The metallic clang of something heavy striking the floor echoed through the room, followed by the rhythmic tap of high heels that reverberated against the cold stone. Leo's vision swam in and out of focus, his senses dulled, his mind shrouded in a fog of confusion. He tried to grasp at the fleeting moments of clarity, but they slipped through his fingers like sand. A woman's figure emerged from the haze, her form elusive, her touch cool against his scorched skin. The sensation was foreign, unsettling, yet strangely soothing. He drifted in and out of a fragile awareness, each breath a struggle, until, finally, he succumbed to the overwhelming darkness once more.
"It seems he's starting to wake up. Call the chief," came a calm voice, distant yet sharp.
"Yes, Miss Veronica," replied an assistant, his footsteps fading quickly as he exited the room.
A pause, then the voice returned, colder, more commanding. "I know you're awake. Open your eyes."
A shiver ran down Leo's spine, the memory of the agonizing flames still searing through his mind like an unhealed wound. He didn't know whether this woman was tied to the men from the tavern, the ones who had ignited his torment, but one thing was clear—resisting her would be futile. There was no strength left in him to fight. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, the world coming into focus only to reveal his helplessness. His body, though still weak and bruised, was shackled to a cold metal bed, his limbs rendered immobile by restraints that dug painfully into his flesh.
Veronica, standing at his side, adjusted her glasses with an almost clinical precision. She regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and indifference. "Don't bother moving," she said, her voice smooth and almost melodic. "The restraints are steel. Besides, your skin is still fresh. You'll only make it worse."
Leo, his breath shallow and labored, let his head fall back against the cold metal. He had no choice but to obey. His body felt like a stranger's, foreign and heavy, as if it belonged to someone else entirely. His mind, though still clouded, began to piece together fragments of the chaos he had endured, but it was no use. His body was a prison, his will locked away behind the walls of his own failing strength.
The door creaked open, and a tall figure stepped into the room. His presence was commanding, his dark hair falling in a controlled mess over deep-set eyes that glimmered with a cold, calculating intelligence. He was dressed in all black, his attire sharp and deliberate, as if every detail was chosen for its precision. His gaze swept over Leo, dismissing him with little more than a glance.
"Hello, sir," Veronica greeted him, her tone respectful, though not without a hint of familiarity.
"No need for formalities," the man said, his voice low and rough. He approached Leo's bedside, his gaze narrowing as he took in the sight of the restrained figure. "What have you discovered about this... being?"
Veronica hesitated before responding, her expression unreadable. "Unfortunately, not much, sir."
"I'm surprised," the man muttered, his tone laced with skepticism. "You, of all people, found nothing? The genius of the century?"
Veronica's lips twitched into a faint, almost amused smile. "Thank you for the compliment, but nothing's clear. Nothing in the records, no mention of him anywhere. Even his name doesn't appear in the kingdom's archives. I've searched thoroughly. No title, no medical history, no official documentation. It's as if he fell from the sky, and beyond that, he burned—yet didn't die. If anything, he came back better. Fully healed."
The man stood silent for a moment, his expression unreadable as he processed her words. Then, with a slow, deliberate exhale, he nodded, his gaze shifting back to Leo. "Hmm, well," he mused, his voice taking on a darker edge, "we do have something intriguing here."
Leo's heart beat in time with the growing unease in the room. He was no longer sure whether his torment was over or if it had only just begun.
"So, what do you suggest we do with him?" The man's voice was laced with frustration, the tension in the room palpable. "Lisa has already driven me mad, insisting on calling him her father. Should we just kill him?"
Veronica's gaze shifted toward Leo, her eyes calculating as she considered the question. "Well, he is dangerous. We don't know his strengths or his limits," she said, moving closer to Leo's bed. She casually traced a finger over his skin, and with a practiced hand, she made a small cut along his arm. For a moment, Leo's heart skipped a beat, expecting the familiar sting of pain, but then his eyes widened in disbelief. The wound had already begun to fade, the skin knitting together at a speed that seemed impossible. "Look here," she continued, her voice steady. "I made a cut to see if he could heal, but it's gone now. See?"
The man's eyes narrowed as he watched the wound vanish entirely. "Keeping a creature like this alive is undoubtedly risky," he murmured. "But the choice is yours. Do as you wish."
Their conversation, cold and detached, continued as though Leo wasn't even there, as though he were an object on a slab, their words circling around him, dismissing him entirely. It was as if his life—his very existence—was nothing more than a topic of discussion, a commodity for them to decide the fate of.
Leo's frustration and fear surged, his pulse quickening as he struggled against the restraints. He shouted, his voice ragged with panic. "Hey, you two! I'm right here! How can you discuss killing me while I'm sitting here?!"
The man turned slowly, his eyes cold and unreadable. He took a few measured steps toward Leo, his presence suffocating. "And is there any reason I shouldn't kill you?" The man's voice was low, almost a growl. "You sold a six-year-old girl to a man without knowing what he'd do to her. Why should I let you live?"
Leo's throat tightened, the weight of his past sins crashing over him. He swallowed hard, the words barely escaping his lips. "I'm truly sorry."
"Sorry?" The man's laugh was bitter, laced with contempt. "That's all you have to say?"
Leo's breath hitched, and in a moment of desperation, he began to beg. His voice cracked, the raw fear of death clinging to each word. "Please, spare my life. I'll become your servant if you want—please," he cried, his tears flowing freely, his pride long shattered. He felt like a frightened child, exposed and helpless in the face of death.
