"Tsk… that bastard," Dera muttered, clenching his fists so tightly that his nails bit into his palms. Blood trickled down his face, mingling with the sweat on his brow.
"Enough already," Arya said, her voice firm yet comforting. She extended her hands, a soft green light radiating from her palms and flowing into Dera's wounds, knitting the torn skin. "You're lucky he didn't use his Aura. If he had, your head would've been blown clean off."
---
30 Minutes Earlier
As Dera stepped out of the testing room, a ripple of disappointment spread through the crowd.
"What the… where's his number?!" someone hissed, voicing the confusion that settled over everyone.
Gin's brow furrowed in confusion. 'What the hell is going on?' he thought, his gaze locked onto Dera.
Just then, another testing room door creaked open, and out stepped a towering figure. Muscular, with green and black braids, he had skin the color of sunlit bronze and wore a striking green-and-gold kimono, embroidered with a single, intimidating word on the back: Arcane.
The entire hall fell silent, every head bowing slightly as his presence swept over them like a stormfront.
"A pleasure to be in your presence, Wind Arcane Hunter. Greetings, Lord Akira Tempest!," they all intoned, their voices unified. Dera, oblivious to the protocol, remained standing upright, earning a swift tug from Arya, who yanked him into a bow.
Akira's gaze swept over them as he nodded. "The pleasure is mine. You may raise your heads."
As the crowd straightened, whispers began to circulate like a dark undercurrent. Eyes darted toward Dera, his lack of Aura an apparent shame among them.
"So… all that wind and tremors were from Lord Akira, then," someone murmured in awe.
"We wasted our time on a mortal," another scoffed, his tone laced with disdain as people began to distance themselves from Dera.
The whispers stung, yet Akira's voice, cold and derisive, sliced through the crowd. "What a shame."
Dera looked up, eyes narrowed. "What?"
The crowd inhaled sharply. Speaking back to an Arcane Hunter—a warrior capable of leveling entire cities—was something no sane person would dare.
"A shame that you don't possess even a trace of Aura," Akira continued, his gaze sharp as he walked toward Dera.
"A shame that your brother, who bore the Crimson Four Eyes, was taken, instead of you. You weren't even unable to protect your own family. Tsk, how… weak." He scoffed, gripping the hilt of his green-bladed sword and turning as if Dera wasn't worth another glance.
Dera's fists clenched, his nails digging so deeply they drew blood.
'He's right… I couldn't protect my family. Hell, I wasn't even there. And even when I was, I failed to protect Chika. But still…' The words burned inside him, igniting his defiance. He was used to people calling him weak, but for some reason he just couldn't bear the thought of being called weak by someone powerful.
"Hey, Akira… or whatever you're called. Take that back," Dera growled, his voice low, trembling with barely-contained fury.
Akira stopped, his head tilting slowly, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he turned.
"What did you just say?" His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried a deadly weight.The entire hall held their breath, trembling at the palpable shift in the air, thick with fear.
They have seen Akira angry before and trust me, no one wants to be even a hundred miles near him because when he gets angry...., it's as if making a storm dragon furious.
"I said," Dera's voice rose, his defiance unwavering, "take back what you said about me being weak!"
A hush fell over the crowd, everyone too petrified to breathe as a smirk tugged at Akira's lips.
Vhoom!
In a blink, Akira vanished, leaving a gust of wind in his wake.
Boom!
Dera felt an explosion of pain as Akira's fist connected with his body, sending him flying back into the wall with bone-shaking force. He hit the ground, coughing up blood, unable to move, his entire body numb.
Akira stepped forward, "Oi...am not done yet" he said, bending his neck slightly as his green Aura flared around him, filling the hall with crushing pressure that forced people to their knees. He reached for his sword, eyes narrowed in ruthless determination.
"Don't you think he's had enough?" A calm, aged voice broke through the tension, like a crack of thunder in a storm. The crowd turned to see an old man, arms folded, seated as if nothing extraordinary had happened. He was the lone patriarch of the Lightning Clan.
Akira paused, his gaze shifting toward the elder. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Good to see you're still alive, old man."
The elder smirked. "Of course. I don't die that easily."
"Hmph," Akira replied, sheathing his blade. He turned to leave but paused, glancing back at Dera.
"If you ever become strong enough to land a punch like that on me, I'll take back my words."
Vhoom!
In a flash, he vanished, his departure marked only by a lingering breeze. He hadn't retreated out of fear but out of respect—for once, out of deference to the old man, known in his prime as the Black Lightning, a warrior so powerful he was hailed as a Vice Arcane Hunter.
---
Back in the Hospital Room
"You should thank your stars the old man was there," Arya muttered, finishing her healing. "You really don't know how terrifying the Arcanes can be."
Dera clenched his fist, the memory of Akira's attack burning in his mind. 'She's right… I could barely follow his movements. It was like standing in the presence of a demi-god.'
"All done," Arya said, gathering her supplies. She paused, eyeing him thoughtfully. "By the way, we're in need of a potter. One of ours bailed, and we could use someone to fill the role. Interested?"
Dera looked up, curiosity sparking in his eyes. "To where?"
She grinned, a flicker of excitement in her gaze. "To a Venom Cave."