Alexander always knew favors were currency—one he’d overpaid in. Allowing prodigies of allied noble households to join his operation seemed like a sound investment. Merits for them, obligations for me. A neat little transaction to grease the wheels of future deals—expanding technological ventures, securing trade routes, or ensuring no one stabbed him in the back when asked for more.

  “Mr. Alexander, can you smell it?!” Ludwig skittered up his arm, tiny claws digging into his shoulder before perching atop his head like an insistent hat, the voice like a needle scraping glass. “I can’t put my paw on it, but something terrible happened!”

  The world blurred around Alexander, fighting the urge to swat the fauna off like a bothersome insect. Typical. The squirrel—grimy, excitable, and perched on his skull like a self?appointed sentry—was proof enough of his questionable decisions.

  “It’s like a [Divine Energy] scouring the world,” Ludwig muttered, his usual chatter giving way to a rare gravity. “Sterile, unnaturally clean—like it wants to erase every smell, sound, and shape until nothing natural is left.” A shiver ran through his tiny body. “Disgusting.”

  Ludwig was attached to some Temple branch Alexander couldn’t be bothered to recall—Forest of something—sent here to patch up the petty spat Ludwig’s sister had stirred with the Twin?Acorn lot. A broken contract, a soured deal, nothing of consequence. Even Green forgot about him.

  ‘At least he’s not useless,’ Alexander thought, eyes rolling upward as he puffed air to push the squirrel’s tail off his nose.

  Ludwig’s abilities were impressive—healing, nature manipulation, the works. The only reason he stuck with Alexander was the lure of magic. He soaked up knowledge like a sponge, slipping through hallways, eavesdropping on lectures, and sneaking into classrooms as if the academy were his personal playground.

  “Alex,” another voice pulled him back from the edge—metaphorically. “The peep-squeak telling the truth.”

  He watched Yvonne O. Nine-Fire—nearly two meters of bulking muscles and youthful certainty—barreling toward him, and, as usual, braced for yet another trivial alarm.

  “Got it,” Alexander cut in quickly, hoping to head off her report and return to his talk with Zaphiro. “I’ll check on it later.”

  The young nobles in his camp shared a few traits—talent in their craft and glaring inexperience. Yvonne, for instance, was skilled and dutiful, yet her lack of judgment made every petty incident feel urgent. Guards dozing off, stolen drinks, whispered insults about some officer—she reported them all. Most was trivial, an endless stream of nuisances he had learned to ignore.

  Before Yvonne could continue, Alexander’s temporary guard stepped in, voice steady but edged with skepticism. “For once, I think the large peep-squeak may be right, Mr. Alexander.”

  Barry—an ox-kin towering at 2.2 meters, bulked like a fortress—was more than a fixture of the Leonandra household; he was also Yvonne’s new teacher. Her presence here was no accident. They shared the same [Divinity Line], one that nullified their [Energy] but granted them heightened physical prowess and unique [Mystic Skills].

  “Who are you calling peep?squeak?!” Yvonne snapped, glaring at the grinning veteran. “You decrepit ox!”

  While their three?stooges banter ran its course, Alexander’s expression hardened. If Barry said it was serious, it probably was. “Fine.” He stepped forward, cutting through their routine and forcing them aside. “Is this about the strange [Divine Energy] Ludwig mentioned?”

  Stepping outside, a faint waft of [Wild Demonic Energy] brushed his face—subtle, but unmistakably his mother’s. Beneath it churned suppressed emotions, grim resolve, and a madness sharpened to the edge of sociopathy.

  “Is she fighting—” Alexander caught himself as another [Energy] pressed against him, one he recognized instantly. “Incense?”

  Alexander—Zidane, in truth—had never been religious. Raised by parents who were, respectively, an engineer and a mathematician, faith formed a cultural backdrop rather than a genuine belief. In fact, he despised it. The civil war in his homeland had seen extremists seize power and slaughter his parents as they tried to escape. To him, religion wasn’t solace—it was the thief that had taken everything.

  ‘Disgusting.’ Alexander’s lip curled, a flash of revulsion twisting his face. ‘Something like this… here?’

  A strange sensation, yet familiar—the warmth paired with helplessness, the weight of reverence that demanded submission, the hollow comfort of hope laced with powerlessness. He’d felt it during school trips in Paris, wandering through ancient churches, temples, and mosques. A mingling of Earth’s great religions, impossible to explain, only to endure.

  “Alex—”

  He shut out every voice around him, revulsion surging hot in his veins. Rage unlike anything he’d ever known coiled through him, sharp and absolute, as if some ancient enemy stood before him. The urge was primal, merciless: to slaughter, to wipe from existence the very faith that had stolen his parents.

  “Boy.” A heavy hand clamped down on Alexander’s shoulder, snapping his head around toward the source. “Calm yourself.”

  Alexander glared at Barry, only then noticing Ludwig curled on Yvonne’s head while she clutched her spear so tightly her knuckles turned white, sweat beading across her brow. Further back, Zaphiro watched from behind a shimmering mana shield, studying him with quiet intensity.

  ‘What happened?’ Alexander was startled to realize his [Aura] was leaking out—dense, suffused with raw hatred. No longer scarlet, it burned violet streaked with red, like venom coiling around a beautiful flower.

