Chapter 168: Enhanced

  Hector sat alone in his lavish estate, a house that exuded the kind of wealth and nobility he had no memory of earning.

  The past few days had blurred together—fine dining, luxurious routines, and trying to settle into the role that Abel had carved out for him.

  It wasn’t bad. In fact, it was far better than the hellish, flower-filled realm where he had been trapped for what felt like forever. But one thing had not changed.

  The nights.

  Even with all his comforts, he could not sleep.

  That same eerie sensation would crawl over his body the moment the moon took its place in the sky.

  His leech would send sharp danger signals through his nerves, warning him of something unseen. And yet, no matter how hard he searched, he found nothing.

  Tonight was no different.

  After going through his nightly habits—the small, mundane rituals of a young noble—Hector finally retreated to his grand bedroom, a space larger than most homes.

  The walls were decorated with tapestries of gold and dark blue, elegant in a way that should have felt comforting.

  His bed was massive, draped in soft silks that swallowed his body in warmth, and above him, a crystal chandelier reflected dim candlelight across the high ceiling.

  Two tall, rectangular windows stretched across the far end of the room, draped with heavy, dark curtains that kept the night at bay.

  Hector had just begun to relax when—

  CLACK.

  A sudden, sharp noise rang through the room.

  One of the large windows creaked open with a slow, deliberate motion as if something—someone—had unlatched it from the outside.

  A cold draft spilled in, sending an unnatural chill crawling over Hector’s skin. His body tensed, his breath hitched, and that terrible feeling of being watched returned tenfold.

  Every hair on his body stood on end.

  Instinct took over.

  With a swift motion, his right arm transformed—the flesh hardening, turning metallic before shaping itself into a gleaming silver blade. His stance shifted, eyes locked onto the curtains that billowed from the cold wind outside.

  Something was out there.

  Something had been watching him for nights on end.

  But the longer he waited, the longer he stared—nothing came.

  The eerie sensation that had seized him just moments ago vanished entirely.

  The air settled.

  His leech—silent.

  It was as if whatever had been watching him had left.

  Hector hesitated, blade still raised. His instincts screamed at him that this wasn’t normal, but he couldn’t sense anything anymore. His body, which had been flooded with tension, now felt at peace.

  Slowly, carefully, he stepped out of bed, his bare feet touching the cold, marble floor. He crossed the room and peeked past the heavy curtain, revealing the night beyond the window.

  The town stretched out beneath him, quiet and serene. The streets, illuminated by the occasional lamp post, showed nothing but the movement of fallen leaves, drifting through the chilly breeze.

  No figures lurked in the shadows.

  No threats emerged from the night.

  Nothing.

  Yet, deep down, Hector couldn’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—had been there.

  And if it wasn’t there now, that only meant one thing.

  It would come back.

  The backyard of the Murman Estate was vast and silent, swallowed by darkness.

  Two figures stood facing each other in this secluded space away from Hector’s eyes.

  One was Abel, cloaked in black, his hood casting a shadow over his sharp, knowing gaze. The other was a masked man, draped in dark green robes, his face concealed behind an intricate leaf-crafted mask.

  The masked man spoke first, his voice smooth but laced with unease.

  “I must admit, I’m impressed.” His head tilted slightly, examining Abel with an air of curiosity. “Someone in this town actually noticed me.”

  His tone was calm, yet there was something off about it—a lingering hesitation.

  Abel remained silent, watching. He, too, was intrigued.

  The man before him was not a Pseudo, nor was he a Rank One Apostle. And yet, there was something there. Something strange.

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  Abel could sense it—a faint, fragmented core containing some mana within the man’s body. It lacked the depth of a true mana pool, missing the stability and potential of an Apostle, but it was still more than what a Pseudo should have.

  This man was something in between.

  An anomaly.

  Abel’s lips curled in amusement. “You’re an interesting one,” he said at last. “Not quite an Apostle, but clearly beyond an ordinary Pseudo.”

  The masked man chuckled, folding his arms. “I could say the same about you,” he mused. “I can’t even begin to tell what level of power you hold.”

  Abel wasn’t surprised.

  “Who are you?” Abel asked, his voice calm but commanding.

  The masked man sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “Ah, always with the questions. But fine, I’ll humor you.”

  He gestured toward the Murman estate behind them. “That household owes me a great deal, and I’ve simply come to collect what’s mine. That’s all. So why don’t you go about your business, and I’ll go about mine?”

  Abel’s smirk widened. “People can’t just wander through Reinhart doing whatever they please,” he said coolly.

  The masked man let out a light chuckle. “You talk as if you own this town.”

  Abel didn’t reply. Instead, he pulled out his knife.

  And in an instant—

  A crushing aura flooded the air.

  The masked man staggered, his breath hitching as a wave of oppressive energy crashed over him.

  The night around them seemed to twist, the very fabric of reality distorting as Abel’s Rank 2 Apostle presence bled into the world.

  Starry mana spiraled around him, shimmering like cosmic dust, an energy so vast and foreign it devoured the dark around them.

  The weight of it pressed down on the masked man like an invisible hand, forcing him to grip his robes as if to steady himself.

  His confidence shattered in an instant.

