The departure from the Silverlane estate was not the triumphant parade of a young noble heading to his first command.
It was a somber, whispered affair held in the grey light of dawn, the air heavy with the scent of pine needles and the damp earth of the.
Elara stood by the carriage, her fingers trembling as she adjusted the collar of Alaric's traveling cloak.
Her eyes, usually so bright and full of life, were red-rimmed and clouded with a grief she was trying desperately to hide.
"Stay here, just for a moment longer," she whispered, her voice breaking.
She pulled him into a desperate embrace, her face buried in his moonlight-white hair.
"My little star, you have grown so fast.
I look at you and I see a man's resolve, but my heart still hears the cry of the infant I held in the cradle."
Alaric rested his head against her shoulder, feeling the frantic beat of her heart. For all his Intelligence and his Soul age, this was the one thing he couldn't calculate—the raw, unyielding weight of a mother's love. It threatened to crack the icy shell he had built around his heart.
Alaric rested his head against her shoulder, feeling the frantic beat of her heart.
For all his Intelligence and his Soul age, this was the one thing he couldn't calculate—the raw, unyielding weight of a mother's love.
It threatened to crack the icy shell he had built around his heart.
"I will come back, Mother," Alaric said, his voice soft but resonant.
"I am a Silverlane.
The frost doesn't wither; it endures."
Elara pulled back, her hands framing his face.
She looked into those crimson eyes, searching for a glimmer of the child she knew.
"Do not let that city take your kindness, Alaric.
Musk City is built on iron and blood, but it is the spirit that keeps the darkness out.
"Promise me, Alaric.
Promise me you will look at the moon and remember that I am looking at
"I promise," Alaric said, the words a sacred vow.
Silas stood a few paces back, his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw set in a hard line.
He looked like the owner of the Silverlane merchant company, but his eyes told a different story
When Alaric stepped toward him, Silas didn't offer a formal handshake. He gripped Alaric's shoulders with a strength that was almost painful.
"Listen to me, son," Silas said, his voice low and gravelly.
"In Musk City, your name will be a target as much as a shield.
The men there don't care about your lineage. they care if you can hold a line when the demons attack in.
Don't try to be a hero, Be a survivor.
A dead Silverlane is of no use to this family."
"I understand, Father," Alaric replied.
"No, you don't. Not yet," Silas countered, his eyes flashing with a sudden, rare moisture.
"It breaks my heart to send you there. Every fiber of my being wants to lock you in the highest tower and hide you from the world.
But I know what you are.
I have seen the way you move.
I have seen the 'Destruction you carry.
If I keep you here, I am not protecting you—I am stifling a storm."
Silas pulled Alaric into a brief, crushing hug. "Go. Become the eclipse. But know that your father is proud of the man you've become, even if the world hates it."
"Ok, Father Alaric said with a smile.
Silas smiled back.
Okay, now go.
Alaric opened the gate and sat inside the carriage.
__________________
The journey from the central provinces to the southeastern frontier took six gruesome days.
The lush, rolling hills gradually surrendered to a jagged, desolate landscape of grey basalt. By the fourth day, the air itself had changed. The crisp mountain breeze was replaced by a heavy, metallic humidity that tasted of ozone, musk-oil, and old blood.
Alaric sat astride a black mountain pony, his white hair tied back with a leather thong. Beside him, Bram Thorne rode a massive warhorse.
"You feel that, don't you?" Bram asked, pointing toward the bruised horizon.
"The 'Pressure.' That's the abyss breathing on the neck of the world. The mana here is sour. It doesn't want to be inside you; it wants to rot you."
Alaric didn't answer immediately. He was focusing on his Mana Regeneration (Intermediate). While a normal warrior would be gasping for breath as the "sour" mana clotted their circuits, Alaric's Destruction Essence welcomed it.
"It's not rot," Alaric finally replied. "It's just... hungry."
By the sixth evening, the horizon was dominated by a massive silhouette.
Rising from the rocky plains like a jagged obsidian tooth was Musk City.
It was a fortress of black stone and reinforced iron, surrounded by three concentric rings of high
As they approached the main gate, a squad of guards in battered, dark-iron plate armor blocked the path.
Their leader, a woman with a scarred throat and an Expert (Early) rank aura, stepped forward.
Using Appraisal, Alaric saw her name was Vex, a veteran who had clearly survived horrors that would turn a lesser soldier's hair as white as Alaric.
"Halt," Vex commanded.
Her voice was like dry parchment rubbing together.
She leaned on a massive poleaxe, her eyes narrowing as they landed on Bram. "Thorne? I heard you retired to be a nursemaid for the high-born.
Didn't think I'd see you back in this pit."
Bram pulled his horse to a stop, a rare, grim smirk touching his lips. "And I didn't think you'd still be guarding a door, Vex. Figured you'd have either become a General or a corpse by now."
The demons keep trying to make me a corpse, and the Governor keeps trying to make me a General.
I find this spot more honest," Vex replied. She turned her sharp gaze to Alaric, her Expert aura washing over him like a cold tide. Most children would have fainted.
Alaric didn't even blink. "Who's the porcelain doll? He looks like he belongs in a silk bed, not in the pit of Musk City."
