Ronan sprawled across the couch, eyes closed, looking like he'd drifted off—and maybe he had, if only for a moment. His body remained still in the quiet gym, but his mind? It was miles away, more than a year ago, back home in Vyrnhold.
Vyrnhold was a strange place—a patchwork of old and new. Castles of golden and obsidian stone stood shoulder to shoulder with sleek glass towers, all gleaming beneath the light of twin suns.
Hovercrafts zipped past rusted drawbridges, while holograms shimmered in courtyards guarded by weathered gargoyle statues. Knights walked the streets with swords in one hand and tablets in the other. It shouldn't have made sense—but somehow, it did.
Inside the kingdom, life was alive and loud. Markets hummed with merchants selling beast meat and shiny tech gadgets. Kids ran after floating toys, their laughter bouncing through streets that smelled like warm bread and engine fumes.
But outside the walls?
That was a different story. Wildlands stretched out, full of beasts—some so big they could smash a tower without trying. That's why Slayers like Ronan's family existed. They guarded the gates, patrolled the walls, and fought to keep everyone safe.
In the great hall of House of Cross, one of the seven oldest Slayer families in the kingdom, Ronan sat on a black bench. His grandfather, Tharren, stood by a tall window, his voice low and rough like wind over a rocky hill.
"Are you sure about this?" he asked.
Ronan shifted, uncomfortable. He knew this hall—every banner on the wall, every squeaky floor tile. But today, it felt strange, like something big was about to happen.
"This isn't just another mission," Tharren said, turning to face him. "You're going after him. After Musama."
Musama.
The name hit Ronan hard. His hands tightened into fists.
"He's not even that strong," Ronan muttered, staring at the floor.
"Yes," Tharren said, "but he's smart. Sneaky, too."
Somehow, Musama had gotten past one of Ronan's five uncles. Each uncle was a top Slayer, each guarding one of the Five Keys—special keys that locked gates to other worlds, places called "lower worlds."
One of those keys was gone now. Musama had stolen it.
The search after that was a mess. No broken locks, no tripped traps. It was like the key had just walked off on its own—or been handed over. Months of chasing clues finally showed the truth: Musama knew how to use the key to open a portal to Earth.
That's when everything took a turn for Ronan. He'd heard of Earth before, not from lessons, but from his Master—the Slayer who'd taught him everything. His Master had called Earth special, a place to protect, not mess with.
"There's someone there," he'd said once. "A boy named Elion. He's going to matter someday. Keep him safe."
Ronan didn't know why his Master had told him that. But when he heard "Earth" again, it urged him to go. He had to stop Musama. And he had to find Elion.
"I have to go to Earth, Grandfather," Ronan said, his voice firm but respectful. "My Master told me to protect it, no matter what."
"You? Protect Earth?" Tharren's eyebrow shot up, his tone skeptical but not mocking. "Tell me, how strong are you really?"
Ronan didn't reply right away. He could feel the weight of his grandfather's words.
Tharren let out a slow breath, his sharp gaze softening just a bit. "Your Master believed in you, I get that. But maybe he didn't expect things to spiral out of control this fast."
Ronan stayed quiet, his mind racing. He knew he was strong—strong enough to take on Musama. Both of them had unlocked their Twelfth Mana Gates, a power level most people of his age could only dream of.
But Musama?
He was different. A few years older, obsessed with dark magic, and willing to kill anyone—just to squeeze out a little more power. At that time, Musama already had a head start. He'd been on Earth for months, building his strength while Ronan was still here, arguing with his grandfather.
The truths of the present were already trickling in. Musama had rounded up an army—over a thousand beast-men and a mysterious group called the Twelve Zodiacs. How many lives had he snuffed out to make that happen? No one knew, and that was the scariest part.
Tharren took a deep breath before slowly turning to face Ronan, his eyes steady. "Listen, I'm not saying you're weak. I know that you're a genius of your generation. A prospect to our family."
He started pacing, his boots tapping against the floor. "That's why I can't let you go alone. It's too risky."
Ronan frowned. "Are you sending someone with me?"
Tharren shook his head, frustration flickering across his face. "That's the issue now. Who can I trust right now? Your uncles? Their kids? I'm not sure who is with us or against us."
Ronan knew what was at stake. In the House of Cross, leading the family wasn't just a title—it came with a rare shot at glory. The chosen leader could attempt a trial in a secret chamber, and success meant claiming a perfect-tier Yellow Beast Ring.
In their kingdom, that kind of power was unmatched, rivaling even the rings worn by the king and his seven knights. No surprise, then, that the role sparked ambition—and rivalry—among their own kin.
