Volume 03, Chapter 90

  The struggles of the E?eforte head

  Floating islands drift in the sky, their surfaces shimmering with golden trees that sway gently in the ethereal breeze. High above, a massive star-shaped portal glows, pulsing with faint energy.

  “Raaahh!”

  A thunderous roar erupts from the forest of one island as a massive dragon bursts forth. Its pristine white scales gleam beneath the faint light, and its golden wings spread wide, casting a colossal shadow over the landscape.

  “Abyssal Grasp!”

  Dark tendrils shoot forth, ensnaring the dragon midair. The creature writhes and roars, its struggle shaking the nearby trees.

  Above it, a lone figure hovers—André. He wears a white dress shirt and a brown vest, both stained and torn from the prolonged battle. His pants and leather shoes are caked with dirt and blood, but his stance remains resolute. Behind him, dark wings formed of shadow beat steadily, keeping him aloft.

  “Hah… hah…” André pants, his chest heaving as he stares at the struggling beast.

  The dragon radiates an [A+] Rank Mana aura, its sheer intensity matching his own.

  “If I kill you,” André mutters to himself, his voice low and hoarse, “I will earn 280 million Camilliums… It is not enough to clear all my family’s debts, but it is still quite an amount.”

  His Mana reserves have nearly depleted after hours of relentless combat. If he wants to finish this, he must put everything he has into his next move.

  André points at the dragon, raising his free hand. His fingers tremble from exhaustion. “Oblivion Ray…”

  A dense, dark orb of energy begins to form in his palm, swirling with an [A+] Rank amount of Mana. The strain makes his arm shake, but he holds steady.

  With a sharp exhale, André unleashes the orb, transforming it into a focused beam of dark energy.

  The dragon lets out one final roar as the beam strikes. Its body dissolves into particles of shadow and void, consumed entirely by the destructive force.

  André slowly descends to the ground, his legs stretching as he drops to one knee on the forest floor. “Hah… hah…” He gasps for air, sweat dripping down his face. His Mana is almost completely drained.

  The forest falls eerily silent, save for André’s labored breathing. The dragon had been the alpha of the Stargate, and with its defeat, the gateway above begins to shrink, its golden light dimming.

  “I need to get out of here,” André mutters, forcing himself to his feet.

  His dark wings unfurl again, and he launches himself into the sky with a heavy flap. His vision blurs slightly from exhaustion as he ascends toward the closing Stargate. He pushes through it, barely making it before the portal seals shut behind him.

  ════ ?★? ════

  André lands on solid ground, his knees buckling as he collapses to one knee.

  “Hah… hah…” he breathes heavily, turning to look at the now-closed Stargate behind him. “That was close…”

  He slowly rises, glancing toward the horizon where émeraude-sur-Mer glitters faintly. The Stargate has appeared in the mountains, far from the town.

  Pulling back his sleeve, André checks his watch—3:32 AM.

  “It’s already 3:32… I’ve been doing this since last night.”

  André sighs heavily, his body protesting every movement. He raided six Stargates overnight, each one [A+] ranked. His limits were tested repeatedly, and now he is beginning to feel the toll.

  Then, a sinister voice breaks the silence.

  “Heh… already at your limit, brat?”

  André freezes, his gaze snapping to his palm where a grotesque mouth has appeared. Its sharp teeth glisten, and its tone is mocking—almost amused.

  “Shut up, Baal,” André growls, narrowing his eyes. “I’m not in the mood to deal with you.”

  The mouth twists into a smirk. “You keep pushing yourself like this, and you’ll fall again. And when you do, I’ll break free. Just like last time.”

  André’s jaw tightens, anger flickering across his face. “Not happening,” he says coldly.

  The mouth’s grin widens, its voice dripping with malice. “We’ll see… You can’t hold me forever, André. You’re only human.”

  With that, the mouth fades, leaving André staring at his palm.

  He exhales slowly, his fists clenching. “Damn demon…”

  Shaking his head, he returns to the task at hand. “I’m tired… I should claim the reward from Le Centre Stargate and head home.”

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  Slowly, André begins descending the mountain, his steps heavy but resolute. The faint glow of émeraude-sur-Mer in the distance is his guiding light.

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  After stepping off the train at Gare des émeraude, André finds himself in Gare des étoiles, the bustling train station at the heart of Aurelior.

  As he walks through the crowd, the air hums with conversation. Passersby glance his way, their stares lingering. His disheveled appearance—dirt-smudged clothes, tired eyes, and unshaven face—draws curious whispers.

  “Hey, why does he look like that?” someone murmurs nearby.

  “A hobo, maybe? Looking for work in Aurelior?” another voice suggests.

  “Probably hoping for better opportunities here,” a third says dismissively.

  André exhales quietly, ignoring their judgmental remarks. Verdant Haveners are always so quick to judge based on appearances, he thinks, bitterness settling on his tongue.

  The murmurs trail behind him like a fading echo as he exits the station. He does not need their approval.

  “Shadow’s Embrace,” André mutters under his breath.

  In an instant, wings of shadow bloom from his back, black and ethereal, rippling with magic. Gasps erupt from the crowd, followed by startled cries, but he pays them no mind. With a single powerful flap, he ascends into the sky, leaving the station—and its narrow-eyed spectators—far behind.

  As he soars above Aurelior, the city unfurls beneath him in breathtaking grandeur. Clean, interwoven streets stretch out like veins across the capital, and stately buildings bask in the glow of rising light. In the distance, the majestic Tour Fleurie pierces the skyline, its elegant spire reaching far above the rooftops. Even in his weariness, the tower’s beauty strikes him.

