Chapter 2: Starting the Shadowbroker Tutorial!
It's been three years since the establishment of the Shadow Garden—give or
take. Alpha and I turned thirteen years old, and my older sister Claire, fifteen.
There isn't anything special about turning thirteen, but fifteen is another
story. That's when aristocrats begin their three-year education at a school in
the royal capital. As the bearer of the hopes and dreams of the Kagenou
household, Claire had a crazy farewell party thrown for her, which was
organized by our mother. Like, wow, you can't get more clichéd than that.
And that's fine. Well, it was fine until she vanished the day of her
departure. Read: All hell broke loose in the Kagenou household.
"The room was like this when I came in," explains my dad in a low, suave
voice. His face isn't bad, either. "No signs of a struggle. But it looks like the
window has been pried open. The culprit must have been skilled to do this
without me and Claire noticing."
He touches the windowsill and stares wistfully at the sky. A glass of
whiskey would complete the scene.
Now, if only he had hair…
"And?" replies a chilly voice. "Are you saying we're out of luck since the
kidnapper was skilled?"
That was my mom.
"Th-that's not what I'm saying. I was just stating a fact…," answers my
dad as cold sweat drips down his cheeks.
There's a pause.
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"Shut it, baldyyyyyy!!"
"Eep! I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry!!"
By the way, it's like I'm invisible. They don't expect much from me, and
I don't cause any trouble. I'm trying to keep this up to lie low in the
background.
It's really too bad that my sister disappeared, since she was cool and all.
But they nabbed her in the middle of the night when I was out training in the
abandoned town, which meant I couldn't do anything to stop it. After
watching with a concerned expression while my parents bicker, I sneak into
my room and roll into bed.
"You can come out now."
"Okay," replies a voice accompanied by the sound of the curtains
swishing gently.
A girl in a black slime bodysuit steps out from behind them.
"Oh, it's you. Beta."
"Yes," says a girl, an elf like Alpha.
But while Alpha's hair is blond, Beta's is silver, framing her blue feline
eyes and the mole right under one of them. She's the third member of the
Shadow Garden, after me and Alpha. I know I told Alpha to do things in
moderation, but I swear, she keeps taking people in like they're stray cats or
something.
"Where's Alpha?"
"She's searching for signs of Miss Claire."
"Dang, she's fast. Is my sister alive?"
"Most likely."
"Can we rescue her?"
"It's possible…but it requires your assistance, Master Shadow."
Oh, I have them call me Shadow. It's fitting for the leader of the Shadow
Garden, right?
"Did Alpha say that?"
"Yes. She said we must take every precaution in a hostage situation."
"Huh."
If I'm being honest, Alpha is plenty powerful on her own. If she's asking
for backup, we must be dealing with a big shot.
"It makes my blood boil…," I say, compressing the magic in my hand
down further. In a flash, I release it, causing the air to quiver around us.
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There's no particular reason for that. I just love to put on a good show.
Plus, it startles Beta, who even murmurs, "Incredible." Nice.
As of late, I haven't run out of training partners with Alpha, Beta, and
Delta around, but I do like switching things up every once in a while. And
I'm obsessed with playing the part of a mastermind, which makes this a
perfect opportunity.
"It's been a while since I've showed my true strength…," I mumble.
At this point, I'm used to giving off a mysterious vibe. And with Alpha
and Beta creating an optimal environment for pretend play, I've been very
hyped up lately.
"As we'd expected, the perpetrator is a member of the Cult of Diablos—
presumably one of their highest-ranking officers."
"A high rank, huh…? But what do they want with my sister?"
"They must suspect that she's one of the heroes' descendants."
"Well, those bastards guessed right…"
And that's how she thickens the plot.
On top of that, she takes out a pile of documents and starts saying all
kinds of cryptic things.
Like "Your story was true after all…"
And "The Children of Diablos from one thousand years ago have…"
And "This monument may be a sign of the Cult…," but I don't know for
sure, 'cause I can't read ancient texts. I have a feeling that Alpha can't even
understand them.
Y'know, I bet the two of them scrounged up some paperwork that looked
appropriately suspicious to feel as if we're getting closer to the truth. Yeah,
that sounds about right.
"Take a look at this report. According to our most recent investigation,
Miss Claire seems to have been brought to this hideout…"
Beta begins laying out a huge heap of files. It's complete gibberish to me.
The majority is written in an ancient alphabet, and the others are a series of
nonsensical numbers and symbols. Dang, they really have a knack for
creating fake reports. In this regard, they're way better than me.
I ignore her explanation and chuck a small knife at the map on my wall. I
aim for wherever feels right or something.
Zing. It sinks into the map.
"There."
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"There? What are you…?"
