Third Person POV
Time passed.
How much, Lyon couldn't tell.
When awareness returned fully, it came without panic.
He lay on the cold stone floor of a sealed room—bare, empty, and deliberately constructed to feel oppressive. Thick metal cuffs bound his wrists, etched with runes that pulsed faintly. The moment Lyon became aware of them, he understood exactly what they were.
Magic suppression cuffs.
…Well isn't this just great
Despite the situation, his expression remained oddly composed—almost bored—as his eyes drifted forward.
A group of wizards stood several feet away, forming a loose semicircle. Every one of them wore a different shade of anger: clenched fists, sneers, narrowed eyes. Some looked like they wanted to hit him just for breathing.
At the center of it all stands the man.
The boss.
The same trench-coated figure Lyon had fought earlier stood tall among the rest, cigar burning slowly between his fingers. His gaze was cold—empty. Not hateful. Not furious.
Detached.
He looked at Lyon the way someone might look at a broken tool.
Several seconds passed in silence.
Then the man spoke.
"You've caused me quite a bit of trouble," he said evenly. "You, and that little stunt of yours."
Lyon didn't respond.
The boss continued, unfazed.
"My men. My resources. Months of preparation." He exhaled a thin stream of smoke. "I can't allow you to walk away without paying for that."
The man leaned forward slightly.
"But don't you worry," he said. "I'll make sure you get the chance to pay me back."
Lyon's eyes flicked up a fraction.
"After all," the boss went on, voice darkening just a bit, "since you so kindly released all of my test subjects."
A pause.
"You'll take their place."
Internally, Lyon sighed.
Wow. Points for originality.
The boss turned his back on Lyon without another glance, gesturing casually to his subordinates as he walked toward the door.
"Keep him contained," he ordered. "Two of you—outside the room."
He stopped at the threshold and added, almost lazily:
"If he tries to escape—discipline him."
The word lingered unpleasantly in the air.
The door slammed shut.
Heavy locks engaged with a solid clunk.
Silence returned.
Lyon laid there for a few seconds longer, cuffs preventing him from using magic. Finally, he let out a slow, annoyed sigh and lightly bumped the back of his head against the wall behind him.
Why did the main boss have to show up out of nowhere, he thought irritably. And just when I was so close.
His gaze drifted to the ceiling, eyes half-lidded, exhaustion creeping in around the edges of his focus.
Still…
His expression softened—just a little.
At least they got out.
The image of the townspeople fleeing through the exit tunnel surfaced in his mind. Fearful, panicked—but alive.
That mattered.
With that reassurance anchoring him, Lyon exhaled again and let the tension drain from his shoulders as much as the chains allowed.
Alright, he thought, calm returning. Panicking won't help.
Escape wasn't impossible.
Just… complicated.
Magic suppression cuffs stopped him from using magic. The room itself was sealed, but not reinforced enough to be permanent—especially if the guards made a mistake. And Dark Guilds were notorious for arrogance.
He closed his eyes.
Making sure to control his breathing while doing so.
If he couldn't act yet, then he'd plan.
For the next several moments, Lyon remained still—meditating, analyzing, waiting.
Because one way or another—
He wasn't staying here.
—
Guard's POV
This job sucked.
The guard stood in front of the sealed door with his arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes narrowed in irritation. The stone hallway was dim, lit by flickering torches that did nothing to improve his mood.
Why didn't we just kill the brat? he thought bitterly. Would've saved everyone the trouble.
All that effort, all that chaos—just because some kid decided to play hero. Now he was stuck babysitting a chained-up wizard who couldn't even use his magic.
Tch. What a waste of time.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
The guard turned his head as another guild member approached, jerking his thumb toward the hall.
"Hey," the man said quietly. "Boss wants a double-check on the product storage. You—come with me."
The second guard hesitated, glanced at the sealed door, then nodded.
"Yeah. Got it."
They walked off, their footsteps fading into the distance.
Silence.
The guard was alone.
He exhaled sharply through his nose.
Great. This got even more boring.
He shifted his weight, irritation simmering. After a moment, a crooked grin tugged at his lips.
Heh… maybe I'll have some fun.
He leaned closer to the door and raised his voice just enough to carry through the thick stone.
"Hey runt," he sneered, "how's it feel, huh? Being so weak and pathetic."
