The moon hung high in the skies, rain pelting down from above as though the Heavens were in a furious rage.
Theron sat silently on a rock, his mind at peace, his eyes shockingly cold.
He was right there. Anyone should have been able to see him, sitting on the side of a dirt road on a boulder without the slightest hint of concealment. And yet, maybe even a Gold Mancer might accidentally overlook him right now.
Others might choose to stay in on a night like this. For him, though, he felt the most at peace in this rain…
His mind was calmer.
His thoughts were clearer.
His blade was sharper.
…
A carriage rattled in the distance.
Thralix almost shattered a panel, but his fist was stopped by Drystan.
Again.
“That’s the last time I stop you, Thralix. I’m not your babysitter,” Drystan said coldly, beginning to grow tired of Thralix’s antics. “If you shatter this carriage, you’ll be walking in the rain alone, naked, and cold. I will strip every fucking thing off of you—try me.”
“Who the fuck are you to talk to me like that?!”
“Someone who’s stronger than you. Try remembering that sometime.”
“You sure have a lot of balls—.”
“Whatever. Surpass me first, then you can talk about what you’re going to do. All I see is a child with an overbloated ego, and now your bullshit has cost the family. Do you have any idea the kind of loss we suffered tonight?”
Thralix finally fell into silence. If there was one person he was actually afraid of, it was his father. No… his mother was probably even scarier.
When he thought about the grilling he would have to endure when he returned home, he felt a pit drop into the bottom of his stomach and he almost lashed out again.
But this time, it was a flare of Drystan’s aura that stopped him.
He exhaled a breath and looked out toward the pelting rain.
There was a reason they were still on this road despite having left so early. After being taken away by old man Mona, they had been pulled into a meeting with Dean Thistle. 𝐑ÁNО𝔟Ёš
The Dean hadn’t said much, and pretty much only spoke to Drystan directly. Being there… Thralix had never felt so small in his life.
He had always been the center of attention, the genius, and yet this man didn’t even care to look at him a single time.
In the end, the agreement was for him to enroll into the Imperial Academy, which required more bullshit and preparation. It was only after all of that bureaucracy was settled that they could finally rumble back to their hotel.
But going to the Thistle’s main manor meant leaving city grounds, so now they were on their way back.
It had been nothing but a night of absolute frustrations. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, and yet he had no idea if he would even be able to sleep once he hit his pillow.
It was that sort of dreadful, terrible night.
And it suddenly got worse.
Chi.
The sound was so subtle that it was impossible to hear beneath the pelting rain for mortals. In fact, even Thralix didn’t hear it, only Drystan did.
His head turned, but it was too late.
Thralix froze, his body not even having a chance to convulse before it slid down his neck, plopping onto the ground.
Drystan stared in shock, the blade Mana rebounding off his body. It tore into his robes and left a faint mark across his skin, but it was as though he hadn’t sensed it at all, unable to take his eyes off the corpse before him.
Even when the carriage came to a grinding halt, skidding across the road and then tipping over, his gaze didn’t shift.
Only when the rain began to pelt through the cracks and shattered windows, the blood that had splattered across his face being wiped away by its relentless barrage, did he awaken.
Drystan roared to the skies, his eyes looking in the direction the blade had come and dashing out with full force.
He knew that old man Mona had long since moved, but logic wasn’t driving his actions right now.
He was annoyed by Thralix, but only in the same way a big brother would nag his little brother. Only he was allowed to do such a thing, and he certainly wouldn’t harm Thralix to any substantial degree.
Even if someone looked at Thralix wrong, he would erupt into a furious tirade.
To kill him? That was absolutely unacceptable.
Absolutely unacceptable.
…
Theron dashed through the forest, his eyes leaving blue streaks in his wake that matched the changing tides of the moon’s ripples.
He shifted and moved with a shocking agility, but he knew that he would be instantly caught at this pace. He was no match for the speed of a Silver Mancer, let alone a Gold Mancer.
It was a good thing, then, that they were running in the wrong direction.
Sure, his Mana had come from that side of the road, but who said anything about him sitting on that side?
As for the aura they were chasing, it was little more than rippling mists of [Touch of Mirage]. They thought that they were seeing through a pitiful technique by a cultivator much weaker than them, when in reality they were just seeing through something he wanted them to.
Of course, they would realize the difference very soon, but by then…
It would be too late.
Theron’s ability to mask his aura in the rain, especially when Veinsong was activated, couldn’t be explained in a few words. If they didn’t know exactly where he was, then what chance did they stand?
Which was all the more reason why it was shocking when Theron appeared at the wreckage of the carriage.
He calmly took a seat within, the pelting rain above him like a tonic for his very soul.
Calmly, he stored Thralix’s head in a sack. Then he brought out his dagger, drawing across the corpse’s chest.
The character for River pulsed with a subtle vitality before fading.