The members of Team 6, after leaving the school, walked together part of the way that led to their homes. As they walked and conversed, the team members discussed how they would approach the mission the next day and what time they should start. Despite Ciona and Joane's initial reluctance and Shen's displeasure, the members of Team 6 decided to swallow that bitter reality and face the problem head-on.
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About 300 kilometers east of the city
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In a particular set of valleys, where the environment and geography seemed manipulated, twisted, and rearranged to form a kind of natural labyrinth, an eerie atmosphere hung heavy. The place exuded strangeness and conveyed a sense of cruel death to anyone foolish enough to venture there.
The valley's surroundings, as well as its interior, were shrouded in a dense mist with a white hue tinged with reddish traces, as if someone had splattered parts of a white sheet with blood specks. The mist circulated through the valley, moving slowly to touch every corner of that place, greedily devouring any space free from its touch.
Within the depths of that place, a person sat in a lotus position, meditating. Around them lay completely destroyed bodies. The level of damage inflicted on the corpses varied: dismembered parts, impaled bodies, pulverized remains. Some appeared as if they had received heavy blows, leaving deep indentations all over, while others bore cuts from some kind of weapon. A few seemed as though they had been dragged across the ground before being hurled against their peers.
The smell of blood and entrails permeated the entire environment. The blood from the corpses was already entering an advanced stage of coagulation, staining the ground in vivid red and a repulsive blackish-red hue.
Around the chaotic epicenter, occasional glimmers of light reflected in the reflective irises of some local predators. Regardless of their size and strength, none of the predators dared to approach beyond the center's boundaries. Their instincts screamed a warning of imminent death if they dared to cross those limits.
The man at the epicenter of all that carnage maintained a serious expression even with his eyes closed. His sleeveless black martial warrior attire was a unique characteristic, and incredibly, there was no bloodstain on his clothes.
Rymann Bandolen, a warrior exuding an aura of brute strength and lethal violence, also known as Kizaer's grandfather. Despite many years of companionship, if the boy were to see his grandfather at this moment, he would certainly appear strange to his eyes.
That aura of violence seemed to feed on the brutality that had occurred there, enveloping Bandolen in a visible reddish vortex. Bandolen was cultivating a long-lost technique, belonging to a specific clan.
On the horizon, a figure approached, flying through the skies. It was the Director Sinon Ling, fearlessly heading toward that chaotic place. As he got closer to his destination, his eyes narrowed upon perceiving the violent aura staining certain points of the mist surrounding the valley.
Sinon Ling stopped in mid-air, at the boundary separating the center of that place from its surroundings. For a while, Sinon Ling stood there, observing the vortex of violence without moving. Only after its size and intensity diminished did Sinon Ling dare to cross the barrier.
Bandolen slowly opened his eyes. Unlike a human gaze, what Sinon Ling saw reflected there was a being driven purely by the pleasure of being engulfed in death, destruction, and the blood of his enemies. Bandolen's hair was no longer a mix of graying, black, and dark red strands; this time, it was entirely consumed by an aged crimson hue, a manifestation of his cultivation method.
Sinon Ling remained silent, and a few moments later, a guttural and threatening voice echoed in the silent place. "What do you want?" Bandolen stared at Sinon with a menacing gaze.
"So, you've returned to cultivate this… No, I can't even bring myself to call it cultivation," Sinon Ling said in a deep voice. Sinon Ling raised his face and surveyed the surroundings, contemplating all the destruction and carnage. "The numbers have increased since the last time I was here…"
"Bandolen, is this what you meant by 'the chains that sealed our past have been broken'?" Sinon Ling stared at Bandolen seriously.
"If it's merely an increase in the number of these abominations summoned due to that cursed mystical art, then it's still something we can control." Bandolen interrupted Sinon Ling. "Ling, you've become complacent with your own cultivation. Your danger instinct isn't as sharp as before; in fact, you're nothing more than a dull, discarded weapon."
Sinon didn't respond and simply waited for Bandolen to continue. "Someone or something has been interfering with the seal. Some parts of it have been disconnected from the Flow through magic, while others have been damaged using flow synchronization arts. However, I can't identify whether it's a Dominant Art or a Flow Martial Art. In some areas, the damage is negligible; in others, it's severe. Whoever did this is trying to buy time by making me investigate which organization the effects of these arts belong to."