Tharren let out a heavy breath, the kind that carried years of weight. He reached into his dimensional storage ring and pulled out a white ring and three golden-black ones, their surfaces glinting faintly in the dim light.
"Take these," he said, pressing them into Ronan's hands.
Ronan's breath caught as he felt the rings' aura wash over him—sharp, electric, alive. These weren't just any rings; he could feel that they were at the perfect-tier White Beast Rings, a tier he'd only have access to maybe in a few years.
"Let the white one absorb your current ring and evolve," Tharren said, his voice steady but firm. "You know what the other three are for, don't you?"
Ronan nodded, fingers tightening around the rings.
That was it—the moment everything shifted. No one knew it yet, but Tharren had just sent him on a covert mission: track down Musama, capture or kill him, and do it before the kingdom or the Beast World's higher powers realized the House of Cross had lost control of the key to the Lower World.
That's how Ronan ended up on Earth—boots hitting unfamiliar ground, carrying a mission he couldn't afford to fail. Musama's game threw him off from the start: Corrupted Rings, twisted artifacts pulsing with sickly energy.
The man was sacrificing human souls to amplify his power—a move so vile, even Ronan hadn't seen it coming. Now, he was chasing beast-men through shadowed streets, collecting those rings one brutal fight at a time.
He was still figuring out Musama's true goal. Power was the obvious reason—but Ronan knew there was something more. A deeper game. A bigger play. And the not knowing? It gnawed at him.
The road ahead was rough and unforgiving. He'd need Elion and Jordan to pull their weight—and not just keep up, but carry real weight in this fight.
But Elion… he was still a mystery. Why had his Master been so insistent on protecting him? The question stuck in Ronan's mind, heavy and unshakable, as the full weight of the mission pressed down on his shoulders.
"Master…" he muttered, barely audible.
Jordan, halfway through slurping his third cup of instant noodles, flicked his eyes up. "Did he say something?" He smirked, then glanced at Elion, who was staring into space, lost in a tangle of worry about his family.
Elion blinked. "Huh? What?"
"Dude," Jordan said, leaning back with a grin, "you're still freaking out about that? Your family's fine. Relax."
Elion's mouth opened, then shut. Jordan had a point—Ronan had said the same. "Yeah," he mumbled. "Sorry."
Across the room, Raymond winced as he rolled his injured left shoulder, his face tightening for a split second. Elion caught it. "You okay, Raymond?"
Jordan swiveled his head. "What's up? Shoulder bugging you?"
"Nah," Raymond said, giving his shoulder a light smack. "This thing's healing like some kind of magic—kinda like your insane stories." He flashed a faint grin, grateful for the remedy of his family that he had kept.
It was a miracle in a bottle.
"Then what's the deal?" Jordan pressed, eyes narrowing.
Raymond paused, his gaze darting around like he half-expected someone to be listening. "Look, I owe you guys my life—seriously, I'd be toast without you. But…"
Jordan's grin faded. "But what?"
Raymond's voice dropped, his expression turning steely. "This mess you're in—the beasts, the transformations, this 'Lord' guy—how far does it reach?"
Elion shot a quick glance at Ronan, who stayed silent, his face a mask of calm. "Honestly," Elion admitted, "we're still piecing it together."
Jordan's brows shot up. "Wait, what? Something's off?"
"My contacts are buzzing," Raymond said, his tone clipped. "It's not just the authorities after you anymore. The underground's stirring—fight rings, smugglers, the whole shady network. They're asking questions."
Jordan leaned forward, voice low. "You're saying the gangs are in on this now?"
"Not yet," Raymond said with a shrug, "but word's spreading fast. And now Archer started poking around."
Ronan's posture stiffened, his eyes sharpening like a blade. "Who's Archer?"
Jordan blinked. "Weren't you out cold?"
Ronan's lips twitched into a smirk. "I can gut a beast in my sleep."
Elion ignored the chatter between Jordan and Ronan. He fixed his eyes on Raymond. "Don't mind them. Keep going."
Raymond glanced at the three of them, his voice steady. "This guy, Archer, he's dangerous—runs illegal fights, gambling rings, smuggling, all that shady stuff. Everyone around here knows him."
Jordan perked up, leaning in. "Tell us more."
Raymond nodded. "Lately, he's been acting off. Keeps talking about serving a 'Lord' and some big plan. I thought he was just crazy, but after what you guys said..." He let the words hang, heavy in the air.
Elion frowned. "Why didn't you bring this up sooner?"
Raymond shrugged. "It didn't click until my contacts told me he's been asking about you two."
Ronan's tone was calm. "So it seems Archer has a connection with the Lord."
He paused before adding, "Anything particular about him?"
