Two years had passed since young Sarion last sat beside Klein, gazing out over the backyard beneath the quiet glow of the night. Since that first day with the Revengers, much had changed. Sarion himself, for one, had grown taller.
Now nine years old, his hair remained the same—black, messy, and cropped short like most boys his age. His eyes, too, were unchanged, still that deep, unwavering shade of black.
But time had not only added inches to his height—it had tempered him. He had grown stronger, sharper. Perhaps he still couldn't stand toe-to-toe with an average adult in a barehanded fight, but he was far harder to handle than before.
Outrunning an adult was still out of reach, yes, but Sarion had become clever at slipping away. Leif had taught him the art of the jump—the timing, the terrain, the hidden paths—and now, Sarion knew how to vanish when it mattered. And then there was the sword. He'd come far in two years. Put a short blade in his hand, and he just might come out on top against an out of shape, regular man.
Beyond that, Sarion had also learned how to throw daggers—precise, quick, and silent. And he'd grown quite proficient at it too. In short, from a boy who once couldn't harm a fly to someone adults had reason to fear, Sarion had changed a great deal over the past two years.
But he wasn't the only one.
Mellisa—the red-haired teen—had changed just as much. Now fifteen, she had officially become a Rank 1 Fighter. Far stronger than anything Sarion could hope to match for the time being.
Her weapon of choice? A lasso. With it, she could take down opponents with ruthless efficiency. At Rank 1, she was already on par with most City Guards, maybe even better. Her fiery red hair had grown longer too, now flowing down to her back like a banner in motion.
In the years that had passed, she and Sarion had grown closer—more than friends, almost like real siblings. She teased him constantly, and he never failed to give it back just as hard. And somehow, through all that bickering and banter, their bond had only grown stronger.
But aside from the two youngest members of the group, the others hadn't changed much—if at all. The Old Man remained the same: cynical, powerful, and still carrying that quiet, unsettling air that always gave Sarion the chills. Over time, Sarion had learned a bit more about him. He hailed from the distant continent of Pantos and, apparently, had once fought alongside the legendary Red Warrior himself.
Sarion wasn't entirely sure how much of that to believe. The Red Warrior was a name whispered with awe—one of the strongest beings in the world, and a member of a tribe known for being nearly impossible to join. But then again, the Red Warrior was always at war somewhere, always embroiled in one battle or another. It wasn't impossible to imagine that the Old Man might have crossed paths with him—fought beside him, even—if only once.
At the very least, Sarion had finally learned his name: Jerov. A plain name, one that didn't carry much weight on its own. But somehow, knowing it made Sarion feel a little closer to him. He, too, had started calling him Gramps, just like Mellisa did.
Old Man Jerov had recently told them he had some business to attend to back in Pantos, and so he was planning to leave sometime soon. It came as a bit of a surprise—he hadn't traveled much over the past two years. For the most part, he was always around the house.
The same could be said for Jon, the quiet Easterner who owned the home where their group lived. He, too, had rarely left—once, maybe twice in the span of two years. Most days, he was either deep in training or buried in the latest news, reading quietly in some corner of the house.
Sarion loved talking with him. Out of everyone in the group, Jon held the most knowledge about the world—its history, current state, and even speculative theories about what the future might bring. Their conversations often left Sarion thoughtful, curious, and a little more aware of the world beyond their walls.
To Sarion, Jon felt like the wise and endlessly fascinating uncle—the kind who seemed to know everything, yet never made you feel small for asking questions.
But aside from Jon and Old Man Jerov, the remaining three members of their group were rarely seen around the house. They came and went often, off to handle matters no one ever really explained.
Big Sis Nin—known to the wider world as the legendary Silver Sword—had barely been around at all over the last two years. Most of the time, she was either in the Kingdom of Valria visiting her younger sister, or somewhere in the lands of Al-Bark, carrying out a mission of some kind.
Their organization, Revengers, still operated entirely from the shadows. To the world, they didn't exist—not even among the secret networks and hidden orders that whispered beneath the surface of society.
And for good reason. They hadn't made any major moves yet. At best, it just looked like a few powerful individuals wandering the world on their own business. Nothing connected. Nothing alarming.
Not yet.
Nin was preparing to leave again soon—this time, to check on her little sister in Valria. But unlike before, she wouldn't be going alone. This time, she was taking Sarion and Mellisa with her.
The moment she mentioned it, both of them lit up—eyes wide, faces brightened with excitement. A trip outside, a real journey with Big Sis Nin—it was the kind of news that could make any ordinary day feel like the start of something grand.
