Rain fell like a curtain, washing away the ash and the smell of blood. The sky was gray, heavy, indifferent.
Harian sat in the middle of what used to be a town. Now it was only ruins, shattered walls, torn flags, bodies half-buried in the mud. The Void Essence still hummed faintly around him, a hollow pulse that twisted the air.
Footsteps broke the rhythm of the rain. Slow, deliberate. Each step sank into the wet ground with a dull thud.
Then came that voice.
Low. Measured. Unyielding.
"If you cannot empty your heart and mind when you wield the Void Essence," Master Vixen said, "this is what happens."
Harian didn't look up. He just sat there, motionless, soaked to the bone.
Vixen's shadow stretched long across the ground, stopping just short of him.
"Tell me, boy. Did you find any satisfaction in this destruction?"
No answer. Only rain.
"If you destroy without reason," Vixen continued, his tone sharpening, "then how are you different from a wild animal?"
Harian finally raised his head. His master's face was obscured, as always hidden beneath that plain hood, unreadable.
Harian's eyes flicked to the devastation around him. The cratered streets. The still bodies. The fragments of homes. He whispered, almost to himself, "I'm not worthy of this power."
For a long moment, Vixen said nothing. Then he crouched down to Harian's level, his cloak dragging through the mud.
"Is that truly what you think?" he asked softly. "Or is it that you believe the Essence itself is not worthy of you?"
Harian blinked, startled. Yet Vixen continued, calm and unwavering.
"The Void Essence is not omnipotent. But if you wield it with a clear mind and a heart certain of what it seeks, it will grant what you desire."
He gestured to the ruins.
"Even if that desire is to destroy everything."
The rain grew heavier, the sound filling the silence between them.
"As long as your purpose is defined," Vixen said, "the Essence will obey. The Void gives to those who understand what it means to have nothing."
He straightened, his words fading into the downpour.
"Everything comes from nothing," he said.
In the present, that voice echoed faintly in Harian's head, cutting through the tension and bloodlust that surrounded him.
"Everything will return to nothing."
Maxwell stepped forward, chin thrust out, every inch the self-satisfied knight. His voice was low and poisonous as he leaned close enough that Harian could smell the metal and sweat on his breath.
"Did I finally hit a nerve? Angry now?" he spat. "Anger won't fix anything. I'll do you a favor a painless, swift death. The Kingdom's Inquisition won't. I'm being kind and merciful." He smiled as if offering charity. "I'll show you a better fate than those other kids from the orphanage."
The words landed like blows. Muliad's shout cut across the corridor. "You've gone too far!" he barked.
George sprang up, fists clenching, but the old man's hand closed on his arm like iron. He held George back hard enough to stop him; George's face twisted with helpless rage. He knew Maxwell he knew what that man was capable of. One wrong move and George would be cut down where he stood. He gritted his teeth, forcing his fingers to relax, the fury burning behind his eyes.
Maxwell's bonfire of cruelty only grew brighter. "So just sit there like a good boy and I'll cut your head clean off," he sneered, voice rising so everyone could hear. "Don't worry about your friends they'll join you soon." He laughed, loud and ugly, as if the promise of slaughter were a clever joke. He believed, absolutely, that psychological pressure would break the boy. He believed nothing could win against that.
Harian did not flinch. He did not lash out. For a moment it looked like shock like something inside him had splintered and gone quiet but there was a steel under the stillness. The whole cell seemed to lean in, waiting for a collapse that never came.
"Such trivial things." The words came from Harian in a whisper that cut the room in two. The sound carried farther than it should have. Conversation, breath, clatter everything stopped. The jail's usual noise evaporated under that tiny, terrible sentence. "Do not come at me with such trivial things."
The whispered declaration left the walls ringing. For a beat Maxwell looked as if he might laugh, then rage then, for the first time since he'd swaggered into the cell, real fear crept into his eyes. The room held its breath, waiting for what Harian would do next.
Harian's eyes never left Maxwell. "You were assigned to protect. So did you find meaning in what you did?" he asked quietly. "Did you find joy in it? Or is your duty to protect only a name?"
Maxwell barked a laugh. "What is this are you trying to lecture me into feeling guilty? That won't work."
"Then there's no point in continuing this conversation," Harian said.
Maxwell rattled off the crimes again, voice harsh and loud. Harian listened then, without warning, laughed. A single, low sound at first, then higher, until it became a full, maniacal laugh that filled the cell. He laughed and laughed, harder. George stared, alarmed, clutching his arm worried his friend had finally snapped. He wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.
When Harian finally stopped, his eyes were bright and cold. "I will acknowledge your involvement in my life," he said. "But that is all. To me now, you mean nothing. You are a miniscule object I must rid myself of to move forward. I have no need for trivial revenge. But if killing you advances my goals, be honoured, Maxwell Thorne."
He raised his voice, rougher and rawer. "Today is a day for celebration." He declared "a sacrifice for my growth, my first step into the world, my inauguration." in his head he whispered 'my rebirth'
Maxwell's face contorted in fury. He condensed his Essence inward, the air humming around him like a coiled spring. He pushed it into his limbs and sword until it thrummed visibly. Everyone felt it. Muliad, feeling his own Essence returning bit by bit, braced and tried to reinforce his body.
"I'll make you swallow your words," Maxwell snarled. "When I put my sword through your neck."
Harian's grin turned devilish. "To face a wielder of the Void Essence," he said calmly, "one must be worthy."
Maxwell's features tightened. Harian continued, voice flat: "You are not worthy. So give it your all." Then he relaxed his stance. The atmosphere changed. "Get out," he ordered the prisoners of his cell.
Muliad understood and shouted to the others to run. Maxwell spat threats that he would cut them down, but Harian spoke over him, cool and direct: "Focus on your opponent."
In the next heartbeat Harian was at Maxwell's side. The movement was so fast Maxwell stumbled back, startled. Taking that moment, Muliad and the others dashed for the exit.
Maxwell swung on instinct; Harian met the strike with a single, effortless block. The impact shuddered up the blade Maxwell could feel the raw strength in that contact, the kind of force that makes a man worry about his own wrists. He staggered back, putting distance between them.
"Song Sword Art. Movement of the Light," Maxwell declared.
Muliad whipped his head around. He shouldn't have been surprised Maxwell was a man well regarded in the army, stationed on the bloody southern border but hearing the name still made his blood run cold.
That was dangerous. The Movement of the Light was a technique only elite knights ever reached: essence condensed into the body to create a single, blinding strike aimed at vital points. Even Muliad a grand knight class would have a hard time defending against it. Maxwell was on the verge of that level he was a divine knight on the verge of becoming a grand knight. That was the level of skill and experience it took to learn the Movement of the Light.
"Fine, then," Harian said. He looked composed. Calm.
In an instant Harian released his essence. The energy suffocated the room.
[ESSENCE LEVEL EFFICIENCY. AUTHORITY LEVEL INCREASED FROM 2.3% TO 2.9%. WARNING STRAIN ON BODY DETECTED] VEX declared.
All this time Harian had been quietly collecting essence at a rapid rate and now he revealed it. Like Maxwell, he condensed that essence into his body. Unlike Maxwell, he funneled part of it into his sword. The weapon hummed with condensed power.
Maxwell stared, disbelief cracking his face. To gather essence into the weapon, this was a grand knight level skill. He thought he was dreaming yet he knew what he was witnessing. The same thing he saw other monsters of the grand knight level do, this boy was doing right now and Muliad too was stunned into silence, unable to find words. "This is dangerous," the old man hissed, clutching the red-haired kid. "We need to make distance NOW!"