Princess Lyra's request for a "demonstration" wasn't a casual one. True to her reputation for sharp intellect and arcane prowess, she had a specific, controlled environment in mind: one of the Royal Mages' secluded research chambers, deep within the Citadel's oldest wing. The room was circular, its walls inscribed with complex warding runes that shimmered faintly, designed to contain and analyze potent magical energies. Or, in Ken's case, the utter lack thereof.
Ken found himself standing in the center of the room, bare-chested again (Lyra had insisted it would "minimize interference from mundane materials"), with Princess Lyra, Master Arion, and a nervous-looking Lyla as his audience. Elara Vance stood near the reinforced doorway, her hand never far from her sword, a silent, watchful guardian. Lord Valerius had been firmly, if politely, excluded.
"Fascinating," Lyra murmured, circling Ken slowly, her amethyst eyes narrowed in concentration. She held a delicate, silver-tipped wand, not unlike Arion's Mana-Scyer, but far more intricate, humming with a subtle, internal energy. "The ambient mana in this chamber is dense, yet around your person, Master Ken, it's… thinner. Repelled, almost, like water from oil, but on a metaphysical level."
Arion, practically vibrating with excitement, added, "Precisely, Your Highness! It's not an anti-magic field, which would require active mana manipulation. It's more like… a passive nullification. His very being is anathema to magical energy!"
Ken just crossed his arms, looking mildly bored. "So, I'm a walking magic dead zone. Got it. Can we get to the part where I hit something? All this staring is making my abs self-conscious."
Lyra smiled, a flash of genuine amusement. "Patience, Master Ken. Understanding the nature of your… condition… is paramount. If we are to deploy your unique talents effectively, and perhaps even find a way to return you to your 'Tokyo,' we must first comprehend the mechanics." She gestured to a crystal pedestal nearby, upon which rested a perfectly spherical orb of pure, solidified mana – a highly concentrated, stable energy source. "This is a Prime Mana Orb. It radiates a constant, measurable magical output. I wish to observe its interaction with your… field."
She levitated the orb with a flick of her wand, guiding it slowly towards Ken. As it neared him, about three feet away, the orb's steady, internal glow began to flicker erratically. The closer it got, the more pronounced the effect became. When it was a mere foot from Ken's chest, the Prime Mana Orb, which should have been as stable as bedrock, began to visibly diminish, its light fading, its very substance seeming to shrink.
"Remarkable!" Arion gasped, scribbling furiously in a large tome Lyla dutifully held open. "It's not just repelling it; it's… it's unraveling it! The concentrated mana is destabilizing, reverting to its chaotic, unbound state!"
The orb, now noticeably smaller and dimmer, trembled in the air. Lyra, her brow furrowed in intense concentration, pushed it closer still. Inches from Ken's skin, the Prime Mana Orb gave a final, pathetic flicker and then winked out of existence, leaving behind only a faint smell of ozone and a bewildered silence.
"It… it just dissipated," Lyla whispered, her eyes wide.
"Not dissipated, young Lyla," Lyra corrected, her voice tight with excitement. "It was… unmade. Reduced to its fundamental, non-magical components. Master Ken, your very presence is like a localized entropy field for magical constructs!" She looked at Ken, her amethyst eyes blazing. "This is beyond anything I've ever encountered! The implications are staggering!"
Ken shrugged. "So, magic toys break when I get too close. Story of my life. Can I punch something now, Princess? Or are you going to try and make me hug a unicorn to see if it turns into a regular horse?"
Lyra actually laughed, a clear, bright sound. "Your irreverence is… refreshing, Master Ken. Very well. A practical demonstration." She gestured to a far wall. With a wave of her hand, a section of the stone shimmered and reformed into three heavily armored training dummies, the kind used by the Royal Vanguard for weapons practice. "These are imbued with reinforcement enchantments, making them as resilient as a seasoned knight in blessed plate. Attempt to strike them, if you please."
"Finally," Ken muttered, cracking his knuckles. The sound echoed in the chamber.
He didn't charge. He didn't adopt a fancy stance. He simply walked towards the nearest dummy, his movements economical, almost casual. Then, with a speed that was still shocking despite their previous experiences, his fist shot out.
It wasn't a wind-up punch. It was a short, precise jab, aimed at the dummy's chest plate.
CRACK-BOOM!
The sound was twofold. First, the sharp crack of the enchantments shattering, like glass under a hammer. Second, the booming impact as Ken's fist connected with the now un-warded metal and wood beneath.
The heavily reinforced training dummy didn't just dent. It exploded. Splinters of wood, shards of twisted metal, and fragments of broken enchantment runes flew in all directions. Elara instinctively shielded Lyla. Arion ducked. Lyra, however, stood her ground, a small, almost invisible shimmer of a personal shield deflecting the debris, her eyes wide with fascination.
Ken didn't pause. He flowed to the next dummy. This time, a spinning back kick.
WHOOSH-CRUNCH!
The enchantments flared for a microsecond, then died. The dummy's torso caved in as if struck by a battering ram, and it was launched across the room, smashing into the far wall with enough force to leave a deep crater.
The third dummy met its end via a devastating elbow strike to its "head." The enchantments popped like soap bubbles, and the dummy's upper section simply disintegrated into a cloud of dust and fragments.
In less than five seconds, three heavily enchanted, reinforced training dummies, designed to withstand blows from magical weapons, were reduced to kindling and scrap. Ken stood amidst the debris, not even breathing heavily.
"Satisfied, Princess?" he asked, dusting off his hands. "Or do you have any more furniture you want me to redecorate?"
Lyra slowly lowered her wand, her expression a mixture of awe and a dawning, almost fearful respect. "The speed… the precision… the way your very touch seems to negate the enchantments before the physical impact… It's as if you are punching through the magic itself to strike the mundane beneath." She took a deep breath. "Master Ken, you are not just a warrior; you are a living, breathing counter-spell. A walking refutation of magical law."
Arion was babbling, "The null-field precedes the physical contact! It creates a vulnerability! Oh, the treatises I shall write! The paradigms that will shift!"
Elara just shook her head, a small, incredulous smile playing on her lips. Every time she thought she understood the limits of Ken's power, he shattered them with casual indifference.
It was at that moment, as a fragile sense of triumph and discovery settled over the chamber, that the subtle warding runes on the walls flickered violently and died. The ambient magical hum of the room abruptly ceased.
"What in the—?" Arion began, his eyes darting around.
Lyra tensed, her hand tightening on her wand. "The wards! Something has suppressed them externally!"
A chilling, sibilant whisper seemed to materialize from the very shadows in the corners of the room, a voice that was both there and not there, laced with cold amusement.
"Such an interesting specimen… the King's new pet. So… un-magical. So… breakable."
Before anyone could react, three figures coalesced from the deepest shadows, moving with unnatural silence and speed. They were clad head-to-toe in matte black, form-fitting attire that seemed to drink the light, their faces obscured by smooth, featureless masks. In their hands, they wielded short, wickedly curved daggers that gleamed with a faint, oily black luminescence.
Assassins. And not just any assassins. Their movements, their aura… it screamed of something dark, something forbidden.
"Obsidian Hand!" Elara snarled, drawing her sword in a flash, positioning herself between Ken and the attackers, her body a shield. "Protect the Princess!"
Two of the assassins darted towards Lyra with terrifying speed, their black daggers aimed at her throat. The third, larger and seemingly the leader, moved directly, impossibly fast, towards Ken.
Lyra reacted instantly, a wave of violet energy erupting from her, forming a concussive barrier. The two assassins slammed into it, their daggers scraping against the magical shield, sparks flying. But the shield buckled, cracking under their relentless, unnatural assault. These were no ordinary thugs; their daggers seemed to drain the magical energy of her barrier.
Arion yelped, fumbling for a defensive amulet. Lyla screamed, cowering behind him.
The lead assassin reached Ken. Its black dagger, coated in some venomous-looking substance, stabbed towards Ken's exposed chest, aimed directly at his heart. The speed was blinding, the intent utterly lethal.
Ken didn't even flinch. His eyes, which had narrowed to dangerous slits at the first whisper, tracked the incoming blade. To him, moving at what seemed like slow motion, the assassin's attack was telegraphed, clumsy, full of openings.
Just as the tip of the poisoned dagger was about to touch his skin, Ken's hand shot out. Not to block. Not to parry.
He caught the blade.
His calloused fingers, hardened by decades of breaking bones and steel, closed around the razor-sharp, magically-tainted dagger, inches from his chest.
The assassin froze, its featureless mask betraying no emotion, but a subtle tremor ran through its arm. It tried to pull the dagger free, but it was as if it were welded to Ken's grip.
"Nice try, ninja-wannabe," Ken said, his voice dangerously soft. "But you forgot one thing."
His other hand, a blur of motion, snaked out and clamped around the assassin's throat.
The assassin, despite its unnatural strength and agility, was lifted bodily off the ground, feet dangling. Ken's grip was like a vise of living steel. A faint, guttural choking sound escaped the assassin's mask.
"You mess with the bull," Ken growled, his eyes like chips of ice, "you get the horns."
With a single, brutal wrench, there was a sickening CRUNCH. The assassin's body went limp in his grasp. Ken tossed it aside like a discarded rag. It hit the floor with a dull thud, unmoving.
Meanwhile, Lyra's shield was failing. The two remaining assassins, their daggers glowing with a malevolent light, pressed their advantage. Cracks spiderwebbed across the violet barrier.
"Princess!" Elara cried, engaging one of the assassins, her sword clashing against its poisoned dagger in a shower of sparks. She was skilled, a formidable warrior, but the assassin was unnaturally fast, its movements fluid and deadly, its blade seeming to anticipate her every move.
Ken didn't hesitate. He moved towards the struggling Princess. One of the assassins, seeing him approach, disengaged from Lyra's failing shield and lunged at him, its dagger a black streak.
Ken sidestepped the attack with contemptuous ease. His hand shot out, not in a punch, but an open-palm strike aimed at the assassin's chest.
THWACK!
It didn't sound like much. But the assassin froze mid-lunge, its body spasming. A faint, almost invisible ripple of energy seemed to pass through it. Then, its eyes, visible for a split second through the slits in its mask, rolled back. It crumpled to the floor, unconscious but alive. Ken had used a nerve strike, precise and debilitating.
The last assassin, seeing its comrades fall, and Elara now free to focus solely on it, hesitated for a microsecond. That was all Elara needed. Her sword, guided by years of training, found an opening in its defense, slicing through its dark attire and drawing a hiss of pain.
Before the assassin could retaliate or attempt to flee, Ken was there. He didn't bother with finesse this time. A single, devastating punch to the side of its masked head.
CRACK!
The assassin dropped like a stone.
Silence descended once more, broken only by ragged breathing and the faint drip of what looked like black ichor from the fallen assassins' daggers.
Lyra's shield finally collapsed, and she sagged against a nearby console, her face pale but her eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and relief. Elara rushed to her side, checking her for injuries. Arion slowly peeked out from behind a large, overturned bookshelf, Lyla still clinging to him.
Ken nudged one of the unconscious assassins with his foot. "Obsidian Hand, huh? Not so tough when they're not hiding in the shadows. More like the Obsidian Paperweights." He looked at Lyra. "You alright, Princess? They didn't scratch your pretty face?"
Lyra took a shaky breath, pushing a strand of silver hair from her eyes. "I am… unharmed, Master Ken. Thanks to you. And Captain Vance." Her gaze was fixed on Ken, a new depth of understanding – and perhaps something more – in her amethyst eyes. "They… they moved through the Citadel's wards like smoke. Their daggers… they drain magical energy. I've never encountered anything like it."
Elara, examining one of the black daggers (carefully avoiding its edge), nodded grimly. "This is high-level Shadowmancy, Your Highness. Forbidden arts. The Obsidian Hand is far more dangerous, far more deeply entrenched, than we feared."
Ken picked up the dagger he had caught. He sniffed it. "Poisons. Neurotoxins, probably. And yeah, this thing feels… greasy. Like it's sucking the energy out of the air." He then did something that made Arion yelp and Lyra gasp. He casually bent the dark metal blade with his bare hands, twisting it into a pretzel shape before tossing it aside. "Cheap junk."
The implications of the attack were chilling. The Obsidian Hand had managed to infiltrate the Royal Mages' most secure research chambers. They had known Ken would be there. They had come prepared to neutralize not just him, but the Princess.
King Alaric arrived moments later, alerted by the sudden failure of the chamber's wards and Elara's emergency signal. He took in the scene – the unconscious assassins, the bent daggers, his shaken but unharmed daughter, and Ken Ryugasaki standing amidst it all, looking more annoyed than threatened – and his face hardened into a mask of cold fury.
"The Obsidian Hand dares to strike within my very walls, at my own daughter?" he said, his voice dangerously low. "They have signed their own death warrant." His gaze fell on Ken. "King's Shield, it seems your duties are expanding faster than anticipated. These vipers must be rooted out. And it appears you are the only one they cannot counter with their dark arts."
Ken cracked his neck. A slow, predatory grin spread across his face. "Assassins in the dark? Forbidden magic? Sounds like a party. Just point me in the right direction, Your Majesty." He glanced at Princess Lyra, who was still looking at him with that intense, unreadable expression. "And Princess? Next time you want a demonstration, maybe pick a room with fewer uninvited guests. Or better yet, let's take the demonstration to them."
Lyra met his gaze, a spark of dangerous excitement igniting in her amethyst eyes. "An intriguing proposition, Master Ken. Perhaps a joint operation is in order. My knowledge of their arcane methods, combined with your… unique approach to problem-solving…"
Elara felt a familiar shiver run down her spine. Ken Ryugasaki, the Princess, and a hunt for shadowy assassins. The thrilling, goosebump-inducing chaos was definitely picking up steam. And she had a feeling that the body count, on both sides, was about to rise significantly.