Kallen remained still for a while.
He had woken up not long after he passed out—somewhere along the tunnel. But he’d known better than to reveal that.
Now that he was alone, he finally had time to sit through his thoughts, or rather train through them.
So he got up and began practicing his limit breaking, boxing techniques, while his thoughts raced.
He had been very stupid!
While he couldn’t entirely be blamed that he had lost control in the heat of his emotional turmoil, and given the thoughts going through his mind then, that wasn’t surprising.
But excuses meant nothing. The fact remained that he messed up.
The greatest strength of an assassin, the deadliest weapon of a killer, was not their blade or their body. It was the mind.
That was the truth he had lived by in his previous life. The world may have changed, but the principle remained constant.
He had lost himself to his emotions. And that... was unforgivable.
It wasn’t just the mistake itself, it was the implications that came with it. A flaw that could have cost him everything in a world ... His life, as that was all he held dear now. His other priority—being Lyra, had been taken away, and he would make sure the perpetrators paid their debt in full.
His thoughts drifted unbidden toward his complicated thoughts concerning her death. That tangle of confusion, guilt, and relief.
But the moment those thoughts stirred, he crushed them.
There was no use pretending he wasn’t what he was.
He couldn’t keep measuring himself on an emotional or moral spectrum. That would only lead to chaos, conflict and division within himself.
He needed unity and mental precision. Not heartache.
Now, more than ever, he understood why his training on Earth had drilled one thing deeper than any technique or skill: purge your emotions.
It hadn’t been cruelty, but preparation instead... And he had failed that doctrine, woefully.
Willing his body to move faster, and faster, his punches and kicks, grew fiercer than ever. He seemed to be running on a different kind of fuel today.
More clearly than ever before, he understood the Volkov creed.
The reason why, despite having parents, there had been no warmth. Maybe there was a thread of emotion somewhere deep inside them... but it was buried under the cold weight of purpose.
All his life... two lives in fact, he had been hailed a genius. Exceptional. Brilliant. A prodigy born once in ten generations.
And yet, it had taken him two lifetimes to grasp a single concept.
Purge your emotions... Because the greatest weapon of an assassin was never the blade... it was always the mind.
Recalling how he let dissatisfaction stir within him, how he listened to the whisper of rebellion, of wanting to choose his own path, he felt it was laughable.
Did he hate being an assassin? Not at all... In truth, he relished it.
The thrill it brought, made his blood burn, the tension in the muscles, the razor-edge focus of the mind. Training never quite matched the ecstasy of a live kill.
The speed of his punches seemed to go up a notch. Sweat began pooling down his body, as his intensity reached a shivering pitch.
Competing with his kin, killing rival lineages to complete high-stakes contracts, rising in a world where failure meant death and success meant glory.
Yes... it was brutal. Maybe even sick to an outsider. But that was their world, what they were bred for, and what they lived for.
So why, then... had he thrown it all away? Why did he fight the Volkovs, an ancient clan that forged him, to claim freedom he perhaps did not even want?
It was because such monotonous life, became boring, leaving him to find excitement in his thoughts... living his life outside the influence of the Volkovs, was one.
To him, his life as a Volkov, was slavery. His life was bound, and decided for him, and he didn’t like it.
But of what use is the chase for freedom... if you already felt free in your cage?
That fruitless chase had cost him everything... It cost him his life.
And in a bitter twist of irony, he got what he wanted—freedom... freedom from life itself. The same life he wanted to live on his own terms, he lost.
Only... death wasn’t freedom either. Was there really such a thing as freedom?
He had lost his first life to rebellion, this time, he had nearly lost it to anger. And in his eyes, that was even more pathetic than the first.
It was a miracle he was still breathing.
The sheer rage Menelaus had displayed after the orc’s death... it was the kind of fury that should’ve killed him outright.
That wasn’t the rage of a man whose prized servant had died. It was the wrath of someone who had lost a kin.
And yet he lived...Why?
"Could it be that eccentric orc?" He muttered between huffs. "Menelaus did call him master"
His guess was that, perhaps if not for him, he would’ve died. And with him, would have died the only reason he had left in this new life. He had already lost one, he wasn’t ready to loose another.
Although he wasn’t raised as an assassin from birth this time, and was now the heir of the Crimson family and forced to wear the face of a leader, he was still an assassin at heart. Moreover, this world, too, was ruled by a single truth:
He landed a punch in the air that rocked his core, and made his entire body tremble.
Murder was the foundation of this world.
The Existential Compendium itself demanded it. It urged evolution through bloodshed—growth through devouring. The strong consume the weak. That was nature’s will, written into the stars.
And what better way to answer such a law... than to become not just a killer in action, but a killer in mind?
"To live free, huh..." he huffed in between rasp breaths.
That was the vow to himself in this new life.
To live unbound! To never kneel to anyone, to hold his fate in his own hands.
Was there some grand reason behind it?... Maybe not.
Maybe it was just in his nature to be rebellious.
And maybe that stubborn refusal to submit, was the only part of him that was truly, uniquely his. The only thing he ever had for himself. So he would take his own path again.