The final night in the capital had arrived, and Zack was determined to squeeze every ounce of mischief from it. Since his grounding had been lifted, he had dragged Keal through taverns, food stalls, gambling dens, and even the hidden alleys where street performers danced beneath flickering lanterns. His laughter had been relentless, his voice echoing like a drumbeat across the city.
Now, with a mischievous grin plastered across his face, Zack led Keal to his favorite haunt — the brothel, a place of velvet curtains, intoxicating perfumes, and laughter that spilled into the streets like wine.
The doors swung open — thud! — and immediately, voices rose in delight. "Master Zack!"
Dozens of women rushed forward, their silken dresses swaying, their jeweled hairpins glittering in the lamplight. Perfume thickened the air, cloying and sweet, wrapping the room in a haze of indulgence. They gathered around him, tugging at his sleeves, their laughter overlapping in a chorus of welcome.
Zack grinned wider, pulling out a pouch of gold — clink, clink, clink! — coins flashing like miniature suns. "Ahhh, my queens of the night! Drinks, music, laughter — tonight, everything is on me!"
The women cheered, circling him, their chatter spilling like a flood. Zack laughed, exchanging random banter — teasing one about her earrings, complimenting another's perfume, joking about how they had surely missed him while his aunt had "locked him up like a prisoner."
Keal, however, stood apart. His crimson and violet eyes shimmered faintly beneath his hood, scanning the room with predatory calm. His shadow stretched beneath him, whispering warnings only he could hear.
Something was wrong.
The laughter was suddenly cut short by a sound — crrrrack! — from above.
Keal's eyes narrowed. His instincts screamed. "HAH… MOVE!"
Before anyone could react, a shadowed blow tore through the ceiling — BOOM! — debris raining down like a storm of stone and splinters.
In a blur, Keal dissolved into Shadow Movement — swishhh! — reappearing in front of Zack. His arms lashed out, pulling Zack and several women aside just as the attack struck.
The floor shook violently. Screams pierced the air — ahhhhhh! — as dust and splinters filled the room.
Some survived — saved by Keal's speed. But not all. A few bodies lay still, crushed beneath falling stone, their laughter silenced forever.
Zack's grin vanished, his face pale, eyes wide with horror. His voice cracked, trembling. "Wh‑what the hell was that?"
Keal's voice was low, unreadable, slicing through the chaos like a blade. "They found us."
His crimson and violet eyes glowed faintly in the smoke, shadow writhing beneath his boots like serpents.
The night of celebration had ended.
The brothel was no longer velvet and laughter — it was a graveyard of splintered wood, shattered lanterns, and suffocating smoke. Perfume turned rancid in the air, mixing with blood.
From the ceiling, thirty assassins descended — thud, thud, thud! — their boots cracking the floorboards. Cloaks of black leather flared, bone masks gleamed, and crimson paint streaked their faces. Their aura burned with the Hunter Path, predatory energy sharpening their senses, amplifying their speed, and suffocating the room with killing intent.
At their center, the green‑haired girl stepped forward. Her emerald hair shimmered like liquid ink, flowing down her shoulders. Tattoos crawled across her arms, glowing faintly as her aura pulsed. Ink dripped from her fingertips, spreading across the floor like a living tide. Her eyes glowed with predatory fire.
Keal's crimson‑violet eyes narrowed — tchhh. "Ughhh… you. The one Zellene chased away at the royal ball."
The assassins surged forward, blades flashing.
Keal dissolved into Shadow Movement — swishhh! — reappearing behind the first attacker. His body erupted with cell tendrils, fleshy whips that lashed outward, forming pincers and bone‑blades fused to his frame. Crunch! One assassin's chest caved in, blood spraying across shattered wood.
Another lunged, leather armor creaking. Keal's Shadow Eye flickered, tracking muscle tension, predicting the strike before it landed. His tendril‑blade pierced the man's throat — thud! — dropping him lifeless.
Purple‑violet aura glowed around Keal, his Invincible Hand deflecting blades mid‑air, crushing steel like brittle glass.
But the assassins were relentless. Ten surrounded him, blades flashing, aura burning. Every strike tore the brothel apart — walls cracked, tables splintered, curtains ripped — BOOM! — until the room was nothing but rubble and fire.
The green‑haired girl raised her hand. Ink surged outward, forming spears, whips, and shields. Her aura pulsed, the Hunter Path energy amplifying her movements.
Her tattoos glowed, veins of ink crawling across her arms. She smirked, voice dripping venom. "You're strong… but you're bleeding."
