Arthur ignored the constant, stabbing pain in his right arm. Three days. The Surgeon had given him a deadline to keep his arm. He had wasted less than twenty-four hours.
Now, on the second day, he was deep inside the Iron Wastes, a canyon of red rock and broken metal. This was a dangerous place, home to huge, armored monsters called Chitin Crushers. He was pushing his still-healing bones to the breaking point.
His training was simple: forced improvement. He had to break through Level 20 in his Gunpowder Mastery and sharpen the new metal sword blank into a weapon worthy of his fierce Swordplay Rudiment.
The sword blank was heavy, dull, and unyielding. Arthur had strapped it to his back, a constant, iron weight. His left arm was useless, hanging in a sling. So, he trained the right one, ignoring the crunching pain of the healing bone.
You owe the world four lives.
Elena's challenge was a fire beneath his skin, louder than any monster's roar. It drove him harder than the fear of death. He wasn't training to be a hero; he was training to be so deadly that no one—no monster or Guild Master—could ever force a human connection on him again.
The Lone Killer's Upgrade
Arthur's focus was a cold tunnel. He was stuck at Level 18 for his Gunpowder Mastery. To reach Level 20 and unlock the powerful Focus Fire skill, he needed to kill a very difficult monster—one with complex Aether in its body.
His target was a solitary Aether-Eater Widow. This spider-like thing was huge, venomous, and could turn invisible using a distortion field.
Arthur tracked it for seven hours. He didn't use his eyes alone. He watched the dust move in the wind, the way the light bent against the canyon walls, and the small, slight shifts in the air temperature caused by the Widow's energy shield. His mind became a calculator, mixing his old photographer's instinct with his new enhanced senses.
He finally trapped the Widow in a collapsed air shaft. It was invisible, but he could hear its deep, rhythmic breathing.
Distance: 18 meters. Wind: slight. Target: hidden.
Arthur knelt, resting the rifle against his shoulder. He loaded one of the new, heavy, Aether-infused rounds. He didn't use the rifle scope; he used his eye, sighting a single, perfect point in the air where the light was just slightly warped. That was the center of its body.
He took a slow, deep breath, feeding Aether into the bullet. The marks on his hand pulsed, not with rage, but with cold, precise light.
Shoot the exact spot.
CRACK!
The shot was quiet and deadly. The bullet flew, too fast for the Widow's shield to work. It hit the exact center of the monster's chest.
A blinding flash of purple energy burst from the creature. It screamed, its invisibility shattering as its internal energy exploded. It collapsed, dead.
System Alert: Gunpowder Mastery has reached Level 20. New Skill Unlocked: Focus Fire.
The feeling wasn't happiness; it was grim relief. He had achieved a necessary milestone. But the pain in his arm spiked fiercely—the price of pushing his system so hard.
Arthur ignored the throbbing. He climbed down, took the Aether-Essence from the Widow, and started working on his sword.
Forging the Reckoning Blade
He found a hidden cave, lighting it with a dirty, oil-soaked torch. He used the raw, hot energy of the Aether-Essence and a heavy hammer to begin shaping the metal.
This was not careful craftsmanship. This was forced, desperate creation. He poured all his pain, all the icy fury from Vance's death, and all his crushing guilt into the metal. The Swordplay Rudiment on his hand burned bright, acting as a burning wire.
He hammered the metal, twisting the plain alloy into a curved, serrated longsword. Each blow was a physical punch of his grief. He wasn't making art; he was giving his rage a handle.
It took twelve painful hours. The finished sword was not shiny or smooth. It was a brutal, matte-black weapon, its surface marked by the copper lines of his own Talent pattern. It was the perfect mirror of the Ash Walker's heart: efficient, broken, and ready to kill.
He named it Reckoning Blade.
As the light of the third day—The Surgeon's deadline—hit the cave entrance, Arthur sheathed the sword. His arm was still sore, but the swelling was down. The repair had held. The intense Aether from the forging had strangely sealed the nerve damage. He was ready, but stronger, colder, and much more dangerous.
The City's Loud Call
Arthur stepped out of the cave, ready to venture into the deepest, most difficult areas, when the air itself screamed.
It wasn't a monster's sound; it was the high-pitched alarm of the City-Wide Emergency Beacon.