No response.
The guard scoffed.
"Thought so. Guess you finally realized you never stood a chance against us—"
Laughter echoed from inside the room.
Not weak.
Not shaky.
Genuine laughter.
The guard stiffened.
"…What?" he muttered aloud.
Inside the room, Lyon's voice came through the door—amused, relaxed.
"Sorry, sorry," Lyon said between laughs. "I was just trying to figure out what's worse. Being stuck in a cell while not being able to use magic… or being stuck here with cannon fodder who thinks he actually did something."
The guard's brow twitched.
"The hell did you just call me?" he snapped, anger flaring.
Lyon didn't miss a beat.
"You know," he continued casually, voice dripping with mockery, "I've never understood how people who don't do anything suddenly start talking like they did shit."
A pause.
"Like—my guy—you're acting all high and mighty, but you've been riding the bench this entire time."
Laughter burst out again—louder this time.
The guard's face flushed red.
"Shut up," he hissed, slamming a fist against the door. "You think you're funny?!"
Lyon ignored him completely.
"Let's see," Lyon mused. "Generic background character. 15 minutes of screen time. 0 relevancy. 0 respect from guildmates. And 0 accomplishments—like damn you've been putting in straight cardio."
Lyon laughed again.
The guard's rage boiled over.
"That's it!" he roared.
He unlocked the door in a furious motion, magic surging into his palm as he yanked it open.
"I'll beat you until you—!"
SPAT.
Something warm and wet hit his face.
The guard froze, recoiling in pure disgust.
"WHAT THE—?!"
Pain exploded in his stomach.
Before he could even process what happened, Lyon's fist had already buried itself into his gut with brutal precision. All the air left his lungs in one violent gasp.
Then—
CRACK.
A sharp and piercing pain shot straight through his groin.
The guard's mind went completely blank.
WHYYYY?!
He collapsed to his knees, choking, vision swimming as nausea overwhelmed him. Tears sprang to his eyes uncontrollably.
What the fuck is wrong with this kid—
He barely managed to look up.
Lyon stood over him.
Calm.
Focused.
Unbothered.
The last thing the guard ever saw—
THUD.
An elbow slammed into his face.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
—
Lyon's POV
Lyon looked down at the unconscious guard sprawled on the stone floor.
…Yeah. Not his proudest moment.
That wasn't exactly honorable, he admitted internally, staring at the man's slack expression. But honor be damned, I ain't dying over it.
He rolled his shoulder once, testing it, then crouched down and began searching the guard. Looking anywhere someone might stash a key.
Nothing.
Lyon's jaw tightened.
"…Just when you had a chance to be worth anything," he muttered under his breath, straightening up. "Useless prick."
With that, he grabbed the guard by the collar and dragged him fully into the room. It took more effort than he liked—no magic meant no shortcuts—but his physical training helped. Once the man was inside, Lyon shut the door, locked it, and paused just long enough to make sure it was secure.
I'm really tired of this shit. he thought flatly, before turning away.
The hallway beyond was dim, narrow, and carved straight into the rock.
Lyon moved carefully, keeping close to the wall, every step deliberate. Without magic, everything felt… wrong. No En. No sensory field. No early warning.
Just instincts.
His instincts were good—months of fighting, running, and surviving had sharpened them—but they weren't perfect. And they didn't quiet the tension curling in his chest.
This would be so much easier if I could sense even ten meters out, he cursed silently.
Every sound felt louder than it should have been. Every shadow looked like it might move.
He slipped behind a rocky outcropping as two wizards passed nearby, their voices low and irritated.
"—can't believe he let them escape."
"Boss is furious. Cleanup duty for everyone."
"Damn kid ruined everything."
…Well fuck you, Lyon thought. Stay mad.
Once they were gone, he moved again—fluid, quiet, just like a ghost. He avoided torchlight. Waited out patrols. Held his breath when footsteps lingered too long.
Time stretched.
Then he found it.
A wide chamber opened ahead, cluttered and chaotic. Crates stacked haphazardly. Tables overturned. Broken restraints tossed aside.
The supply area.
Several wizards were already there, grumbling as they worked.
"Why do we have to clean this up?"
"Because the idiot boss lost control."
"Don't say that too loud."