  Far ahead, nestled between silver-crowned plazas, he spots his destination: La Centre Stargate.

  Descending with practiced grace, André lands before the grand facility. As his boots touch the marble ground, the shadowy wings dissipate into thin air. He straightens his vest, brushing off ash-like traces of magic, and steps forward.

  Inside, La Centre Stargate pulses with activity. Magicians and Manaficials stride through the corridors, their presences crackling with mana. The polished floors gleam beneath their boots, and the walls hum faintly with enchantments. André walks among them, his stride steady, his face unreadable.

  He navigates through the maze-like corridors until he reaches the front desk, where a cheerful clerk greets him with a bright, professional smile.

  “Good morning, Mister E?eforte,” she says. “Did you complete all the Stargates you took on?”

  André nods silently. He reaches into his satchel and pulls out six glowing green documents. Each bears the official seal of a town from the Emerald Coastline Region, signed and stamped by its mayor.

  These are no ordinary papers—they are soul contracts, bound by magic to seal the agreement between client and doer. Their green glow signifies successful completion. If he had failed, they would have turned red—symbols of broken bonds and lost trust.

  “As expected from one of the [SS] Ranked Magicians,” the clerk says with a playful wink.

  André’s jaw tightens, his gaze darkening. He hates that title. It does not belong to him. The [SS] Rank belongs to Baal—the demon fused to his soul, the source of power he never asked for and can never be free of. That cursed entity is the true reason behind his strength, and the greatest stain on his conscience.

  “I would like to claim the reward,” he says curtly, placing the contracts on the desk.

  The clerk nods and begins scanning the documents. Her fingers tap deftly on a mana-synced tablet. After a moment, she looks up.

  “You’ve successfully raided six [A] Ranked Stargates,” she reports, reading from the screen. “The rewards are as follows: 110 million, 120 million, 130 million, 135 million, 200 million, and 230 million Camilliums... That brings your total earnings to 925 million Camilliums.”

  André frowns, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Only 925 million…” he murmurs under his breath.

  It is a staggering sum by most standards—but to him, it barely makes a dent. The E?eforte family is drowning in a 300 billion Camillium debt. No matter how many gates he clears, how many contracts he fulfills, the number never seems to shrink.

  André fights every day to pay it off, but it feels like trying to empty the ocean with a spoon.

  The blame does not lie with him. It was his parents—his mother and father—who signed reckless soul contracts, entrusting their family’s fortune to false promises and fraudulent ventures. They had believed in a future that never came, and now André is left to pay the price for their naivety.

  To make matters worse, criminal organizations sabotage E?eforte projects at every turn. Materials go missing. Clients disappear. Cursed relics are planted to invoke fines and curses. Enemies in the shadows twist every effort into new burdens.

  André’s fists clench at his sides, his knuckles white, but he takes a breath and releases the tension.

  The clerk hears his muttered words but says nothing. Her smile softens a little, tinged with sympathy, but she remains silent—wise enough not to pry.

  “Thank you,” André says finally, his voice polite but distant. He turns and walks away.

  Outside, the early morning air brushes against his face, cool and refreshing. He pauses on the steps of La Centre Stargate and gazes at the horizon, where the first light of dawn paints the sky in pale gold.

  “I need a break,” he whispers, his voice thick with exhaustion.

  But deep down, he knows rest is a luxury he cannot afford. Not yet. Not with the weight of generations on his shoulders.

  For now, he begins walking. His steps are slow but steady, a quiet defiance against the odds stacked high before him. He heads toward the only place that still feels like his—toward the fleeting solace of home.

  ════ ?★? ════

  André walks along the familiar cobblestone sidewalk that winds through the Golden Fields Region, his footsteps steady and purposeful.

  In his hand, he carries a bag filled with fresh vegetables, fruits, and cuts of meat—a gift from a kind townsperson who had welcomed him back to the E?eforte Territory Town.

  “Celine and Dominic will love this…” he mutters, a small smile tugging at his lips.

  In the distance, his house comes into view, its silhouette bathed in the soft golden hues of the morning sun. The sight fills André with a rare sense of peace—a welcome reprieve from the chaos of his recent days.

  But as he draws closer, that peace shatters.

  A sudden, sharp awareness pierces his mind—a presence unmistakable and chilling. The faint hum of Mana hangs in the air, but it is not ordinary. It is dark, oppressive… and demonic.

  André’s eyes widen, and his heart pounds. Panic surges through him as he breaks into a sprint.

  “No…” he mutters, dread clawing at him. “I can’t lose them.”

  As he runs, shadows gather around his right hand, coalescing into a weapon.

  “Soul Reaver!” he shouts, and a dark, ethereal sword forms in his grasp, pulsating with ominous energy.

  Reaching the pathway to the front door, André drops the bag of food without a second thought and dashes toward the entrance.

  He kicks the door open with enough force to make it slam against the wall, the sound reverberating through the house. Sword raised, he steps inside, every muscle in his body tense as his sharp gaze sweeps the room.

  “Celine! Dominic!” he calls out.

  But what he sees stops him in his tracks.

  Celine, Dominic, and—surprisingly—Célestin sit together in the dining area. All three look at him, their expressions frozen in surprise.

  André’s breath catches in his throat. The oppressive Mana he had sensed earlier still lingers, and now that he is closer, its source becomes clear.

  It is coming from Dominic.

  André stares at his son, disbelief etched across his face.

  “Dad…” Dominic mutters, standing up slowly, guilt and uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

  “Dominic…” André’s voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. His dark sword dissipates into shadows as his arm falls to his side. “You have… Mana?”