it was clear.
Lucavion was crazy.
And yet—
That was exactly why Draven liked him.
"You're fucking crazy," Draven muttered, leaning back in his chair. "If you really think you can take all of them alone."
Lucavion chuckled, his smirk lazy, almost amused. "I'm not that crazy."
Draven raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Could've fooled me."
Lucavion met his gaze, his black eyes sharp and calculating. "But in the face of a common enemy…" He let the words hang, the weight of them settling between them.
"You do know what to do, don't you?"
Draven's smirk returned.
He had already been looking for a way to deal with the Black Veil.
And now?
Now, an opportunity had walked straight into his bar, sat across from him, and offered itself.
How could he possibly let it go to waste?
Draven leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, his smirk mirroring Lucavion's.
"Tch." He exhaled through his nose.
"You really are a bastard," he muttered. "But I like the way you think."
Chapter 570: Deal (2)
Draven exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders before finally speaking. "I'll think of a plan myself." His voice was steady, carrying that same edge of control. "For now, you wait."
Lucavion didn't argue. He simply tilted his head, tapping a finger idly against the table. "I can wait," he mused. "But not for too long."
Draven smirked. "I figured as much."
Lucavion leaned back, relaxed but attentive, waiting for what came next.
Draven exhaled through his nose, already calculating. "I can arrange a good place for you," he said, watching Lucavion carefully. "Somewhere quiet, out of the way. No one will bother you there."
Lucavion hummed, amusement flickering in his gaze. "That would be nice."
Draven gestured to his men with a small motion of his fingers. "Take him there. Make sure he has what he needs."
His men hesitated for only a second before nodding, stepping forward. One of them gestured for Lucavion to follow.
Lucavion stood, stretching slightly as if he had all the time in the world. He cast Draven one last glance, smirking. "I'll be waiting for that plan of yours."
Draven didn't respond—just watched as Lucavion was led out of the room, his figure vanishing beyond the doorway.
The moment he was gone, Draven finally let out a long sigh, rubbing his temple. "Tch. What a fucking headache."
Then his gaze shifted—sharp, deliberate—straight to Caius.
"You," Draven muttered, voice flat.
Caius, who had been trying very hard to look invisible, tensed. "Uh—yeah?"
Draven leaned back in his chair, his smirk returning just slightly. "You're staying."
Caius blinked. "What?"
Draven tilted his head. "You brought that crazy fucker to me. No matter what happens, this is your mess, too."
Caius felt his soul leave his body.
"Boss, wait, hold on—"
Draven waved a hand, already done with his complaints. "Shut up. Sit down."
Caius groaned, miserable.
'Why the hell did I take this job?'
Caius groaned internally. Of course this was happening.
He ran a hand through his hair, already feeling the beginnings of a headache. "Boss, listen," he started, lifting his hands slightly as if to defend himself. "I didn't have a choice. I was attacked—about to die."
Draven just stared at him, unimpressed.
Caius gritted his teeth, trying to explain faster before Draven decided to make his life worse. "If I didn't agree to bring him here, I would've been dead. Boss, you saw his strength yourself, didn't you?"
Draven's glare deepened for a moment, but then—after a long pause—he exhaled sharply. "Tch." He leaned back, rubbing his jaw. He wasn't wrong.
Lucavion had walked into this room like he owned it, sat across from Draven without the slightest hesitation, and made his intentions crystal clear.
But there were still too many unknowns.
He came here with a target in mind, but what else? Who the hell was backing him? What had happened between him and Aldric to push him this far?
And most importantly—
Was he truly strong enough to do what he claimed?
Draven didn't like uncertainties. And Lucavion? He was one big, walking unknown.
Which meant Draven needed eyes on him.
He smirked slightly, turning his gaze back to Caius. "Fine," he muttered. "I won't blame you for bringing him here."
Caius relaxed slightly. Maybe he could actually—
"But," Draven interrupted, his smirk widening, "you're going to follow him around."
Caius froze.
His stomach dropped. "Wait. What?"
Draven exhaled, leaning forward slightly. "You heard me. You're going to keep an eye on him—make sure he doesn't cause a scene or go completely insane while I set things up."
Caius felt all the blood drain from his face.
"No. No way." He shook his head rapidly. "Boss, you can't be serious! You want me to follow around that madman?!"
Draven's smirk only widened.
Caius slammed a hand against the table. "Boss, did you see what he did earlier?! I felt like I was going to die just standing next to him! You think I can control that lunatic?"
Draven chuckled, enjoying this way too much.
"You don't need to control him," he mused. "You just need to make sure he doesn't do something reckless."
Caius let out a very loud, very frustrated groan, dragging a hand down his face.
"I hate this job."
Draven leaned back in his chair, his smirk still lingering as he watched Caius suffer.
"This is your punishment," he said smoothly, drumming his fingers against the wooden surface. "You brought that crazy bastard to my doorstep. If he decides to do something funny—" His gray eyes darkened slightly, the smirk fading into something sharper. "You know what's waiting for you."
Caius let out the longest sigh of his life. He didn't argue. Didn't even bother trying anymore. He just ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath.
