The scarfed man stood before Milo, motionless but alert, eyes tracking every movement with sharp precision.
Beside him, the tall blond stepped forward, glare fixed on Milo, full of challenge and anticipation.
Milo fixed his gaze on the blond.
"Take another step if you want what happened at your hideout to happen again."
The blond's face twisted with anger.
"Are you challenging me, you bastard!" he shouted.
Before he could move further, the scarfed man stepped in, placing a firm hand on him to stop him.
The blond grudgingly stepped back, tension still radiating from him, but he didn't advance again.
Milo looked at the scarfed man with a serious gaze.
"Do you want something?" he asked.
The scarfed man didn't answer; he just stared at Milo silently.
Suddenly, Milo tried to move past him, but the scarfed man stepped in front, blocking his path.
Milo looked at him, and then realization dawned.
"So... you're trying to delay me, so I won't find Toxivar," he said, his voice sharp.
Finally, the scarfed man spoke under his scarf.
"Go… away."
Milo looked at him, slightly surprised that he was speaking at all.
"Go…?" he echoed.
The scarfed man continued, his voice calm but firm.
"You won't see Toxivar again. So just leave. This no longer concerns you."
Milo stopped and let out a slow sigh.
"Fine… looks like I won't get anything done right now."
Milo walked away, leaving them behind.
The blond spoke, a note of concern in his voice.
"Wait… he knows a lot about us… even where our hideout is."
The scarfed man replied calmly,
"Don't worry. He won't expose us according to what Lucas said."
The scarfed man and the other figure turned and left, leaving the blond alone.
The blond called after them, his tone sharp.
"And do you really trust Lucas, for your sake?!"
The scarfed man shook his head slightly, motioning a quiet "yes."
The blond's anger flared further.
"Damn it!" he muttered, clenching his fists.
Milo returned to the middle-class district in the heart of the city. The streets here were wider, cleaner, and more organized than the narrow alleys of the poorer district. Shops were opening, merchants called out their goods, and the sounds of daily life filled the air as children ran and laughed while adults moved through the busy streets.
Milo arrived home and found that his sister had already prepared food for him before leaving for work.
He smiled warmly and said,
"Thank you, Milena…"
Milo sat down, leaning back comfortably.
"Damn… this finally means I've gotten rid of the hassle," he muttered to himself.
His brown hair fell slightly over his forehead, and his sharp eyes carried a hint of weariness. His posture was relaxed yet alert, reflecting both relief and lingering tension.
"But… those talented ones… I don't know what their plan is. I'm afraid they might target my sister," he thought, frowning slightly.
Milo reached up and gently held the pendant around his neck, his fingers tracing its surface as he glanced at it, lost in thought while leaning back, trying to relax despite the tension.
His phone rang. Milo picked it up, raising an eyebrow.
"Ah… it's you, Herax,"
Herax shouted through the phone, his voice sharp and frantic.
"Miloooo! Where have you been hiding? Solir before, and now you!"
Milo replied, chuckling softly.
"I've just been a little busy, sorry about that."
Herax fell silent for a moment, realizing that Milo was hiding something.
"Oh, I just remembered! Milo, I met Solir… he's changed, man."
Milo raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"We haven't even seen him for just a few weeks, and you're saying he's changed?"
Herax replied firmly,
"I'm serious, man. He really has changed!"
Through the phone, Milo heard someone calling for Herax.
Herax replied, slightly annoyed,
"Wait, Mom! I'm coming. I'm just talking to Milo for a bit."
He glanced at Milo.
"I have to go, sorry. We'll talk later."
Herax ended the call.
Milo let go of the phone, and it fell onto the couch. He leaned back, letting himself relax even more.
"Damn… I'm really tired!" he muttered.
Milo dozed off for a few minutes, drifting into a strange dream.
He saw a small child with green hair, crying alone, while a few ominous shadows loomed around, frightening him. The child shouted,
"Leave me alone!"
Milo stepped closer, ready to help.
"It's me… stop this!" he called out.
Suddenly, dark threads shot out, wrapping around him and binding him tightly.
A strange, eerie voice echoed around him, repeating slowly,
"This is the final form!"
Milo opened his eyes.
"Ah… what just happened?" he muttered.
"Ah… maybe it was just a dream."
He tried to remember what he had been dreaming about, but it slipped from his mind.
"Damn… I forgot!"
"The final form…", he murmured, sighing.
"What a strange phrase… what could it even mean? I feel like I've heard it somewhere before… but when?"
Milo sat up straight and ran a hand through his slightly messy hair. His brown eyes, still carrying a hint of weariness, scanned the room.
He let out a long yawn and stood up.
"I'm still tired… but I think I'll go out for a bit, get some fresh air," he muttered.
Milo glanced at the clock on the wall.
"Ah! It's two in the afternoon… I thought I had only slept for a few minutes. What the heck is happening?" he muttered, incredulous.
