While Ryan had spent the past week settling his group, integrating new members, and undergoing intense training, forces outside the manor were growing increasingly restless.
At the top of that list was Freya.
She could feel his soul—an overwhelming, intoxicating presence unlike anything she had ever encountered—somewhere in the city. And it wasn't just him. Several others burned just as brilliantly, their souls shining like celestial flames. Yet no matter how she tried to pinpoint them, they remained elusive, slipping from her grasp like a mirage.
Her obsession deepened. Every day, she felt Ryan's soul growing stronger, evolving into something beyond comprehension. And the others… they, too, were changing, their essence shifting in ways that defied all logic.
Finally, she had enough.
A sliver of her divinity seeped out as her eyes glowed with ethereal pink light.
There.
A manor, hidden away by magic unlike any she had ever encountered. The moment she locked onto its location, however, something terrifying happened.
Several presences turned their attention toward her.
A suffocating sense of danger crashed down on her—raw, unfiltered killing intent. It wasn't just a warning; it was a silent promise of death.
She felt hunted.
And then—
Cold. Lethal. Unforgiving.
A woman with long, violet hair let out a quiet snort, her crimson eyes filled with icy disdain. With a flick of her wrist, a magical dome materialized over the manor. Freya could still see it, but everything inside had been veiled, sealed beyond her reach.
Before she could react—
He was there.
Ryan.
She had learned his name from the guild after he registered. Now, he stood outside her window, floating effortlessly in the air.
Her breath hitched.
Her heartbeat pounded like a war drum.
Her fingers instinctively smoothed her hair, though her hands trembled slightly. She couldn't look away. His soul washed over her again—intoxicating, powerful, all-consuming. It wrapped around her like a lover's embrace, sending shivers down her spine.
Words failed her.
The goddess of beauty, charm, and desire—reduced to a flustered mess.
"Hi."
That was all she could manage, her voice barely above a whisper.
He gave her a charming smile, the kind that made her stomach flutter, and raised a hand in a small wave before—
Vanishing.
A wave of disappointment hit her—until she felt it.
Warm hands on her shoulders.
A husky voice whispered in her ear, rich and teasing.
"Peeking into people's homes is rather rude."
Her body stiffened. His touch—it wasn't just physical. She could feel his soul, radiant and vast, and her vision blurred as an overwhelming sensation crashed over her.
Brilliance. Power. Something boundless and endless.
Her lips parted, and a single name slipped from them in a breathless gasp.
"Odr…"
She knew this was who she had been searching for, her other half.
But his voice was calm, unwavering. "Am I? Still, I prefer my original name—Ryan. However, if you want me to be yours alone, that won't be possible."
Her head snapped toward him, eyes flashing pink as she activated her divine charm.
Why?
Was she being rejected?
Yet Ryan only smiled. Not dazed, not entranced—completely unaffected.
Her breath caught.
He was immune.
"Because I won't abandon my lovers," he said simply, placing a hand over his chest. "They are linked to me."
And she saw it.
Threads of golden light stretched from his soul, extending into the distance, unbreakable and absolute. Love, loyalty, trust, devotion—bonds that could not be severed.
She reached out instinctively, brushing against one.
Warmth. Passion. Unwavering commitment.
A sharp pang of jealousy coiled in her chest.
"You could have the same," Ryan's voice pulled her from her daze.
She blinked. In his palm, a chess piece appeared—small, unassuming, yet linked to his soul.
Her breath hitched.
She had never desired something more in her entire existence.
She reached for it—
And it vanished.
Her fingers twitched, a sharp ache settling in her chest.
"But you have to behave," he said, his tone calm but firm. "You have to show me you can work well with others. I won't invite an unstable factor into my peerage. Do you understand?"
Her nails dug into her palms.
She understood.
"Yes," she breathed.
"Good." His gaze darkened, rich with meaning. "If you succeed, what you gain will be beyond your wildest dreams. Beyond the mere confines of heaven or this small world."
A shiver ran down her spine.
"But if you fail," his voice dipped lower, velvety and dangerous, "you'll regret it for the rest of your existence."
She had no doubt.
She would regret it.
The door burst open.
Allen Fromel, spear in hand, charged like a wild beast, murder blazing in his eyes.
Ryan barely glanced at him.
A fist cracked against Allen's chin, sending him flying backward. His head embedded in the ceiling, body hanging limp, while his spear slipped from his grasp and landed neatly in Ryan's waiting hand.
Ryan twirled the weapon with a lazy flick of his wrist. "I rather enjoy these impromptu meetings. They make me quite a bit of money." He smirked, blue eyes gleaming. "You should teach your children not to charge around like rabid animals."
A massive shadow loomed.
Ottar.
His giant fist came crashing down—but Ryan barely moved, lazily slapping the attack away as though brushing off a fly.
The Gulliver Brothers followed, spears thrusting with inhuman speed from tricky angles. Ryan moved like the wind, effortlessly weaving through the storm of attacks, his expression almost bored. Not a single thread of his clothing was disturbed.
Then—his stolen spear lashed out.
In seconds, the brothers were disarmed.
Their weapons vanished into a portal behind Ryan's shoulder.
He grinned. "Well, I simply must be going. Lots to do today, Lady Freya." He gave a mock bow, blue eyes glinting with amusement. "Also, I claim self-defense."
Then—he was gone.
Vanished without a trace.
Ottar lunged again, fist swinging into empty air.
Freya's breath came in shallow gasps.
Ryan's presence had disappeared completely, but the ghost of his soul still lingered against hers, teasing, tempting, warning.
And for the first time in a long, long while—
She felt powerless and angry that she had once more been interrupted.
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