Half a month had passed.
Victor got up before the sky was fully light, stepping on the dew on the stone slabs as he walked toward the training ground.
The calluses on his tiger’s mouth had worn through and healed, healed and worn through again.
That blunt sword had been used so long that holding it felt like it had grown into his palm. The sword marks on the wooden stakes had finally gone from shallow white scratches to split-open gaps.
He thought that if he trained hard enough, all those messy voices in his head would be washed away by sweat.
He was wrong.
Every time he remembered that old man in a black robe saying he was born for darkness, he hacked another round, telling himself the old man was wrong. He ran another lap with weights, reminding himself:
‘I’m Shirley’s brother. I’ll always stand by her side.’
But that morning, the temple bell suddenly rang.
The rhythm wasn’t the morning bell—it was an emergency summons.
Victor’s heart seized. The blunt sword slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground.
He didn’t have time to pick it up or change clothes. He turned and ran toward the temple.
He crossed the corridor, pushing through the chaotic crowd.
Priests were gathered at the temple entrance. The battle flags of the Temple Knights Order were tattered, with bloodstains still wet on the poles.
When he burst into the plaza, a warhorse crashed sideways to the ground. The saddle was empty, but a trail of blood ran from the saddle all the way down the horse’s leg.
Then he saw clearly.
The knights being carried down were missing arms and legs. Their armor had been torn to shreds by some enormous force.
Blood mixed with black fluid dripped down from the stretchers.
Healing priests knelt beside them, their fingers trembling, holy light gathered into clumps, pouring into wounds without restraint.
Victor grabbed an uninjured attendant, his voice distorted.
“Where’s Shirley?”
The attendant winced in pain, frantically pointing deeper into the temple.
“Lady Shirley… she fought across tiers!”
“Platinum beginner!”
“She killed that vampire alone! She’s badly injured—the Elders are treating her—”
When he rushed into the Elder Hall, the Four Elders were simultaneously raising their hands to maintain the holy light healing array.
Shirley lay in the center of the array, her face as pale as paper. A wound on her chest was still seeping dark red blood.
The Great Elder’s forehead was covered in sweat. The other three Elders were chanting in unison, reciting an ancient healing prayer.
She was too badly hurt.
Killing a platinum beginner while at Gold Peak—using her Gold Peak body to withstand that dark magic backlash.
Every bone had been pushed beyond its limit.
Then she opened her eyes.
Seeing Victor standing by the door, her pale lips pulled into a faint smile.
“Victor, did you miss me?”
“Some knights in the Order got hurt. I’m sorry—if I were stronger, no one would have gotten injured.”
“That vampire was really strong…”
She looked at him, her tone carrying a seriousness Victor knew to the bone.
She would get stronger.
No matter how strong the enemy, she would never back down.
She would definitely protect him.
She lay there, covered in blood, almost dead, yet still thinking about how to protect him, a Mortal Rank waste.
Victor’s heart felt like it had been pricked by a needle.
The more she said that, the harder it was to breathe.
This time it was Platinum rank, and she’d crossed tiers to win.
What about next time?
Diamond rank?
Epic rank?
With her stubborn temper, ever since she was young—seeing someone she cared about get hurt, she always threw herself into the fight.
She wouldn’t run. She never ran.
What if one day she couldn’t take it?
His clenched fists trembled. His nails had long since dug into his palms.
He had to get stronger.
He couldn’t wait anymore.
He couldn’t keep living on her promise.
He couldn’t stand being unable to do anything but run madly toward her direction every time the bell rang.
The Great Elder’s gaze fell on him. Those old, deep eyes stared silently for a moment.
Then the Great Elder raised his hand. Gentle but unstoppable holy light power poured into Victor’s body, temporarily suppressing the darkness surging in his blood.
Then the Great Elder placed his hand on Victor’s shoulder.
“Mortal Rank is not a disgrace. Being held hostage by darkness is.”
The Great Elder’s voice was low and steady.
“Victor, look at her eyes—she needs your company, not your loss of control.”
Shirley gripped his hand, her voice stronger than before.
“Victor, I’m fine.”
“When I recover, let’s go to the temple.”
“You haven’t given me my reward yet. No backing out.”
He said, “Okay. When you’re out.”
He turned and walked out of the Elder Hall, walking steadily, step by step through the corridor, back to the training ground.
The blunt sword he had thrown aside still lay there, the hilt ice-cold.
He bent down, picked it up, stood in front of a wooden stake, raised the sword, and slashed.
Again. Raise. Slash.
The gaps in the wooden stake grew deeper. His tiger’s mouth bled again.
But he didn’t stop.
What he needed wasn’t losing control—it was power. The power to be in front of her in time, no matter when the bell rang.
The wooden stake finally split in two under his sword.
He stood there panting heavily, then tightened his grip on the blunt sword.
He spoke softly to the empty space in front of him:
“I won’t let you be alone.”
Side Story
One night, Victor didn’t go to the training ground.
He stood in the shadow of the temple’s side corridor, watching moonlight lay a layer of cold white on the stone floor.
