*BOOM!*
*SLASH!*
*BANG!*
Sounds of training filled the air as Ray was mercilessly attacked by an autonomous training dummy. The Underworld was more advanced than it looked. Multiple sharp minds from both recent and bygone eras lived here, and with nothing else to occupy them, they had invented all kinds of sophisticated devices—one of which was this very training dummy, capable of adjusting difficulty on the fly.
Ray was fighting at advanced level. The dummy had three settings: beginner, intermediate, and advanced. Minos had informed him that only by efficiently defeating the advanced level would he be ready for the next phase of training. Easier said than done.
*BOOM!*
Yet another attack was barely dodged by Ray, as he dived to the right, the training dummy's strike grazing his arm. The moment he landed, a faint grid flickered across his vision—just a simple network of lines, nothing more, only a framework that allowed him to analyse movements faster than normal.
Ray's instincts—already sharp from his fights against the Vacuans—kicked in, and his battle mode took over. He scanned the dummy's posture, the tension in its limbs, the weight distribution of its stance. The dummy was calculating, predicting, adapting… but so was he.
Two possibilities crystallized in his mind:
Option 1: The dummy could spin towards him while delivering a backhanded horizontal slash.
Option 2: It could lunge directly at him, taking advantage of his off-balance position for close quarters grappling.
Ray's instincts whispered warnings, and things clicked subconsciously: the lunge had the higher chance of catching him off guard. His mind raced through counters almost automatically. The faint grid in his vision helped him visualize timing, distance, and angles in real time.
The dummy lunged. Ray reacted instantly, using Hirenkyaku to stabilize midair. His elbow smashed into the dummy's forearm, loosening its grip. He immediately followed up, driving his knee into its solar plexus.
The dummy faltered. That brief opening was all Ray needed. Summoning Seele Schneider, he slashed decisively through its heart.
The dummy shut down. Ray had won—but the fight had pushed him to the limit. He exhaled, letting adrenaline subside.
Suddenly, a familiar sound echoed in his ears.
*DING!*
User Data –
Name: Ray
Age: 15 (+18)
Race: Human (Quincy)
Race Passives: Reishi Absorption (5.4 Reishi per day in World of living; 21.6 reishi per hour in Underworld), Reishi Strengthening (0.5 per day in Underworld (All stats); 0.0625 per day in World of living.)
Magic (Reishi): 2059.6 +1028.4 = 3088
STR – 25.5 +1.0 (Affect's User's Natural Strength)
DEX – 27.5 +1.0 (Affect's User's Natura Speed)
DEF – 22.5 +1.0(Affect's User's Natural Toughness)
INT – 143 IQ (Gifted)
Innate talents: [Archery (Unsealed) Lv. 2.5], …, [Hand-to-Hand Combat (Unsealed) Lv. 4], [Dual souls Lv. ???]
Grimoire – Quincy Cross
Spells –
[Seele Schneider (Strum)],
[Hirenkyaku Lv.2 (Air step {2})],
[Kojaku],
[Heilig Pfeil (Focused shot), (Explosion shot), (Slowing Shot), (Volley)],
[Battle Instinct, Stage 1 (New!)]
"Battle Instinct huh..." Ray muttered as he viewed the system screen. "Is that the grid like structure i saw? If so, then this might just be one of the most OP abilities i have. and the fact that it's only at Stage 1...!" Ray grinned.
Just then, a sound caught his attention.
The dummy had begun repairing itself.
Ray smiled.
Time to go again.
___Aeacus mansion___
Yhrael stood facing a cloaked man. The man had a Chained kusarigama linked to a heavy Kama. They were about to fight. However, the man made no move to equip his weapon.
Annoyed, Yhrael activated Scope Sight, the crosshair forming over his right eye. He nocked an arrow made of reishi, scanning the cloaked figure before him. The figure's stance was simple, but there was a subtle tension in every movement, a readiness Yhrael immediately noticed.
The cloaked man struck first, stepping in with lightning speed. Yhrael fired, his arrow aimed at the figure's chest, but the man shifted his body mid-strike, avoiding the shot entirely. The arrow embedded itself harmlessly in the stone floor.