"I know, I know…" His voice was heavy, defeated. He pushed himself up from the chair, rolling his shoulders. "Tch. Might as well get this over with."
Draven gestured lazily toward the door. "Then get moving."
Caius grumbled something unintelligible as he turned on his heel and stalked toward the exit. The door creaked open, and with a final exasperated sigh, he disappeared down the hallway, leaving Draven alone.
The room fell silent.
Draven exhaled through his nose, rubbing his jaw as he let his smirk fade completely. His fingers drummed against the table, a steady rhythm, measured and deliberate. Lucavion.
That name was going to cause problems.
Draven wasn't the type to overthink things. He liked to keep his life simple—run his operations, keep his enemies at bay, and make sure Varenthia stayed exactly as chaotic as he needed it to be. But this? This wasn't simple.
Lucavion wasn't just another rogue swordsman looking for revenge. He wasn't some hired blade with a grudge.
That much had been obvious from the second he walked into the bar.
He was something else entirely.
Draven had met plenty of killers before—men who oozed violence, who reeked of unchecked bloodlust, who built their entire identities around their ability to take lives.
Lucavion wasn't like them.
When he said, I am going to kill him, it wasn't the declaration of a man seeking vengeance. It wasn't a hot-blooded outburst, filled with rage and emotion. It wasn't even a warning.
It was a fact.
Lucavion had already decided how this story ended.
And that…
That was what unsettled Draven the most.
He had dealt with power before. He had stood in front of men stronger than himself, had worked alongside warriors who could cut down entire battalions. And yet, none of them had made him feel the way Lucavion did.
That moment—that single moment—when Lucavion had released his killing intent, it had been suffocating. Too sharp. Too real.
Draven had spent years in this city, sharpening his instincts, honing his senses. He knew when he was in the presence of a monster. And Lucavion?
Lucavion was something worse.
He exhaled, rubbing his temple. If Lucavion really was after Aldric, then this situation was about to get a whole lot messier. The Black Veil wasn't just some new gang trying to take control of the streets—they were something calculated.
And Aldric himself?
Draven had fought 6-star Awakened before. He knew what that kind of power meant. A single man at that level was enough to shift the entire balance of a city. If Aldric had been working in the shadows all this time, securing his hold over Varenthia, then what was his endgame?
Draven hated not knowing the full picture.
And now, standing at the center of it all, were two men—one trying to seize control of the city, and one who had come to burn it all down.
Draven let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Tch. This is going to be a goddamn disaster."
But despite himself, he couldn't help but smirk.
Because if nothing else—
It was going to be one hell of a show.
Draven exhaled through his nose, stretching his neck before rolling his shoulders. No use sitting around. Things were already moving, and if he didn't act fast, he'd just end up being dragged along for the ride.
"Let's arrange the things first," he muttered, pushing himself up from his chair. His gray eyes swept across the dimly lit room before settling on his closest men—the ones still standing by, waiting for orders.
"Get word out," he said, his voice sharp and measured. "I want every key player in the city to know I'm brewing something." He gestured vaguely with one hand. "Start with the ones we trust—or at least, the ones who owe us enough to listen."
The men exchanged glances before nodding. One of them, a wiry man with a scar across his jaw, spoke first. "You want us to go direct, or keep it quiet?"
Draven smirked. "Direct. No need for secrets just yet. Let them wonder what I'm up to. Suspicion makes people nervous, and nervous people make mistakes."
The scarred man grinned, already turning to leave.
Draven crossed his arms, his mind running through the names he needed to reach out to. There were rules in this city. Unspoken ones, but rules nonetheless. No one made a big move without the other factions taking notice. If Lucavion was going after Aldric, and if Draven planned to use this opportunity to weaken the Black Veil, then he had to prepare the ground first.
That meant making sure the right people were paying attention.
"Get me in contact with the Crimson Dogs first," he said, glancing at another one of his men. "They've been losing jobs ever since the Black Veil showed up—they'll want in on whatever's coming."
Chapter 571: You!
Caius stepped out of The Rusted Fang, the night air cooling the frustration burning in his chest.
Lucavion was already outside, waiting. He stood near the entrance, hands tucked lazily into his coat pockets, gazing up at the Varenthian skyline with an unreadable expression.
Beside him, one of Draven's men—a burly, rough-faced guy named Orin—stood stiffly, arms crossed. His gaze flickered toward Lucavion every so often, just shy of being outright hostile.
Caius couldn't blame him.
Half the bar was still rolling around in pain thanks to this bastard, and now Orin had to personally escort him to some cozy hideout on Draven's orders. The only thing keeping the guy from acting on his resentment was the fact that Draven had made himself very clear—Lucavion wasn't to be touched.
Lucavion must have noticed the tension, because he finally turned to Orin with a lazy smile.
"You're staring," he noted casually.
Orin grunted. "I'm watching."
Lucavion's smile widened, but he didn't press further. He simply stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders as if he had all the time in the world. Then, finally, he gestured ahead.
"Well then, shall we?"
Orin exhaled sharply and motioned for them to follow.
The walk was quiet at first.
The streets of Varenthia were always alive, no matter the hour. Merchants still peddled goods under flickering lanterns, and mercenaries lingered outside taverns, their voices a low murmur of deals and rumors. The smell of grilled meat and burning oil drifted through the air, mixing with the distant scent of salt from the nearby docks.