And since it just so happened that Old Man Jerov was also set to travel—heading toward Pantos. Since Valria lay along his path, it was quickly decided: they would all go together, setting off as a group.
Their journey would split in Valria. Sarion, Mellisa, and Nin would spend some time there before returning home, while Jerov would continue onward, eventually crossing the sea to reach the far continent of Pantos.
...
Their journey was only a day away now, and the house was in complete chaos. Mellisa's voice echoed through the halls, sharp and furious as she stormed from room to room, yelling about not being able to find her clothes.
Sarion shook his head, trying to block out the noise. He didn't enjoy the shouting, but still—he couldn't help himself. The opportunity to tease her was too perfect.
"My stuff's been ready for three days," he said casually, just loud enough for her to hear. "Maybe try packing before the last minute next time, Mell."
She whirled around, about to launch into a full-blown argument—only for Old Man Jerov to glance up from his chair, nod in approval toward Sarion, and chime in dryly, "He's got a point, Mell."
Her eyes blazed. She glared at them both, cheeks flushed with frustration, then let out a loud "Hmph!" before stomping off to resume the search.
A beat later, Nin swept into the room with theatrical flair, arms spread wide like an actress on stage. "You two better stop teasing my little sister," she declared with exaggerated sternness—before promptly joining in on the teasing herself.
That was the final straw. With a cry of outrage, Mellisa let out a noise that was somewhere between a growl and a shriek, then darted off down the hallway, her voice trailing behind her.
The teenage girl shouted from down the hall, threatening to tell Big Bro Klein on them if they didn't cut it out. That did the trick. The teasing trio immediately looked away, suddenly very interested in anything but bothering her.
Mellisa let out a triumphant "Aha!" from somewhere deeper in the house and resumed her frantic search, clearly savoring her small victory.
From his usual corner, Jon glanced up from his book, a subtle smile tugging at his lips before he returned to reading.
Curious, Sarion leaned just enough to catch the book's title—and his eyes lit up.
"The True Secrets of the Great Empire!" it read, the author's name printed just below: Laven Sorkas.
He couldn't help himself.
"What's it about?" he asked, already half-leaning closer.
Jon closed the book with a soft thud and returned the smile. "It talks about many things," he said. "Theories, mostly. Nothing you could call fact... but there are clues—strong ones. Some so compelling, they're hard to ignore."
He then chuckled, tapping the book's worn cover with a finger. "The author, Laven Sorkas, was hunted by the Great Empire. He had to flee and seek refuge in the Kalvan Republic. If the Republic hadn't granted him protection—and the freedom to publish his work—he would've been captured for sure. Maybe even executed."
He paused, his voice lowering a notch.
"For leaking secrets… and tearing down the Empire's image of being the so-called good guys."
Sarion leaned in, eyes wide with curiosity. "What kind of secrets?"
Jon raised a brow, then gave a small shrug. "Haven't gotten far yet," he admitted. "The Author's Note is long—really long. Most of it is him venting about how much he despises the Empire."
He glanced down at the pages again, then added, "But the first secret he talks about… it's about the Dragon Lord."
There were two known types of Dragons in the world—or at least, that was what current knowledge suggested. True Dragons, and simply, Dragons.
True Dragons were creatures of ancient might—primordial beings born in a time before records were written. As far as Sarion knew, none remained in the world today. They had vanished, leaving behind only their myths… and their legacy.
One such being was the Silver Dragon, said to have once held the title of the Strongest Being Alive. He was also known as the father of two infamous figures—the Black Emperor and the Lord of Darkness. Together, they stood among the most feared and powerful beings in all of history.
Sarion flinched slightly at the memory—the whispered stories of the Black Emperor, and what Jon had told him that very first day after he arrived here. About the two Dracos who should have died at the Battle of Hope… but didn't.
They escaped.
Sarion gave his head a small shake, pushing the thought away. Now wasn't the time to dwell on those two.
Instead, his thoughts shifted to the second kind of Dragons—the ones that still existed in the world today.
These newer Dragons—though still mighty and incredibly powerful—were nothing like the ancient ones. They lacked the raw, world-shaking presence of their forebears. The True Dragons had once stood at the very peak of existence, dominating the skies and shaping the world with their power.
But the Dragons of today were shadows of that greatness. Weaker. Diminished.
The Great Empire had seen to that.
It was the Empire, more than any other force in history, that had relentlessly hunted them down. It bore almost sole responsibility for the near-extinction of the Dragon species. From countless thousands, their numbers had fallen to just a few hundred—if even that.
And of those who remained, most had been enslaved, turned into living weapons to serve the Empire's armies. No longer majestic or free—they were tools of war.