"That's where my sister is."
"But there's nothing… Wait. No way…!" She balks, hastily rummaging
through her reports as if she's realized something.
Erm, ah, it's really just a random throw. But Beta is a great actress.
Lemme take a guess. You're gonna say the secret hideout is located right
at the tip of the knife, right?
"After cross-referencing my reports, it appears the hideout is at that
location."
See? What did I say?
"To think you instantly interpreted these documents and uncovered hidden
details… You never cease to amaze me."
"Beta, you gotta train more."
"I'll do my best."
Bravo! I know it's all an act, but whew! It pulls on my heartstrings. Oh,
Beta! You've got me on the edge of my seat.
"I'll report to Alpha right away. Will we attempt our rescue tonight?"
"Yeah."
Beta bows to me and leaves the room with eyes all sparkly. Like, I can
almost feel that you totally respect me.
Cheers to her Academy Award–winning performance!
A man walks down a dimly lit underground tunnel. Appearing to be in his
late thirties, he has a piercing gaze and a well-built body, and all his gray hair
is slicked back.
He stops at the end of the tunnel, where there's one door flanked by two
soldiers.
"The daughter of Baron Kagenou," he orders.
"In here, sir," one soldier pipes up, bowing to Grease and unlocking the
door. "We've got her restrained, but she's extremely hostile. Please proceed
with caution."
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"Hmph. Who do you think I am?"
"M-my apologies, sir!"
Grease pushes through the door and enters the stone dungeon, where a girl
is shackled to the wall with magic chains.
"You must be Claire Kagenou."
When she's addressed by her name, the girl looks up at Grease in
response.
She's stunning, wrapped in the dainty negligee she wore to bed. It lightly
veils her voluptuous breasts and shapely thighs, and her silken black hair is
cut straight across her back.
Claire glares defiantly at him. "I've seen you around the capital. You're
Viscount Grease, aren't you?"
"Oh, well, I used to be a royal guard…or you saw me at the Bushin
Festival."
"Right, the tournament. Princess Iris really tore you a new one." Claire
smirks.
"Hmph. We're bound by tournament rules, which makes that an
exception. I would never lose to her in a real battle."
"You would lose then, too, Viscount Grease…you first-round flunker."
"Shut it. A brat will never know the struggles of getting to the finals."
Grease scowls at Claire.
"I'll make it in a year."
"I hate to break it to you, but you don't have a year left."
The chains that bind her clang loudly as she closes the distance between
them, snapping her teeth a hairbreadth away from the nape of Grease's neck.
Chomp.
If Grease hadn't slightly turned his head, she would have severed his
carotid artery.
"Which of us won't see another year? Want to test it out?"
"You won't be testing anything out, Claire Kagenou."
Claire is howling with laughter when he punches her in the jaw, slamming
her against the stone wall. But her glare remains unchanged and locked on
Grease the entire time.
His next punch doesn't land.
"Jumping backward now, eh?"
Claire smiles fearlessly. "Oh, I assumed you were trying to hit a fly."
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"Hmph. I guess you're not letting your strong magical powers overwhelm
you."
"I learned that it's all about how you use magic, not how much."
"Your father taught you well."
"Baldy didn't teach me a thing. I'm talking about my brother."
"Your brother…?"
"He's a cheeky one. I win every time we battle, but I'm the one learning
from his techniques, not the other way around. Which is why I make life hard
for him." A playful grin splays across her face.
"My condolences to your brother. I guess this makes me the hero who
saves him from his wicked sister. Enough chitchat…" Grease pauses,
observing her intently.
"Claire Kagenou, has your physical condition…felt off recently? As in,
has it gotten harder to use and handle magic? Have you experienced any pain
when you use it? Is your body starting to turn dark with rot? …Do you have
any of these symptoms?"
"Did you abduct me to play doctor?" The corners of Claire's glossy lips
lift to a smile.
"You know, I used to have a daughter. I don't want to knock you around
more than I already have. Answering honestly would benefit us both."
"Is that a threat? When I feel threatened, I tend to get hostile…even when
I shouldn't."
"Are you saying you won't tell me the truth?"
"We'll see."
Grease and Claire glare at each other for a while.
She's the one to break the silence. "Fine. I'll answer your dumb question,
since it's no big deal. What was it? About my condition and magic, right?
Well, everything's fine now. If I wasn't chained up, I'd be doing pretty darn
good."
"What do you mean by 'now'?"
"Well, I first noticed the symptoms a year ago."
"What? Are you saying it got cured—on its own?" Grease has never heard
of a case where it healed on its own.
"Yeah, I didn't do anything to… Oh, right. What was it? A 'stretch'? I
don't know what that means, but my little bro asked me to stretch with him,
and I felt better after that."