Yhrael adjusted, calculating the next probability. He fired another, this time at the figure's exposed side. The cloaked man reacted almost before the bowstring had settled, pivoting and dodging with impossible timing. His hands moved fluidly, countering Yhrael's positioning even before the arrow left the bow.
The cloaked man closed the distance. Yhrael tried to retreat while firing, but every arrow was either blocked or narrowly avoided. He realized the attacks weren't just fast—they were precise, timed to make him overextend, to break his rhythm.
Yhrael feinted a shot to the right, then quickly aimed left. The figure mirrored him perfectly, moving in sync with his slightest motion. Every time Yhrael released an arrow, the cloaked man adjusted his stance, closing in, forcing him to dodge instead of attack.
He tried to create space, firing in rapid succession. Arrows whizzed past, but the figure dodged with minimal movement, almost conserving energy. The man's speed and anticipation made every shot miss, leaving Yhrael increasingly exposed.
In a brief opening, Yhrael attempted a quick burst, firing three arrows in succession. The figure moved with unnatural agility, each dodge perfectly timed. Yhrael's final arrow glanced off the man's shoulder guard, failing to stop the counterstrike.
The cloaked man struck next. Yhrael raised his bow defensively, but the speed of the assault was overwhelming. A punch to the torso pushed him off balance, a kick to the side sent him skidding backward. He tried to nock another arrow, but the figure was already inside his range. Every shot he fired was blocked or evaded.
Finally, the cloaked man struck from an angle Yhrael hadn't anticipated, disarming him and sending his bow spinning across the floor. Yhrael scrambled to retrieve it, but the man's speed left no room for recovery. A final sweep knocked him to the ground, leaving him panting, unarmed, and defeated.
Yhrael sat back on his heels, Scope Sight still active, crosshair hovering uselessly in the air. He realized in that moment: accuracy meant nothing if he couldn't attack, hit, or defend. The bow was only as effective as the user's ability to control the battlefield. Without it, without skill in close quarters and adaptability, he was exposed.
This Accuracy of his was only good when fighting against Vacuans. I.e. a mindless creature who only cared about devouring any soul or human that crosses it's path. But against a civilized and tactical opponent like the man before him, Yhrael's proud accuracy was useless.
The cloaked figure stepped back, allowing Yhrael a moment to catch his breath, leaving the bow where it had fallen. He had lost, but the lesson was clear: in a fight, accuracy alone was worthless.
___Unknown Location___
A cloaked figure knelt before a writhing mass of darkness. The mass had horrendous eyes and a sharp-toothed mouth.
"Master, the plan is proceeding smoothly on our end," the figure spoke, voice distorted like through a broken microphone.
"Good… have you noticed any anomalies in the Underworld? Has HE noticed what we are doing?" the mist asked.
"No, my lord. HE hasn't noticed anything. There are no anomalies to be aware of. Though… two humans did manage to enter the Underworld. Barely worth attention—they are weak, puny. Likely being stripped of their souls as we speak."
"It doesn't matter how weak they are. Make sure they don't learn of our plan. My resurrection is paramount. If the Underworld stays passive, everything will go according to plan. HAHAHAHAHA!"
"It's all for you, my lord. ALL HAIL ——————" the figure yelled, the name obscured from prying eyes.
___Clover Kingdom___
___Black Bulls HQ___
___Ray's Room___
A small anti-bird fluttered around the room in anxious, restless circles. Ray had been gone for two days, and still there had been no sign—no message, no clue, nothing. Asta was certain nothing would happen to him; Ray wasn't one to take unnecessary risks.
But the bird couldn't help it. Worry crawled beneath her feathers like a cold draft.
She flew in uneven loops—wall to windowsill to ceiling beam and back again—wings beating too fast, too loud. Normally, she carried herself like a dignified little creature, composed even in this sealed form. Now, her feathers were puffed, trembling with each turn around the empty room. Every corner she passed only reminded her of the absence she hated acknowledging.
If Ray had been here, he would've teased her without hesitation. Probably with a smug: "Aw, how cute of you to be worried about me, Nero" Or worse—with that annoyingly perceptive tilt of his head: "You know… you're acting just like a human."
