The morning sun over Ashburg didn't feel like a blessing; it felt like a spotlight on a crime scene. Rayn stepped out of the infirmary, his boots clicking against the cobblestones with a rhythmic finality. His body felt lighter, the meridians in his arms humming with the residual heat of Vespera's medicinal soup and that soul-searing kiss.
By his side, Vespera walked like a ghost in silk. She didn't speak, but the air around her shivered. Every man they passed on the way to the Spectre Office instinctively lowered his gaze. They didn't know she was a dragon, but their primal instincts told them that looking at her too long was an invitation to have their throat ripped out.
They reached the hidden entrance—the back of that greasy spoon restaurant—and descended into the cold, subterranean air of the secret headquarters. Freddy was there, hunched over his mahogany desk like an old man waiting for a death sentence. His eyes were bloodshot, and the stacks of parchment in front of him looked high enough to bury him.
He looked up as the door creaked. "Rayn... gods, you look like you actually crawled back from the abyss. How is the body? Are you going to collapse and die on my rug again?"
Rayn pulled out a chair, kicking it back with a nonchalant smirk. "Save the tears for your funeral, Freddy. My body is fine. Better than fine. I'm ready to get back to work and start breaking things again."
Freddy let out a long, weary sigh, the sound of a man who had forgotten what sleep felt like. "No, Rayn. You're not 'breaking things.' You're going to training. I've seen you fight. You're a goddamn animal, but you're a reckless one. Even if you can't kill the enemy, you need to know how to survive them. You need to know how to escape when the world turns to shit."
Rayn's eyes flashed with a cold, predatory light. He leaned forward, the front legs of his chair slamming into the floor. "Training? You want to send me to school? Are you fucking kidding me, Freddy? You're the one who crawled to me, begging for help. You're the one who needed a 'new joiner' to clean up the mess with that bitch Elza. I solved that case while your 'trained' professionals were pissing themselves in the corner. And now you want to tell me I'm not capable?"
Freddy didn't flinch. He just stared back, his voice dropping into a low, somber tone. "Rayn... I know you defeated that demon bitch. I know you have power that defies common sense. But I also know you almost died. Your heart stopped twice on that table. If I lose you, it's not just a loss for the team—it's a goddamn life sentence of guilt for me. I'm not risking it again. You'll train, you'll become a responsible member of Spectre, or you'll sit on the sidelines while the rest of the world burns."
Rayn wanted to laugh. He wanted to spit in Freddy's face and walk out. Deep in the recesses of his mind, Silas let out a mocking cackle. "Listen to the old man, Rayn. He's scared. He smells the reaper's breath on you."
"Fine," Rayn said, his voice like cold iron. "I'll train with whatever pathetic instructor you've lined up. But let's talk about the real elephant in the room. Vespera told me some royal brat is coming to town. The Prince? What the fuck is he doing in a shithole like Ashburg?"
Freddy rubbed his temples, his hands shaking slightly. "It's the Tri-Annual Celestial Accord. A festival that combines all the major towns in the province. Every three years, a different city hosts it. This year... it's us. Ashburg has to host every noble, every merchant-king, and every Spectre division in the country."
"And the Prince?" Rayn asked, lighting a cigarette he'd swiped from the desk.
"The Prince has a grudge," Freddy whispered, looking at the door as if the walls had ears. "A deep, bloody grudge against Ashburg. He isn't coming here to celebrate. He's coming to watch us fail. If anything goes wrong—if a single merchant gets robbed or a noble gets insulted—he has the authority to terminate our town's charter. He'll exile the population and turn Ashburg into a goddamn military outpost. And his first target will be this office. He wants to make the Spectre team look like incompetent fools."
Rayn blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. "Why? What did this town do to piss off a royal golden boy?"
Freddy leaned in, his voice barely a breath. "It wasn't the town. It was Dawinton."
"Who the fuck is Dawinton?"
