CHAPTER 138: FAIR

Behind him, the expressions of his loyal soldiers shifted into grim discomfort. Tension crept into their stances. Their eyes flicked not toward the scroll—but toward the looming presence that had silently emerged behind their lord.

Unseen.

Unheard.

The Blood Fang Lord.

He had appeared without a sound, stepping into their midst like a phantom of slaughter. His crimson robes shimmered with threads of gold, and the air around him seemed to hum with latent violence.

No one spoke.

No one dared breathe too loudly.

Without a word, the Blood Fang Lord reached out and snatched the scroll from Riverfall Lord’s frozen hands.

The golden decree rustled softly as he unrolled it.

Silence stretched thin—thinner—until it nearly snapped.

And then, even the Blood Fang Lord faltered.

His crimson pupils dilated, and a flicker of disbelief broke through the impassive mask he always wore. His lips parted slightly, and for the first time in decades, his composure cracked.

He read it twice.

Then a third time.

Only after that did he lower the scroll, his fingers tightening as though afraid it might vanish if he blinked.

For a long moment, he didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

The weight of the scroll in his hands was no longer just metal and paper. It was potential—a storm waiting to be unleashed.

And finally, he exhaled.

A quiet breath.

As if emerging from a dream he couldn’t quite believe.

First, Crown Prince Damien—a warrior who could battle across realms—and now, this miraculous storage treasure revealed by the Divine Researcher Guild.

The times are indeed changing.

A cold glint flashed across the Blood Fang Lord’s eyes, his expression unreadable beneath the veil of crimson shadow. The energy around his body began to pulse with unnatural stillness, like the eye of a deadly storm.

"And this," he murmured, his voice cold and absolute, "is the perfect time for my Blood Fang... to rise."

Light burst from his figure—not blazing, but icy and sterile. The golden decree in his hand responded instantly.

Crack.

In a moment, the scroll disintegrated into a hundred glowing shards. They drifted upward like dead embers caught in a windless storm, before dissolving entirely into the air—erased as though it had never existed.

The sudden destruction sent a chill down Riverfall Lord’s spine.

He jolted out of his daze at the sound of the Blood Fang Lord’s voice, a realization blooming within him:

Whoever controlled this new storage technology... would control the world.

The words weren’t spoken, but they rang in his mind like thunder.

Alongside the memory of the scroll, a name had etched itself into the deepest corners of his thoughts:

Divine Researcher Salene Veylor.

The one responsible for this marvel.

Riverfall Lord’s expression turned solemn. His thoughts churned.

"I have to reach Mesarith... and see the storage ring with my own eyes."

According to the decree, the Divine Researcher Guild would unveil the ring to the world in three days.

But before that...

His gaze slowly shifted to the side.

He would have to deal with the Blood Fang Lord first.

His brows furrowed as he turned—

Only to freeze in place.

The corridor beside him was empty.

The Blood Fang Lord was gone.

Not a trace remained.

Not even a flicker of spiritual aura. Not even a shadow.

His pupils narrowed.

When did he leave?

How could someone so powerful disappear so completely?

Before he could finish the thought—

CRASH!

The window behind him exploded inward, shards of enchanted glass shooting in every direction like razors. Instinctively, Riverfall raised his arm to shield his face, but the shockwave that followed hit him like a hammer.

Boom!

He was flung backward, slamming into the far wall with a grunt of pain.

The room trembled from the residual force.

As he groaned and pushed himself up, clutching his ribs, a single question rang out in his mind:

"What is it now?"

---

Meanwhile...

Outside the towering walls of Riverfall City, the sky rumbled with leftover echoes of destruction.

The clouds had yet to settle.

Shockwaves lingered in the air, shimmering like heat on desert stone, as if refusing to disperse—residual traces of a battle that defied common sense.

And standing on the open ground, bathed in the dying light of the storm, was Damien.

His figure was calm.

His eyes focused.

He stood alone—yet his very presence seemed to cleave the horizon, his aura flickering like a blade unsheathed under heaven’s gaze.

Before him, suspended in the skies above, was a figure—

Radiating a chilling pressure.

The winds carried the aftershocks of their earlier clash, curling through the battlefield like ghosts.