"This 'doll' is Alaric Silverlane," Bram said, his tone turning serious. "He's here for the hunt."
Vex stepped closer, her armor clanking.
She looked Alaric in the eye, her presence pressing down on him.
"A Silverlane? With hair like a ghost and eyes like a massacre?
Listen to me, boy.
Musk City doesn't care who your father is.
The Shattered Forest doesn't care about family status.
It only care about how fast you bleed."
She looked back at Bram. "You're serious? You're taking a seven-year-old into the Forest ? The Shadow Wolves are bold this season, Bram. They've been sniffing the walls."
"He's ready, Vex. Better than some of the 'Advanced' recruits the capital sends us," Bram said firmly.
Vex snorted, waving them through with her poleaxe.
"Your funeral, Thorne. Just don't expect me to send a recovery team when the demons swallow him. I've got enough widows in this city already."
"We won't be needing one," Alaric said quietly as he rode past. The conviction in his voice made Vex pause, watching them disappear into the crowded streets with a newfound furrow in her brow.
After entering the city, Bram and Alaric went to the bounty hall without wasting time.
The Bounty Hall was the beating, bloody heart of Musk City. It was a cavernous space filled with the smell of stale ale, wet leather, and the iron-scent of blood.
Heavy wooden boards were covered in parchment slips, each detailing a price for a demon's head or a monster's hide.
As Alaric and Bram entered, the room went quiet for a heartbeat. Alaric's white hair and noble bearing were like a flare in a dark cave.
"Look at this," a voice boomed from a central table where a group of veterans sat. "The Silverlane Lord sent his prize poodle to play in the dirt. Does he have a little care for his children, too?"
A massive mercenary stood up blocking the path of bram and alaric to the main board.
Seeing the massive mercenary Alaric used appraisal on him
Appraisal
[ Name: Groggan sel ]
[ Rank: Intermediate (Peak) ]
[ Potential: C ]
A small fry, huh? Alaric thought.
"Hey, little ghost," Groggan sneered, leaning down so his scarred face was inches from Alaric's. "You see that board?
Those aren't grocery lists. Those are death sentences. You even know which end of a sword to hold, or does your 'Uncle' Bram do the stabbing for you?"
The surrounding mercenaries erupted in laughter. One man, missing an ear, yelled, "Maybe the kid can just glare at the demons with those red eyes!
Might scare them into a heart attack before they realize he's just a toddler!"
Alaric didn't move. He looked up at Groggan, his ruby eyes unnervingly still. "I am looking for the Imp Scout permits," Alaric said, his voice cold and clear. "Step aside."
Groggan's laughter died. He felt a prickle of irritation at the boy's lack of fear.
"Step aside? You think a fancy name gives you the right to bark at me? Listen, brat, in this city, rank is bought in blood, not in gold coins.
Tell you what—give me that shiny sword on your hip as 'protection tax,' and maybe I'll let you leave with your skin intact."
"Protection?" Alaric asked, a faint, dangerous smile playing on his lips.
"If I needed protection from someone like you, Groggan, I wouldn't have bothered coming to the frontier.
You're an Intermediate (Peak) yet you've spent fifteen years in this city and still have to bully children to feel important.
That isn't a rank, it's a sign of mediocrity."
The hall went deathly silent. A female mercenary in the back whistled. "Ouch. The poodle's got a bite, Groggan!"
Groggan's face turned purple. "You little—! I'll snap your neck. He reached out a massive, calloused hand to grab Alaric's throat.
Thorne decide to watch Alaric reaction.
Alaric didn't flinch. He activated destruction aura skill and released a microscopic pulse of Destruction Aura.
The air around Alaric suddenly felt like it was made of solid ice. Groggan's hand froze mid-air, inches from Alaric's neck.
The giant man's pupils dilated, his primitive instincts screaming at him that he was standing in front of something that wasn't human. He felt a cold, crushing pressure in his chest, as if his very soul was being destroyed.
"I won't tell you again," Alaric whispered. "Move. Before I decide that your presence is a nuisance that needs to be removed."
Groggan stumbled back, his legs shaking. He didn't know why, but his body refused to obey his anger. He felt a primal terror he had only ever felt in the presence of General-rank demons. He sat back down heavily, his face turning a sickly shade of grey.
Alaric walked past him, reached up, and plucked three Imp Scout permits from the board. He walked to the registrar, a weary old man who was staring at Alaric with wide eyes.
"Three permits for the Outer zone," Alaric said, tossing a Silver coin on the desk.
"And a jar of musk-oil. It seems the smell in here of arrogance and cheap ale is particularly foul today."
The registrar took the coin with trembling hands. "Y-yes, young Lord. Safe hunting.
As Alaric and Bram walked toward the exit, the mercenaries gave them a wide berth.
The laughter had been replaced by a heavy, questioning silence. Bram leaned down to Alaric as they stepped out into the cold night air.
"You're making a lot of enemies for a first day, lad," Bram noted, though his eyes held a glimmer of dark amusement.
"Good," Alaric replied, his white hair catching the moonlight. "It saves me the trouble of finding them later."