Caius kept glancing at Lucavion.
The bastard looked… relaxed. Too relaxed. Like he wasn't in the middle of hostile territory. Like he hadn't just turned a bar full of Draven's men into a scene of absolute carnage.
'This guy's nerves are made of fucking steel.'
Orin remained silent, leading them toward a quieter district, where the buildings grew taller and the streets less crowded. Unlike the chaotic heart of Varenthia, this part of the city had an organized feel—where wealthier merchants and retired mercenaries lived.
Eventually, they stopped in front of a two-story residence.
The building was surprisingly well-kept for Varenthian standards—sturdy stone walls, clean wooden beams, and a balcony on the second floor overlooking the street. It was positioned slightly away from the main road, offering privacy without complete isolation.
Orin turned, his voice gruff. "Draven said this place will do. Fully stocked, quiet, and out of the way." His sharp gaze flickered toward Lucavion again. "No trouble while you're here."
Lucavion hummed. "I never cause trouble."
Orin's jaw tightened, but he didn't take the bait.
Instead, he gestured toward the door. "It's yours for now. Keys are inside."
Lucavion didn't respond immediately. Instead, he took a slow step forward, placing a hand against the stone wall as if testing its solidity. Then he nodded, apparently satisfied.
"Not bad," he mused, stepping toward the entrance. "Better than some places I've stayed in."
Caius scoffed under his breath. "Glad to know Varenthia meets your standards."
Lucavion chuckled but didn't respond.
Orin gave Caius a brief, knowing glance—one that said "You're the poor bastard stuck with him, not me."
Then, without another word, he turned and walked off, leaving Caius alone with Lucavion.
The moment Orin was out of sight, Caius sighed, dragging a hand down his face.
Lucavion stood at the entrance of the house for a moment, letting his gaze wander over the details—the sturdy build, the quiet surroundings. Then, without looking at Caius, he said smoothly,
"So this is how Draven is punishing you?"
Caius gritted his teeth.
'If you know it already, why the hell are you smiling, you bastard?'
Of course, he didn't say that. He just exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to keep his irritation in check.
Before either of them could say anything else, a sudden movement from above caught Caius's attention.
A shadow leapt from the stone wall beside them—fast, silent.
Thud.
A cat landed effortlessly on Lucavion's shoulder.
Caius stiffened, immediately wary. But as the creature adjusted itself, he got a clearer look at it—and froze.
Its fur was white—not dull, not dirty, but pure, pristine. Even in the dim light, it practically glowed. And its eyes…
Intelligent. Piercing. Yellow, sharp as if they belonged to a creature that understood far more than it should.
It wasn't just beautiful—it was majestic.
Caius had never seen a cat like this before.
The cat's gaze flickered toward him, studying him with an eerie intensity. Its tail curled lazily around Lucavion's shoulder, but there was nothing casual about the way it watched him.
Lucavion didn't seem surprised at all. If anything, he reached up and ran a single hand through the cat's fur with practiced ease before finally stepping inside.
Caius hesitated, then followed.
"The hell is that?" he asked as soon as they were both inside.
Lucavion glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable.
"My familiar."
Caius blinked. "Your what?"
Lucavion smirked. "You heard me."
Caius stared at him. Then at the cat. Then back at him.
Caius let out a long, exhausted sigh.
At this point, he wasn't sure what was worse—the fact that he had to deal with this lunatic or the fact that said lunatic had a familiar.
He shook his head, muttering under his breath, before stepping inside.
The moment he crossed the threshold, his feet pausing just slightly, his eyes widened.
'What the hell…?'
The interior of the house was… luxurious.
Not in the overly extravagant way of noble estates, but in the kind of deliberate, quiet wealth that didn't need to scream for attention.
Polished wooden floors. Dark oak furniture. A grand staircase leading to the second floor. Even the air inside felt different—cooler, cleaner, untouched by the grime and stench of the Varenthian streets.
Caius had lived in this city almost his whole life, but he had never set foot in a place like this.
And yet—
Lucavion barely reacted.
He stepped inside with the same lazy stride, barely glancing at the surroundings before his black eyes landed on him.
Then, slowly, his lips curled into a smirk.
"Well," Lucavion drawled, voice laced with amusement. "This is where you leave, isn't it?"
Caius narrowed his eyes. The hell is that tone?
He crossed his arms. "Draven ordered me to stick with you."
Lucavion exhaled through his nose, as if he had already known the answer. "I know."
Then he turned away, moving toward the main hall with an air of complete disinterest.
"But," he continued lightly, his voice teasing, "if you really want to, you can always wait outside."
Caius's jaw tightened.
'This fucking guy.'
Lucavion took a slow glance around the house, his sharp gaze sweeping over the furniture, the decor, the placement of each room. It took him all of a few seconds to understand the layout.
Then, his eyes landed on a smaller section near the back of the house—just before the garden.
A tucked-away space.
Separate from the main quarters.
His lips twitched.
"Well," he mused, turning to Caius with a smirk. "It appears that you've found where you'll be staying."
Caius followed his gaze—and sighed.