That always made her freeze mid-hop, stiff enough that Ray once thought she was sick. He had no idea how close he had come to uncovering her secret.
And yet she always let him near. Let him stroke her feathers absentmindedly whenever bored. Let him cradle her in one arm while reading. Let him speak late into the night, voice soft and unguarded, thinking she couldn't understand.
Those moments—those touches, that warmth—had become something she relied on far more than she wished.
Finally, Nero descended with a small thud, settling on the bedside table. Her talons tapped lightly as she folded her wings against her sides, suppressing the tremble running through them. The scent of Ray lingered everywhere—in the pillow he collapsed onto after long days, in the half-open books he left scattered, in the cloak tossed lazily over the chair. The room felt like him.
Which only made the silence heavier.
He really does have an eerily sharp instinct, Nero thought, puffing her feathers in uneasy irritation. If I hadn't known him since childhood, I might've thought he already figured out that I sealed myself as a bird all this time.
She curled her talons against the wood, eyes locked on the closed door, wings twitching at every distant sound.
A gentle breeze slipped into the room, stirring the curtains. A slant of sunlight broke through an exposed corner—and struck something metallic inside the room.
For most humans and mages, that glint would have gone unnoticed.But Nero was no ordinary bird. She was a high-ranking sealing mage who had once worked with enchanted artifacts. Her eyes were sharper than most, and that brief glimmer caught her attention.
Puzzled, she fluttered toward it, landing beside a half-open drawer.
Inside, nestled amid clutter, lay a peculiar object: a medallion. Black, with glowing blue highlights running through it, and a black skull in the center, its eyes glowing the same ethereal blue.
Nero's feathers bristled. She peered deeper into the drawer. A slip of paper was tucked inside, just out of reach.
She stretched her neck, pecked at it, tried to drag it closer—but the edge stubbornly refused to budge. Something in her gut told her it was important, connected to Ray.
That was all she needed.
Without hesitation, she shot out of the room, straight toward the forest clearing behind the HQ.
*HAAAP!*
*SLASH!*
*HAAAP!*
*SLASH!*
The sounds of training grew louder. Asta was there, as expected, swinging his sword with ridiculous enthusiasm. She aimed straight for him.
"Huh? Nero? What are you doin—AHHHH!! Stop pecking me!!! OW OW OW OW—NERO!!"
He dropped his sword and covered his head under her relentless assault.
Then—suddenly—the pecking stopped.
Confused, Asta peeked out from behind his arms. Nero circled him frantically, wings beating in agitated, uneven bursts. That was new… and definitely not good.
"Uh… you want me to follow?" he asked.
Nero didn't answer, darting toward the HQ.
Asta grabbed his sword and sprinted after her.
They entered the base and headed straight for Ray's room. Asta hesitated at the doorway—Ray could be intense about privacy—but one sharp warning glare from Nero made him swallow it.
Nero led him to the drawer in the corner, pointing her beak firmly at it, then hopped inside the drawer the moment Asta opened it.
Asta blinked. "What's this…?"
His eyes caught on the medallion immediately. But before he could comment, Nero grabbed the paper inside, tugging insistently.
Asta carefully plucked it from her beak and unfolded it.
His eyes skimmed the short, hurried scrawl:
Gone for a few days. Need to train and clear my head. Don't wait up. I'll be back soon.
—R.
Nero's wings twitched, feathers puffing in unease. The note was brief, hurried, far too small to explain everything, and her little bird heart refused to settle.
Asta, on the other hand, folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket. A small grin tugged at the corner of his lips.
"He's fine," he said softly. "Ray always trains hard. He's careful… and he's strong. Always has been. Nothing's going to happen to him."
Nero tilted her head, jittering with worry.
But Asta's calm certainty was unwavering—he trusted Ray more than his own life, a bond forged in their orphanage days. Somehow, that made her heart ease… just a little.
She hopped to his shoulder and ruffled her feathers, keeping a sharp eye on the door anyway.
Ray would come back. She just hoped he'd hurry.