Somewhere far from the chaos of the battlefield, beyond thick velvet curtains and golden-laced walls, silence ruled the air. The only sound came from the steady ticking of a silver pocket watch resting on a polished obsidian desk.
A man stood before a tall window, bathed in pale moonlight. His white suit was immaculate, every crease razor-sharp. Black gloves covered his hands, and his slicked-back dark hair gleamed faintly under the glow as he sipped wine from a glass. He looked like a noble sculpted from frost, elegant, distant, and cold enough to kill without ever lifting a blade.
Behind him, a figure knelt in silence, head bowed low, breath held tight in his lungs.
"Sir," the messenger began cautiously, "we just received confirmation. The outpost led by Draven… was annihilated. Last night."
The man didn't respond. His gaze remained fixed on the moonlight spilling across the horizon. One gloved hand lightly brushed the glass.
"We're still investigating," the messenger continued, voice low. "But it was a clean, coordinated strike. No alarms. No survivors. Estimated number of attackers… five to ten at most. They wiped out the perimeter in a single pass."
He paused, swallowing hard before adding, "The Vice Leader's body is missing. So are several elite mages."
A quiet hum cut through the stillness.
The man finally turned his head, just enough for the moonlight to catch the curve of a cold smile.
"Interesting," he murmured. His voice was smooth, like velvet lined with razor wire. "To think… such power slipped past us, completely unseen."
He walked away from the window, graceful like a predator in motion. Picking up the watch, he let it tick once in his palm.
"As for the bodies…" He exhaled slowly, eyes dull with disinterest. "No need to worry."
Click.
He shut the watch.
"The moment they try to speak, the mark will handle the rest. With style, no doubt."
The messenger flinched at the sound, sharp and final like a gavel.
"However, sir," he added, hesitating, "there's… another detail."
The man reopened the watch.
Tick.
A silent cue to speak.
"It's about Draven," the underling said. "He never made it inside the hideout. The battle happened just outside the perimeter. The forest was devastated, trees and boulders sliced cleanly. His body…"
Another pause.
"…was unrecognizable. Severed in a single strike. Then it crumbled. Into ash."
Silence.
Cold and absolute.
"…Ash," the man echoed quietly.
His eyes narrowed.
"I never liked Draven," he said at last. "But he was chosen for a reason. Not the strongest, no, but not someone who should fall so easily."
He clenched the watch tighter.
"To reduce him to dust with such precision… That wasn't brute strength. It was technique. Ruthless. Calculated."
For the first time, a flicker of unease surfaced in his tone.
"This enemy may be powerful enough… to threaten even our higher command."
The messenger's eyes widened. He had never heard such words from this man. Never seen that tension in his voice.
Then came something worse.
"From now on… be cautious. Hide. Blend in. Even I…" he looked down at the ticking watch, "can't promise survival if they come for us."
"…Yes, sir." The messenger bowed, voice trembling. "We'll remain vigilant."
The man in white returned to the window. The watch ticked again.
By late afternoon, the mood had shifted entirely.
The courtyard basked in golden sunlight. At its center, Velmuth stood across from Lira, both holding wooden training blades.
"No trainer this time," Lira said, spinning her blade with a grin. "You ready to lose again, Vel?"
Velmuth smirked. "Go easy on me, will you?"
Lira rolled her eyes. "You say that every time. Still haven't improved. Just try not to fall flat on your face again."
Before he could reply, she rushed forward.
Wood clashed against wood. The air rang with the sharp sound of practice strikes. Lira moved with confident agility, her footwork sharp and aggressive. Velmuth met her strikes, not with equal skill, but with deliberate restraint.
Once again… he lost.
Their spars had become a routine over the weeks. A quiet ritual before their coming separation. On the final day, after one last match, the two sat side by side beneath the evening sky.
"Come to think of it, Lira… today's your birthday, isn't it?"
She blinked. "Huh? How'd you remember that?"
Velmuth reached into his pocket. "I didn't. Your maid reminded me. But here."
He held out a small box.
Inside was a silver ring, engraved with ancient runes. It was the one he had found in the underground hideout, a summoning ring capable of calling forth a bound beast to its wearer.
Lira's eyes widened. "W-wait… is this a ring…?"
A blush crept onto her cheeks. "Well… I guess since you actually tried for once… I'll accept it. Thanks."
Velmuth scratched the back of his neck. "It's just a ring, don't get weird about it."
"Says the guy giving rings on my birthday" She turned away, pouting, though her face remained red.
That night, mist curled through Velmuth's room. From it, six silhouettes emerged, his loyal servants.
They knelt before him.
"My lord," Sebastian said, "we've come to thank you… but the time has come. We must depart."
"We've found no threats nearby," Moriarty added. "No Dream Beast remnants. It's time we spread our influence. Grow stronger."
Velmuth blinked. So soon…?
"Well, I can't blame them," he thought. "They've been stuck here for a while, doing nothing but my bidding. If I were in their place, I'd be bored too."
"I see," he said aloud. "If that's your path… then go. Just don't stray the wrong way."
"We will remain loyal, my lord."
Velmuth paused. They had come to him with nothing, no memories, no identity.
He reached into his pocket dimension and pulled out glittering gems and heavy pouches of gold, collected ever since he began hunting bandits and cultists.
"Here. Take these. Split them fairly. You'll need them to build something for yourselves."
The six bowed deeply.
"We accept your kindness," Sebastian said. "This will help us establish a foundation. Thank you, my lord."
"It's the least I can do," Velmuth replied. "I summoned you. You're my responsibility."
With final bows, the six vanished into mist, leaving Velmuth alone.
"It's been a while since they appeared… and now, the silence is back. It was fun wandering through the night with them… camping through the forest."
He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.
"No more bandits. No more excitement. I guess even the cultists and thugs have noticed the disappearances… how boring."
Time moved quietly in the peaceful days that followed. Three years later, Velmuth had reached the age of seventeen.
The morning sun bathed the Nox estate in warm light.
A knock echoed at Velmuth's door.
"Master Vel, breakfast is ready," a maid called softly.
"I'll be right there," he replied, adjusting his formal uniform, dark fabric lined with silver trim, tailored for the Imperial Academy.
Seventeen years…
He stood at the window, watching sunlight pour over the garden.
To think I've been here this long… Life here is fun compared to when I was drifting in that endless void. That eternal nothingness, where time meant nothing.
This world is weak, but it's full of life. And as long as I enjoy it… I'll protect it. Even if I have to destroy everything that threatens it. I just hope… there's someone interesting out there. Someone worth testing my sealed powers on.
At the breakfast table, his mother smiled sweetly. His father watched with pride in his eyes.
"Vel," Baron Hadren Nox said, setting down his cup, "you've come of age. It's time you departed for the Imperial Academy. Don't forget my advice, and what Karl has taught you."
"I won't, Father."
His mother dabbed her eyes. "Be careful, sweetie. If anyone bullies you, ask Serenya for help. She's already a scholar student, you know."
Velmuth chuckled. "I'll keep that in mind."
Later that morning, the family stood by the carriage. His mother cried quietly as his father held her close.
"Good luck, my son," she said, wiping her tears. "Take care… and don't skip meals!"
Velmuth gave them a rare, sincere smile.
"I will. Take care, both of you."
He climbed into the carriage. The door closed with a soft click. As the wheels turned and the estate began to fade from view, he leaned back.
And so, with the past behind him and a world ahead, Velmuth rode toward the capital, where fate waited with silent breath.