"He was the Lion of Ashburg," Freddy said, a glimmer of awe in his eyes. "The leader of all three Spectre divisions in this town. He was so powerful, so goddamn terrifying, that even the King didn't dare to issue him orders. He treated the royal decrees like toilet paper. He was the reason Ashburg stood tall. But a week ago... while you were in that coma... Dawinton died."
Rayn frowned. "How? Assassination? A battle?"
"Heartache," Freddy said, his face twisting in disgust. "They say his heart just... gave out. But I saw the body, Rayn. It didn't look like a natural death. It looked like his heart had been crushed from the inside by an invisible hand. Now that the Lion is dead, the King sees his chance. He's sending his son, the Prince, to humiliate us while we're leaderless. The King has allies in the other towns—spectre teams from the high divisions who would love to see Ashburg erased from the map. They'll start fights, they'll cause chaos, and then they'll blame us for not maintaining order."
Rayn leaned back, a dark smile playing on his lips. "So it's a setup. A royal circus where we're the lions in cages."
Inside his head, Silas chimed in. "Rayn, this is not the time to be a hothead. A Prince isn't an Elza. He's a symbol. You touch him now, and the King will make the people believe you're the villain. You'll be hunted like a dog before you even get your revenge."
"I'm not an idiot, Silas," Rayn thought back.
"So, Freddy," Rayn said aloud. "How many of these 'Spectre' teams are there? Give me the numbers."
"Nine divisions across the five major towns," Freddy explained. "Most towns have three offices. Our town, Ashburg, used to be the crown jewel because of Dawinton's personal team: the 'Dead Reapers.' They are the 1st Division. The absolute peak of lethality. We? Our team is the 7th Division. We're basically the bottom of the barrel, Rayn. We're the third strongest from the back. And with Dawinton gone, the Dead Reapers are scattered. They have no leader. No one is brave enough to step into the Lion's seat."
Rayn stayed silent for a moment, the gears in his head turning with a cold, calculated efficiency. He looked at Freddy—a man who was honest, loyal, and currently paralyzed by fear.
"Freddy," Rayn said, his voice cutting through the tension. "You should become the new leader of the Secret Services for Ashburg."
Freddy's chair scraped against the floor as he jumped back, his eyes wide with shock. "What?! Rayn, have you lost your goddamn mind? I'm a mid-tier administrator! I can't lead the 3 divisions! I can't replace a man like Dawinton!"
"Why the fuck not?" Rayn snapped. "We're the secret services, right? The common people don't know who does the work. They just know things get done. You already run this office. You know the players. If you take the seat, our division becomes the 'Superior' division by default. We can control the narrative. We can infiltrate the high-division meetings. And when that little royal bastard arrives, we won't be looking up at him from the mud—we'll be the ones holding the keys to his room."
Freddy stammered, "But... but the people... the other teams won't accept—"
"The people don't need to accept shit," Rayn interrupted, standing up and towering over the desk. "They know you have power. They know the Spectre group operates in the shadows. Look at the restaurant owner upstairs—he knows who we are and he keeps his mouth shut because he knows we're the ones keeping the demons off his doorstep. If you become the leader, we can make our division the pinnacle. We can suffocate the Prince's influence before he even steps off his carriage."
In Rayn's mind, Silas laughed, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy. "Kid... I finally see it. You truly are the heir to Yaowangming. You don't just fight with blades; you fight with the souls of men. Yaowangming used to trick entire sects into working for him just so he could take a nap. You're doing the same thing. You're building an empire out of fear and shadow."
Rayn ignored the ghost and focused on Freddy. "Ready yourself, Freddy. You're not just a team lead anymore. You're going to be the master of Ashburg. And I'm going to be the one who makes sure anyone who disagrees ends up in a very deep, very dark hole."
Vespera, who had been silent the entire time, let out a soft, predatory hum. She looked at Rayn, her eyes glowing with the reflected fire of his ambition.
"The Dragon and the King," she whispered. "The world isn't ready for what's coming."