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"Stretch? I've never heard of that before…but if you had symptoms, that
means I wasn't mistaken in thinking you're compatible."
"Compatible…? What does that mean?"
"Nothing that should concern you. Either way, you're going to break soon
enough. Oh, and I'll make sure to look into your brother…"
Before he can finish his sentence, he suffers a blow to the nose.
"Wha—?!" he barks, stumbling back to the door and glowering at Claire.
He holds his bloody nose. "Claire Kagenou, you wretch…!"
All four limbs should have been bound, but she somehow managed to free
her right arm, where blood trickles down her wrist.
"You scraped off your own flesh and dislocated your finger…?!"
These are no ordinary chains. They're sealed with magic. In other words,
she unleashed the full extent of her physical strength to slice the flesh off her
hand, break her own bones, and slide out of the chains to punch Grease. This
rattles him to his core.
"If you do anything to my brother, I'll never forgive you! I'll kill you,
your loved ones, your family, your friends… Ngh…?!"
Grease clobbers Claire in the gut with all his might. There's no way she
can defend herself from his spells, especially when she's strapped down by
chains.
"You bitch…!" spits Grease as she crumples to the ground.
On the floor, there's a pool of dark-red blood fed by a trickle from her
right hand.
"Well, then. I'll know when I've used this…," he murmurs, reaching out
to touch her blood when a winded soldier flings the door open.
"Viscount Grease, we're in trouble! Intruders!"
"Intruders?! Who the hell are they?"
"We don't know! There are only a few of them, but we don't stand a
chance without you!"
"Ugh, I'll take care of it! The rest of you, stay on guard!" Grease clicks
his tongue in irritation before turning on his heel and making his way from
the cell.
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By the time Grease arrives on the scene, the area is already smeared with
blood.
The soldiers who protect the major facility aren't weak by any means, and
some even rival the royal guard.
"Why? This can't be…!"
Illuminated by a single light streaming in from the outside, countless dead
bodies litter the ground of the underground hall in the facility.
Each bears a single slash—sliced by an unimaginably destructive force.
"Son of a bitch…!"
Grease glares at a group of figures dressed in black bodysuits. From their
curves, he can guess they're petite girls—seven in total. Under the dim light
of the moon, they're stealthy enough that it's easy to lose sight of them
without a concerted effort. These women are using a rare technique to control
their magical presence, and Grease recognizes this group might just rival him
in strength.
There's one who's drenched in blood, eyeing him under the moonlight.
"Nnr…!"
In this moment, instinct overtakes Grease—not for any explicit reason,
but he can sense danger.
Blood drips down her bodysuit and onto the floor, and she lets her katana
drag behind her apathetically, creating a trail of gore.
"Who the hell are you? What's your purpose?" he asks, attempting to
suppress his unease.
But he's faced with seven rivals as powerful as him. To fight would be
asinine. Grease curses his bad luck as he searches for a way out.
The blood-splattered girl isn't listening to him. She laughs, snickering
from behind her bloodied mask.
She's going to hunt me down…! Grease thinks, just as he hears another
voice.
"Back off, Delta."
The girl halts in place before retreating without resistance. Grease lets out
a huge sigh of relief.
Another girl walks forward to take her place.
"We are the Shadow Garden."
If they were anywhere else, her angelic voice would have entranced him.
"I'm Alpha."
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He realizes she's revealed her face at some point, and her pale skin gleams
under the moonlight. She steps forward.
"Nn…!"
He sees she's an elf with golden hair and beauty that leaves him gasping
for breath.
She takes another step.
"Our purpose…is to eliminate the Cult of Diablos."
He doesn't take notice of her black sword until it slices through the air
and parts the night sky. Or at least, it seems to create that illusion, and Grease
is overcome with intimidation by the force of her swing and the wind that
follows it.
How did she acquire such power at this age? He trembles with jealousy
and fear—but more than anything, he's petrified by her declaration.
"How…how do you know our group?"
The Cult of Diablos. Grease is one of the few people in the facility who
knows the name of this organization.
"We know everything. We know all about Diablos the demon, his curse,
and the heroes' descendants. And…the truth about the possessed."
"H-how did you…?"
Grease was only recently informed of this top secret information, which
couldn't— No, shouldn't have been leaked.
"You're not the only ones after the Curse of Diablos."
"Ksh…!"
He knows he can't forgive them for getting access to classified
information. But would slaying them prevent it from spreading?
No, no good.
Which means he needs to live—to survive to inform headquarters about
the girls, which is why Grease moves forward.
"Aaaaaaaaagh!!" he shouts, unsheathing his sword and swiping at Alpha.
"How reckless," she notes, dodging and countering it with ease.