'Of course. The fucking servant's quarters.'
Not that he expected anything else. Draven didn't exactly send him along to live comfortably—he was here to keep an eye on this crazy bastard. And, honestly? He'd rather sleep there than be anywhere near Lucavion's room.
He muttered under his breath and made his way toward the small chamber.
Lucavion didn't say anything else.
He simply watched—dark eyes glinting with quiet amusement—until Caius had stepped inside.
Then, with an almost lazy motion, he reached for the main door.
Click.
Caius heard the door shut behind him.
And just like that—Lucavion was left alone.
Chapter 572: Locked
Lucavion stepped into his room, shutting the door with an ease that made it seem like he hadn't just thoroughly amused himself at Caius's expense. He exhaled, rolling his shoulders slightly as he took in the space—minimalist, practical, devoid of any real personality. Exactly the kind of place he expected.
Not that it mattered.
His sharp gaze flicked upward toward the wooden beams supporting the ceiling. He hadn't needed to look. He'd already known she was there.
A faint rustling, the sound of something shifting weightlessly against the wood, and then—
[You're cruel,] Vitaliara murmured, her voice slipping into the air like a whisper of wind.
Lucavion smirked. "What, for putting him in his rightful place?"
A soft thump. Then another. In the dim light, a sleek shape moved, fluid and effortless, descending with the grace only a being like her could manage. The moment her paws touched the ground, she stretched lazily, tail flicking behind her in a way that seemed almost...judgmental.
[For locking him in,] she corrected. [You shut the door rather quickly, didn't you?]
Lucavion shrugged, unbothered. "I didn't lock it."
Her sharp green eyes narrowed.
[You let it click loudly. Enough that he'd think you locked it.] She hopped onto the desk, curling her tail neatly around herself. [You're playing games again.]
Lucavion chuckled, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves before rolling them up. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
[It is,] she muttered, resting her chin against her paws. [You toy with people too much.]
A smirk tugged at his lips. "And yet, you always watch."
Vitaliara huffed. She had no response to that.
Lucavion sat on the edge of his bed, one arm resting on his knee as he studied her. "So," he mused, "you couldn't stand being in the inn?"
[The smell was horrid,] she admitted without hesitation. [That entire place reeked of old ale, sweat, and unwashed men. Why would I choose to be there when I can be here?]
A lazy tilt of his head. "Because you don't trust me enough to be alone?"
She blinked once. Then—
[You don't trust yourself to be alone.]
Lucavion's smirk twitched, but he said nothing.
Silence settled between them, thick yet comfortable. Vitaliara didn't need to pry. She had always been perceptive enough to know when to push—and when to let things lie.
After a moment, she spoke again, softer this time.
[You're thinking about him, aren't you?]
Lucavion exhaled through his nose, tilting his head back slightly. The wooden ceiling, the quiet hum of night outside—none of it was enough to distract from the weight pressing at the edges of his mind.
"Aldric Veltorin."
Vitaliara's ears flicked.
[That guy…..Draven knew him.]
Lucavion hummed in agreement. "Knew of him. Which is enough."
He leaned back, resting one arm behind him. His voice was smooth, measured—but there was a sharpness underneath.
Vitaliara's tail flicked once, a slow, thoughtful movement. Then—she sighed.
[This matter isn't simple, Lucavion,] she murmured. [It goes beyond quite a lot.]
Lucavion raised a brow, waiting.
She met his gaze, green eyes dark with something contemplative. [You heard what Draven said. Every lead on Aldric was cut off before he could even act. That's not just power—it's deliberate. Systematic. The kind of clean-up only a very particular kind of force can manage.]
Lucavion exhaled through his nose, fingers drumming lightly against his knee. "The Royal Family."
[Exactly,] Vitaliara confirmed. [And if they're covering his past, that means there's a high chance he's still working for them.]
Lucavion chuckled, low and quiet. "Which means killing him here would be the same as slitting a noble's throat in the middle of their own estate." His smirk widened. "It'd make things… fun."
Vitaliara did not look amused.
[Lucavion.] Her voice was sharper now. [This isn't just another mercenary group or an arrogant noble playing power games. If Aldric really is connected to them, then going after him means directly antagonizing the Royal Family.]
Lucavion's expression didn't change. If anything, his smirk only deepened, his black eyes gleaming with something dangerously close to amusement.
"So what?" he mused, tilting his head slightly. "I'm here to kill a certain someone from my past. The number of people who want me dead is already long enough to fill a graveyard. A few more names on the list won't make a difference."
Vitaliara's tail lashed behind her, her irritation plain.
[You absolute idiot,] she snapped. [This time, they'll have a direct reason to deal with you.]
Lucavion let out a soft, breathy laugh. "And?" He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping into something smoother, quieter. Deadlier. "Let them."
Vitaliara's fur bristled. [Lucavion.]
He leaned back again, utterly unbothered. "You've been alive for so long, yet sometimes, you're really stupid." He smirked. "Especially when it comes to politics."
Vitaliara visibly stiffened.
Then—
[You!]
Lucavion chuckled, letting the word hang between them, his amusement clear.
Lucavion's smirk didn't waver as he watched her, the faint glow of the lantern casting flickering shadows across the room.
