Journey to Become the Zenith

The Eyes Watching from the Dark (Part 3)

"That man..."

"...can’t possibly be human."

"He’s a monster wearing human skin."

Even now...

Simply recalling Victor’s golden eyes made his entire body shiver.

He had only intended to test him.

Nothing more.

Just a tiny probe.

Enough to verify whether the rumors surrounding Victor were exaggerated.

Yet the instant his mana touched Victor’s...

He had felt as though an endless abyss had opened before him.

It wasn’t merely powerful.

It was overwhelming.

Predatory.

Ancient.

For one terrifying moment...

He had the unmistakable illusion that his own mana was being swallowed whole.

"I only brushed against his mana..."

"...and it felt like it wanted to devour me."

He clenched his fists.

"Worse..."

"He sensed me."

The young man could still vividly remember the exact instant Victor turned his head.

Victor hadn’t looked frightened.

Nor surprised.

Instead...

He had looked directly toward his hiding place with the calm gaze of someone already deciding where to swing the executioner’s blade.

The assassin’s heartbeat quickened again.

"I know he couldn’t actually see me..."

"But..."

"When our eyes met..."

"...I felt like I was already dead."

Every instinct he possessed had screamed the same warning.

Run.

Immediately.

Without questioning why.

Without hesitation.

So he obeyed.

The moment he concealed every trace of his mana once more...

He fled.

Not with magic.

Not with movement techniques.

He relied solely on his physical body, unwilling to risk exposing even the slightest fluctuation that Victor might detect.

Only after putting considerable distance between them did he finally stop.

Even then...

The suffocating pressure lingering in his mind refused to disappear.

Slowly...

He reached toward the side of his neck.

His fingers caught the edge of aged skin.

With practiced ease...

He peeled it away.

The wrinkled face of the harmless old fisherman disappeared.

Beneath it stood a man in his late twenties.

His appearance was painfully ordinary.

Neither handsome nor ugly.

The kind of face people forgot moments after seeing it.

His lean frame blended effortlessly into any crowd.

Even his presence seemed strangely insignificant.

As though the world itself overlooked him.

He stared at the discarded mask.

A long breath escaped his lips.

"...Much better."

Without the disguise...

He finally felt a fraction safer.

Victor and Clara only knew the old fisherman.

Not him.

That alone greatly reduced the chance of being recognized.

Even so...

He had no intention of letting down his guard.

Not after meeting those terrifying golden eyes.

The young man slowly exhaled.

Even after removing the old fisherman’s disguise, the uneasiness lingering in his heart refused to fade.

He looked around cautiously.

Pedestrians continued walking through the damaged streets of Fantom City, carrying lumber, supplies, and food to those rebuilding their homes after the undead invasion.

No one paid him the slightest attention.

To every passerby...

He was just another ordinary face among countless survivors trying to move forward.

Yet he knew better.

His gaze instinctively drifted back toward the direction of the market district.

I should leave...

The thought surfaced almost immediately.

His feet even shifted slightly.

Then he stopped himself.

"...No."

His expression darkened.

"If I run now..."

"...I’ll only attract his attention."

Victor had already noticed something.

Of that much he was certain.

If he suddenly disappeared from Fantom City immediately after Victor arrived at the abandoned fish stall...

It would practically confirm his guilt.

The risk was far too great.

He clenched his fists.

"I have to stay."

"I’ll lay low."

"A few weeks..."

"...or even a few months if necessary."

"Eventually..."

"...his vigilance will drop."

Only then would he look for an opportunity to leave.

Any mistake...

No matter how small...

Would cost him his life.

He slowly closed his eyes.

The image of Victor’s calm golden gaze surfaced once again.

A cold chill raced down his spine.

He couldn’t suppress the shiver that followed.

"Damn it..."

He muttered under his breath.

"I thought this would be an easy assignment."

His breathing grew heavier.

"First..."

"His wife refused to die quietly."

"Then..."

"Even his eldest daughter turned into an unexpected obstacle."

He clicked his tongue in irritation.

"And now..."

"...that monster shows up."

His expression twisted with frustration.

"If Victor hadn’t appeared..."

"...this mission would’ve ended long ago."

"I would’ve completed everything without anyone ever discovering the truth."

He kicked a loose stone across the alley.

"It isn’t worth it."

"The reward isn’t nearly enough."

"Not if it means risking my life against someone like him."

The man took several slow breaths, forcing himself to calm down.

Complaining wouldn’t change reality.

Survival came first.

His heartbeat gradually steadied.

Once he was certain no one had followed him, he casually stepped out of the alley and merged into the flow of pedestrians.

Within moments...

He disappeared among the crowds helping rebuild Fantom City.

No one spared him a second glance.

No one realized the harmless-looking man walking beside them had orchestrated years of tragedy for a single family.

...

High above the streets...

A lone figure stood silently upon the roof of a damaged building.

The hooded observer watched the disguised assassin disappear into the crowd without making the slightest attempt to interfere.

The wind gently stirred the edge of the dark cloak.

Beneath the hood...

Only a faint smile could be seen.

"Such a boring play..."

The voice was soft.

Almost disappointed.

The figure slowly shifted their gaze toward the distant market where Victor and Clara still stood.

There was unmistakable curiosity hidden beneath that quiet tone.

"Still..."

"I wonder..."

"...what kind of performance the so-called bearer of the strongest soul will give."

A brief silence followed.

The observer’s eyes remained fixed in Victor’s direction.

"Is he truly worthy..."

"...of all the effort..."

"...and all the affection my master continues to shower upon him?"

No answer came.

Only the evening wind whispered across the ruined rooftops.

The hooded figure gave one final glance toward the recovering city.

Then...

Without a ripple of mana...

Without the slightest disturbance in the air...

The figure simply vanished.

As though they had never been there at all.

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