Her blade grazes his cheek, where blood pours from the fresh wound.
And yet, that doesn't stop him. He continues to pursue victory, even as
none of his attacks land. Grease misses by a hairbreadth each time.
On the other side, Alpha is focused on eliminating unnecessary
movements and calculating the trajectory of his sword to sidestep oncoming
assaults.
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And all the while, Grease's arms are slashed, legs cut, shoulders sliced.
But none of his wounds are fatal.
Grease sneers when he realizes she won't kill him until she gets intel out
of him, and a new path to victory comes into view. After he slices through
nothing again and again, he's finally slashed in the chest, causing him to
retreat.
"Let's not waste any more time," says Alpha.
Grease doesn't answer, kneeling and clutching his wounded chest. A
smile then spreads across his face…and he swallows something.
"What…are you doing?!"
His body doubles in size—his complexion darkens, his muscles bulge, his
eyes glow red. And most importantly, his magic capacity increases…
dramatically.
"Unnh…!"
Grease's steel sword zings through the air without warning, which Alpha
manages to block instantly. But she grimaces on impact, using the
momentum to leap back and create distance between them.
"Interesting trick," she notes, shaking her arm as pins and needles shoot
through it. She cocks her head to the side. "Based on the wave frequency, I'm
guessing it's a magical overload…that's been forcibly induced…"
"Lady Alpha, is everything all right?" asks a voice from behind, surprised
to see Alpha back down during a fight for the first time.
"It's fine, Beta. Just a messy situation… Hmm?"
When Alpha turns her gaze back to Grease, there's no one in sight. Well,
more accurately, there's a rectangular hole in his place, leading to a lower
level of the facility—a trapdoor.
"…He got away."
"Yeah…let's go after him," Beta responds, ready to leap in behind him.
Alpha stops her in the nick of time. "That won't be necessary. He'll take
care of it."
"He…? Now that I think about it, Master Shadow said he'd go ahead of
us… No way."
"Yeah. I have to admit I was worried he'd get lost when he sprinted down
a different route." Alpha giggles.
"He knew this would happen… He's done it again."
Their eyes glow with respect as they peer down the hole together.
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"I'm lost," I mumble to myself in an empty underground facility.
It was all fine and well when we infiltrated the hideout, but I got sick of
fighting off small fry. I thought I'd go ahead and kill their boss, which brings
us…here. Bummer. I mean, I even practiced what I'd say when I faced their
leader and everything.
Anyway, this place is huge. I get the vibe of a group of bandits living in
an abandoned military facility.
"Hmm?"
I sense someone running toward me from the other side of the tunnel. It
takes a few beats before the figure notices me, too, leaving a wide gap
between us.
"You've been expecting me…," he assumes.
He's super-jacked, and his eyes have a crimson glow for some reason or
another. He looks…really friggin' cool. I can imagine him shooting laser
beams with his eyes.
"But if it's just you, this should be a breeze," he remarks with a twisted
smile on his face.
Then he vanishes—well, more like moves fast enough that an average
person would've thought he disappeared.
But I parry his attack with one hand. As long as I can spot the course of
the attack, I'm not scared by the velocity of the assault. Even power is all
about how you use it.
"Nnr!" he yelps.
I push him away in the shoulder and retreat.
His magic is incredible—much stronger than Alpha, if I'm being honest.
But his command over it is dismal, unfortunately. He's nothing but a dope
jacked with magic.
I'm not a big fan of people who go bananas with their magic, getting
yoked with spells and moving at unimaginable speeds, and I don't like
relying on physical force. Not that I'm trying to reject it. I mean, if I was
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forced to choose between strength and technique, I'd take strength in a
heartbeat, since advanced tactics without the power to back them up are
useless.
That said, I absolutely despise half-baked strategies that solely depend on
physical abilities—like power alone, or speed alone, or reaction time alone.
They overlook and disregard the subtleties of battle.
You see, strength is natural, but mastery requires effort. Shadowbrokers
never lose when it comes to skill and expertise. And I want to be the same.
My techniques will bolster my strength. My ingenuity will dictate speed. My
reaction time will let me scope out potential attacks. Physicality is important,
but I'd never screw up a fight by relying on it. That's all part of my battle
aesthetic.
If I'm being honest, this hulky slugger is starting to piss me off.
Let's teach him a lesson…about the right way to use magic.
"Lesson one."
I wield my slime sword and walk forward—one step, two steps, three.
On that last one, he takes a swing at me, which means I'm in his fighting
range and is my cue to speed up. I take the tiniest quantity of magic possible,
focus it in my feet, compress, and then release it in one shot. That's all there
is to it, and you can create an explosive impact with the smallest magical
force.
His sword slices through the air.
