The mansion loomed before Haizen and Urilo like a forgotten sentinel of the past. Its crumbling facade was draped in thick vines and moss, the stone walls weathered by centuries of neglect. What once might have been a proud estate was now a husk, its grandeur swallowed by decay. The faint glow of the setting sun cast long shadows across the ruins, painting an eerie picture of desolation.
Haizen led the way, his steps cautious but deliberate. They moved through the maze-like ruins of Blood Valley, their boots crunching softly on debris-strewn paths. Around them, fragments of the past—collapsed towers, broken archways, and overgrown courtyards—stood as silent witnesses to a history long forgotten. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and faint traces of rust, remnants of a violent legacy etched into the soil.
"This place never gets less creepy," Urilo muttered, his voice low. His eyes scanned their surroundings, his fingers twitching slightly, ready to summon magic if needed.
Haizen grunted in agreement, pausing by a section of the wall that appeared no different from the others. But he knew better. Reaching down, he moved aside a pile of moss-covered debris, revealing a narrow path leading to the mansion's basement.
"This way," Haizen whispered, motioning for Urilo to follow.
The two descended into the shadows, the faint light of the ruins above quickly swallowed by the dark. The air grew cooler as they navigated the narrow corridor, their movements precise and silent. This was their haven, their stronghold—but tonight, the familiar walls felt oppressive. Something was wrong.
As they entered the main chamber of the basement, their fears were confirmed. Figures lurked in the shadows, their presence unmistakable. At least fifty men filled the room, their stances tense and ready for violence. Haizen's eyes quickly found the man who led them: the Butcher.
The Butcher stood at the center of the room, his broad shoulders and scarred face casting an imposing presence. His single eye gleamed with cruel amusement as he took in Haizen and Urilo.
"Well, well," he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "The famous Shadow and the genius Mage Urilo, gracing us with their presence. What a surprise."
The room filled with low laughter, the sound sending a shiver down Haizen's spine. He scanned the chamber, noting every assassin and fighter. These were Carlos's men—each one skilled, each one deadly. Their presence here, in his home, was a violation that burned in his chest.
"You seem comfortable," Haizen said coldly, his eyes narrowing.
"Oh, we are," the Butcher replied, his grin widening. "Your hideout's nice and cozy. Shame it won't be yours for much longer."
Urilo leaned slightly toward Haizen, his voice low. "They've been here a while," he murmured. "Look how they're positioned. They've taken over completely."
Haizen's jaw tightened, but he gave a slight nod. His mind raced, searching for an opening, a weakness in their enemy's ranks. But before he could act, the Butcher stepped forward, gesturing for them to follow.
"The boss wants to see you," he said. "Let's not keep him waiting."
Haizen and Urilo exchanged a glance before following the Butcher deeper into the hideout. The familiar halls now felt foreign, tainted by the presence of intruders. The reinforced walls, the secret compartments, the armory—all of it was compromised. As they descended into the heart of the sanctuary, Haizen's chest tightened. And then he saw him.
Carlos.
The leader of the faction sat at Haizen's desk, his fingers lightly tapping the surface. His sharp, calculating eyes flicked up as Haizen and Urilo entered. A faint smirk played on his lips as he took in the two men.
"You're finally here," Carlos said, his voice smooth and mocking. "Shadow himself. And what's this?" His gaze dropped to Haizen's pocket, where the cursed book was tucked. "An interesting book you've brought with you."
Haizen's hand instinctively moved to shield the pocket. "Leave my brother out of this," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
Carlos's smirk widened. "Oh, I'm not doing anything to him. Yet. But you've left him here, unconscious, defenseless. What a shame it would be if… oh, I don't know… something happened to him."
Haizen's fists clenched at Carlos's thinly veiled threat. The room seemed to grow colder as Carlos leaned back in his chair, his tone turning casual.
"You know," Carlos began, "I'm a man who values perfection. Half measures don't sit well with me. Pests, for example. If you don't deal with them completely, they multiply. And that becomes… messy."
His gaze locked onto Haizen, the smirk fading from his face. "I don't like messy."
Haizen's mind raced as Carlos's men closed in, their weapons drawn. He glanced at Urilo, whose fingers twitched, ready to summon his magic at a moment's notice. Together, they had faced many enemies—but this was different. Carlos wasn't just a Tier 3 mage. He was a strategist, a manipulator, and he had the numbers on his side.
"Protect Nova," Urilo whispered, his voice barely audible. Haizen gave a slight nod. He couldn't afford to let his emotions take over, not now.
Carlos rose from his seat, his sharp eyes gleaming with amusement. "It's a pity," he said. "You two had potential. But you chose the wrong side."
Haizen's voice was steady as he replied, "The only wrong side here is yours, Carlos."
The tension in the room snapped as the first assassin lunged forward. Haizen and Urilo braced themselves for the fight of their lives.