The rain had been pouring for hours, its relentless downpour failing to extinguish the fires that raged through the village. It was a scene of devastation—flames licking the heavens, blood staining the earth, and the screams of the innocent now silenced forever. The villagers, every last one of them, were dead—except for a single child.
The destruction was incomprehensible. Blood splattered across the cobbled streets, and the air smelled of death and smoke. "What in the world did we do to deserve this? We did nothing! It's all their fault!" The boy's fists clenched as his eyes burned with a fiery rage. "I'll kill them! Even if it costs me my life, I will chase them to the ends of the earth! I will gouge their eyes out and feed them to the dogs! Just you wait, you damn bandits…"
From behind him, a calm voice interrupted, "And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"
The boy spun around, brandishing a knife. "Who are you? Are you one of them? Then I'll kill you first!"
The stranger raised a single finger, and in an instant, the boy's knife melted in his grasp. The boy stood frozen, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Who... who are you?"
The man gave a slight, mysterious smile. "I'm just a wandering warrior. Nothing more, nothing less. But I can offer you revenge... if you want it, child."
The boy's heart pounded, his desire for vengeance consuming him. With a cold resolve in his eyes, he nodded. "I'll give you my life. Just... kill them all."
Looked at this,the boy took a knife and carefully slice his hand,blood splattered all over his hand.Within a second the wound heals itself,leaving not even a mark."I can also do this to you mister"
The man smiled,he who suffers from his own power had been searching for a personal healer for years,and now he found him.Surely the heavens help him.Without ado he takes off his robes,from there revealed a young man with white hair and bluest eyes."im Lucas,I will give you your revenge in return you will give your life to me and help me take this world.
The boy shook his head and give his hand as a sign of deal,but shocked after the man grab his arm and started to burn it.'It hurt,it hurt".While seeing the boy crying,the man emphasized that the he should never heals the arm,as it stand as a symbol.Symbol of trust.The boy nodded as he understood what the guy was saying.Now lets kill some bandit.
The night was pitch black, the only light the eerie glow of distant flames. In the heart of the bandit stronghold, the air reeked of alcohol and blood. The bandits celebrated their brutality, oblivious to the approaching storm. Slaves—young women, their bodies broken by abuse—were kept in cages like animals. It was a haven for the wicked, a place where the worst of humanity gathered to feast on the suffering of others.
"Filthy bandits," Lucas muttered under his breath. "All of them will die here."
There were thirty bandits, all led by their ruthless chief—a man renowned for his malice. They pillaged villages, extorted merchants, and, worst of all, raped and murdered without remorse. The government turned a blind eye, letting them spread their terror unchecked. But not anymore.
"Kid, I'll kill all of them except the chief. The chief is yours," Lucas said, his voice cold and commanding.
The boy didn't respond. He couldn't care less about anything except seeing them all dead. He didn't understand the difference in power between him and the chief. To him, a fight was just a fight. Strength was strength. What did it matter if the chief was a 1-Star Aura Swordmaster?.He simply didn't care.
The kid is bold, the man thought, observing the boy's unwavering resolve..
As the bandits continued their revelry, the sounds of drunken laughter and crude celebration filling the night air, the wall of their stronghold suddenly began to melt, curling away into a circular shape. The structure, once solid, now bent to the will of an unstoppable force.
From the smoldering wreckage emerged two figures—a man, shrouded in flames, and a young boy, eyes alight with fury.
The first thing the bandits saw was their arrogance reflected in their laughter. They saw these two as mere fools, walking willingly into the jaws of death. Only a fool would come here, unarmed and alone, they thought. They believed their numbers, their strength, and their fortifications made them invincible.
They couldn't have been more wrong.
The sheer audacity of their laughter, their delusion of power, would be their undoing. The moment their eyes locked with the man and the boy, the air itself seemed to grow thicker. The temperature rose, and the atmosphere crackled with impending doom. The bandits, blinded by their arrogance, didn't realize the danger until it was too late.
A bandit, bold with the confidence of his comrades, swaggered toward the man, slapping his hand against the man's shoulder. "Leave your belongings, and maybe you'll live," he sneered, a twisted grin spreading across his face.
With a smirk, the man's hand shot out, seizing the bandit's wrist with terrifying speed. Before the bandit could react, the heat of the man's grip surged, and within a heartbeat, the bandit was burned to a crisp. His body smoldered, blackened, and collapsed to the ground in a heap of ashes.
The temperature around them spiked, the air thick with an unnatural heat. Straw on the ground near them began to ignite, small flames licking the edges of the stronghold. The boy, standing beside the man, felt the scorching heat gnaw at his breath. Sweat poured from his brow, his legs shaking, but still, he stayed. He wanted to see this. He wanted to witness the revenge he had dreamed of.
