The next day, the group left the retreat behind, boarding a military-grade battleship that had settled quietly outside in the dead of night, its hull barely visible against the darkness surrounding it, engines humming low enough to avoid drawing attention from the sleeping retreat behind them.
By morning, once the vessel finally lifted into the sky, the receptionist could only stand frozen, watching the same four people she’d looked down on days earlier boarding a ship she’d never even seen up close before, let alone imagined people like them flying out on. A cold shiver ran down her spine as the realization settled in.
She’d been fortunate not to push things too far with them initially. Had she pressed harder, treated them with even less courtesy than she already had, there was no telling what consequences might have eventually found their way back to her, consequences that clearly outranked anything she’d assumed possible from a group scraping together coins for a basic room.
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"Ethan."
Inside the battleship, Kang approached Ethan’s cabin and called out, his knuckles resting lightly against the door frame.
This particular battleship wasn’t used for public transport. Only specially designated members of the military, cleared for high-level missions, were permitted anywhere near it, even at a distance.
If not for Kang’s involvement directly, none of them would have gotten within shouting distance of the vessel without triggering some kind of alarm.
"Yes, come in."
Ethan’s voice carried through the door, and it slid open a moment later, revealing him standing shirtless in the center of the room, sweat still clinging faintly to his skin.
Ever since unlocking the Blood Tyrant class, Ethan’s body had settled into a near-constant state of restless discomfort, something only alleviated by actively circulating tribulation might through his blood and muscles, a low, persistent hum beneath his skin that never fully quieted.
It felt uncomfortably close to holding something in, a pressure that only eased once he gave in and let the practice run its course.
"Tyrant Blade?"
Kang asked the question plainly, locking the door behind him before stepping further into the room.
At those words, Ethan paused briefly, then nodded, confirming it without hesitation.
He’d sensed this same particular quality of dominance radiating off Kang from the very first moment their eyes met. An aura rooted deeply in authority and control, unmistakable once you’d felt it directed at you even once, the kind of pressure that lingered in the air long after the person had stopped focusing on you directly.
It was Tyrant Blade, unmistakably, the same foundation running through both of them.
"Mister Mysteries mentioned as much to me."
Kang said it casually, drawing his blade free from its sheath and beginning to circulate tribulation might through it, the faint crackle of energy building visibly along the steel’s edge.
Seeing that, Ethan finally relaxed, understanding exactly what Mister Mysteries had quietly arranged behind the scenes.
Since White Tower had no one qualified to properly train him in Tyrant Blade, the old man had simply gone and secured him a teacher instead, working the arrangement quietly, without ceremony, the same way he seemed to handle most things that actually mattered.
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"Tyrant Blade is a class. A lot of people forget that distinction and mistakenly treat it as a mere technique. That’s exactly why most practitioners end up as nothing more than ordinary swordsmen, chasing after a scattered collection of unrelated techniques instead."
Sitting on the ground beside Ethan, Kang explained patiently, his tone carrying the weight of someone who had clearly walked this exact path himself, years earlier.
"This doesn’t mean you shouldn’t learn a technique alongside your class, of course. I personally practice the Judgment style myself."
Ethan followed the logic easily enough. Since the stacking ability stood out as Tyrant Blade’s most defining feature, most practitioners leaned entirely on that mechanic, pairing it loosely with whatever techniques happened to help their strikes land more reliably.
That approach, Kang seemed to be suggesting, fell far short of optimal.
Especially for someone like Ethan, who carried both the Fear Monger and Blood Pact skills sitting dormant in his arsenal, skills that clearly demanded a more deliberate, refined approach to reach their full potential, wasted entirely on someone swinging a blade without proper structure behind each motion.
"Since you’re new to this, and not a member of any established lineage, you’ll find it difficult locating another technique compatible with Tyrant Blade on your own. So I’ll teach you the basics of the Judgment style myself. If you show real promise, I’ll consider taking you on formally as an apprentice."
Kang spoke with complete confidence, looking down at Ethan from his considerable height advantage.
"Hmm."
Ethan agreed without wasting any time deliberating over it. Apprenticeship carried relatively little formal weight in this world. Anyone could learn from anyone, provided both sides were willing.
"Good. We should reach our destination within two days. I’ll show you the first stance of the Judgment style right now."
Kang rose to his feet, his entire figure radiating an unmistakably domineering energy that filled the small cabin instantly.
His sword slid free of its sheath entirely as Ethan watched closely, tracking every subtle shift in his stance.
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Blackwater sat nestled somewhere between the mountains of Windgrave and the Great Lake beyond them. Much like Windgrave itself, it functioned as a massive economic hub within the kingdom.
Unlike Windgrave, however, Blackwater’s economy didn’t revolve around beasts or raw combat materials. Instead, the city served as the kingdom’s primary mineral trading hub, drawing merchants and prospectors from every corner of the region.
In fact, Blackwater’s overall wealth significantly outpaced Windgrave’s, though that reality remained largely unrecognized by the general public. It stood, by most measures, as the second most prosperous city within the entire kingdom.
Recently, however, a heavy gloom had settled over the city, an unmistakable tension spreading through its streets as residents grew increasingly anxious about what might come next.
Word on the street painted a grim picture. A string of serial murders had taken hold, methodically targeting wealthy businessmen and nobles alike, with no clear pattern anyone could yet point to beyond the victims’ obvious wealth, the killings spaced out just enough to keep the city on edge without ever fully settling into predictable rhythm.
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