The blunt sword leaned against the wall, the cloth wrapped around its hilt hardened by sweat and bloodstains.
He didn’t touch it tonight.
He was going to a place—a place he had mentally skirted around for half a month, yet sunk deeper roots into every day.
He took a deep breath facing the empty corridor, then turned and walked toward the deepest part of the temple.
The entrance to the Holy Light Prison was as quiet as ever.
Two Temple Knights on duty stood on either side of the door, leaning on long halberds.
When they saw Victor approaching, the younger knight on the left spoke first.
“Lord Victor?”
“It’s so late. Do you need an attendant to accompany you?”
“No.”
Victor didn’t slow down.
“Last time’s sermon, one person didn’t listen thoroughly.”
“I’m going in alone.”
“Very well. May the holy light shine upon you, Lord Victor.”
Victor pushed open the iron door and stepped into the darkness.
The stone wall behind him slowly closed, sealing off all the light from outside.
His footsteps grew heavier and more steady on the damp stone steps.
He didn’t look back.
And outside, the two knights’ whispers could no longer reach him.
“A Mortal Rank waste—why’s he coming here so late?”
“Increasing our workload.”
The younger knight lowered his voice and spat toward the stone wall.
“Shut up. Don’t let him hear you. He’s the Saint’s kept man, after all.”
The other knight’s tone was light, carrying a knowing smirk.
“Tch. I just hate that type.”
“Riding on the Saint’s connections. Doesn’t even have a shred of holy light power. What right does he have?”
“Got a pretty face, that’s what.”
“Alright, alright. Consider it an extra shift. Just don’t let him actually hear.”
Victor didn’t hear a word of it.
He had already walked too deep.
So deep that even the holy light torches began to dim.
So deep that the air carried that familiar stench of decay.
He stopped in front of the deepest cell.
Just as he expected—the old man in a black robe had already lifted his head slightly.
Those dark ghost-fires slowly burned in his eye sockets. His cracked lips had already pulled into a twisted smile, as if he had been waiting.
“Hehehe—you’re here.”
The old man’s throat let out a laugh like sandpaper scraping, his tone full of certainty and amusement.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s only been a short while, but the dark energy inside you is about ready to burst out?”
“I’ve never seen someone with such talent. Born favored by darkness, hahaha—and you’re a Holy Acolyte!”
“Enough nonsense.”
Victor’s voice was as hard as the blunt sword on the training ground.
He looked down at the old man, his face expressionless.
“You know why I’m here.”
“You’ve been trying to lure me since last time. Spit it out—what are your terms?”
The old man tilted his head, his ghost-fire pupils slowly scanning Victor, like admiring a beautifully dangerous vessel.
“Truly a smart man.”
“If you’d been born in my era, there might have been no need for me.”
“Are you going to keep wasting words?”
“Alright, alright. No more teasing.”
The old man’s smile faded.
Bony fingers extended from under the black robe, slowly tracing on the cold stone floor.
Those fingers were stained with dried blood, forming obscure and ancient runes on the stone.
Each pattern emitted a faint, extremely dim glow under the weak holy light.
The old man’s voice became very soft, very slow, as if handing over a secret more precious than any holy relic.
“This is a dark rune I wrote with my blood.”
“Memorize them. I’ll tell you how to use them.”
“Remember, hide your dark element well.”
“Once you start learning, the dark potential inside you will transform into magic power, and it will become very noticeable.”
“But there’s still a way to hide it.”
“You’re lucky you ran into me, hahaha.”
Victor didn’t respond to the laughter.
He crouched down, stared at the twisted runes, and carved every stroke, every line into his mind.
Then he stood up, his voice still calm.
“After I learn, I’ll let you out.”
“Until then, no deal.”
“No problem.”
“I’m not in a hurry.”
The old man’s smile slowly bloomed in the darkness, like admiring a seed that had just begun to sprout.
“You will get stronger.”
“And it won’t be long.”
Victor turned his back to the cell.
Behind him, the old man let out another low, sandpaper-like cackle.
“Hope you won’t break your word.”
“After all—we’ll meet again sooner or later.”
“I told you last time when you left, didn’t I?”
“Hahaha—”
Victor didn’t look back.
He locked all those taunts and prophecies behind him, stepping up the stone steps one by one.
After pushing open the stone door, he began using those dark incantations to transform the power inside him.
The next day at noon, when he came out of the prison, the two knights on duty were leaning on their halberds, yawning.
Seeing Victor walk out of the stone door, they instinctively straightened up.
But soon they noticed—this guy seemed different from when he went in last night.
Not in appearance, not in clothes, but in some deeper change.
His stride no longer carried the same urgent tension, but an unprecedented calm and confidence.
“That guy spent the whole night in there?”
“What sermon takes that long?”
The young knight muttered.
The other knight frowned, his gaze lingering on Victor’s back for a long moment before he slowly spoke.
“Forget it.”
“Don’t bother.”
“It’s not our concern anyway.”
His tone carried, aside from the usual contempt, a trace of inexplicable unease.