And now he's in my range.
I don't need speed or power or magic. I graze his neck with my ebony
katana, slicing through the topmost layer of skin and leaving the veins
untouched.
I back up. His blade scathes my cheek at the same time.
"Lesson two."
I make my move as he readies his sword again. I don't use magic, letting
his movements stay quicker than mine. But he can't attack and move at the
same time—no matter his speed.
Which is why I can get closer and take one tiny step.
It's a distance that's too long for me and too short for him.
There's a moment of silence that follows.
I see him looking uncertain of his next move, but he ultimately chooses to
back away.
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I knew he was going to do that, based on the shift of magical energy
inside him, and I close the distance before he has a chance to back up.
This time, my sword scrapes against his leg, cutting a little deeper than the
last laceration.
"Gah…!" He groans in pain and continues his retreat.
I don't pursue him.
"Lesson three."
I'm just getting started.
Have I ever felt this overpowered before? Grease wonders as the ink-black
sword continues to break skin.
Even when he fought Alpha the elf, even when the princess claimed
victory at the Bushin Festival, Grease didn't feel weak. In fact, the last time
he'd felt a power imbalance…was when he was a kid. It was the first time
he'd ever held a sword and squared off with his mentor—an adult versus a
child, a champion versus a novice. It was hardly anything that could be
considered a fight.
Grease is experiencing that same feeling right about now.
The boy in front of him doesn't look tough whatsoever. At the very least,
he doesn't emit the same menacing aura as Alpha when Grease fought her.
He's a total natural; his stance, magic, and swordsmanship all seem to come
effortlessly. In fact, his strength and speed are unremarkable, honestly—
nothing special at all. But his strategy perfects his swordplay. And he
manages to stand against Grease's powers of mass destruction using that
alone.
Which makes Grease feel an overwhelming sense of defeat.
He knows the only reason he's alive is because the boy allows it. If his
opponent wanted it, Grease would be dead in an instant.
But Grease could regenerate his body as long as he didn't suffer fatal
wounds. Of course, there are limits and nasty side effects. Meanwhile, he's
shed pails of blood and had his bones broken, his flesh shredded, which
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means he'll need more time to fully recover.
But even in this time of crisis, Grease survives.
No. It's more accurate to say he's been spared.
Grease lets out a single question: "Why…?"
Why are you letting me live?
Why are we enemies?
Why are you so strong?
Why?
The young boy shrouded in black looks down at Grease. "Lurk in the
darkness and hunt down shadows. That's the only reason we exist."
There's a distant sadness to his voice.
And that's all it takes for Grease to understand the situation.
"Are you going up against them…?" he asks.
There are certain people in this world who the law cannot touch. Grease
knew this and considered himself above that threshold—special concessions,
privileges, and those with hidden personas. After all, the light of the law
doesn't shine to the very edge of the world.
While Grease enjoyed certain privileges, he was trampled and crushed by
those at the top, which made him yearn for more power…and led to his
downfall.
"Even if you… Even if your gang of twats becomes stronger, you'll never
defeat them. The darkness of this world…is a deeper abyss than your wildest
dreams," he says—not to warn the boy but to express his diabolical hopes.
Grease wants the boy to get pulverized, lose everything, and become
totally disillusioned with society. But, overcome with petty envy and spite, he
frets that this wish is out of reach.
"Then we dive deeper," offers the boy without a hint of eagerness or
ambitiousness.
But Grease can sense his steadfast resolve and unshakable confidence.
"It's not easy."
Unacceptable.
Utterly unacceptable, thinks Grease, who's doomed for attempting to take
them down himself.
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This is the moment he decides to cross the final frontier. He removes a pill
from his breast pocket and swallows it whole when he realizes he's not going
to survive. If that's the case, he thinks, I'll use this life to teach him the truth.
The truth about the darkness of this world.
The aura surrounding Grease changes.
Until now, his magical energy had been rampaging around his body, but it
starts to withdraw, replaced by its densely compressed twin. His veins rupture
and burst with blood, his muscles tear, his bones shatter—but his body heals
instantly. He defies the physical limitations of a human form and hosts an
immeasurable amount of magical power.
The Cult calls this the "awakening."
Once one assumes this form, there's no turning back. But in return…one
is bestowed with Herculean strength.
"Aaaaghhh!" Grease roars in a beastly fashion before vanishing into thin
air.
The dull sound of impact hangs in the air. In the same moment, the boy in
black is flung off his feet toward a wall, which he kicks to shift his body and
land on the ground.
But Grease continues swinging at him, propelling the boy back again.
"Too slow! Too flimsy! Too frail! This is reality!" Grease aggressively
hounds him.