"You're wrong about one thing," he murmured, tilting his head slightly.
Vitaliara's ears twitched, still bristling from his previous words, but she didn't interrupt.
Lucavion's voice remained smooth, measured. "The Royal Family won't have a direct reason to deal with me."
She narrowed her eyes. [You think they'll just ignore you after this?]
"I think they won't be able to act openly," he corrected, his smirk deepening. "They're not here formally. If they were, this wouldn't be some hidden game of erasing records and burying trails. They may be supporting Aldric, but they're doing it underhandedly."
Vitaliara stilled, considering his words.
Lucavion leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow against his knee. "If the Royal Family openly moved to protect him, the other noble houses would also step in. And if that happens…" He chuckled, voice laced with amusement. "Then we get a much bigger game—a political war between the strongest factions in the empire. Do you think they'd risk that over one knight?"
Vitaliara didn't answer immediately.
She knew he had a point. The balance between the noble houses, the rivalries that simmered beneath the surface—it was always about control. If one family made too bold a move, the others would pounce like starved wolves.
Lucavion leaned back again, lazily stretching. "So when I kill Aldric, I'm not slaying a 'loyal knight of the empire.' I'm just cutting down an unruly bastard who deserted the army." His black eyes gleamed. "No different from any other rogue mercenary."
Vitaliara exhaled sharply, her tail flicking once, her frustration simmering beneath the surface.
[It's still a risk,] she muttered.
Lucavion shrugged. "Everything is."
[And you're still reckless.]
He smirked. "I'm effective."
Vitaliara scoffed, but there was a reluctant acknowledgment in her expression. She didn't like it. She didn't want to admit it.
But she knew.
He was right.
*****
Three days passed.
Three days of quiet maneuvering. Of whispered deals and carefully placed messages.
Draven wasn't the type to rush—timing was everything. He knew that better than anyone.
So he spent those three days arranging the board.
The Crimson Dogs were eager—too eager. The Black Veil had cut into their work, and they were already sharpening their blades, waiting for an excuse to strike. He fed them just enough information to make sure they stayed hungry, but not enough to make them reckless.
The Dusk Fang Syndicate, as expected, played neutral. They wanted to see who would come out on top before taking a side. Typical.
And as for the Republic's men?
They were watching. Waiting. They hadn't moved yet, but Draven knew their type—they always backed the strongest player. If this plan worked, they'd be lining up to make deals with him soon enough.
Now, everything was set.
And it was time to bring in the wildcard.
Lucavion.
Draven exhaled through his nose as he leaned back in his chair, rolling his shoulders.
This guy…
Even after three days, Draven wasn't sure what to make of him. Caius had been reporting back—reluctantly, of course—and every single report made Lucavion sound more like a ghost than a man.
No unnecessary movement. No wasted time.
He barely spoke to anyone. Didn't cause any trouble—but at the same time, felt like trouble itself.
And most importantly—he was waiting.
Draven smirked.
Well. Let's not keep him waiting any longer.
He raised a hand, signaling to one of his men standing by the door. "Go get him." His voice was calm, measured. "Tell our sword demon that it's time for his show."
The man nodded and left, leaving Draven alone in the quiet.
Draven exhaled, rubbing his temple.
"Let's see what we do…."
Chapter 573: Meeting the three heads
The heavy wooden doors creaked open.
Lucavion stepped inside, his black coat swaying slightly as he moved. His steps were calm, measured—as if he had all the time in the world. He wasn't tense, nor did he look particularly intrigued by what was happening. He simply arrived.
Draven sat at the head of the long, dimly lit table, his fingers lazily tapping against the wood. Around him, the room was not empty.
Several figures occupied the seats, some leaning back with crossed arms, others sitting upright with sharp, unreadable gazes. These were not mere mercenaries.
They were the power players of Varenthia.
Vyrell Fenrick, the cold-eyed strategist of the Dusk Fang Syndicate. An older man, clad in dark robes, his face lined with experience rather than age. A thinker. A planner. The type who saw the world as a chessboard and rarely made a move without considering the entire game.
Soren Kael, the leader of the Crimson Dogs. A brute of a man, all broad shoulders and scarred knuckles, sitting with an impatient scowl. Unlike Vyrell, he wasn't one for long discussions—he wanted results.
Marciel Vance, a high-ranking broker with Republic ties. A slim, well-dressed man with a calculating stare, always balancing his words like he was weighing gold in his head. He was here because the Republic was watching—waiting to see where this conflict led.
And a handful of others. Each one representing an interest in this city.
Lucavion's arrival drew all of their attention.
Some of them merely glanced at him, as if assessing a new piece on the board. Others frowned slightly, sensing something about him that felt off.
Draven exhaled through his nose, amused by their reactions. "Glad you could join us," he said smoothly, gesturing toward an empty seat. "Take a seat, Lucavion."
Lucavion didn't move immediately. He let his dark gaze roam across the room, taking in who was here, what they were. Judging. Calculating.
Then, with an easy smirk, he strode forward and lowered himself into the chair.
A quiet murmur rippled through the gathered men as Lucavion settled into his chair, completely at ease. The heavy candlelight flickered against the rough wooden table, casting uneven shadows over the figures seated around it.