The Empire's mightiest warrior was even named after his legacy: the Dragon Slayer. A human so feared by the Dragons that his name alone was enough to send them scurrying into the deepest caves, never daring to reveal themselves to the outside world again.
For any Dragon still free, there were only two choices if found: enslavement… or death.
Neither was a fate worth facing.
Jon spoke at last, his voice low and deliberate as he began to elaborate on the secret the book revealed about the Dragons. By now, he had the full attention of the room—Sarion, Nin, and Old Man Jerov all watched him with bated breath, the air thick with curiosity.
He spoke of the Dragon Lord.
They had heard the name before. Everyone had. The Dragon Lord was a legend—believed to be the strongest Dragon still alive in the world today. Rumors claimed he was a Rank 8, perhaps even a Rank 9 Arts User. A monstrous power cloaked in scales and flame. A commanding presence at the head of the last free army of Dragons—those who had not yet fallen under the Empire's chains.
And yet, like all the others, he remained in hiding.
Speculation swirled around him. What did he want? Why hadn't he challenged the Empire directly? What was he waiting for?
No one knew.
But then Jon dropped the bombshell—the piece the book claimed as truth, the secret buried behind whispers and theories.
The Dragon Lord, according to the author, had once been a slave of the Great Empire. Not just any slave—a Dragon forced into servitude, beaten, branded, and used as a tool of war. Until, a few years ago, he escaped.
And thinking back, it all began to line up.
That was around the same time the Dragon Lord first emerged—when the world began to hear whispers of a powerful Dragon, rising from the shadows… no longer chained.
Sarion couldn't hold back. "How?" he asked. "And why?"
Jon nodded, as if expecting the question. "It's not confirmed, of course," he began, his voice calm and measured. "But the author claims to have spoken with a few Researchers—people who once worked directly with the Dragon Lord… back when he was still a slave of the Empire."
He let that hang for a moment before continuing.
"They said they were developing new forms of Art. Trying to reach for something beyond what we know—beyond the One Power. It wasn't enough for them. They wanted to tap into the most powerful source in existence. Something ancient. Something... pure."
"They called it the Origin."
Jon leaned back, letting the weight of the word settle.
"But instead," he said, "they discovered something else entirely. A different source. One no one had ever documented before. They called it... the Force."
Sarion lifted a hand, signaling Jon to stop. His mind reeled, trying to piece together what he'd just heard.
"Wait," he said slowly. "There's... another source? Other than the One Power? And it's called the Origin? And now there's a third? This... Force?"
Jon didn't respond—he simply watched Sarion process it all.
Old Man Jerov, ever composed, offered no reaction. As an Arts User, it seemed this was not news to him. Either he already knew—or he wasn't surprised.
But Nin?
She looked just as stunned as Sarion. Her silver eyes wide. Her voice caught somewhere between disbelief and wonder.
Jon continued, his tone darker now, more deliberate.
"The Force," he said, "was unstable. Wild. Anyone who tried to wield it went mad—completely unhinged. They would lash out in uncontrollable bursts of power… kill everyone around them… and in the end, they died too. Usually by their own hand, without even realizing it."
He let the silence stretch before adding, "It was stronger than anything the One Power could offer. Raw, immense… but also volatile. And even then, it was still weaker than what the Origin was said to provide—though far more dangerous."
The room was still. Even Mellisa had returned and stood quietly nearby now, arms crossed, listening.
"The Researchers," Jon went on, "eventually deemed the discovery a failure. Too unstable. No species could withstand it. They were ready to abandon the project."
He paused—then gave a grim smile.
"But the Emperor refused. He ordered them to continue. To test it on every species, every kind of being they could find. And so they did."
Sarion felt a chill as Jon began listing them off.
"Humans. Elves. Dwarves. Drakes. Half-Animals. None of them could hold on for long. The longest anyone lasted was three days—then madness took them."
Jon's voice dropped lower. Slower.
"But then… one subject appeared. One who could bear it. Who could not only survive it—but control it."
A breathless beat passed.
"And that subject… was the Dragon Lord."
Sarion opened his mouth to ask—but stopped himself. Whatever question had formed on his lips faded. He could tell Jon wasn't finished.
And sure enough, the bald, middle-aged man continued a moment later.
"The Dragon Lord," Jon said quietly, "used his newfound powers to escape captivity. With the Force running through him, nothing could hold him."
He leaned back slightly, eyes distant as he recalled the details.
"After breaking free, he gathered a number of Dragons—those who had been enslaved like him. One by one, he shattered their bonds, and together, they tore their way out of the Empire's grip."