Bandolen slowly stood up and, still staring at Sinon Ling, said, "However, that no longer matters. The seals are old, and if they hadn't been sabotaged, they could have maintained themselves indefinitely. The fact is, the person or group who did this knew where to strike, and the number of people aware of this information can be counted on one hand."
Bandolen stood a few meters away from Sinon Ling, and a tense silence hung in the air. Sinon was the first to speak. "Rymann, you're not insinuating that I have anything to do with this, are you?" The air around Sinon Ling seemed to crackle.
Bandolen didn't immediately answer Sinon's question. After a brief pause, he said, "Look around, Sinon. What do you see?" Sinon Ling furrowed his brow and replied without observing the surroundings, "Just killing, unnecessary destruction, unbridled carnage—things that only a madman like you takes pleasure in. It's not enough to merely end your enemies; you need to tear their bodies apart."
"Wrong, Sinon," Bandolen responded, slowly shaking his head in a negative gesture. "There's only one thing around us: Corpses. And the mere fact that you're not being counted among the numbers that strewn across the ground should be enough to answer your question."
Sinon Ling felt a chill run down his spine—partly from anger at that absurd affront, partly from knowing Bandolen's violent nature.
Instead of countering Bandolen's threat, Sinon asked, "How much time do we have left?"
"A few years, if we're lucky—maybe a decade at most, as long as these attacks don't continue." Bandolen explained before levitating and departing from the center of one of the seals. The entire valley was a magical formation created by magicians in conjunction with flow synchronizers.
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City of Repose – Night
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Kizaer lay in his room. The boy was quite independent and managed to take care of himself, especially since his grandfather occasionally disappeared.
However, on this particular day, Kizaer's grandfather was taking longer than usual. "Where is that old thing? I'm sure he's out there harassing some poor woman."
Kizaer turned toward the corner of the wall and closed his eyes, intending to surrender to the embrace of sleep while pulling the blanket over himself.
After a few minutes, Kizaer murmured with a weakening voice as sleep overtook him, "Damn it, Grandpa, where are you? I feel so alone…"
Bandolen stood near the entrance of Kizaer's room. Part of the violent aura from a few hours ago had already subsided, but the crimson hue of Bandolen's hair was still visible. His wild look had disappeared.
With a sigh, Bandolen stepped away from Kizaer's door without saying a word.
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A Few Hours Later
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Kizaer woke up naturally; it was still the early hours of the new day. Practically and habitually, he quickly got up, straightened the bed, went to the bathroom to wash his face, and then took a container where he kept a ground mixture of some inexpensive medicinal herbs and coarse salt. Kizaer dipped two fingers into the mixture and rubbed it on his teeth—a hygiene practice his grandfather had taught him.
Kizaer, dressed in his worn training clothes, hurried to the Training Hall. There, he stood with impeccable posture. Facing him was Bandolen, who was already waiting for the boy. His hair had returned to its usual mix of graying, black, and very few dark red strands.
After years of following the training regimen, Bandolen no longer needed to remind Kizaer about efficiency and punctuality; the boy demonstrated a well-developed sense of personal discipline.
"Kizaer, today we'll focus solely on your cultivation training. Sit in the lotus position and practice the flow synchronization technique I taught you the other day." Bandolen instructed the boy.
Kizaer didn't question his grandfather's orders; he sat down as quickly as possible and followed the instructions. Within seconds of closing his eyes, Kizaer's Flow cultivation was already circulating efficiently throughout his body. After years of training in the 'family technique,' taking a step forward and practicing a more advanced version posed no difficulties for Kizaer.
Kizaer, however, was unaware that Bandolen wasn't merely standing there observing the flow cultivation running through the boy's body. Bandolen also emanated an extremely refined part of the violent aura from within himself.
As Kizaer practiced the flow synchronization technique and absorbed the ambient Flow, he was, in reality, absorbing a portion of his grandfather's highly refined aura of violence.
Bandolen watched the entire process with a cold, calculating gaze, being careful not to release more of the violent aura than the boy could handle or allow it to affect Kizaer's personality to the point of transforming him into a completely different person.