Keal's tendrils lashed, slicing through ink — tchhh! — but the substance reformed instantly, crawling back like living tar.
She moved with predatory grace, every step calculated, every strike amplified by her Path. Her aura was a storm, her ink a weapon that bent the environment to her will.
Keal fought savagely. His tendrils lashed, pincers crushed, bone‑blades pierced. He killed seven assassins, each death brutal — crunch, slash, thud! — but his body was slowing.
Blood dripped down his side, staining his torn cloak. His aura flickered. His tendrils weakened.
The green‑haired girl advanced, her ink wrapping around his limbs, crushing him. Her blade of liquid shadow pierced his shoulder — ahhhhhh! — blood spraying.
Keal staggered, his breath ragged. He was losing.
In the haze of pain, a voice echoed in his mind. Zellene's teaching.
"Energy is not just power. It is amplification. When your body fails, amplify. When your aura fades, amplify. When death reaches for you… amplify."
Keal's crimson and violet eyes widened. His breath steadied. His aura pulsed.
"Ether… Amp."
His body convulsed. Shadows writhed violently. Flesh tendrils thickened, bone‑blades sharpened, his aura ignited into a storm of violet fire. The Invincible Hand expanded, crushing ink spears mid‑air — BOOM! — shattering the floor beneath them.
The assassins staggered back, fear flashing in their eyes. Their cloaks tore, masks cracked, leather armor shredded under the pressure of his aura.
The green‑haired girl's smirk faltered, her ink trembling.
Keal rose slowly, blood dripping, but his presence towering, monstrous. His voice was cold, merciless, echoing like a death knell. "You should have killed me before I remembered."
He lunged.
They had seen killers before. But this… this was different.
When Keal's body convulsed and the shadows writhed, when his violet aura ignited into a storm, the assassins felt it — the Energy Amp. And they were terrified.
Because Energy Amp was not a technique. It was not a spell. It was a concept feared across every Path. Hunters whispered of it in blood‑soaked taverns. Adventurers… none lived long enough to explain it. A ether energy amp it is not heard of since everybody lnow how that most people who pick the path dies.
As Keal staggered, bleeding, his mind was pulled into memory.
Zellene's voice echoed, calm yet merciless: "Most people at Soldier level release their Soul Energy — the fuel for skills and techniques. But above them, when the energy becomes too vast to scatter into the atmosphere, it condenses. It becomes a Soul Core. That is the difference between a soldier and a general. Soul Energy is scattered. Soul Core is contained."
Keal's crimson‑violet eyes widened. He remembered.
Earlier that night, he had killed ten assassins. Their Soul Energy still lingered in the atmosphere, drifting like invisible smoke. And when he invoked Energy Amp, that residual energy surged into him. It was luck, perhaps fate — but it was enough.
Enough to push him past the threshold. Enough to elevate him.
Keal rose, his aura storming, his Ether Amp burning through the brothel like chaos incarnate. He had ascended. He was no longer a mere soldier. He was now Low General.
>[LEVEL UP : LOW GENERAL]
The assassins staggered back, cloaks torn, masks cracked, leather armor shredded under the pressure of his aura. Their blades trembled in their hands.
Because they knew what it meant.
A General was not a man.
But then she stepped forward.
Kira. The green‑haired assassin. Her emerald hair shimmered like ink, tattoos glowing across her arms. Her aura pulsed, suffocating, predatory.
She raised her dagger. And with a whisper, her Path answered.
Aura Blade.
Her dagger elongated, wrapped in a green aura shaped into a blade of pure killing intent. It hummed, sharp enough to slice steel, precise enough to cut through shadow.
The assassins gasped. Aura Blade was not a skill one learned easily. It was a Path‑related skill, a manifestation of the Hunter Path itself. Few lived long enough to master it. Fewer still could wield it without tearing themselves apart.
But Kira wielded it effortlessless
Keal's tendrils lashed, grotesque and writhing. His Invincible Hand crushed ink spears mid‑air. His Shadow Eye flickered, predicting movements before they began.
Kira's Aura Blade cut through tendrils — slashhh! — severing them, forcing them to reform. Her aura field suffocated the room, pressing down on Keal like a predator's domain.
The brothel collapsed around them — walls shattered, floors cracked, lanterns exploded. Ink and shadow tore the building into rubble and fire.
The assassins watched, trembling, masks broken, courage dissolving.
Because they knew the truth.
This was no longer a battle. This was a clash of Paths.
Hunter versus Adventurer.