"Even gods fear the silence of a man who has already made peace with death."
Thunder tore through the clouds.
The mountains trembled.
And the heavens themselves seemed to pause.
A single figure descended through the roaring sky, lightning crackling in his wake as if the world itself refused to touch him. When he landed beside Rion, the earth split slightly beneath his feet not from force, but from presence.
The storm quieted. Even the wind dared not breathe.
Rion's eyes twitched. He forced out a half-smile. "…You know, I was serious about the breakfast thing."
The being beside him said nothing. He didn't have to.
Rion felt it that suffocating feeling that someone had peeled open his mind like a book, reading every thought, every doubt, every buried fear. The man's gaze wasn't human. It pierced through him.
The sword master straightened, crossing his arms in an attempt to look composed. "Right. So that's how it's gonna be, huh? You look at me like that and expect me not to freak out?"
Still, no answer.
The man if he could even be called that merely stood there, silent and unmoving.
The air was heavy with the scent of ozone and ash. His presence warped the world around him, as if the laws of nature were rewriting themselves just to allow him to exist.
He wore a black wooden mask carved in the likeness of a demon, the surface engraved with faint runic lines that shimmered when lightning flashed above. It was old ancient, perhaps and bound tightly to his face, leaving not even the faintest glimpse of flesh beneath.
Rion couldn't tell if the man was smiling… or if he could even smile.
The stranger's attire was simple yet otherworldly a black robe resembling a ninja's garb, flowing slightly in the wind but heavy at the hem. At his waist, horizontally across his lower back, was a blade a hiltless katana, the sheath gleaming faintly in the moonlight.
Two metallic arm bands encircled his forearms, each inscribed with tiny sigils that pulsed faintly with lightning. The air around them hissed softly, static crackling each time the man shifted his stance.
Then there were his eyes.
Blue not the color of the sky, but of something older.
The blue of a dying star, fading into the void.
Cold. Endless. Unforgiving.
Rion had fought countless masters, survived wars, and faced creatures beyond comprehension, but this… this was different. Standing next to him felt like standing beside a god pretending to be human.
The masked figure tilted his head slightly, gaze fixed on the distant horizon.
Rion followed his line of sight, trying to guess what the man was seeing but there was nothing there. Only the mist-covered mountains stretching endlessly into the distance.
Finally, the stranger raised his right hand… and pointed forward.
Rion blinked. "…That's it? No words? Just… point?"
No response.
Rion sighed. "You really are a conversationalist."
He scratched the back of his neck, watching the man's silent gesture. There was something strange about him not evil, not good, just… empty.
And then it hit him.
The mask. The aura. The silence.
He couldn't feel a soul.
No heartbeat. No chaos flow. Nothing.
It was as if the man didn't exist and yet, he was standing right there.
Rion exhaled through his nose. "…Fine. You point. I walk. You scare everything. I eat."
The man gave no reply, but for the briefest moment, the lightning around his arm bands flickered almost as if laughing.
Rion frowned. "Wait. Was that sarcasm?"
Still nothing.
He sighed again. "Okay. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and I'll even buy dessert."
This time, the faintest crackle of blue light flashed through the air a soft hum, like approval.
"Right," Rion muttered, slinging his sword over his shoulder. "So you can understand me. Fantastic. This'll be fun."
The two figures stood on the cliff's edge as thunder rolled once more.
One smiling faintly in exasperation.
The other silent, unmoving, his gaze fixed on something far beyond mortal sight.
Meanwhile — The Capital of Asterion
Two days had passed since the assassin incident shook the Asura Mansion.
The city was on edge.
Merchants whispered rumors. Soldiers doubled their patrols. Even nobles stayed close to their estates.
Sixteen guards had died slaughtered inside the most impenetrable stronghold of the kingdom.
It wasn't just shocking. It was terrifying.
If assassins could strike the Asura Clan, the strongest military family in the realm, then no one was safe.
Even the King had been forced to tighten security around the capital. Armored patrols now lined every street. Watchtowers blazed through the night. Curfews were enforced.
But the timing was disastrous.
The Royal Banquet, scheduled for just two days later, was supposed to be a celebration of peace the grandest event in decades. Now, it was a powder keg ready to explode.
The five factions that ruled the kingdom Royal, North, South, East, and Asura — were suddenly silent.
Too silent.
Everyone knew what it meant.
If spies within the Asura Clan were killed, that could only mean one thing:
Someone had known exactly who they were.
And that someone had executed them all at once.
The factions were in chaos.
The nobles trembled.
The whispers spread.
"Civil war."
"A purge."
"The King's wrath."
But none of them knew the truth.
It hadn't been a purge.
It hadn't been a rebellion.
It had been her.
Inside the Aserra Mansion, the air was calm almost peaceful.
Crystal sat before a long table, a parchment map of the Grand Hall spread wide before her. The corners were pinned down by daggers. Every inch of the plan had been marked with inked notes guard routes, entry points, blind spots.
Candles flickered across her desk as her eyes scanned the map again.
"Two days," she whispered, her tone cold.
Two days until the banquet.
Two days until the end.
The reflection of the candlelight danced across her eyes, giving them a faint crimson hue.
She leaned back, staring at the map — at the very hall where her life had once been changed by Noah.
She remembered it clearly.
The screams.
The blood.
The betrayal.
Her fingers clenched slightly, nails pressing against the paper.
She'd changed history once already.
The assassin incident had thrown the factions into disarray, forcing the palace to increase security. That meant fewer spies at the banquet fewer blades waiting in the dark.
It was risky, yes. It changed the timeline she remembered.
But that was fine.
Let them all come.
In her past life, she had been the victim.
This time, she would be the executioner.
Her lips curved upward not in mirth, but in something darker.
A smile that wasn't meant for any living being.
Mari, standing at the doorway, caught sight of it and froze. Her blood ran cold.
That wasn't the smile of a spoiled young lady.
Unknown to her it was the smile of the General of Death.
"History never repeats itself.
It just gives the damned another chance to finish the job."