He pushed himself off the couch and walked to the bathroom. Milo splashed cold water on his face, letting the chill wake him, then grabbed a towel and wiped it dry.
He lifted his gaze to the mirror.
His brown hair was messy, his eyes still showing faint fatigue, but beneath it remained that stubborn determination he always carried.
He let out a breath and muttered to himself:
"Alright… alright… I should be a bit more optimistic!"
Milo sat at his desk, tapping his pen against the notebook. The test to join the guilds was only 19 days away.
"Not much time left… I need to focus, train harder, and prepare for everything," he muttered, clenching his fists as his heartbeat quickened with anxiety and determination.
Milo stepped out of his home, the afternoon sun casting a bright glow over the streets of Novara. The city buzzed with daytime activity merchants calling from their stalls and distant footsteps echoing through the alleys.
He walked calmly, the warmth of the sun on his shoulders giving him a small sense of comfort as he made his way toward the Guild Agency.
Milo arrived at the Guild Agency. Some people were already leaving, their conversations fading as they stepped into the streets, but the agency was still crowded. The air buzzed with energycandidates discussing strategies, guild members sorting documents, and the faint smell of ink and parchment lingering in the room.
Milo walked in calmly, scanning the room. He noticed the tension and excitement on the faces around him. Some glanced at him briefly, sizing him up, while others were too focused on their preparations to notice.
Milo's eyes caught a familiar figure near the entrance. Lilithia, her long dark hair slightly damp from training, spotted him and waved with a small smile, a gym bag over her shoulder.
"Hey, Milo!" she called softly. "Just finished my session. Didn't expect to see you here!"
Milo walked over, a grin forming. "Hey, Lilithia! You've been training again, huh?"
She chuckled lightly, adjusting the strap of her bag. "Yeah, can't slack off, you know. What about you?"
Milo scratched the back of his head, a bit embarrassed. "I've been a little busy these past few days… but I'm back to training. I need to get stronger."
Lilithia looked at him, seemingly understanding. A soft smile appeared on her lips.
"Getting stronger… did you face an opponent who shook your resolve again?"
Milo froze for a moment, surprised at how close she came to discovering his recent struggles.
Lilithia smiled gently at him. "Alright then. Good luck, Milo."
With that, she turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, a mix of thoughts swirling in his mind.
Lilithia grabbed her phone and answered the call.
"What happened!?… Oh, alright. I'm coming… Solir."
She adjusted her bag, her expression focused. Without a word, she headed toward the call.
Milo muttered, "Did she just say Solir…?" then shook his head. "I need to focus now."
He stepped inside, got the key from the counter, and moved to the training courtyard. The area buzzed with activity some chatting, others watching sparring.
Then he froze.
Celestine stood before him. Calm, commanding, her piercing gaze made the courtyard noise vanish. Milo's heart skipped a beat.
Celestine held a cigarette, standing confidently in front of Milo. She exhaled a thin stream of smoke, letting it curl as her sharp eyes met his. A small, knowing smile played on her lips.
"Ah… we meet again, little Arthur…" she said, calm but teasing.
Her long black hair with faint violet highlights was tied back, and her tailored coat and heels emphasized her commanding presence. Every movement radiated confidence.
She muttered to herself, flicking the cigarette to the ground.
"Who cares? No one saw me anyway… Well then… what are you doing here, you naughty one?" she teased.
Milo stammered, tense:
"Father…"
Celestine tilted her head, curious.
"What?"
Milo's gaze hardened.
"How… how did you know my father's name? And how did you know I'm his son?"
Celestine raised her hands slightly.
"Calm down. Everyone knows about your father here… and I'm one of them."
She pulled out a card from her coat pocket. Milo read her name, title, and position in the Guild Agency overseeing trainees and external threats. He handed it back, still wary.
"Aren't you supposed to be working?"
"Well… my deputy is handling things. I'm on another task," she replied with a faint smile, sliding her hands into her coat pockets.
"My late friend's daughter asked me to help a boy in trouble. He might now be a target of the strongest gang in Novara… the Talented."
Her eyes never left Milo, sharp and observant.
Milo paused, realizing she meant him.
"Do you mean…"
Celestine stepped closer, placing a hand lightly on his head.
"Yes," she said calmly, "I mean you."
Her gaze held his, steady and unwavering.
Milo took a small step back, keeping his guard up.
"How…? And why would you want to help me?" he asked, confused and suspicious.
Celestine's eyes softened.
"Ah… you don't trust me, do you? Understandable…"
She shifted her coat briefly, then straightened it and took her phone from the inner pocket. Milo stole a quick glance, embarrassed.
Celestine dialed a number. A familiar voice answered it was his sister, Melina.
She handed him the phone.
"Melina… it's me…" Milo said.
"Oh, Milo… you're with Celestine," she replied.