"But not quietly," Jon added, voice tightening. "They didn't slip away in the night. On their path to freedom, they burned villages. Cities. First within the Great Empire's heartlands, then up through the northern subcontinent of Maria."
He paused.
"The Kingdom of Jiros suffered the worst. Entire towns scorched to ash."
Sarion's brows furrowed, but Jon went on.
"Thankfully, the country of Victoris had a defense—a warrior named Kalavan, one of the few known Dragon Hunters still alive. He stood between the rampaging Dragons and his homeland… and held the line."
Even Nin seemed momentarily stunned by the weight of the tale.
"Eventually," Jon said, "the Dragons—led by the Dragon Lord—reached Pantos. And then… they vanished."
It was as if a curtain had fallen.
"Since then," Jon said, voice low, "years have passed. No sightings. No attacks. No word. But knowing what we do… it's likely they're hiding deep within Pantos. The land is vast—dangerous, mostly unexplored. If there's a place to vanish and recover… that's it."
It was then that Sarion suddenly remembered—Old Man Jerov was heading to Pantos.
A flicker of worry crossed his face.
"Wait," he said, turning to the old man, "is that why you're going? To... find the Dragon Lord?"
Jerov let out a deep, gravelly laugh, the kind that came from the belly and carried a touch of dry amusement.
"Of course not," he said, waving the idea away. "I'm too old—and far too weak—to be chasing after Dragons for glory. No, I'm just heading to the City of Merchants. To Market."
Sarion's eyes lit up instantly.
Market. The name alone stirred excitement. It wasn't just a city—it was the city. Known across the world as the beating heart of commerce and trade. One of the largest cities in existence, and certainly the most connected. Goods, news, secrets—everything passed through Market eventually.
Even if you lived in the most remote corner of the world, you'd still have heard the name. Everyone had. The Traders of the East, famous for their wealth and power, either lived there or held businesses anchored deep within its walls.
To a boy like Sarion, Market wasn't just a city—it was a legend.
Then, a question surfaced in Sarion's mind—quiet, but persistent.
"Why, though?" he asked, eyes narrowing slightly.
Old Man Jerov cleared his throat, already turning away as he answered with a small smirk, "That's a secret."
Sarion sighed, slumping a little. He'd expected that.
It was always like this. Whenever someone in the house left, they never said why—only where. No reasons. No explanations. Just vague destinations and a nod goodbye.
It was the same with his teacher—Leif, the blonde-haired, middle-aged Fighter who had trained Sarion tirelessly over the past two years. He was away now, somewhere out there on a mission in Thunderstorm City.
For what purpose? Sarion had no idea.
Leif had always been a mystery. Even after two years—two entire years of training, of long conversations, of lessons in swordplay and survival—Sarion still knew very little about the man.
Outside of Mellisa, Leif was probably the person Sarion had spoken to the most. And yet… he remained distant, his past and his motives tucked away behind that calm, unreadable smile.
Sarion didn't even know why Leif had joined Revengers in the first place. Like everyone else in the group, Leif had a vendetta against the Black Tower—that much was clear. But the reason for his revenge?
That remained a mystery.
Still, there were a few things Sarion did know.
Leif was strong—probably around Rank 7 by now, if not close. He knew the deadly and infamous Black Death Style of swordsmanship. More specifically, the First Five Steps of the Style—a level of mastery most swordsmen could only dream of. And most importantly… he had been assigned to train Sarion.
That, at least, Sarion understood.
But the most surprising thing he had learned about Leif? Was that he had once been a member of the Crows of Death—just like Klein.
An Assassin's Guild.
When Sarion first found out, he wasn't sure how to take it. He had known about Klein's past even before joining the group—but Leif?
That had been a shock.
For all Sarion knew, Leif could have once been an Adventurer—maybe even a noble swordsman wandering the world before joining Revengers.
But he wasn't.
He had been an Assassin, just like Klein.
And that truth unsettled Sarion more than he wanted to admit.
Why? he had asked himself more than once. How did someone like him become that? Did he… kill innocent people?
But no answers ever came. Not from Leif. Not from anyone.
Sarion wanted to believe that his teacher hadn't taken innocent lives. That he had only ever dealt judgment where it was deserved. After all, even though the Crows of Death were both hated and feared across the world, their targets weren't always the innocent. In fact, they had assassinated countless corrupt nobles, crime lords, tyrants—so long as the coin was right.
They didn't care who they killed… only how much they were paid for it.
That made it worse.
Sarion wasn't sure what Leif had done in his past. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized he might never know. All he could do was bury those questions deep inside and not think too hard about them.
