Cyrus sat on the train, relaxing and gazing at the scenery flashing by as it rushed forward.
He decided not to hunt anymore, even with a few days left. After not absorbing a beast core for about 24 hours, his corruption had returned to 1%, and Doomed Fate was at zero.
Now donned in a battle suit with a scarf wrapped around the lower part of his face, he had stowed his armor and mask in his bag. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark shades, concealing the darkness whenever he used the Eyes of Void.
The train gradually came to a halt, blaring its horn loudly.
He stood up, merging with the crowd as they exited the train. Once outside, he saw numerous carriages calling out prices to various locations.
Due to the rough terrain, only off-road vehicles could navigate here, and Cyrus didn't want to bother Tracy.
After booking a carriage and paying the fee, he settled into an enclosed carriage that sped along at a pace rivaling that of cars.
The bumpy ride shook him as Cyrus opened the window a bit to survey his surroundings. He didn't want to be taken by surprise if a beast appeared.
An hour and thirty minutes later, the carriage stopped at the gate of Silvaran.
Alighting from the carriage, he waved at the driver and walked toward the entrance.
'Time for some crazy experiments—Nullfire. And I need to heal my weapons before their durability decreases. Then I will return to hunt; I don't want my potential to diminish,' Cyrus thought as he made his way to his shop, eager to finish everything before bedtime.
The golden rays of the evening sun mingled with the chorus of roadside traders shouting about their merchandise as he walked.
Upon reaching the shop, he spotted a teenage girl selling potions in front.
"Freya, you came out today?" Cyrus greeted her with a smile.
"Yes, boss!" Freya replied enthusiastically. "I have a new potion for you. Why don't you try it? You look pale and sick."
Cyrus shivered and quickly waved his hand. "Don't worry, your boss isn't sick. It's just the weather."
With that, he hurried to open his shop, rushing inside as if escaping.
Freya was a kid he had met in Silvaran. When she awakened a class related to fluid, she decided to become an alchemist.
As a self-taught alchemist, she honed her skills through books and trial and error. When she approached him with a request to use the front of his shop to sell her goods, Cyrus saw no harm in it. That was how they ended up here.
"That girl wants to kill me. The last time I tried her potion, I ended up with a boner for a full week," Cyrus muttered as he locked the door behind him. "Using me as her lab rat…"
What could a self-taught alchemist create, if not by mixing and combining only the heaven knows what ingredients until a god knows what concoction appears?
Cyrus opened the door to his basement, and picked a few scattered metals cluttered the floor, and descended the stairs.
As soon as he reached the basement, a whooshing sound shot from the left.
Snapping his head in that direction and activating the Eyes of Void, he saw a blade cutting through the air, aimed at his shoulder.
In that heated moment, Cyrus instinctively wanted to raise his hand and apply the chained lock, but he quickly reined in his impulse and dodged backward, narrowly avoiding the blade.
He looked to see a figure emerging from the darkness, clad in casual attire from head to toe, but his face was wrapped in a black, cloth mask. However, the Eyes of Void pierced through the clothing, revealing a young man with short blonde hair and eyes gleaming with wild excitement.
"You dodged it? I applaud your reflexes, despite being an Artificer," a husky voice came from beneath the mask.
"Who are you?" Cyrus asked, maintaining his composure.
"Just a delivery guy," the masked figure replied nonchalantly.
Cyrus arched an eyebrow. "So, what have you come to deliver?"
"Your death," he growled, rushing at Cyrus.
The man swung his sword in a downward slash, and Cyrus ducked, retreating beneath the stairs.
The sword cleaved through the stair guard with a sharp, metallic hiss. It came to a jarring halt upon striking the concrete stairs, unleashing a heavy tremor that reverberated through the basement, causing dust to dance in the air.
Cyrus emerged from beneath the stairs on the opposite side, now separated from the mysterious assailant.
Narrowing his eyes, he quickly calculated his next move.
'That was a hefty amount of power. Should I draw my sword? No! I can't expose my spatial ring. Few people possess spatial rings, and most of them are Archons, according to my log-headed sister. I don't know what he wants or why he wants me dead. The best approach… is to finish this quickly, and chained lock is the way to go. But I can't reveal that skill with my face uncovered, unless… he doesn't live to tell the tale.'
The man slowly circled the stairs to face Cyrus.
Having made his decision, Cyrus folded his fists and readied himself, recalling the training he underwent with his sister when preparing for admission into the academy.
'What did she say again? Perfect stance, watch the opponent's defects, study their body movements—especially the arms and shoulders for prediction—and keep eyes up to track the direction of their gaze… How could she memorize all that?'
He thought as his breath slowed, watching as the man approached, his boots clicking against the floor.
"Interesting," the figure muttered before abruptly sprinting at him, whipping his sword diagonally.
Cyrus twisted his body sideways and lunged forward. The assailant tried to redirect the blade, but Cyrus raised his right palm towards the man's hand and activated [Chained Lock], momentarily freezing him in place. Then, he released the lock and swiftly twisted the man's wrist.
The sword fell, and Cyrus snatched it from the air with his right hand while his left fist smashed into the man's face, sending him flying until he crashed into the wall, landing face down on the floor.
Not giving the man a moment to recover, Cyrus dashed at him and pounced, flipping him over. He rained punch after punch on the masked face, refusing to take any chances, knowing that anyone could have hidden tricks.
After three minutes, the cloth mask around the man's face was soaked in blood, and loud, labored gasps mixed with gurgling sounds escaped his lips.
Cyrus finally halted and tore the man's mask away, revealing a bloodied face. Blood oozed from his nose and mouth, the mask having smeared it across his face.
Standing up, Cyrus picked up the dropped sword and placed it on the man's chest.
"Okay, now can we talk? Who sent you? Remember! You have only one chance."
Although his voice was calm, the threat was unmistakable.