With another thump, the boy is catapulted backward by more of Grease's
attacks—quick, heavy, and merciless. It's all because he possesses an
overwhelming force.
Grease thinks he has it all figured out: The tiger doesn't have to be
cunning to kill a hare. He just needs strength. By pushing back, it makes it
impossible for the boy to fight—and he's destined to fall apart.
But this is all wrong.
"Hgh?!" Grease whines as blood erupts from his chest.
He takes notice of a laceration—one that breaks past the surface of his
skin. Grease halts in place for a split second, but he recovers fast enough to
knock his enemy back in the next instant.
"It's hopeless! You can't get me!!" he shrieks, even as his flesh is
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shredded down to his bones.
But his wounds begin to bubble up and heal in the next beat.
"This is true power! This is true strength!!" Grease starts to accelerate,
slashing his weapon through the air, even as blood spouts from his body.
He appears as a flash of scarlet light.
Ebony and crimson—the two colors clash, causing the one in black to get
slung back and the one in red to spew fresh blood.
Their battle is too quick for the human eye to catch, and the afterimage of
crimson and the backward movements of ebony are the only indicators of
something uncanny in the making.
Their skirmish doesn't last long. There's a clear power imbalance, and it's
easy to guess that the figure in black would be the one to break. It's a fight
that the one in red shouldn't have lost—slinging his sword on repeat and
pulverizing the other into submission with his cataclysmic strength.
But why?
Why does he look unfazed…?
"Why…why can't I hit you…?"
The boy in black hasn't changed from the beginning of the fight. He's
barely unleashed any magic or moved on his own accord, instead choosing to
go with the flow and let Grease fling him around. It's as if he's a fallen leaf
swept away in a rapid stream.
Except he's not completely passive. He uses the momentum of these
blows to land a direct hit—without seeming showy or expending any
unnecessary energy.
It's natural. As if it's supposed to happen.
"Terrible," states the boy in black, staring down Grease and looking as if
he can read his thoughts.
"You know nothing… Nothing, you bastard!" Grease barks back, pooling
every bit of magic into his body and sword before taking his shot.
He's ready to eliminate this boy, even if it costs him his life, raring for the
biggest assault of his existence.
"No more games."
Grease is sliced in two—by an unconstrained swing of a sword. It's hurled
down on him with the ease of a walk in the park. A singular stroke bisects it
all—his sword, his enhanced magical powers, his muscular physique.
The viscount thought the reason behind the boy's advanced swordplay
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was pure skill—not magic, strength, or speed. But he's wrong.
"What is this…?"
It's a single stroke that destroys everything.
Grease watches the blade cut through his sword, his magic, his flesh, and
his bones as he stands on the verge of death. It's a strike fortified with
impenetrable magic, titanic strength, sonic speed, and most importantly…
natural talent.
It's perfect.
The boy in black has everything at his disposal. But he chose not to use all
of it until now.
Nothing could withstand that single stroke containing every ounce of his
power.
"I guess…this is it…," mutters Grease as blood rushes out of him, and his
upper body topples and hits the ground. There's a beat before his other half
crashes to the floor.
Grease tries to regenerate the bisection, but nothing is salvageable. His
flesh is putrid and rotten, excreting black fluid that soaks the area around
him.
Ebony looks down. Grease glances up.
Having crossed swords with the boy in black, the viscount understands
that one's temperament can be seen through one's swordplay. His opponent
appears as a serious, naive nobody—who trained with blood, sweat, and tears
to reign victorious in battle.
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I thought he was just a brat who knew nothing, but I was wrong.
His enemy had known everything and had still chosen to fight.
Powerless, he thinks of himself. He's been powerless for his entire life.
He's tried to succeed but returned empty-handed, while this whelp in black…
"Mi…llia…" Grease groans, reaching for a dagger encrusted with a blue
jewel and closing his eyes.
As consciousness slips away from him, he sees the smiling face of his
beloved daughter who passed long ago.
Anyway, that's how we ended our slaughter of some bandits—I mean, our
little rescue mission.
I found my sister totally unconscious, so I undid her chains and left her
there, which contributed to her crankiness when she returned home the next
day. But she's a real tough cookie—tough enough that the wound on her
hand almost healed overnight.
After a hectic week or so of hospital treatments and follow-up
investigations, my sister finally made her way to the capital—though she
pestered me more than usual during that time for some annoying reason.
The girls in the Shadow Garden were busy, conducting their own
research, taking care of the remaining bandits, and other stuff. Oh, right,
we're not calling them bandits. Whatever. The Cult. I mean, they're all
thieves in the end.
But that geezer with red eyes was outstanding. I mean, he inspired me to
come up with "then we dive deeper," which sounds like something a
shadowbroker would say. I owe him my thanks. I would've loved to have
him play a supporting role to my part as an eminence in shadow.