The bandits froze, their laughter faltering as they realized the magnitude of the danger they faced. Panic flashed in their eyes, but it was too late. They scrambled to draw their swords, one by one, charging toward the man. But every movement was futile. Each bandit who came within reach of the man was consumed by the raging heat, burned to ash before they could even strike. The flames licked at the air, the man's body untouched by the searing blaze.
In less than ten minutes, over thirty bandits had perished, their bodies reduced to charred remnants, their weapons lying discarded on the ground. The stronghold, once a symbol of their power, was now ablaze, the smoke rising into the night sky, carrying the scent of death.
The fire's roar echoed, alerting the Chief to the devastation unfolding.
In a dimly lit tavern at the farthest corner of the stronghold, two figures emerged. One was the Chief, his grim expression hardening as he stepped into the open, and the other, a towering knight draped in full battle-worn armor, exuded an air of deadly confidence. It wasn't hard to see why the government had turned a blind eye to the chaos—their bond was undeniable.
The Chief, his mind racing, quickly came to the harsh conclusion that his chances of surviving this encounter were slim. With a desperate glance at the knight beside him, he swallowed his pride. "Take care of that man," he ordered, his voice laced with resignation.
The knight, Knight Morjan, didn't rush into action. Instead, he smirked, the corners of his mouth curling upward in a quiet amusement. His gaze was sharp, calculating. "100 gold for that man's head," he stated, his voice casual as if discussing the weather.
The Chief froze, a sense of disbelief washing over him. A hundred gold? That was enough to sustain the stronghold for an entire year. How could he possibly agree to such an outrageous price? But the reality was clear—either he spent the gold or lost his life. If he survived, he could always plunder more.
"Deal," the Chief muttered, his voice tinged with regret.
Knight Morjan's smirk widened, and he lazily introduced himself. "I am Knight Morjan, a 2-Star Aura Swordmaster." He then shifted his gaze toward the man standing before him. "And who might you be?"
The man, standing tall with an air of unspoken power, drew his sword. His voice, cold and unyielding, echoed across the silence. "I am Prince Lucas, a 4-Star Aura Swordmaster."
Lucas unsheathed his blade,Heavenly Flame Art,First form Crimson Slash.With a stroke of slash,the blade emitted a fiery arc shape like a rising sun,scorching everything in its path. The slash burns with radiant heat, cutting through the knight armor, shadows, and even aura with divine intensity.In a single second,the knight body split in half.
The Chief stood frozen, his heart pounding as he realized the inevitable truth. There was no escape, no way out. Fighting would be suicidal; fleeing would be futile. His death was imminent, and he could only stand there, watching the countdown of his life tick away.
But then, to his surprise, Lucas's fiery aura dimmed, and the Prince strode forward, his eyes locked on the Chief. "You'll live, if you can defeat the boy in a duel," Lucas offered coldly.
The Chief, thinking it a simple trick, grinned. A mere child against me, an Aura Master? He nodded, his arrogance growing with every moment. "I accept."
The duel began, and as expected, it was a one-sided affair. The Chief's first slash was swift, cutting across the boy's body with ease. The child collapsed, kneeling in pain, unable to react. The Chief smirked, savoring the moment, but kept his eyes on Prince Lucas. He won't interfere, not in a duel of honor.
The Chief, relishing the boy's suffering, began to strike again. Each blow was slow and deliberate, his twisted enjoyment evident in every movement. Blood poured from the boy's wounds, but it wasn't enough. This is just the beginning, the Chief thought. I'll make him beg for death.
With each blow, the boy's face grew paler, his body weaker. The Chief's perverse pleasure intensified as he licked the blood from his hands, screaming in ecstasy as he drew out the boy's torment. This is my victory, he thought. No child, no matter how brave, could survive an Aura Master's wrath.
The Chief raised his sword, ready to end it all, but in that single, fleeting moment, something changed. The boy's body twitched. His wounds... were healing.
In an instant, the boy sprang forward, faster than the Chief could react. With a single motion, the boy drove his blade into the Chief's chest, again and again, each strike fueled by pure rage. "Die! Die! Die! Die!" The boy's voice cracked, each word dripping with hatred as he pressed the blade deeper, his eyes wild with fury.
The Chief's body jerked with each blow, his life slipping away, until at last, he crumpled to the ground, lifeless. The boy stood over him, breathing heavily, his bloodstained hands trembling.
Lucas walked over to him, the faintest hint of approval in his eyes.
"Welcome to the family, Alaric," he said.