Leif was his teacher. Someone he saw daily. Someone who was helping him grow stronger. Holding a grudge or doubting him openly… wouldn't do Sarion any favors. Not in the long run.
Besides, Klein had once been an assassin too. And from everything Sarion had seen so far—Klein had turned out to be good.
So maybe… Leif had too.
Speaking of Klein—he, too, had been largely absent over the past two years.
Just like Mellisa had warned him early on, Klein was the one least present in the house. He'd vanish for months at a time, only to return briefly—sometimes for a few days, sometimes only a night—before heading off again to some distant corner of the world.
In the time Sarion had known him, Klein had traveled across nearly every part of the world. From their home continent, Rosendar, all the way to Pantos, to Thantanos, and even up to the northern subcontinent of Maria.
There were whispers he hadn't even spared the islands—those scattered shards of land drifting across the surrounding ocean.
Why? Sarion had no idea.
He could only guess.
Maybe it was because Klein, as the leader of Revengers, was working to gather allies, recruiting new members—people who shared their cause. Or maybe he was searching for powerful weapons, rare artifacts, or long-lost secrets tied to their fight.
It could have been anything, really. As far as Sarion was concerned, Klein moved like a shadow across the world—never still, never explaining.
Only leaving questions in his wake.
But there was one mystery Sarion had managed to solve during his two years living with Klein.
Why no one spoke of him.
Why the villagers said nothing.
Why the Shadow Assassin, a man hunted across the continent, could live so openly in a quiet little village—and yet remain untouched.
It was because he had saved them.
On a day when the guards had failed. On a day when the nobles turned their backs. It was Klein—not the law, not the crown—who came to their aid.
And so, the villagers stayed silent.
From time to time, patrols would pass through the area—soldiers, knights, enforcers from the kingdom. But the villagers always knew in advance. And every time, they'd warn Klein before the patrols even arrived. They would cover for him. Protect him, just as he had once protected them.
And so, the famous Shadow Assassin—the most wanted enemy of Decartium—lived quietly in a village within that very kingdom.
Undetected.
Or at least… mostly.
...
Over the past two years, a few visitors had come and gone from the house.
Men and women—strong, seasoned. You could feel it in their presence. Their auras spoke of power, battle, and experience.
But one visitor stood out more than the rest.
He wore a grey mask, shaped like a hawk's face, complete with a sharp, curved beak. Something about him—silent, composed, dangerous—left a lasting impression on Sarion.
They called him the Grey Hawk.
He was no ordinary fighter. Rumors said he was an ex-soldier of the Decartium Army, a decorated warrior who had fought in the Monster War just a few years ago—before vanishing from the public eye altogether.
And now, it seemed, he had reappeared. Not as a soldier. Not as a hero of the crown.
But as a shadow, working beside Klein.
Helping to oversee something far greater than either of them had ever stood for before.
Revengers.
...
The Shadow Assassin wasn't home either.
He had left just the day before—off again on another secret mission, this time to Coupitia City.
The name struck a chord in Sarion's mind the moment he heard it. Coupitia wasn't just any city—it was one of the most important in all of Decartium. Not just for its size or wealth… but because it was home to two of the Seventeen Pillars.
The strongest elites in the kingdom.
There was the Fierce Lion of the Cavias Family, a name that roared with power and dominance.
And then, the Blue Lightning of the Charlton Family, known for speed, precision, and an unrelenting force in battle.
To think that Klein was walking into a place guarded by two of Decartium's deadliest weapons... whatever this mission was, it wasn't just secret.
It was dangerous.
Sarion could only hope that Big Bro Klein would return safely.
The thought lingered in his chest like a quiet weight. But he pushed it aside and turned his attention back to Jon, firing off question after question about the Dragon Lord—hungry to learn more, to uncover every hidden layer of the Great Empire's secrets.
With his teacher Leif away, there was no strict training schedule to follow. Sarion suddenly had free time, more than he knew what to do with. And he filled it the only way he knew how—by learning.
Especially now, with the house in a state of half-packed chaos.
They were preparing to leave for Valria, after all. And Sarion could hardly contain his excitement.
He had never set foot outside Decartium before. The very idea of crossing the border felt like stepping into one of Jon's stories. A whole new kingdom. A whole new world.
And not just any kingdom—Valria, the Kingdom of Adventurers. A place where heroes trained, legends were born, and danger walked side by side with opportunity.
He didn't know what they'd find there, but one thing in particular had him buzzing with curiosity.
He was finally going to meet Nin's little sister—her real, blood-related sibling.
Her name, he'd heard, was Emily.
And Sarion was more than ready to find out what kind of person the sister of the Silver Sword really was.
—End of Chapter.