This was a must-see performance. My ability to improvise and portray a
master puppeteer was off the rockers. It's a real shame there wasn't a live
audience. But I only have to wait two more years—which is when I go to the
capital. You know the one. It's a world-famous metropolis and the only city
in this country that houses one million people.
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I bet protagonists are a dime a dozen, and there might be Final Bosses,
too.
There's bound to be conspiracies, rebellions, and incidents—none of
which would ever happen in the boonies. And that's when the mastermind
bursts onto the scene… Huh. Now that I think about it, I guess I'm just a toad
who feels cocky about beating some bandits. At this moment in time, my
prologue hasn't even been written.
And then one day, Alpha and the other girls gather before me, just as I'm
yearning to get stronger for school, which is two years down the line. They
want to share their reports on the Cult and lab findings on the curse and all
that jazz.
It's unusual to have all seven of them in a room at once, especially since it
seems they've got their hands full as of late.
Geez, go easy on the research and investigations. I mean, it's all pointless
anyway, I think as I listen to their reports.
Here's a simple summary of their findings.
Their first claim is that the heroes who slayed Diablos the demon were all
women, which is why they're the ones who suffer exclusively from the curse.
How creative. But I hate to break it to you that all the heroes were men in
the most common theory. Oh, wait, I bet they came up with that since the
Shadow Garden is comprised of seven women apart from me.
Their next report was on how the curse was most common among elves,
followed by hybrid beasts and then humans. According to their research, it
has to do with the life spans of the respective species. With humans living
short lives with weak traces of the heroic bloodline, they're least susceptible
to the curse. On the other hand, elves have long life expectancies with potent
concentrations of blood, which makes them the most prone to fall victim to
the curse. The therianthropes, or hybrid beasts, are in the middle.
Now that I think about it, I'm the only human in the Shadow Garden, and
I've never been possessed. Besides me, we have two therianthropes and a
posse of five elves—and all seven have been possessed. You know, they did
a stellar job coming up with this backstory.
And then they proceed to report on a bunch of other things, which I
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pretend to absorb.
They move on to their reports about the Cult, which is supposedly a
massive organization that operates on a global scale. Fascinating.
In terms of being the possessed or cursed or whatever, they tell me the
Cult calls them "compatibles," and their members are supposedly going the
extra mile to locate, acquire, and wipe them from existence or some crap.
Anyway, they suggest that the Shadow Garden scatter across the world to
prevent this from spreading. Their plan would leave me with one rotating
subordinate, the rest of them scattering to every corner of the world to protect
the possessed, investigate the Cult, and sabotage their activities.
When they suggest this new plan, it hits me all of a sudden: They must
have realized that the Cult doesn't exist.
They're through with this stupid charade and demanding their freedom.
What else could scattering across the world mean? I'm guessing they feel
indebted to me for curing them, which is why they're going to stick with me
on a rotating basis. I just have to deal with it. I know that's what they're
trying to tell me.
I'm bummed out. In my past life, the kids idolized the heroes as much as I
adored masterminds—until we grew up, and they didn't even notice that
they'd forgotten all about their precious heroes. I was left alone. I guess the
girls have grown up, too.
I'm feeling all soppy but agree to send them on their way. I never planned
on having seven members to begin with. If they leave me with one
subordinate, that's enough for me. I see them off, and we reluctantly
exchange good-byes.
I make a vow to myself: I'll never stop trying to become a mastermind,
even if that means I have to face this world alone.
She no longer fears killing others.
Beta whips her inky katana, splattering congealed blood off her blade and
onto the ashen ground in a clean line. She stands cloaked in the darkness of
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night and surrounded by a group of soldiers lying facedown.
"End him," orders Beta.
The girls in black bodysuits pierce their blades into the guard. One of their
hands in particular shakes violently, but it doesn't stop the girl from thrusting
her sword into his pressure point.
"Guh… Gaaaah!" shrieks the soldier with his final breath, causing her
blade to freeze in place.
It's the type of cry that'll haunt her in her sleep until she becomes
accustomed to killing.
Beta envelops the girl's hands on the helm with her own before giving the
blade a sharp twist. Together, they feel the soldier's life leaving his body.
"Ah, ahhh…!" gasps a voice.
This time, the cries are the girl's.
Beta wraps her arm around her subordinate's trembling shoulders and
issues her next instructions. "Secure the target."
The group makes its way to the carriage, boarding the loading deck.
Following the shrill sounds of a chain snapping, the girls emerge from the
wagon with a dark mound of rotting flesh.
It's still breathing.
"Return to Lady Alpha—fast."
