Arcane Mana is the most exotic and enigmatic sort of energy that exists beyond the comprehension of most awakened. Only a small number of people—those who have reached the level of SS-rank or above—can even dream of wielding it, and even fewer dare to use it. That's how risky and dangerous it is.
It's capricious, warping reality itself far beyond the scope of other types of mana. Indeed, to control Arcane Mana requires not only immense power but also profound knowledge and incredible mental fortitude. Few users of this mana exist, and even fewer dare to use it.
Akira realizes, as he stares at the homeless man, that this individual is far from ordinary. He is something beyond anything Akira has encountered before—a far, far more dangerous person.
"Boy... what you just saw? That's Arcane Mana. Few can even sense it, let alone use it on this scale like me. Trust me, I'm being really kind by showing you its wonders."
Akira's body tightens in a mix of anger and confusion, his fists clenched so firmly they shake. He glares at the man while grinding his teeth.
"You're insane... beyond insane. Do you even know what you've done? Those people—"
"Khekhekhe… I know exactly what I've done. And believe me, I've done far worse in my time," the man sneers, tilting his head with mock pity. "But about you, boy... you let yourself lose control. In public... without a plan. It's a miracle no one stronger came running at the first sign of that explosion of yours. Lucky for you, it was me."
Akira narrows his eyes, his white eyes aglow with a faint light. "You're no savior. You're a monster."
The man lets out a sharp bark of laughter, leaning in closer until his face is mere inches from Akira's. "Monster, am I?" His voice lowers to almost a whisper, eerily composed. "Boy, what you did out there... reducing a man to ashes in front of thousands? When he had already given up? When he was already dead? That's what the world will call a monster."
Akira's jaw locks together. "He deserved it. I don't need any help. And I didn't ask for any."
"Ah, but you need it. You'll never reach your goals alone. Whether you like it or not," the man says, straightening up, his maddening grin still plastered on his face. "This is the second and last favor I've done for you, boy. From here on out, you're on your own. But hear this, for your own good: never lose control like this again. Even I wouldn't dare to create such a racket in the middle of the day with no means of retreat. You don't have my privilege of erasing all evidence in your wake."
The homeless man wasn't telling the boy to stop his path or abandon his killing. No, he was urging him to continue—but with precision, with control. He wasn't discouraging Akira's rage or his thirst for vengeance; he was refining it. To the homeless man, Akira's fury was a weapon, one that needed to be sharpened, not sheathed. He wanted Akira to kill, to destroy, to burn—but only when he was certain he could handle the consequences. Only when he was strong enough to leave no trace, to vanish into the shadows like a true predator or possessing the strength to do everything he wants.
The homeless man's tone drops into something colder and more serious. "I'll keep an eye on you. I'm really intrigued by you... you have something even I don't understand. Don't disappoint me. Keep amusing me more—keep pushing those limits of yours. But remember, maybe next time you get out of control, there won't be anyone to clean up the mess."
Akira snarls, his aura suddenly bursting into flames. "You think this is some kind of game? Just watch people die?"
The man's smile spreads wide—too wide. "Oh, but it is a game. A game that started way longer than you people know. And you, my boy, are the most interesting piece on the board I've found."
Without waiting for an answer, the man raises his hand. In an instant, the barrier that had held them captive shimmers and dissolves.. Outside the barrier, reality remains intact, but inside, the thousands of lives that existed are gone. Only the streets, devoid of debris and empty air, mark their absence.
Akira tries to move, but his body is still sluggish as the man waves his other hand. In an instant, Akira is transported a few streets away. He stumbles, regaining control of his limbs. The air here is eerily quiet compared to the chaos he was just taken from.
"Damn it!" Akira growls, turning around, trying to locate the man.
Meanwhile, back at the site, the man's body begins to fade away—like smoke in the wind—but his voice carries across, as though directly into Akira's ear, soft and quiet.
"I will meet with you again... but that won't be anytime soon. Until then, keep climbing, keep struggling. Keep surprising me. Remember to make me proud, khekhekhe! Maybe you'll qualify for that—"
Akira's glare cuts right through the open air where the man's voice is still lingering. His hand trembles with indignation, white aura crackling dangerously.
"I swear," he growls through clenched teeth, "I'll make you regret taking the lives of those people today. I'll make you regret it."
The man's laughter echoes softly, a grim reminder of an overpowering force. "I hope you do, boy... I really do," the voice says, fading out completely.
Akira stands there, his chest heaving, his anger boiling just beneath the surface. The street is gray and still, save for the heavy silence displacing the hum of the city. The weight of what has happened presses down on Akira with every step he takes. The echoes of the massacre he witnessed, the futility of his confrontation with that man, the lingering laughter in his ears—it all feels like a dream stirred up by a fever.
He stops at a corner and presses his body against a lamppost to catch his breath.
"What in the world is he?" Akira's mind races. "He was playing with me. No—he was playing with the whole city. That wasn't just power... that was something entirely different. And me? I couldn't lift a finger. Compared to him, I wasn't even a threat. Damn it."
He shoves off from the lamppost, walking in haste. "I need to get stronger, and a lot faster than I thought. No more time can be wasted on D-rank dungeons... they'll never cut it. C-rank and above—that's where I have to be if I want to level up fast enough to shrink the gap."
His mind shifts to Hiroshi. He reaches for his phone and dials Hiroshi's number. The line rings twice before Hiroshi picks up.
"Akira? Didn't expect to hear from you so soon. Did you bring more magic stones?" Hiroshi asks.
"I need something," Akira says, his voice cutting. "Higher-level dungeons... C-rank and above."
