Somewhere on a Caribbean island, inside a secret facility of the Temple of Assassins...
Nine masked figures—pseudo-leaders of the Temple—sat around a circular obsidian table. One chair stood vacant.
Nyx had left moments earlier, storming out after a clash of ideologies fractured the conversation. The remaining eight leaders sat in tense silence, the atmosphere crackling with unspoken judgment.
A lone messenger stood nearby, holding a sleek electronic tablet. Hovering above it, a three-dimensional projection illuminated the dark chamber. On the display: Zane—his every move watched in silence.
The tension in the room was palpable.
At first, their expressions were hardened—laced with contempt, anger, and old wounds. The shadow of Zane’s father loomed over the young man, tainting every step he took in their eyes.
Even though Nyx had vouched for him—fought to protect him—the others weren’t so easily swayed. The sins of the father ran deep, and to many around the table, they were personal.
Betrayal. Loss. Shame. These leaders had scars—some physical, most hidden—and Zane’s bloodline scraped against all of them.
A woman finally broke the silence. Her voice carried a thick Japanese accent. "Look at that. What... what is he doing now?"
After a long pause, another voice, calm but grave, answered, "That’s... a Spatial Routing Spell."
There was a collective stillness.
"What?" barked a man, his voice laced with disbelief. "That spell is restricted! How the hell did he manage that?"
Mac Gregor, known as The Fire Grandmaster, leaned forward. The flames engraved on his mask seemed to shimmer in the dim light.
"This is extremely suspicious," he growled. "Only those of us in this room have access to the Spatial Routing Spell. Only us."
The others nodded silently, eyes narrowing. This was no longer a matter of lineage—it had become a breach. A secret only available to the highest echelon of the Temple had somehow ended up in the hands of Zane.
And the implications were dangerous.
"There’s still one among us who isn’t here," one man said sharply. "She could be the one helping that brat."
A tense silence fell across the room.
Mac Gregor’s voice broke through it like thunder. "I know Nyx took the boy’s side, but suggesting that is crossing the line. Unless you have proof, don’t utter such nonsense again."
The man who spoke scoffed. "What? Still got a crush on her? Face it. She’s one of us. She can do whatever the hell she wants—as long as it’s within her jurisdiction."
Gamamoto leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "If she gave her spell slot to the boy, that’s her decision. Nothing illegal about it."
"Just unfortunate," someone muttered, venom in their tone. "Because that brat... is his son."
That word—his—lingered in the air like a curse.
No one said more. They sighed, one after another, silent acceptance hanging in the dim room. Nyx had made her choice, and whether they liked it or not, they couldn’t change it.
Their eyes returned to the projection, watching Zane as he entered a Grade E – Special Class Dungeon. They observed every moment, every encounter, every strike.
At first, their expressions didn’t change. The way he moved through the early levels didn’t impress them. To their trained eyes, his mana control was crude, his techniques passable at best.
Until he reached the final floor.
Until he met the Orc Boss.
The massive orc dominated the arena, controlling the rhythm of the battle with brutal precision. Zane struggled, adapting on the fly—learning. His movements grew sharper, his breathing more disciplined, his reflexes tighter.
"That movement technique... he’s good," one of the leaders finally muttered.
Another nodded, intrigued. "Yes. He’s learning during the fight. That kind of adaptability is rare."
"He’s growing," said a third, almost reluctantly. "That orc was clearly stronger, yet he’s still managing to keep up."
Their hate didn’t vanish—but their admiration, however grudging, crept in.
As the duel reached its climax, Zane unleashed a technique they hadn’t expected—an elegant, devastating strike, his sword glowing with ethereal light.
A hush fell over the room.
"That’s a Soul Weapon," one of them gasped.
Others murmured in agreement.
"Yes. Definitely a Soul Weapon."
"But..." Mac Gregor leaned forward, eyes narrowing, "...it’s still immature. Weak. Untamed."
"Still," said the Japanese woman from earlier, "the potential is undeniable."
No one responded. For a long time, they simply watched.
Watched the son of a man they had once cursed... now forging his own legend.
They soon realized, almost with a jolt, that they had been cheering for the brat.
A silent, awkward tension filled the room. Embarrassment swirled beneath their composed expressions.
Naturally, they began complaining—trying to mask their previous excitement.
Displeasure shifted focus: Zane had been accepted as a rookie member of the Temple of Assassins. To some, it was premature. To others, it felt insulting.
But the silence persisted.
The projection didn’t end there. The feed continued, revealing Zane stepping back into the first chamber of the Temple. And beside him... was Shelby the Thor.
Every masked leader’s gaze sharpened. Interest flashed across their eyes.
They all knew him. A legendary figure, infamous and respected.
But no one said a word.
What kept them from reaching out to Shelby themselves was clear: the true master of the Temple was the one who paved the path for him. That invisible authority held more weight than any of them dared to challenge.
They didn’t have the guts to interfere—not yet.
Then came the real shock.
Zane used another Spatial Routing Spell.
The atmosphere in the room shifted again—sharper now, like blades drawn halfway from their sheaths.
"What the hell is going on?" one of them muttered. "That’s another spell slot."
"Nyx only gets one slot per year. Like the rest of us," another added, frowning.
Suspicion thickened. Each of them had just one slot annually. Zane, however, had now used two in a single day.
A pause followed. Eyes narrowed. Tension crackled.
One by one, they checked.
"What? I still have mine," someone said quietly.
"Same here," another added.
A chorus of similar confirmations followed.
Which meant one thing...
Zane was using a cheat.
Or worse—he had access to a secret power even they weren’t privy to.
The room grew colder.
Someone finally whispered what they were all thinking:
"Who the hell is backing that boy?"
Soon, they witnessed another member of the Temple.