Raymond tried to remember details about Archer. "He struts around like he owns the city. You know the type. He's got dreadlocks and always has this gold... Sagittarius logo on his vest."
"Sagittarius?" Jordan shot a look at Raymond. "That's one of the Zodiacs, right?"
Raymond blinked, stunned. "Wait... yeah, it is. How'd I miss that?"
Jordan smirked. "Might wanna sharpen that brain of yours."
Ronan stayed quiet, his face creased with thought.
Elion crossed his arms, a knot forming in his stomach. "If Archer's in the Zodiacs and running the underground, the Lord's power is spreading fast."
Ronan nodded, his voice low. "Too fast. He can recruit people with ease—promise them money and power, and they're in. Perfect tools for the Lord."
Everyone fell silent, each of them trying to process what they'd just heard and figure out the best way to face what was coming.
Raymond leaned back on the couch, pulling out his phone. His expression shifted—something was up. Elion caught it instantly.
"Okay. What now?" Elion asked, his voice already tinged with unease.
Raymond glanced at the trio, his tone casual but carrying a cautious edge. "The universe just threw you a bone—or a bomb. Not sure which yet."
Jordan groaned, rolling his eyes. "Don't speak in riddles, man. Spit it out."
Raymond took a breath. "Archer's hosting another underground fight tonight. He's running it himself—right in the middle of the action. Gang lords, smugglers, the city's worst—they'll all be there. You in to check it out?"
Jordan's head snapped up, a wild grin breaking across his face. "An underground fight with Archer himself? Hell yeah, let's crash that party!"
Elion shifted, his fingers tapping nervously on his knee. "Hold up. We don't know what Archer's bringing. This could blow up in our faces."
Ronan, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, spoke evenly. "This is our shot to see what we're dealing with. We go, we watch, we learn."
Elion frowned, his voice rising slightly. "Are you serious? We're walking in blind."
"Yeah." Ronan nodded, unfazed. "But, Archer's showing his hand tonight. We won't get a better chance."
Raymond leaned forward, his tone sharpening. "But you need to be careful. Archer's not just hosting—he's flexing his power."
Elion swallowed hard. He felt like the only one seeing the red flags. They'd barely scraped by against beast-men, and now they were diving into a mini-boss fight? No prep, no backup—just blind risk.
"That's why we move tonight. Right, Ronan?" Jordan cut in, grinning like it was already a done deal.
"I'm not done," Raymond said, his voice firm. "Word is, the Lord might show up to back him."
Jordan clapped his hands, practically bouncing. "The Lord too?"
Everyone could see that he was trembling and of course, it was not due to fear. He was excited. "Isn't that better? We can take them down in one go."
Elion's eyes widened, panic flickering across his face. "Or we walk straight into a trap. If the Lord's there together with all of the Zodiacs? We're toast."
Ronan's gaze stayed steady. "Could be risky, but we won't know unless we're there."
Elion tried again, his voice quieter. "Even you're not sure, Ronan."
Ronan raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Who says I'm not sure?"
Elion winced. He hadn't meant to challenge him—now Ronan seemed even more set on proving a point.
Raymond checked his watch, urgency creeping in. "You've got less than three hours. Fight starts at midnight, and they'll lock it down tight. Decide fast."
Jordan was already on his feet, buzzing with energy. "Decide? I've decided! Let's roll—this is our night!"
Elion rubbed his temples, tension coiling in his chest. "I don't like it. We're blind here. One slip, and we're done."
Ronan stepped closer, his calm cutting through the chaos. "Then we don't slip. We scope it out and play it smart. Nobody's invincible. Not even that bastard."
Raymond stood, brushing off his jacket. "I'll get you close, point you in the right direction. After that, it's on you. Just… don't die, alright?"
Jordan clapped Raymond on the shoulder, grinning wide. "Die? Come on, dude. You're part of this, too."
Raymond shuddered at the thought. Fighting against beast-men? Even if his body were fully healed, he wouldn't dare claim he wanted any part of it.
Elion dragged himself up, his stomach in knots. "Fine. But we need a plan—something better than 'charge in and hope.'"
Ronan nodded, his expression resolute. "We'll make one on the way."
He straightened, fingers brushing the ring on his hand. Something shifted in his eyes—sharp, resolute. At that moment, Ronan felt like a different person altogether.
"Get ready, both of you," he said. "Clock's ticking."
As they scrambled to get ready, Jordan's excitement crackled like static in the air. Ronan, calm and composed, was the anchor holding everything steady. And Elion… his quiet dread settled like a shadow in the room, heavy and hard to shake.
Tonight was Archer's stage—but it might also be their one shot to flip the script.
Or, Elion thought with a chill threading down his spine, the move that doomed them all.