A wave of stillness rolled over the air.
Josen felt it first—like the wind itself had vanished. A pressure crawled down his spine, making his muscles clench on instinct.
Zigmo tensed. His eyes widened—not from pain, but from recognition.
"No… no… no…" he whispered, almost feral. "I know that scent."
Before Josen could ask, the far wall shattered inward, a flash of silver slicing through stone as if it were soft bark.
Two figures stepped from the settling dust.
Both were tall yet lean, with muscle packed tight under formal white suits. They carried themselves like assassins, but their expressions—smug, cocky—were the faces of men who'd just found a new punching bag.
"Well, well. If it isn't Zigi," one drawled. "You should've died in that cage where you belong."
Josen glanced at Zigmo. The fear in his friend's face was something he had never seen before—trembling lips, pallid skin, muscles tightening, even his frame seeming to shrink under the weight of their presence.
"ZIGMO! SNAP OUT OF IT!" Josen roared.
In a blur, faster than the eye could follow, both figures blitzed past him, blades drawn—slightly curved katanas glowing with a faint purple hue. Poison.
Swiiiff!
Josen's throwing knife flashed, knocking both blades aside before they could reach Zigmo's throat. He leapt forward, confronting one of the attackers.
"Hey—you're facing me."
"And why would I do that?" The voice was sarcastic, condescending.
What shocked Josen more wasn't the tone—it was the goblin's flawless grammar. Weren't goblins supposed to be hunched, foul-breathed, broken-tongued things?
"Yeah," the shorter one said, almost amused, "I'm sure it's surprising how sophisticated we are. All those rumors give us a bad rep, you know."
Can he read minds? Josen thought. No—wait—prediction? Precognition?
"Calm down. I can't read minds," the goblin said casually, "but I can predict them based on a lot of circumstances."
In a single hop, he landed behind Josen, brushing a hand across his armor like a curious cat.
"Like how tense you are…"
Another flicker—he was perched on the arm of a nearby statue.
"How relaxed your expression is…"
Then, in the blink of an eye, he was right in front of Josen's face.
"And how desperate your eyes seem."
The tip of his dagger hovered before Josen's eye, time seeming to slow—
Zigmo slammed into him, knocking him aside just in time.
"Hoho, there's the champ," the goblin grinned, "always putting others before your—"
STAB!
The blade bit deep into the ground, carving out a crater the size of a man's head.
Josen spun, lashing out with a head kick. The goblin slid back but twisted away at the last instant.
No more holding back. Time to end this.
Josen shifted his stance.
Formless Fang: First Form — Rapid Strike.
Boom—a shockwave as his fist cut the air. Block—his backhand was swatted aside by the goblin's dagger. Parry—his high kick was redirected, but his katana sliced in from nowhere, landing squarely on the enemy's shoulder.
The goblin didn't flinch. His expression stayed blank.
"You should worry about your friend," he said.
Josen turned—and froze. Zigmo, the same man who had dismantled a d-rank patroller with ease, was barely hanging on.
Just how strong are these guys…?
The system's chime rang in his head.
Name: Syla Vaelith
Class: [Shadow Assassin]
Rank: C-rank — Level 49
Skill: Phantom Poisoning
Passive: Synchronized Teleportation
Josen whipped his gaze to the other one.
Name: Rynor Vaelith
Class: [Skull Cleaver]
Rank: C-rank — Level 47
Skill: Melee Berserker
Passive: Synchronized Teleportation
A mighty punch hurled Zigmo into the temple wall, stone cracking around him as a man-sized crater formed. Rynor, relentless, launched himself from the opposite side of the chamber.
Zigmo gritted his teeth, drawing and loosing an arrow in one motion.
It sang through the air—only for Rynor to catch it with one hand and fling it back at double the speed.
The impact barely missed Zigmo's cheek, a line of heat slicing past his skin.
And suddenly… he was back there.
Five Years Ago
"Faster! Faster! Now—pivot your blows! Yes! Yes! Gruahh!"
The voice of the great warrior Falbir thundered across the training grounds.
Sand exploded under their feet. Wooden swords cracked against shields. Dust mixed with sweat and blood as Zigmo traded blow after blow with Rynor. Bones ached. Muscles screamed. The world shrank to the sound of their grunts and the sting of each strike.
Hours later, with both warriors battered and bleeding, Zigmo landed the final strike.
The crowd roared his name. He was beloved that day—by everyone except them.
On the edge of the arena, Syla leaned close to whisper into his brother's ear. Rynor's eyes darkened. Zigmo felt the heat of their hatred even then… and chose to ignore it.
The Beginning
When he got home, the scent of spiced tea and candle wax filled the air. His mother, Ephilia, sat in the glow of the hearth.
Once, she had been a jewel of the empire—a dancer whose grace drew the eyes of nobles and elders alike. Men fought for her hand and whispered darker desires behind closed doors.
But she refused them all.
Everything changed the night the Orc King returned victorious from war. In the great banquet hall, amid gold banners and victory feasts, Ephilia danced. Their eyes met—hers, the empire's most sought-after beauty; his, the kingdom's fiercest warrior commander.
They moved toward each other, and the hall fell silent. Nobles whispered in outrage. The King's adviser, Nobelm, clenched his fists—his own decades-long pursuit of Ephilia crushed in an instant.
From that night on, they were inseparable. The court did not forgive them. Exiled to the outskirts of the empire, they left behind wealth, titles, and the dance halls.
In the quiet hills beyond the empire's reach, Ephilia and the King conceived a son.
They named him Zigmo, after an old phrase in their tongue: "We will always smile."
And smile he did. Zigmo grew quickly, his father teaching him the blade, his mother passing on the patience and rhythm of her dance. But his true gift lay elsewhere—in the bow.
By twelve, he could shoot a bird from the sky mid-flight, loose two arrows in the time it took a man to blink, and split a falling leaf before it touched the ground.
The Letters
Life should have been peaceful.
But the letters kept coming.
Always the same message, inked in the same black seal:
"You have been summoned to join the Wall for Zycothia."
Each summons pulled his father away. Weeks, months passed without him. Zigmo learned early that war was not an interruption in life—it was the shape of it.
He also learned something else.
He was being targeted.
By who, he didn't know.
Why, he could only guess.
But he loved his kingdom, and so… he obeyed.