A pause, then a sigh on the other side. "C-rank dungeons, Akira? Those are quite different from the ones you've been doing solo runs on. The monsters are smarter, faster, and stronger. And unless you're an S-rank, you can't enter them alone without officially joining a guild or a raid party. You're still on that fake ID, right?"
"Yeah," Akira replies. "But I don't have time to waste on low-rank stuff anymore. If that means finding a party, so be it."
Hiroshi chuckles low in his throat. "Serious about that, aren't ya? How can you jump like that to dungeons? What level of power have you awakened now? I'm even more curious. But... alright, listen up. Find yourself a party. They'll cover for you on the official front, and your ID won't raise suspicion. But be careful—if you blow it, there's gonna be hell to pay, not just for you, but for everyone involved."
Akira's fist clenches around the phone. "I'm out of options, Hiroshi-san. If I don't do this now, I'll never get what I want. I have to keep climbing."
"Fine, fine. Just don't get yourself killed," Hiroshi says with a hint of concern in his voice. "I can help you scout for a good party if you want."
"Thanks, but I'll handle this myself," Akira responds decisively. "I owe you one again, Hiroshi-san."
"I've said it before—don't mention it. Just... stay alive, okay?"
Akira hangs up and shoves the phone into his pocket. His pace quickens as he heads toward the hotel, yet his mind refuses to rest.
"Even against that Nightfall bastard, I was beyond reckless. And even then, I don't regret it—not a bit," he mutters, clenching his teeth in retrospect. "If I hadn't attacked him at full power when he was most unguarded, I wouldn't have had a chance. His energy alone was suffocating. I got lucky... too damn lucky."
Anger surges up in him, his nails digging deeper into his palms. "Damn it, Akira—you're still way too weak. You can't keep relying on luck. Not anymore."
He bursts into his hotel room, slamming the door shut behind him. He reaches for his phone and browses StarNet, listing active dungeon raids. His eyes pierce through the listings as C-rank dungeons flash onto his screen one by one, intimidating yet enticing. He clicks on one promising listing and fills in an application to join the party. His fingers hover over the "submit" button, and he presses it.
Akira sits on the edge of the bed, his hands clawing at his face as if he could tear away the memories etched into his mind. His chest heaves, not from exhaustion but from the suffocating weight of guilt pressing down on his soul.
"Thousands... thousands of people... gone. Just like that. Because of me."
His voice cracks, barely a whisper, as if speaking the words aloud makes them too real. His fingers dig deeper into his hair, pulling at the roots as if the physical pain could distract him from the storm raging inside. The images flash relentlessly in his mind: the screams, the blinding light, the eerie silence that followed. It feels unreal—like a nightmare he can't wake up from. But he knows it's real. He knows he caused it.
"They weren't fighters. They weren't enemies. They were just... people. Living their lives. Mothers, fathers, children... people who had nothing to do with me, with my war, with my pain. And now... they're nothing. Because of me."
His voice breaks, and he slams his fist into the bed, the impact muffled but sharp. "And for what? Because I lost my cool? Because I couldn't keep my rage in check? Those people... their lives weren't collateral in some damn game. They weren't supposed to pay for my weakness. They weren't supposed to die for my mistakes."
He rises abruptly, pacing the room like a caged animal. His movements are frantic, desperate, as if he could outrun the guilt gnawing at him. But it's everywhere—in the silence of the room, in the shadows on the walls, in the faint hum of the city outside. It's in him, a part of him now, and he can't escape it.
"Since I continued this dark journey, I had one sentence, one law I would never break: never make or hurt innocent people in the process with my actions. But even if I didn't hurt them directly, someone did because of me. I told myself I was doing this for justice, for revenge, for my family... but what does that make me? What does it make me when I'm no better than the people I'm trying to destroy? When I'm willing to sacrifice innocent lives just to satisfy my own rage?" he muttered, his voice trembling.
He stops at the window, his reflection staring back at him—pale, haunted, hollow. The city outside is alive, vibrant, its lights pulsing with a rhythm that feels alien to him now. He wants to hate himself, to punish himself, to make himself feel even a fraction of the pain he's caused. But no amount of self-loathing can bring them back. No amount of rage can undo what he's done.
For a long moment, Akira stays like that, kneeling in silence, his mind a whirlwind of guilt and regret. But then, slowly, a thought begins to form.
"He was right to call me a monster," Akira mutters, his voice low and bitter. "I am one. Because of my struggles, because of my pain, others suffered. Innocent people paid the price for my weakness. But... I chose this path. I chose it knowing what it would cost. Knowing what I'd become."
His hands tighten into fists, his nails digging into his palms. The pain grounds him, sharpens his thoughts.
"I can't change what I've done. I can't bring them back. But if I stop now, if I let this guilt break me... then it was all for nothing. And that, I won't allow."
He lifts his head, his reflection in the window staring back at him with eyes that begin to glow faintly, a pale white light cutting through the darkness.
"Shoto Akira," he whispers, his voice steady now, "remember why you're doing this. Remember what they did. Remember what you lost. Remember what you swore to destroy."
For a moment, he stays silent, his breathing slow and deliberate. The guilt is still there, a heavy weight in his chest, but it's no longer crushing him. It's not absolution—he doesn't deserve that. It's a burden he'll carry, a reminder of the cost of his path.
"Yeah," he says finally, his voice firm. "I'll carry this guilt. I'll carry the weight of what I've done. But I won't stop. Not until it's finished."
His eyes glow brighter, the white light reflecting in the glass like twin stars in the night. The resolve in his voice is unshakable, a quiet but fierce determination that burns through the darkness.
"I'll do what I have to do. And after it's finished... then I'll face what I've become. Then I'll face the monster I've let myself be."