Soren Kael leaned forward first, his thick arms crossing over his broad chest. His eyes, sharp and impatient, swept over Lucavion from head to toe. "Is that him?" he asked, voice gruff. "The one you talked about?"
Draven tilted his head slightly, smirking. "Yes."
A pause.
"Hmm…"
Vyrell Fenrick, ever the quiet observer, said nothing at first. He merely studied Lucavion with a cold, calculating gaze, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. The dim lighting barely touched his expression, but the sharp glint in his eyes showed he was already considering variables, outcomes. Risks.
Lucavion felt their eyes on him—felt the weight of their scrutiny—but he didn't react. He didn't shift, didn't frown, didn't make any effort to ease their suspicions.
Instead, he simply let them look.
His smirk remained, lazy yet knowing.
Unbothered.
It wasn't the confidence of a man trying to prove himself. It wasn't arrogance, either. It was something worse.
Something eerie.
Soren narrowed his eyes slightly. Something about this bastard's presence made his instincts coil. He had met plenty of killers in his life—brutal men, cold men, those who enjoyed the thrill of bloodshed.
But Lucavion?
Lucavion wasn't giving off the aura of someone hungry for violence. If anything, he seemed… apathetic to it. Like he had already decided the outcome of this meeting before even stepping inside.
Soren clicked his tongue, resting his elbows on the table. Something about this guy feels off.
Marciel Vance, the broker from the Republic, was less openly hostile but no less wary. He was a man of numbers, a man who measured risks before making deals. And right now, he was measuring Lucavion.
Where did this guy come from?
Lucavion didn't look like a battle-hardened warlord, nor did he carry himself like some former noble turned mercenary. His features were sharp, composed—too composed. Most men who sat in this room, who spoke with people like Draven, Soren, and Vyrell, at least showed some hesitation. Even the most dangerous assassins and syndicate leaders had an instinct to stay guarded around men like them.
But Lucavion?
Not a single flicker of tension.
No telltale signs of a man preparing for violence.
No unnecessary movement.
Even now, as the air grew heavier with suspicion, he didn't move.
Marciel tapped a single finger against the table, his sharp eyes narrowing. What kind of man sits among killers and doesn't even blink?
Someone either very powerful or very foolish.
Vyrell, still silent, continued to observe. His mind worked through scenarios, trying to piece together the gaps in information. This wasn't a man they had ever heard of before—Draven hadn't given them much about his background, only that he was an asset.
But an asset from where?
He was too young to have come from the old blood of Varenthia's mercenary families. He wasn't a Republic hound, nor was he affiliated with any of the noble houses in Solmara or Arcanis.
So who the hell was he?
Vyrell exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping once against the wood. "Where did you find him?" he finally asked, his voice smooth and measured. "Men of his… stature are not exactly common."
Lucavion's smirk widened slightly, but before he could speak, Draven raised a hand.
"That doesn't matter," Draven said, his tone final. "What matters is that he's here. And for now, he's my problem."
Vyrell's eyes flicked toward Draven, as if weighing the meaning behind those words.
Draven wasn't an idiot.
He didn't vouch for people lightly. If he was willing to stake his credibility on this Lucavion, then there was something real behind it.
Soren scoffed, shaking his head slightly. "Fine. But if he turns out to be useless, I'm not wasting my men on him."
The tension in the room didn't fade after Draven's declaration. If anything, it sharpened.
Lucavion could tell—these men were already talking about this before he even stepped in.
His arrival might have changed the approach, but the storm had been brewing long before now.
Soren Kael scoffed, leaning back in his chair with a deep scowl. "You called us here because you're planning something big." His thick fingers drummed against the table. "So let's get to it."
Vyrell nodded, his gaze sliding back to Draven. "You had our attention before he arrived," he murmured, motioning vaguely toward Lucavion. "What exactly are you planning?"
Draven leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I just got fresh intel." His voice was smooth, measured, but there was a sharp glint in his eyes. "Aldric has a new deal lined up."
That caught everyone's attention.
Marciel straightened slightly, his calculating eyes narrowing. "A trade?"
Draven smirked. "Yes. And his right-hand men will be attending that meeting."
The air shifted.
Lucavion didn't miss the way the expressions around the room flickered—hesitation, intrigue, and in some cases, outright concern.
Soren exhaled sharply. "And what? You're thinking of hitting them there?"
Draven nodded. "My men will target them at the trade."
Silence.
Then—
"Are you crazy?" Marciel's voice was sharp, his usual composed demeanor cracking slightly. "Directly attacking a trade like that is suicide."
Draven exhaled through his nose, unconcerned. "Tch. You say that like I don't know what I'm doing."
Marciel's jaw tightened. "You know exactly what I mean. This isn't a small skirmish. You attack them during a major deal, and you're not just cutting into their operations—you're making this a full-scale war."
Draven smirked. "Good."
Soren let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Hah. You want this to be a war."
Draven shrugged. "They've been expanding too fast. Too aggressively." His gaze swept across the table. "You all know it. You've seen it. They've been swallowing our businesses whole, taking our clients, our suppliers. And if we keep sitting here playing cautious, we're going to wake up one day and realize there's nothing left to fight for."
