"The protective domain collapsed in less than three exchanges," the squad leader reported, his voice tight as he stared at the floor of the dim office. He avoided the metaphorical piercing gaze of the hologram of a woman with a blurry face. "A concentrated force. No lingering footprint. It was a single, clean pressure strike designed to separate the target from us. Too quick for us to activate our Martial Hearts. If the assailant had aimed for our throats instead, Team Three would be a collection of corpses."
On the other end, Iro sat quietly behind her low wooden table, her slender fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic pattern against a sleek, metallic ledger. Her dark eyes remained perfectly unreadable as she listened to the mid-level Martial Senior's account.
In the normal world, a Martial Senior being treated this way by a non-martial was unheard of.
But this was the Beggar Sect.
"And the local? The Squire?" she asked smoothly.
"Nanouk was entirely unharmed," the leader muttered, his jaw tightening as he remembered the terrifying speed of the assault. "Somehow... the blast went completely around him and the lackeys. It was a surgical extraction. By the time I flew to gain altitude and clear the fog, the target was completely gone. The blizzard did the rest. We couldn't even catch a glimpse of his silhouette."
Behind the squad leader, the female martial artist from Team Three shifted uncomfortably, her cheap, bulky sect-issue communicator still clipped to her ear, blinking a dull amber status light. Beside her, the third member of the squad held a thick cloth tightly against his shoulder, where a deep, neat gash had finally stopped oozing blood.
"An elite martial artist," Iro concluded, her voice carrying no judgment, only a cold, professional assessment of the facts. "You were outmatched from the moment the beacon was activated."
She slid the ledger forward, her thumb sliding across a sleek touch-sensor. "...Or, he was there all along."
"According to protocol, a failed high-value asset acquisition carries a heavy penalty to your squad's internal standing. Your credit deductions have already been calculated."
The three Seniors winced slightly, but before the leader could protest, Iro raised a single hand.
"However... because this is Team Three's first critical failure in four cycles, and because the mission parameters were intentionally obscured by the contractor, the administrative board is waiving the field demotion. You will be given an immediate chance to recoup your losses on a suppression detail near the western border. Consider it a mercy."
"Thank you, Director," the leader said, letting out a sharp breath of relief.
"Do not thank me. Thank the parameters," Iro replied coldly. "Go to the infirmary near the border town. Re-calibrate your gear. Your next deployment leaves at dawn."
The three mid-level Seniors bowed deeply, their boots clicking against the hardwood as they hurried out of the room, leaving Iro alone in the quiet of the office.
Once the door clicked shut, Iro leaned back into her high-backed chair, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the encrypted file on her screen.
Idiots, she thought bitterly.
She even forcefully sent for Martial Seniors even when the target was still a Martial Squire; and her luck paid off as their target broke through as predicted.
The sect had long ago cataloged the target, but that information was strictly locked behind high-clearance firewalls. She hadn't said a word to the squad, because within the Beggar Sect, information was a weapon, and secrets were kept tightly under lock and key.
In her head, the puzzle pieces aligned perfectly. Hwayeon Yi wasn't just a simple runaway noble from a minor house. Her true name was Hwayeon Namgung. The sole child of Sage Jinryong Namgung himself. That explained the frantic, high-priced internal bounty. The Namgung nobles had been burning through the underworld networks trying to pinpoint her position.
The only reason those high-ranking snakes hadn't dragged her back before today was the price; the information of the precise location of the Namgung heiress could be counted as a national treasure.
Thus, no one could afford it.
Still, somehow, someone had placed a bounty on her new identity via the sect network and thought they could use low-level agents to do their dirty work without exposing their own faction to the Namgung ruler's wrath. And now, a hidden master from the dynasty had stepped in to cleanly take her back.
For several minutes, the only sound was the howling wind outside the small hut. Iro didn't move. She kept her eyes fixed on the door, her expression filled with looming exhaustion.
The heavy wooden door of the hut clicked open.
Merun walked in wordlessly.
He didn't look at her. He didn't offer his usual casual wave or a reckless comment about the weather. His demonic mask hung limply from his belt, clattering softly against his armor. His clothes were singed, covered in dark soot and frozen mountain mud, and his pitch-black eyes were entirely bloodshot, focused completely on the floor.
He crossed the room with heavy, dragging steps, approached the corner, and fell backward onto the bed.
For weeks, he had been absolutely bugging her about getting an upgrade, constantly whining about the stiffness of his cot. Now, the new, extra-soft, reinforced mattress creaked under the massive weight of his battle-worn frame—and he didn't even notice. He didn't make a single joke. He didn't flash a smug grin about finally getting his way. He didn't even bother to pull the furs over his body. He simply closed his eyes, his breathing heavy and ragged, and fell into a deep, instantaneous sleep.
The complete lack of his usual playful banter hung heavy in the quiet room.
Iro stood up slowly from her desk, her soft footsteps making no sound as she crossed the room to stand directly above him.
She looked down at his face. The usual carefree, smug expression that usually infuriated her was completely absent. Even in his sleep, his brow was furrowed, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles in his cheek were twitching. His red aura was gone, but the residual heat of the Divine Arsenal still radiated off his skin in faint, invisible waves of pure stress.
She let out a long, slow sigh, her fingers tightening around the edge of her clipboard.
The regional sensor reports from the ridge had already reached her terminal before he arrived, showing a staggering, terrifying spike to 26,000 power level. Possibly due to his Divine Arsenal. For her department, this sudden, violent shift into an intense, rage-driven mindset was a Code-Orange.
He had to be absolutely wrathful to have utilized his Divine Arsenal at that level...
As his designated handler, her primary, overriding directive wasn't just to manage his missions or track his growth metrics. It was to monitor his mental stability. She was his anchor, tasked with ensuring that the immense pressure of his rapid ascension didn't crack his psyche wide open.
You're pushing yourself too hard, Merun, she thought, her dark eyes softening with a rare, unspoken worry as she watched his chest rise and fall. What happened out there?
She reached down, gently pulling the furs over his shoulders to keep the chill of the room away, before stepping back into the shadows to let him rest.