The beacon was only used when the outer walls were failing. Arthur instantly looked north. The signal was coming from the T-Junction Pass—the main road leading into Valkyrie City.
His enhanced hearing picked up the distant rumble of artillery and the sharp, ugly screams of a huge horde of Mimics. They were not just attacking; they were breaking through the defenses.
Arthur started running. He ran not toward safety, but toward the sound of the fighting. The monsters were adapting faster than anyone could keep up.
He climbed a massive pile of rubble and saw the disaster.
It was chaos. The main defense line had broken. The City Guard was disorganized. Leading the last-stand defense was the bright silver armor of the Silver Wing Guild.
Elena was in the middle of the fight.
She was fighting bravely, a solid wall against the tide. Her defensive spells flashed bright gold, creating a temporary shield that let her teammates reload. But she was struggling. She was surrounded by the new enemy: Armored Mimics—monsters wearing the gear of dead human soldiers, moving with the cold order of an army.
Arthur saw the tactical error: The Mimics were not just attacking Elena; they were working together. Half the monsters kept her busy, while the other half ruthlessly targeted her medics and support fighters. This was a strategy taken directly from a human combat manual.
She can't stop them. Not with her old rules.
He knew, with a horrible certainty, that Elena's commitment to protecting her team was about to cost her everything. The Mimics had figured out her weakness: she cared too much.
He skidded to a stop on the edge of the rubble pile. He didn't think about his isolation or the debt she claimed he owed. He calculated the risk of global failure. If the Pass fell, the City Guard would be slaughtered, the city would fall, and his personal mission would become impossible.
He had to stabilize the situation. And stabilizing meant killing the Mimic leader.
He raised his rifle, loading a new, Aether-infused round. His heart was calm; his hands were steady. He activated Focus Fire.
The battle dissolved into lines and angles. He saw the complex power lines of the Mimics, controlled by one huge central figure—a massive monster wearing parts of a captured tank, swinging a big metal flail.
Distance: 350 meters. Wind: Strong cross. Target shield: Three layers of Aetheric defense.
Arthur didn't aim at the shield; he aimed at the vibrating point. He saw the energy shaking under the shield's surface, calculated the exact spot that would make the shield fail, and moved his aim just a hair's width.
He let out a slow breath.
CRACK!
The shot was a quiet killer. The bullet hit the precise spot on the Mimic leader's shield. Instead of bouncing off, the energy field instantly popped and vanished. The bullet went straight into the monster's center, the fastest kill Arthur had ever made.
The leader fell. The effect was immediate. The entire horde's organization broke. The coordinating Mimics paused, their attack falling apart into confused, savage anger.
Elena saw the sudden change. She looked up, searching for the source of the impossible shot. Her eyes landed on the distant rubble pile—and the dark, solitary figure against the sky.
Arthur had stopped the worst of the attack. Now, he had to finish it. This was his chance to destroy the entire horde and prove his solo path was best.
But a second wave of Mimics, bigger and more vicious than the first, was already pouring through the broken Pass. Even with his new strength, Arthur knew he couldn't kill this many high-level targets alone before the Silver Wing Guild was wiped out.
Sometimes, being the most efficient means working with a liability.
He made a choice that went against everything he believed. The smartest outcome, in this disastrous moment, required temporary help.
He dropped the rifle to his back, pulled the Reckoning Blade from its sheath, and felt the dark, serrated weight of his rage in his hand.
He ran down the rubble pile, charging toward the fight. He was a dark, terrible force hitting the battlefield.
As he reached the panicked Silver Wing flank, he didn't call out. He simply stopped a Mimic's flail with a single, brutal slash, his dark sword cutting through the monster's armor easily.
Elena, seeing the dark, familiar shape appear in the smoke, shouted over the noise.
"Ash Walker! Why are you here?"
Arthur met her eyes, his cold blue gaze locking with her desperate green one.
"Cleaning up," he said flatly, kicking the monster's severed arm away. "Your rules are failing, Guild Master. I'm here to eliminate the inefficiency."
It was not an alliance; it was a hostile takeover of the fight. The two opposites—the lonely killer and the burdened leader—were forced together by the monster's terrifying evolution.