Damien didn’t blink.

He simply stared upward, his expression calm, but the tension in his body was unmistakable—coiled and ready, like a predator poised to strike.

The game had begun.

Damien was completely composed, his hair dancing in the wind. If not for the trail of blood leaking out from his mouth, he looked completely unchanged.

Meanwhile, the robe of the Blood Fang Lord was torn open, revealing a fair, petite hand clearly belonging to a woman.

Or so Damien thought.

Just then, a cold voice reverberated—one filled with sincere admiration: "Amazing."

Damien felt the gaze of the figure floating in front of him turn from curiosity to admiration, and slowly to greed.

As if he was an object to be lusted after.

Slowly, a frown crept up on his face. He felt disgusted by the way this masked figure was looking at him.

Using his willpower, he resisted the urge to directly punch this fucker again and send them to the shadow realm.

He let out an internal sigh and asked, "Who are you?"

Although he didn’t try to appear aggressive, his voice was still tinged with a thick aura of bloodlust—one that could make the heart of everyone who felt it tremble with fear.

If it was someone else, they might have already collapsed, but the person in front of Damien was no simple being.

But one of the seven lords of the Blood Fang Gang—who knew just how many people they might have killed?

Although it wasn’t clear, according to rumors, to become eligible to become a city lord, one had to kill at least one hundred thousand people.

Meanwhile, the masked Blood Fang leader offered no response to Damien’s question.

No words.

No gestures.

Only silence.

Then, without warning, she began to move.

Her steps were measured and graceful—almost too graceful. With each motion, a crimson halo began to materialize around her, rippling outward like a ring of blood spreading through still water.

The air grew heavy.

And then came the sun.

As the first golden rays of morning crept over the city’s towering walls, they pierced the haze of storm clouds and struck the halo. The light refracted through it in strange, impossible ways—turning the blood-red glow into a surreal tapestry of crimson and gold, as if the dawn itself was bleeding in reverence.

It was mesmerizing.

For a moment—just a breath—Damien couldn’t look away.

The figure floated like a goddess of ruin, suspended in silence and shimmer, wrapped in lethal grace.

"So this is her domain," Damien murmured under his breath.

His instincts whispered to him—the same ones that had saved him from countless assassins, soldiers, and monsters. He was sure of it now.

This was a woman.

He didn’t need to see her face to know.

Perhaps it was the elegance in her movements, the deliberate artistry in how she stood, or perhaps it was simply the contrast—a queen among butchers.

And more telling than anything: every mercenary he’d faced so far had been male. Brutes, enforcers, thugs.

This one was different.

This one was dangerous.

Just as that realization clicked in his mind, a strange pulse tore through the air.

It originated from her core—like a ripple in space itself—and exploded outward without warning.

In the blink of an eye, Damien was caught within it.

He felt it before he understood it.

A drag. A twist. A pressure that coiled around his limbs and mind, locking him in place.

There was no sound, no light—just the suffocating sensation of inevitability.

It was fast.

Far faster than anything he’d encountered in his realm.

It didn’t matter that he had sensed it—his body simply couldn’t keep up.

But Damien wasn’t helpless.

Not even close.

His lips curled into a calm, razor-sharp smile.

Acceleration wasn’t just for evasion. It was his path. His domain. His weapon.

In less than one-third of a second, his signature power erupted to life.

A brilliant surge of compressed force surrounded him as the world around him slowed to a crawl.

Raindrops paused in mid-air. Dust hung frozen. The pulse dragging him forward stretched into slow, visible threads.

Time bent to his will.

And in that frozen breath between moments, Epoch breaker appeared in his hand.

The weapon materialized with a low hum, its frame shimmering with polished black steel and glowing inscriptions. Its barrel began to glow, charged with fierce blue energy, thrumming like a heartbeat carved from thunder.

He raised it instantly, aiming directly at the Blood Fang Lord’s masked face.

No hesitation.

No questions.

Just precision.

His finger curled around the trigger.

He wasn’t here for games.

He wasn’t here for nameless, faceless clowns hiding behind theatrics.

He was here for one thing—

To find his mother.

To find Niomi.

And anyone who stood in the way?

Would be shattered.