"Do you know her? Did you tell her anything about me?" Milo asked, eyes narrowing.
"Uh… yes, I told her to watch over you… not spy, just make sure you're safe…" Melina said.
Milo ended the call, letting the phone drop.
Celestine picked it up.
"Whoa, boy… you could've broken it!" she said.
When she looked up, Milo was gone.
"W-what!? He was just here…" she muttered.
"Oh… you're smarter than I thought," she added with a smirk.
Celestine closed her eyes, sensing his faint energy. He hasn't gone far… I'll catch him.
As she stepped forward, the loudspeaker blared:
"Someone is skipping work! Name: Celestine."
Celestine froze, a cold sweat breaking out on her forehead.
"Damn… that girl is watching me…" she muttered.
"I have to get going… need to finish my work…"
Milo walked slowly, a hint of sadness on his face.
"Am I still… weak?" he whispered.
A voice echoed inside his mind:
"But you are weak. You almost lost if it weren't for Celestine's help.
You're not strong enough.
You won't join any guild.
You're not at your father's level… not at your age."
Milo stopped and muttered in a low, tense voice:
"Damn it… shut up, me…"
As the hours passed, the courtyard surrendered to evening. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky deep orange and purple. Shadows stretched across the cobblestones, blending with the dim glow of the fountain. The air cooled, carrying faint scents of ivy and wet stone. Milo stood silently, his heartbeat unusually loud in the hush of night.
He walked on quiet streets, checking his phone but ignoring missed calls from his sister. The middle-class district was calm and protected by the city's barrier a perfect place to think… or train.
Milo stopped, glancing over his shoulder.
"Oh… you're still following me."
Raiza drew her katana smoothly, the blade gleaming faintly in the dim light. The soft hiss of metal through air sent a shiver down Milo's spine. Shadows stretched around them, and the city's hum faded into tense silence.
A faint, amused smile played on her lips.
"Hmm… so you knew I was following you," she murmured, voice low but sharp.
The alley seemed to shrink around her presence, her aura radiating calm danger. Milo felt the weight of her gaze and the deadly certainty in her stance.
"This time," she added, her eyes narrowing slightly, "no one will come to save you."
Her hair caught the fading light, red streaks flashing as Milo noted every movement screamed lethal precision.
Milo stood calm, dark brown hair swaying, eyes locked on Raiza.
"You're alone this time," he murmured, fists tightening. "I didn't train today… so you'll be my training session."
Raiza's eyes caught his fury. She tilted her head, murmuring:
"Strange… he was usually calm when I first fought him."
The alley held its breath as tension crackled between them.
Milo sprinted forward, energy flickering around his fists, and swung a punch at Raiza. She met it instantly with her crimson sword, sparks flying, stance unwavering.
Raiza pushed his hand aside and struck, but Milo ducked and leapt back, landing lightly on his toes. He pivoted, energy flaring, and kicked toward her, blocked effortlessly.
She thrust her sword forward; Milo twisted mid-air, countering with a high, rapid kick. Their clash echoed through the street, sparks flying, the dark alley trembling from the force.
Milo stepped back, eyes burning. Raiza whispered to herself, evaluating:
"No doubt… Novara's protection system has detected us. But it hasn't reacted yet."
She noted Milo rolling his shoulders, warming up like a predator.
"Good… I'll use this to my advantage. I'll beat him quickly and drag him to Tavian's estate."
Raising her voice, sharp as her blade:
"Even if you're angry… your strength and speed are still far too weak to make me laugh."
Milo froze mid-warmup. Slowly, a strange, calm, unsettling smile curled on his lips.
Milo lifted his head, eyes sharp and cold.
"I won't deny… you really provoked me. But I'm not in the mood to even react to your taunts."
With that, he surged forward at incredible speed.
Raiza's eyes widened in surprise—but then a small, confident smile played on her lips.
"Hasty, boy… attacking so quickly," she muttered, swinging her sword toward his neck.
Milo lowered his body with astonishing agility. Raiza froze for a split second, caught off guard.
He clenched his fist, and with explosive force, struck her in the stomach.
Raiza cried out, clutching her stomach, saliva escaping her mouth, sword still in hand.
Milo didn't stop. With a swift motion, he slammed his right palm into her stomach again, sending her flying. She hit the ground hard, rolling slightly before stopping, gasping from the impact.
Milo stood calm, shoulders steady, eyes locked on her, not moving a step.
Raiza planted her sword tip into the ground, leaning on it to lift herself. She coughed, blood trickling from her mouth, wiped it away, and stared at him angry, yet clearly acknowledging his strength.
She raised her head toward him and spoke in a harsh tone, half anger, half acceptance:
"I see that now you are serious… and want to defeat me, boy."
Her words trembled, but a faint smile curved her lips, as if she had found the fight she'd been searching for.