They haul the mound, carrying it tenderly, and start to pick up speed,
followed by the member of their order previously nestled in Beta's bosom.
Beta squints slightly, watching them go.
She's raising them well.
These girls used to know nothing about combat. They'd never held a
sword, and it goes without saying that they'd never murdered anyone before
meeting her.
Beta is reminded of her own past, and old memories begin to resurface.
She still remembers how it felt when she killed for the first time—her
sword piercing their heart, their hand grabbing hers. Beta couldn't believe the
strength of their grip even as they suffered a fatal wound.
"There's a short period of time when people can move after they've been
stabbed through the heart. Don't let your guard down. Hey, Beta, are you
listening?"
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Beta was listening to Alpha's calm voice but couldn't understand what
she meant for the life of her.
She was paralyzed with fear—incapable of moving or thinking.
"You're impossible."
The head of her enemy soared through the air.
Alpha had beheaded him.
The corpse dropped to the floor, spurting blood that splatted Beta, and
large teardrops fell from her eyes.
"Find a reason to fight."
Those words sounded so cold.
Beta was a child who had trouble doing things on her own.
After joining the Shadow Garden, she always followed Alpha around.
After all, they were old acquaintances, and she knew she would go down the
right path if she stuck by Alpha's side.
But Beta couldn't find a reason to fight by following Alpha's footsteps—
or understand the importance of finding said motivation. As a result, she
couldn't get used to the idea of murder, vomiting violently after killing
someone on a mission and shaking in fear every night as she tried to fall
asleep. It wasn't unusual for her to wake up screaming in the middle of the
night.
On one particular evening, Shadow approached the tormented girl.
"Do you seek wisdom…?"
"Y-yes?" Beta answered all jittery as she cocked her head to the side.
In her eyes, he was enigmatic and extremely powerful.
"If you seek wisdom…I shall give it to you."
He might mean the knowledge of easing my emotional turmoil from
murdering others, she thought.
With great expectations, Beta nodded. "I—I want wisdom." Her voice
trembled.
"Then I shall give it to you…"
Shadow began telling a story. "Once upon a time, in a faraway place,
there was an old man and an old woman…"
It was an ordinary fairy tale—no smidgen of wisdom or anything else.
What the heck?
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She wasn't sure how to respond—not that she was brave enough to
oppose the one revered by Alpha—and shut her trap to listen to his story. It
was more interesting than she'd initially imagined. In fact, she realized she'd
been so absorbed in the tale that she'd forgotten the time.
That evening, Beta had a deep, peaceful night's rest.
And ever since then, Shadow recited a bedside story to Beta before she
went to sleep.
Beta had always been a bookworm, but she'd never heard any of his tales
before. They were gripping and original to her ears. Time flew by as she
listened to them, and she'd be fast asleep in no time—and stopped jolting
awake in the middle of the night. Her favorites were "Cinderella" and "Snow
White."
This may have been around the time Beta began chasing Shadow with her
eyes.
She noticed she was spending more and more time around him. At first,
she observed him with a timid gaze. But after a year had passed, Beta was
attached to him at the hip.
Shadow was indispensable to the Shadow Garden—absolute strength,
knowledge, and wisdom. His unconditionality comforted Beta. Soon enough,
she found he'd become a necessity to her, too.
She realized her doubts had disappeared somewhere along the way.
Without Shadow, Beta would have been killed for being possessed.
She'd been disowned by her family, chased out of her home country, and
this series of tragedies made Beta slow in processing her new situation. She'd
lost too much to notice her gains.
With her skepticism gone, Beta was able to realize something: Shadow
had given her a new life and strength.
She could feel this truth swelling in her heart.
Beta had found a reason to fight.
She began keeping a journal to write about him every day—for her to
keep in touch with her memories and feelings, for her to never doubt
anything again.
Beta had found a reason to live.
At first, she'd jotted down words and adjectives, but she noticed it had
turned into sentences, and that flourished into a story somewhere along the
way.
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The faint sound of movement brings Beta back to reality. She unsheathes
her sword before approaching the loading deck and peers under the wagon.
"Eek!"
She locks eyes with a young soldier about her age.
He panics and drags himself out of the confines, trying desperately to
escape.
He didn't know a thing when he chose to guard the carriage hauling the
possessed—and he will know nothing in death.
"S-stop…!"
Beta swings her sword down without hesitation, and blood squirts out of
his neck as he sprints for his life.
He staggers a few more steps before collapsing to the ground. Swiping the
blood spatter off her cheek, Beta gazes at the night sky, where a full moon
peeks out from between the clouds. Under the moonlight, she smiles
innocently—as if she's a lovely flower fraught with danger in the night.
Beta has no doubts.
If it would make him happy, she would even walk down the path of evil.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone