Ring! Ring! Ring!
"Hello, Karus speaking..."
"Karus, what's your status report on the mission I gave you?" asked the voice on the other end.
"This time, your suspicions were off," Karus replied, glancing at the bustling streets around him. "That kid, the one with the black aura in his eyes? He's nothing special."
"Hmm... Alright. Your mission is over. Stop monitoring him."
The line went dead.
Karus slipped his phone into his coat pocket and continued walking down the crowded Monroe Streets of Amsterdam. Despite his conspicuous black trench coat, glowing violet pupils, and eerie presence, no one paid him the slightest attention. It was as if he didn't exist. That's how it was for those of the Assassin class—a hidden subclass among players.
The man who had contacted him was none other than Chairman Van Hasten. And yes, Karus was the shadowy figure who had emerged behind Hasten the last time. But how could a human—even if he was human—be so absurdly strong?
Denzel knew a lot from his past life, but anomalies like Karus remained unknown even to him.
Karus smirked under his scarf. "That kid from earlier... he's dangerous. To sense a player of my rank? Interesting."
He stared at his reflection in a store window, watching his own dark aura flicker faintly.
"I'll keep the Association off your back for now, Denzel Rünter," he muttered with a chuckle. "But who knows how long I can keep that up. You're gonna shake this world..."
Karus had lied to Van Hasten without hesitation, and he didn't feel even a shred of guilt. Why? Even I can't say. His reasons are best known to him—and maybe the author.
---
Denzel and Ryan stepped out of the Association building, a renewed fire in their eyes. Meanwhile, Leon waited inside, preparing to plead his case to the Chairman. The rest of the day passed in a blur, and by evening, Leon had returned home earlier than usual.
Very suspicious...
Later that night, Leon roamed the quiet streets, making stops at a few stores to buy gifts. But these weren't for himself—or Denzel. He made his way to the Amsterdam Regional Hospital with a quiet resolve.
Inside a quiet hospital room, a young girl lay unmoving on the bed. She was probably in her early teens, and though her features were pretty, her face was pale, thin, and expressionless. Multiple tubes and machines were connected to her—she hadn't moved in weeks.
The door opened. A tall young man entered, carrying a small bag filled with wrapped items and a bouquet of flowers. He had dark curly hair, sideburns, and tired eyes.
It was Leon.
He sat beside the girl, taking her hand gently. "Sylvie... How are you doing today?"
There was no response.
"Well, I'm here to wish you a belated happy birthday. I got back yesterday, but things... got complicated. So, I brought this to make up for it." He pulled a brown teddy bear from the bag—GabJ's Bear, Sylvie's favorite—with a heart stitched into its chest.
"Oh, and Denzel's doing better," Leon added softly. "He's cheering up."
He stood, brushing her hair back gently. "Before I go... promise me you'll stay safe, okay?"
Still, no answer. Leon sighed and turned to leave.
Just then, a nurse entered with a tray of medicine. "Sir Leon, would you mind shifting a bit? I need to change your sister's IV."
"Of course. I was just leaving."
But before he stepped out, the nurse hesitated. "Actually... there's something you should hear."
Leon paused. "Is there a problem?"
She took a breath. "According to the latest reports, your sister's condition is declining. None of our treatments are working. I'm afraid... she doesn't have much time left."
Silence filled the room.
"Thank you for the update," Leon said, his voice low.
But that "thank you" was no ordinary gratitude. A storm of emotion surged around him. The air shifted—tense and heavy—as a violent aura rippled from his body. His jaw clenched as he walked down the hallway.
I guess there's no time left to think about it, Leon thought bitterly.
A voice echoed in his mind.
[Leon, think this through carefully…]
---
The next day...
Meanwhile, elsewhere in Amsterdam…
"That was the last dungeon for today, right?" Ryan panted, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Yeah. Let's wrap it up," Denzel replied, also catching his breath.
After discovering how weak they still were, the duo had thrown themselves into a week-long dungeon raid spree.
"Tomorrow, we head to the tower for a month," Ryan said.
"Shouldn't I be the one saying that?"
They both laughed, unaware of the forces shifting in the shadows across the globe.
[Tennessee, USA]
In a dim underground boxing ring, a shirtless man with dyed blue hair pounded away at a punching bag. His fists, wrapped in thick bandages, struck with enough force to bend the metallic bag. Each blow sent metallic creaks echoing across the ring.
Then, he drew his arm back. His index finger began to glow with golden light. He jabbed the bag with a single finger—
BOOM!
The bag exploded into shrapnel.
On the other side of the gym, a smaller man in a hoodie scrolled through his phone lazily.
"Yo! Treby! Toss me another bag!" the shirtless man yelled.
Treby didn't look up. "Hmm... Miller, you'll want to see this."
"What?"
"A C-rank dungeon appeared in the Netherlands. A few days ago."
"So? They begging for backup now?" Miller scoffed.
"Not quite. It's already been cleared—by just two players."
"What?! Two?! Russia took a week to clear theirs!" Miller's eyes lit up. "Looks like I've found my next destination."
"Don't get cocky. They might be tough."
"That's what makes it fun," Miller laughed.
[Name: Zain Macmiller]
[Player Rank: S]
[Gift: Geo Impact]
[Name: Treby Blay]
[Player Rank: S]
[Gift: God of Blades]
---
[Manchester, England]
"Ugh... everything's so boring these days."
A white-haired girl in a pink cap and sunglasses slurped her milkshake at a trendy restaurant, scrolling through her phone.
Suddenly, her eyes widened.
"Just two players?!"
She spilled her milkshake across the table, drawing attention.
"Wait... is that Princess Serena?"
"Now that you mention it... yeah!"
Panicking, she dropped a £1000 note and bolted out the door before the crowd could gather.
"This life is so annoying..." she muttered as she disappeared down the alley.
[Name: Serena]
[Title: Princess of England]
[Player Rank: S]
[Gift: Crimson Seraphim]
[Rothenburg ob der Tauber, Germany]
A secret chamber deep underground glowed with red candlelight. Men and women dressed in red robes chanted in unison, their bare torsos revealing demonic symbols etched in blood.
"All hail Andras, King of Hellheimer and Ruler of Earth!"
Twelve black-robed figures stood at the altar. Each bore Roman numerals under their eyes—from I to XII, marking their strength and rank.
At the center sat a masked figure—red and white, hauntingly familiar.
A middle-aged man in a suit was dragged before him, weeping.
"Please! One more chance! I beg you!"
The cult leader stared coldly. "Your third failure... and still you crave forgiveness. How repulsive."
With a simple wave of his hand—
POP!
The man's head exploded. The chamber fell into silence.
The leader chuckled to himself.
My dungeon did its job. The flame demon has awakened. Another psycho walks the earth... Ah, how this world will tremble.
His eyes glowed—one red, one white.
He was a psycho.
END OF CHAPTER