Ryker stood silently, observing Adam. For a moment, he saw a flicker of his younger self in the boy—the same determined gaze, the silent resolve to prove himself despite the world's harshness.
Memories from long ago washed over him, bringing with them a flood of emotions he'd long buried.
"Stay here, kid," he instructed in a low voice, barely glancing at Adam before turning and walking out of the training area.
His footsteps echoed through the empty hall as he recalled the days when he, too, had stood in similar spaces, awaiting instructions and hoping to rise above his circumstances.
Ryker's memories drifted back to the sound of wood clashing against wood and the sharp, guiding words of his instructor.
"Ryker, focus," Vila would snap, her tone as precise as her strikes.
Ryker had been training in mana control then, struggling to summon even the slightest flicker of energy while Vila's stick struck his arms to instill discipline with each failed attempt.
"Ryker, today's training is over," Vila would eventually say, her expression unreadable.
Exhausted and bruised, he'd stumble back to his quarters, changing into his worn clothes and hoping that, someday, his efforts would yield more than just a pile of sweat and sore muscles.
He remembered the bitter reality that had brought him here in the first place.
The Line Household had bought him as a slave, taken in as a servant bound to their noble estate.
His days were filled with scrubbing floors, cleaning chambers, and handling menial tasks that left his hands raw and his spirit worn.
It wasn't always this way. Once, his family had been free, though burdened by a staggering debt.
A merchant, seeing an opportunity, had offered his family a loan they couldn't refuse—and one they could never repay.
In the end, it had been decided that Ryker would be sold, a means to pay off what his family owed.
His path led him to the Line Household, where he became a nameless, silent servant to the noble family.
The Line Household didn't just want a servant—they wanted a weapon, a knight they could mold into an unwavering guard, bound by loyalty and service.
And so, each day, he worked tirelessly within the estate, only to spend his nights under Vila's harsh training, preparing for a future he could never fully own.
"You must remember that you are just an ordinary boy," Vila would tell him sternly as she drilled him each night, "one whom the Line Household has graciously chosen to train with their resources. You owe them everything, and your life is theirs to command." Each word seared into his mind like a brand, marking him as property of the family he served.
Years went by, and as his training progressed, the Line Household's interest in him waned.
When it became clear that he lacked any notable talent, they quickly dismissed him, selling him off to the Umbrella Collective Organization without a second thought.
Life under the Umbrella Collective Organization was grueling, pushing Ryker to his limits.
His training shifted from dusk until dawn, testing his endurance and fortitude until his strength became honed, his reflexes sharpened.
Every skill he'd barely grasped under the Line Household flourished under the harsh regiment of the organization.
It was here that Ryker learned the delicate art of stealth, merging with shadows, and mastering combat in ways the nobles had never thought to teach him.
But talent was something that could not be trained, and as he watched others rise effortlessly on the strength of their unique skills,
Ryker came to understand a bitter truth: without a unique skill, he was no more than a replaceable tool in a world that prized talent above all.
Within the kingdom, having a unique skill was everything.
Those blessed with one rose to positions of prestige and power, their paths paved by society's admiration.
But Ryker possessed no such gift. He had only his relentless drive, watching as his training partners soared ahead, propelled by abilities that seemed almost magical to him.
Returning to the present, Ryker walked through the dark corridor, Adam's face briefly flashing in his mind. "So this guy is one of the talented ones," he mused, recalling how he'd seen Adam's potential.
It reminded him of the relentless days spent in the organization, clawing his way forward, step by painful step.
Hard work had kept him moving forward, but there was always another barrier, another cruel reality waiting to remind him of his place.
The Umbrella Collective Organization was unrelenting in its goals.
Its primary mission was simple: to build an army of assassins, trained to serve without question or remorse. Its methods, however, were far from noble.
In a dark alliance, the Umbrella Collective had partnered with the kingdom's Dark Mages, who had created the "slave neckband," a device intended to ensure unbreakable loyalty.
If any member dared to betray the organization, the mages could activate the neckband, turning it into a deadly, self-destructive device.
With the neckbands in place, the organization recruited ruthlessly, sweeping up orphans, criminals, and anyone they deemed fit to serve.
In a few short years, the organization had assembled a formidable army, each member unwavering in their obedience.
Ryker, however, had been a member before the neckbands became mandatory.
He'd never been forced to wear one, a fact that became both a relief and a burden.
As his skills developed, he ascended within the organization, earning a reputation as one of the Umbrella Collective's finest assassins.
But his rise came with revelations that unsettled him.
Over time, he discovered that the organization he served was under the control of the royal family, reporting directly to either the Crown Prince or, in emergencies, the King himself.
Ryker's loyalty became a bitter reality, years of his life given to an organization that rewarded him with little more than condescension and scorn from his superiors.
The hierarchy within the organization was stark: three ranks, with him trapped in the second—an executor, destined to serve under officers whose noble blood set them above him.
The Umbrella Collective was clear about its hierarchy.
Those of common origin, like Ryker, could aspire to be executors at most.
No amount of effort, no success on missions, could ever elevate him to the officer rank, reserved exclusively for the elite, born into the right families.
His years of service did nothing to lessen the disdain in the eyes of those who deemed themselves his betters.
Then came the mission that shattered him. Ordered to eliminate a family branded as traitors, he did so without hesitation, executing a father, mother, and their young son in a single night.
But as the final breath left the boy's body, a question gnawed at him—how had this family, barely more than ordinary townsfolk, become a threat to the kingdom?
Unsettled, Ryker investigated the mission, discovering a horrifying truth.
A noble family had simply disliked the appearance of the young boy and had pulled strings within the organization to eliminate them, deeming their lives expendable.
The revelation haunted Ryker, his dreams filled with images of the family, their faces twisted in fear.
Driven by a need to expose the corruption, he tried to report the incident to the royal family. But before he could act, threats from his superiors and the noble family in question loomed over him.
The realization dawned—no matter his resolve, he was powerless against the will of the noble families.
In time, he requested a transfer to recruitment, abandoning his ideals in favor of survival.
Now he was the one picking new recruits off the street, shaping them into obedient tools for the organization. Adam was just the latest of many.
Ryker no longer cared for the ideals of the organization or the kingdom's power struggles. He knew better than to fight a system built on the backs of the powerless.
Present Time-
Ryker's footsteps echoed down the corridor. Stopping before a wooden door, he took a key from his pocket and unlocked it.
Pushing the door open...