  Eyes darting, he hurriedly spilled the truth.

  “The Cinco family,” he blurted out. “They were the first to loot the Murman estate! After rumors spread of their disappearance, they moved in quickly, taking whatever they could. Then they started trading that information with others in the magical circles—exchanging it for their own benefit.”

  Abel narrowed his eyes. That was new information. Abel was glad that Vander and his people didn't know how to get to the safe, allowing him to obtain everything. But he wondered what Vander had left the estate with, if he truly was there before Abel himself.

  The masked man laughed bitterly, still shaken by the pressure.

  “There wasn’t supposed to be anyone left in that house,” he continued. “But it seems the Murman boy is back. And from what I can tell, he’s… not the easiest to deal with.”

  Abel said nothing. He simply let the masked man talk.

  Perhaps hoping to regain some dignity, the masked man straightened his posture and forced out a grin beneath his mask.

  “You must understand,” he said, “I don’t care for power. Otherwise, I could have taken over this entire town by now, and I've been here for a while.” He spread his arms as if Reinhart itself belonged to him. “With my strength, I could mop the floor with the majority of its so-called warriors. I'm just an opportunist looking for knowledge.”

  Abel was amused.

  “Your strength?” he repeated. “And what exactly do you call yourself?”

  The man tapped his chest. “An Enhanced Pseudo, but someone had called me a Rank Zero Apostle before,although I don't like the sound of that.”

  “Enhanced?” Abel echoed, intrigued.

  The masked man grinned beneath his mask.

  “I can hold mana within myself,” he said, “not in the way an Apostle does, but enough to temporarily boost my power beyond that of a normal Pseudo.” His voice carried a hint of pride. “For a short time, I can fight almost on par with a Rank One Apostle.”

  Abel observed him, silent.

  There was something almost pitiful about the way the man spoke about Apostles—as if they were mythical, untouchable figures.

  The masked man let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Curious, aren’t you? But I don’t just hand out my secrets for free.” His leaf-crafted mask tilted slightly as he studied Abel. “If anything, I should be the one asking—are you an Enhanced Pseudo too?”

  Abel smirked, shaking his head. “No.”

  Bark let out a hum of amusement, as if the answer itself had confirmed something. Then, with a casual shrug, he introduced himself. “The name’s Bark. I’m no fighter, and never wanted to be. I just seek knowledge. But…” He crossed his arms, his voice carrying a hint of bitterness. “In the past, I was swindled out of a hundred gold coins by that bastard Ike Murman. So, naturally, I came to collect what’s mine.”

  Abel sighed, shaking his head. That sounded exactly like something Ike Murman would do.

  “You should stop looking for trouble,” Abel said, though there was no real hostility in his tone.

  With a flick of his wrist, he reached into his robe and pulled out a small pouch of gold coins. The coins jingled softly before he tossed the pouch toward Bark, who instinctively caught it.

  “There. A hundred gold.” Abel’s gaze locked onto Bark’s. “Consider it settled. But don’t bother the Murman estate again.”

  Bark blinked, staring at the pouch in his hands, visibly taken aback. His fingers tightened around the coins, and for a brief moment, he seemed as if he might say something—maybe a word of gratitude, maybe an argument—but instead, he simply nodded, stuffing the pouch into his robe.

  Abel could tell Bark wasn’t a threat. If he had been, this conversation would have ended very differently. The truth was, he was intrigued.

  There were a lot of people like Bark—rogue figures lurking in the shadows, powerful enough to matter but not powerful enough to truly belong anywhere.

  And in the coming months, those people would have a place to go.

  Abel folded his arms, tilting his head. “You should stick around. There’s going to be a lot of opportunity for people like you in the near future.”

  Bark narrowed his eyes. “Oh?”

  Abel gave nothing away. “Just wait for news.”

  Bark scoffed, shaking his head. “Mysterious, aren’t you?” He took a step back. “Well, you’ve convinced me I'll stay put for now. I’ll be watching.”

  With that, Bark turned and disappeared into the night, moving with an unnatural lightness for someone who wasn’t quite an Apostle.

  Abel watched him leave, his thoughts turning. He could have killed him. Easily. But something told him Bark might prove useful in the future.

  If the man had truly figured out a way to harness mana without an Apostle’s core, that knowledge alone was worth keeping an eye on.

  Abel turned to leave, but before he could take a step, his badge vibrated.

  A message.

  His eyes flicked down, reading the contents.

  "Apostle IronKnight has requested assistance from any nearby Tower Apostles. Those available should arrive within three weeks."

  Abel furrowed his brows. IronKnight?

  He didn’t know much about him, but the rumors were odd.

  They said he was an Apostle from a few years before Abel’s recruitment, someone who had been around for quite some time but never truly stepped into the limelight.

  The only thing that truly stood out about him was IronKnight’s helmet—something he supposedly never removed, even while wearing the standard Apostle robe.

  Abel rubbed his chin.

  His town was at least two weeks away by foot.

  It was doable.

  The independence commemoration was still three months away, meaning he had plenty of time. If he left soon, he could help handle whatever problem IronKnight was facing and still make it back before the gathering.

  His decision was made.

  He would go.