Vyrell exhaled, his fingers steepling beneath his chin. "You're not wrong," he admitted. "But an open war will put the entire city on edge. The balance we've maintained—"
"Is already gone," Draven interrupted. His voice didn't rise, but it carried weight. "The moment we let them establish themselves, the moment we let them take over our business, we lost the balance. They've already forced this into a fight. I'm just making sure we don't lose it before we start."
Chapter 574: Meeting the three heads (2)
"The moment we let them establish themselves, the moment we let them take over our business, we lost the balance. They've already forced this into a fight. I'm just making sure we don't lose it before we start."
A few beats of silence.
Lucavion leaned back slightly, watching. Interesting.
Draven wasn't just planning a single strike. This wasn't just about hitting a trade deal.
He was pushing every major force in Varenthia to move against the Black Veil at once.
And it was working.
Soren grunted, crossing his arms. "Alright. Say we go along with this insanity. Taking out a trade meeting won't be enough. They'll recover."
Draven nodded. "That's why we're not stopping there."
He pulled a rolled-up parchment from his coat and tossed it onto the table. It unfurled, revealing a map of Varenthia.
Several locations were already marked.
Warehouses. Hidden strongholds. Key supply lines.
Soren's eyes flicked over it, his scowl deepening. "You really want to burn them out."
Draven smirked. "They've been getting too many customers lately. That stops now."
Marciel let out a slow breath. "Even the Iris Bloom?"
Lucavion raised an eyebrow at the name.
Vyrell sighed, rubbing his temple. "That's what this is really about, isn't it?"
Draven's smirk didn't fade. "They took over our product."
Lucavion tilted his head slightly. "Iris Bloom?"
Draven's eyes flicked toward him before he explained. "A narcotic," he said simply. "High-end. Rare. Expensive. You don't find it outside of Varenthia's underground markets."
Vyrell added, "It's also the reason we've kept certain powerful people on our side. Officials, nobles, even Republic merchants. The trade keeps the right hands full of coin."
Lucavion stayed silent, his gaze drifting across the gathered men. His fingers tapped idly against the armrest of his chair, slow and deliberate, as if absorbing every word.
Then, in that same calm, lazy voice, he mused, "One of the biggest businesses, I presume?"
Draven smirked. "Not one of the biggest. The biggest."
Lucavion nodded. "I see."
That was all he said, but the weight of his words settled into the room.
Soren scoffed, rolling his shoulders. "Tch. Say we agree. You think we haven't thought about this before? You think we wouldn't have already burned their warehouses if we could?" He leaned forward, his voice carrying a bitter edge. "How do you plan to deal with Aldric?"
Marciel exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Yeah. That's the damn problem. He's a 6-star Awakened, for fuck's sake." He motioned toward the map. "This whole plan is bold, I'll give you that. But none of this means shit if Aldric is still standing at the end of it."
Vyrell's gaze was steady, unreadable. "You're acting like we were just too cautious before," he murmured. "Like we were afraid to strike. But the truth is, we never had the option."
Silence.
Then, Vyrell continued. "We've never thought to gather together and move against the Black Veil like this because it would have been suicide. Aldric alone is enough to keep this city in check. You don't make enemies of a 6-star Awakened unless you have someone just as strong to counter him."
Lucavion glanced at Draven, his smirk returning ever so slightly.
"And from what I'm hearing," Vyrell continued, his cold gaze never wavering, "no one like that has entered Varenthia. No one from Solmara. No one from the Republic. No one from Arcanis."
He exhaled slowly, tapping his knuckles against the table. "So unless you've got an army hidden somewhere, Draven… this plan still fails."
Draven chuckled.
The sound was low, amused.
Then—he gestured lazily toward Lucavion.
Marciel's brow furrowed. Soren's expression darkened. Vyrell, for once, looked uncertain.
Draven's smirk widened.
"But this time," he said smoothly, "I do have someone."
The room shifted.
Lucavion simply smiled. But in that moment, his presence felt different. Sharper. Heavier.
Soren exhaled sharply, glancing between Draven and Lucavion. "...You're fucking kidding me."
Draven leaned forward slightly, his smirk never fading. "I don't joke about things like this."
Vyrell's fingers curled slightly. His cold gaze flicked toward Lucavion, studying him again—but this time, with more weight.
The room felt tight.
The problem they had never been able to solve—the reason why none of them had dared move before—Draven had just thrown the answer in front of them.
And he was smiling.
Silence stretched through the room, thick with unspoken doubt.
Lucavion felt their gazes on him—weighing, measuring, doubting. He was used to it. People always looked at him the same way at first. With curiosity. With skepticism.
Then, eventually—with fear.
But these men? They weren't there yet.
Soren let out a sharp exhale, his expression somewhere between disbelief and irritation. He turned to Draven, voice flat. "You're fucking serious? This kid?" He motioned toward Lucavion, his scarred knuckles tightening. "He's your answer to Aldric?"
Draven just smirked. "That's right."
Soren's brows twitched. He looked at Lucavion again, this time more critically. The kid—because that's what he looked like, a damn kid—was holding his composure just fine. His expression was unreadable, his posture relaxed, but that didn't mean shit.
