One year had passed since the death of Sofía Douglas of Mondring.
Lusian forced himself to remember.
He burned his mind to exhaustion, trying to reconstruct every lair, every hiding place, every concealed stronghold of the demonic cult within the kingdom, relying on the incomplete fragments of the game from his previous life. He pushed his memory until his head throbbed, until every possible mistake tasted like death.
When he was certain, he spread a map across his desk.
He marked each location with black ink—one stain for every future grave.
Then the hunt began.
The kingdom did not notice it through the passing of seasons…
It noticed it through the smell of blood.
Through the temples of the demonic cult reduced to ashes.Through the muffled screams in moonless nights.Through trembling messengers arriving at the capital, whispering:
"The Duke of the North… has begun hunting again."
Because from the afternoon he swore to destroy them, Lusian never stopped.
Within a single year, the name Lusian Douglas became a feared whisper in the places where light could not reach.
Peasants said he traveled with a white bolt of lightning and a wolf made of shadow.Soldiers swore they had seen him cross entire forests chasing a single cultist.The nobles… did not speak. They did not dare.
But the cultists—
They knew the truth.
He had fallen upon them like a silent storm.
The clandestine temples and hidden lairs the cult had built over decades were destroyed in a matter of months. Dark priests who once acted with impunity now fled like rats.
During the first winter, Lusian found and executed the High Priest of the Blood branch.In spring, he annihilated three summoning cores in the Fractal Mountains.In summer, he destroyed entire caravans trafficking corrupted mana.And in autumn…
In autumn, they found a cultist who survived long enough to speak.
He said only four words before dying of fear:
"That child is a monster…"
Between one hunt and the next, Lusian did not rest.
Emily saw him break more than a hundred swords.Collapse unconscious on frozen ground.Rise again with his hands torn raw.Continue training while blood dripped down to his elbows.
He fed on meat and mana-saturated extracts in quantities no human should consume. Each bite pushed him one step closer to mana poisoning, yet he kept going—forcing his body to level up not through natural growth, but through sheer brutality and obsessive will.
Sometimes Thunder carried him back to the castle when he collapsed unconscious in the night.
Umber slept beside him, keeping watch.
Elizabeth…
Elizabeth accompanied him whenever she could, though he tried to keep her away from the places where darkness still breathed.
Because the fear was still there.
That fear he never spoke aloud:
If the cult finds you… if they try to take you… if they discover who you will become in the future of the game…
He would never allow it.
Not dead.Not alive.Not in any reality.
Snow fell silently over a forest north of the kingdom.
A small group of demonic cultists ran through the darkness, gasping in panic.
One stumbled. Another cursed. The youngest began to cry.
"Don't look back! DON'T LOOK—!"
A white bolt of lightning crashed down among them.
The leader's body exploded to the side, charred black.
Thunder reared with an electric roar.
Umber emerged from the trees—a living shadow covered in fangs.
And Lusian descended from the steed…
Taller.Stronger.Colder.
There was not a trace of mercy in his eyes.
"You…" he said, tightening his grip on the sword. "You have no right to live."
The cultists screamed.
It lasted seconds.
Only dismembered bodies remained.