The man stared at him, unmoved by his pleas, but a small smirk curled on his lips. "Ha, a servant?" He turned to Veronica, his gaze thoughtful. "What do you think? Should we let him join us?"
Veronica, taken aback by the suggestion, looked at him as though he had just spoken nonsense. "You're joking, right?"
The man's eyes grew darker, his grip on Leo tightening with frightening ease. He leaned in, his face mere inches from Leo's. "Oh, I'm not joking. The number of recruits for the Black Hunters has dwindled over the years. We lost two last month. We need to make up for the gap."
Veronica's expression faltered for a moment before she sighed, conceding. "Fine, sir, do as you wish. But remember, he's dangerous, and one day you'll have to kill him—if he can even pass the entrance test."
The man glanced at her, his lips curling into a cold smile. "If he can't pass, he'll die anyway. So, let's make this interesting. Call someone to take him to the test."
Veronica opened the door with a deliberate motion, the sound of the door creaking echoed through the room like a prelude to a final act. Then, a sharp, metallic clang resounded from the hallway, the unmistakable sound of chains and heavy footsteps approaching. Leo's fate had been sealed. His survival now hinged on a test—one that would either affirm his worth or condemn him to die in the process.
The door slammed shut behind Veronica, and Leo's heart pounded in his chest as the realization set in. His life, his very future, now depended on a test that would push him to the brink of his strength, forcing him to confront a world he had no understanding of. Would he survive, or would this be the end of his story?
The heavy tread of boots echoed through the stone corridors as a hulking guard approached Leo, his movements deliberate and cautious. Without so much as a word of greeting or acknowledgment, the guard began untying the restraints that bound Leo to the cold metal bed. His fingers worked with cold precision, and once Leo was freed, he gripped him firmly by the arm, dragging him forward with an almost mechanical force. Leo, disoriented and weak, staggered to his feet. His body felt heavy, as if each step he took was burdened by the weight of the world itself. He could feel the air grow thicker with each passing second, a tangible sense of inevitability pressing against him. He knew that this test—the one he was being dragged toward—could very well be his final judgment.
But what choice did he have? There was no escaping the path now, no way to turn back. He had to face whatever lay ahead.
The guard's steps were purposeful as they moved through long, dimly lit hallways, each corner turning into another passage that seemed to stretch endlessly into the unknown. The air grew colder, heavier, and Leo's mind raced, filled with fleeting memories and the sound of his own heartbeat. They came to a stop in front of a massive set of iron doors, ancient and imposing. As they opened, the sound of grinding metal reverberated through the space, and Leo was pulled inside.
Before him lay a wide, circular arena surrounded by towering stone walls, their surfaces worn by the ages. A group of people stood in a loose circle, their figures cloaked in black, each one holding a gleaming weapon. The silence that enveloped the arena was thick, almost oppressive. Some of the onlookers watched him with eyes full of curiosity, while others regarded him with an air of skepticism, their gazes sharp and calculating. It was as if they already expected him to fail, to falter before even starting.
A burly man stepped forward, his presence commanding and unyielding. His voice, gravelly and deep, broke the silence like the crack of a whip. "Listen here, outsider," he began, his eyes never leaving Leo's face. "This test isn't for the faint-hearted. You'll have to prove your worth if you want to survive here. If you succeed, you may get a chance at a new life—one of power, of purpose. But if you fail..." His voice trailed off ominously, the unspoken threat hanging in the air like a guillotine ready to fall. The meaning was clear enough, and Leo's mind quickly filled in the blank, conjuring images of death, of pain, of an end too final to even comprehend.
The man raised his hand in a swift motion, and with a creaking groan, the iron gate behind them slowly began to open. It was a sound that seemed to signal the beginning of something much darker, a prelude to the trial that awaited.
The hulking guard, still at Leo's side, gave a rough tug and pulled him forward. Without ceremony, he shoved Leo onto a cold, unforgiving metal chair, securing him to it with unyielding restraints. Leo, who had already resigned himself to whatever horrors lay ahead, offered no resistance. He sat there, numb, his hands bound tightly to the chair's arms. The guard left without a word, disappearing into the shadows from which he had emerged.
Moments later, another man entered the room. He was lean, his face sharp and almost predatory, his eyes cold and calculating. A nameplate was engraved on the desk in front of him: Christopher. He moved with an air of practiced nonchalance, pulling open a drawer and retrieving a small vial, along with a syringe. He examined both items with the same detached interest as though they were nothing more than tools, objects to be used. Then, he turned his gaze to Leo, studying him with an unsettling calm.
With a slight, mocking smile, Christopher spoke, his voice smooth and laced with amusement. "So, you're here for the test, aren't you? You can back out, if that's what you prefer."
Leo met his gaze with a mixture of sarcasm and resignation, the weariness in his eyes betraying the gravity of his situation. "Back out?" he said with a bitter laugh. "As if that's even a real option. I'd probably lose my head before I could even think about it."
Christopher chuckled softly, the sound rich with dark amusement. "True," he said, his eyes glinting with something dark and unreadable. "But it might be a gentler end than what you'll face in this test." He leaned forward slightly, his smile widening, though his eyes remained cold and calculating. "I won't give away too much," he continued, his tone now taking on a more serious edge. "But just know this: it's a test of endurance—a test to see if you're fit to join us."
Leo's heart skipped a beat, the weight of the man's words sinking in. He knew this was no ordinary test. This was a trial of survival, of pain, of strength—and it was one that could either forge his path to a new life or condemn him to an untimely death. He had no choice now but to endure, to see if he could survive whatever horrors Christopher had in store.