Soren had met plenty of cocky bastards in his time. Plenty of men who carried themselves like they were untouchable—right up until the moment they got crushed.
And Lucavion?
He was young.
That much was obvious. Early twenties, twenty-five at most. His features were sharp, striking, but still held the smoothness of youth. His scar gave him a dangerous look, sure, but it wasn't enough to make up for experience.
Soren scoffed. "Draven, have you lost your fucking mind?"
Marciel sighed, rubbing his temple. "I was going to ask the same thing." His sharp eyes flicked toward Lucavion, assessing him from a different angle. "You're telling us that this… no-name swordsman is supposed to stand against a 6-star Awakened?" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Do you even realize how absurd that sounds?"
Vyrell, who had been quiet so far, finally spoke. "Even the most talented prodigies of this generation are at most 5-star. Some at their peak might be on the edge of breaking through, but even then, that's still a massive gap."
His cool, unreadable eyes locked onto Lucavion. "And yet, you're claiming that you can do what no one else can?"
Lucavion didn't answer immediately.
His smirk didn't fade, but there was something behind his eyes. A flicker of something sharp, something old.
Draven just chuckled, shaking his head. "You're all thinking too small."
Soren scowled. "Thinking small?" He exhaled sharply, leaning forward. "Draven, you do realize that this isn't just about skill, right? This is about power. Raw, overwhelming power. Aldric isn't just another swordsman—he's a fucking 6-star."
Marciel nodded. "That kind of difference isn't something you just 'overcome.' It's a gap in strength that can't be ignored."
Vyrell's gaze sharpened. "Unless…"
The room tensed slightly.
Vyrell studied Lucavion once more, his eyes narrowing. "...Unless you're telling us that this man is already beyond 5-star."
A quiet beat.
Then, Soren scoffed.
"Now I know you're full of shit," he muttered. "A kid like this? Beyond 5-star? Don't make me laugh."
Lucavion simply smiled.
The tension in the room had shifted.
It wasn't just skepticism anymore—there was challenge in the air.
Draven leaned back slightly, his sharp gray eyes sweeping over the gathered men before settling on Lucavion. He studied him for a moment longer, then exhaled, his smirk fading just a little.
"You…" he muttered. Then, his voice hardened. "Do it."
Lucavion raised an eyebrow. "Here?"
"Yes," Draven said firmly.
Lucavion sighed through his nose, then nodded.
And in the next instant—
The entire room shifted.
A wave of black starlit mana erupted from Lucavion's body, unfurling like a void swallowing the air itself. The pressure was immediate, dense and unnatural, filling the chamber with an oppressive weight. His usually dark eyes turned—shifting, expanding—like a night sky bursting with countless stars.
The air became thick, heavy, stifling.
The gathered leaders reacted instantly.
Vyrell's fingers twitched, his own aura flaring up—cold, sharp, methodical. Soren's brute-force mana surged outward, raw power colliding against the dark starlight. Marciel, ever the cautious one, tightened his grip on the edge of the table as he sent his own controlled wave of resistance.
Every single one of them—all of them, 5-star Awakened—instinctively pushed back.
And for a moment, the pressure evened out.
Soren scoffed, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted to the suffocating weight in the air. "Is that it?" His voice was rough, unimpressed. "Draven, if this is what you were banking on, you've already lost. It's strong, sure, but it's not enough to take on Aldric."
Marciel exhaled, regaining his composure. "I can feel it—it's different. But not overwhelming."
Vyrell's gaze remained steady. He wasn't so quick to dismiss it. But even so, this wasn't enough.
Draven, however, didn't react to them.
He simply looked at Lucavion, his smirk widening just slightly.
"Kid, don't hold back."
Lucavion let out a slow, tired sigh.
Then—
The room collapsed.
Or at least, that's how it felt.
A second wave of power surged from Lucavion, deeper, darker—unstoppable. This time, it wasn't just the quiet, creeping weight of starlit mana. Pitch-black flames erupted from his body, curling and twisting around the air like living shadows.
The flames didn't burn the walls. Didn't scorch the table.
But they pressed down—and they devoured.
The moment they meshed with the cosmic starlight, everything changed.
The weight in the air doubled.
No—tripled.
Soren's teeth clenched as he staggered slightly, his instincts screaming at him. Marciel inhaled sharply, his carefully controlled aura buckling under the force. Vyrell's fingers twitched as his mana tried to hold the pressure back—but it wasn't enough.
A deep, suffocating stillness settled into their chests, their breathing turning difficult.
Soren cursed under his breath, his hand twitching toward his weapon.
And he wasn't the only one.
The others—all of them—were instinctively reaching for their blades, their magic, their weapons—anything to defend themselves.
But before any of them could move—
Draven raised a hand.
A sharp, clear gesture.
A silent command.
Soren gritted his teeth but didn't draw his blade. Marciel hesitated, his fingers curling against the wood but remaining still. Vyrell's cold eyes flicked between Draven and Lucavion, his mind already racing with calculations.
Lucavion, meanwhile, looked completely unfazed.
He was simply waiting.
And Draven, still seated at the head of the table, chuckled.
"See now?" he murmured.