The air in the underground dungeon was thick with the scent of ash and molten iron. The shattered remains of the prison door still smoldered, its edges glowing red-hot where Lucan’s blast had ripped through the iron.


    He stepped forward, his boots crunching against the charred stone, his breath slow and steady.


    He was heading to the surface.


    Lucan had barely taken three steps when he heard it—


    Heavy footsteps. Fast. Closing in.


    Two guards, armored in dark leather, rushed into the corridor. Their weapons already drawn, glowing with Aether-infused runes etched into the metal.


    Lucan recognized the markings instantly—


    Piercing runes.


    Weapons meant to cut through anything.


    One of the guards, a burly man with a jagged scar running down his cheek, snarled at the sight of Lucan.


    “You should’ve stayed in your cell, freak.”


    Lucan smiled, tilting his head slightly. “And miss the view outside? No thanks.”


    The second guard—a younger man with sharp eyes—lunged forward first, his sword gleaming as he slashed downward.


    Lucan moved faster.


    Before the blade could reach him, his gauntlet roared to life. A blast of condensed Aether energy erupted from his palm, the impact ripping through the air like a cannon shot.


    The first guard was gone instantly—disintegrated in a violent shockwave of pure destruction.


    The second guard barely had time to react before Lucan pivoted, unleashing another pulse of energy.


    His body vanished into dust.


    Only their swords and severed legs remained, still standing where their owners had been. The glowing runes on their weapons flickered before fading into silence.


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    Lucan exhaled, stepping forward and picking up one of the fallen blades. The rune carvings pulsed faintly, their power still intact.


    Not bad.


    He turned and tossed the weapon to Veylan, who caught it easily.


    "Back me up," Lucan said.


    Veylan tested the weight of the sword in his grip, giving it a few quick swings before smirking.


    "Don’t get yourself killed, boy."


    Lucan grinned. "No promises."


    Together, they stepped out of the dungeon and into the open night.


    The village fields stretched before them, vast and golden beneath the moonlight. Rows of grain and rice swayed gently in the cool night breeze, illuminated by the faint glow of Aether lanterns.


    Lucan took a step forward—


    And then he saw them.


    Ten men.


    No—ten warriors disguised as farmers.


    Each one held a long, curved scythe, its edge etched with runes of speed. The moment Lucan stepped into the open, the runes flared to life.


    The eldest among them, a man with weathered skin and piercing eyes, stepped forward.


    "You’re brave, boy," he said, his voice like grinding stone. "But now is your end."


    And then—they vanished.


    Lucan’s eyes widened.


    They’re fast—!


    A flash of steel—pain exploded across his chest.


    A deep cut, clean and precise.


    Then—another.


    Another.


    Every second, another wound carved itself into his flesh, his blood dripping into the dirt.


    Lucan spun sharply, trying to track them—but they were too fast.


    They moved like shadows, their forms flickering in and out of sight, their runes propelling them forward at inhuman speeds.


    To them, Lucan was a corpse still standing.


    Veylan swung his stolen sword, slashing at the air, but he hit nothing.


    “They’re ghosts,” Veylan growled. “I can’t even touch them—”


    Lucan’s anger burned.


    He clenched his gauntlet tight, feeling the heat rise, the energy within it screaming to be released.


    Enough.


    Lucan slammed his fist into the ground.


    Aether detonated outward in a pulse of fire and force.


    A shockwave rippled through the entire field, the ground splitting beneath his feet as a dome of pure destruction erupted outward.


    The farmers never stood a chance.


    The ones closest to him were reduced to ash instantly, their scythes falling to the dirt, the runes fading as their wielders ceased to exist.


    The ones further away tried to outrun it—but their speed runes failed them.


    They burned, screaming, as the shockwave consumed them.


    Veylan had barely managed to leap back in time, his body landing in the dirt just outside the blast radius. He coughed, looking up at the scorched remains of the battlefield.


    His hands tightened around his sword.


    "You’re a damn monster," he muttered.


    Lucan didn’t answer.


    His eyes were still glowing, the energy in his gauntlet slowly dying down, smoke rising from his fingertips.


    He had barely used a fraction of its power.


    Then—


    A shadow loomed over him.


    Lucan’s instincts screamed.


    A second too late.


    The hammer found his face.