Lyon crouched low behind a crate, eyes scanning the room. Weapons were piled near the far wall—likely gathered for inventory or redistribution after the mess he'd caused earlier.
His gaze locked onto it.
There.
When the workers' attention shifted, Lyon moved.
One shadow to another. One breath to the next.
He reached the pile and knelt quickly, fingers brushing cold metal.
Swords—standard issue, worn but sharp. Guns, some still faintly humming with stored power. Lacrimas glinted faintly among them, filled with dangerous unknown magic energy.
Lyon didn't hesitate.
He took a sword first—balanced, not too heavy—and strapped it near his side, before then grabbing a magic pistol too.
A small smile tugged at his lips.
At least I'm armed now.
He turned to leave—
Then stopped.
Quickly thinking it over for a moment, he then turned back.
Lyon's gaze narrowed, then widened just a fraction.
For a moment, all the tension drained from his shoulders.
A slow, sharp grin spread across his face.
…Yea, he thought, amusement flickering through his exhaustion, that could work.
His hand moved to reach.
This should help tip the odds more in my favor.
—
The Boss's POV
The report crumpled slightly beneath his fingers.
The boss sat behind his desk, one leg crossed over the other, eyes moving slowly across the report as one of his subordinates stood stiffly in front of him. Line after line detailed the damage: destroyed holding cells, missing captives, injured personnel, lost supplies.
A slow breath left his nose.
Months, he thought coldly. Months of preparation. Infrastructure. Planning.
And all of it disrupted by a single child.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes unfocusing as irritation seeped into something darker. How had he ended up commanding such incompetence? Grown men, trained wizards—unable to restrain one boy. One prisoner.
His grip tightened.
Before he could speak—
BOOM.
The entire cave shuddered violently.
Dust rained from the ceiling. The walls groaned. A sharp tremor rippled through the stone beneath his feet.
The boss's eyes snapped up, pupils narrowing instantly.
"…What," he muttered.
Another subordinate burst through the office doors, pale and panicked.
"B–Boss! There's been an incident in the cargo hold—!"
The man didn't finish his sentence.
In a blur, the boss was on his feet. One hand shot out, fingers locking around the subordinate's throat as he lifted him clean off the ground. The air in the room warped—a crushing wave of magic pressure flooding outward, slamming into the walls and rattling everything not bolted down.
The subordinate choked, feet kicking uselessly.
The boss leaned in, eyes utterly devoid of emotion.
"What," he repeated coldly.
The pressure intensified just enough to make the point clear.
"F–fire—!" the man gasped. "E–explosion in storage—products—!"
The boss released him without another word. The man collapsed to the floor, coughing desperately.
The boss was already moving.
—
When he arrived, the sight before him was… ruin.
The cargo chamber—once meticulously organized—was a blazing disaster. Crates were shattered. Shelves lay overturned. Magical containers had ruptured violently, spilling volatile contents across the floor.
Fire everywhere.
Flames licked the cavern walls, climbing greedily as smoke choked the air. Wizards scrambled in chaos—some desperately trying to extinguish the blaze, others dragging the injured away. Burn marks scorched the stone. Blood stained the ground.
Months of merchandise.
Gone.
The boss stood at the edge of the destruction, unmoving.
The heat rolled over him, but he didn't flinch.
His presence alone caused nearby men to freeze. Even the fire seemed to hesitate, as if sensing the sheer malice radiating from him.
His jaw clenched.
Which one of you, he thought, fury boiling beneath the surface, do I kill first?
Then—
"B–Boss…"
A trembling voice came from behind him.
He didn't turn.
The man who approached was shaking so badly it looked like he might collapse on the spot.
"There's… there's something else you need to know."
Silence.
The boss didn't respond. Didn't move. The pressure around him spiked just enough to make breathing difficult.
The man swallowed hard.
"…The captive," he said shakily. "He—he escaped."
For a single heartbeat—
Everything stopped.
The fire.
The noise.
The cave itself seemed to hold its breath.
The boss's fingers curled slowly into a fist.
Veins stood out along his arm as the realization clicked into place with horrifying clarity.
The explosion.
The chaos.
The timing.
His vision darkened at the edges.
"That," he thought, rage detonating inside him like a second blast, "brat."
The word echoed in his mind, sharp and venomous.
His magic surged.
Somewhere deep in the cave, Lyon had just declared war.