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  “Alex,” Barry said again, voice low and weighty, his grip tightening. “What’s going on inside you?”

  Alexander didn’t answer right away, forcing himself to breathe, to steady the scream clawing from within. It wasn’t his bloodline twisting him, nor the miasma’s impulsive pull. This was deeper—absolute—as if his very soul howled for retribution.

  Alexander closed his eyes, then opened them slowly. “I’m fine. My mistake.” He brushed off their stares and turned toward the center of the camp, steps steady now. He recognized what Ludwig had sensed. “It’s [Holy Energy]—I’m certain of it.”

  After a few steps, they fell in behind him as he marched on. He couldn’t tell where the wisps of [Holy Energy] came from, but he knew he had to be ready. The Church was the enemy, and their presence here could only mean war—especially if his mother was already fighting them.

  “[Holy Energy]?” A new voice called from the side—female, firm yet tinged with warmth. “It does feel strange, though,” she added, her tone light as a nightingale’s song.

  Alexander turned to find one of the few heirs with genuine experience and reliability—Nila O. Nine-Fire, fiancée of Bartholomew A. Silver-Tail. She carried herself like a duelist stepping onto a stage, tight pants and high boots shaping every movement with sharp grace. Her jackal ears twitched with subtle confidence, her tail swayed in lazy arcs, and the rapier at her hip gleamed with polished menace, a duelist’s tool honed for precision. The uniform she wore clung a size too small, straining across her chest with a deliberate boldness that left little doubt she knew exactly how striking she looked.

  “Get ready,” Alexander said, eyes fixed on the waves of chaos rolling closer, his voice taut with strain. “This is a command. Prepare for combat. Something big is coming.”

  Nila simply nodded and strode toward the cluster of bewildered soldiers, her voice rising in sharp commands as she pulled them into order. She wasn’t the strongest fighter, the sharpest tactician, or the most gifted leader, but in blending all three she became indispensable—the glue that bound discipline, strategy, and steel together.

  “Ye lot havin’ a council or what?” Freya’s voice cut through as she strode up, twin one?handed maces clanking at her sides. “Smell’s thick as smoke—I ken it well enough. Now, how ‘bout ye tell me what’s goin’ on?”

  Alexander strode past Freya toward the center of the camp, brushing aside the chatter between Zaphiro and Ludwig, the glances shared by Yvonne and Barry. A spell flared before his mouth, shaping his words into a booming call that rolled over the camp. “Code Orange!” The command rang sharp, freezing everyone mid?motion. “Code Orange, Level One!”

  It was the code for imminent danger. Normally the jargon ran longer, wrapped in dialect and formal phrasing, but here it was kept blunt and in plain English. Four colors, four words to remember—yellow, orange, red, black—each paired with a number from zero to three. At once, team leaders and seasoned soldiers armed themselves, seizing weapons, pouches of talismans, and potions. Non-combatants hurried into the underground tunnels, preparing to give magical support from the rear. Alexander’s instincts screamed of what was coming. No—Zidane’s did. The reflexes of a veteran.

  Zaphiro hurried to his side, his tone taut with unease. “Alex—”

  Alexander cut him off, lifting a hand as his ears twitched. He tilted his head back, sniffing for the last trace of the vanished wave. “Listen. Smell it. It’s coming.”

  “There’s nothing—too hasty, perhaps—” he began, but his words died as a beam of light speared down from the sky, striking just off center where all the waves of [Energy] came from. It blazed like a beacon, visible and palpable to all.

  Then silence—until Alexander’s fur bristled, his pupils narrowing to slits. His hand slipped to his spatial pouch on instinct, already preparing for the strike he knew was coming.

  “Black Zero! Incoming!” From Alexander’s pouch, shards of diamond and other metals burst forth, collapsing into a single bullet that spun faster and faster before him. “Enemy!”

  With a click of his tongue, he murmured a chant and poured a tenth of his mana into the bullet. His eyes fixed on a single speck in the air, sniper-sharp, while the fine hairs of his ears twitched, gauging the wind. His [Mana Sense] pulsed outward like radar, sweeping for the threat his instincts screamed off—and then he found it.

  “There you are!”

  BANG

  The spell burst, kicking up dirt into a swirling cloud as the bullet ripped forward at impossible speed, the air whining in its wake—then, in less than a heartbeat, it struck a barrier that pulsed outward with [Holy Energy].

  “Salaud de merde,” Alexander immediately disabled the mana collar and the weight?increasing artifacts he was wearing, tossing them aside. His muscles bulged, mana control sharpening into something faster, finer, more precise. “Whoever it is, this will be—”

  BOOM

  A thunderous explosion split the camp as the intruder he had tried to shoot down descended, crashing into the very heart of their lines. The earth heaved, tents buckled, and a column of light tore skyward, drowning the field in radiance. Dust billowed upward in choking clouds—only to be annihilated in an instant as a tide of [Holy Energy] swept through, scouring the air clean and leaving the figure revealed at its core, an entrance carved to inspire awe and dread alike.

  “My, my,” a voice rang out—sweet as a choir, yet edged with cruelty—rolling through the camp like a judgment from on high. “How terribly aggressive you little animals are.”

  Atop a marble?white guardian lion—its form reminiscent of the stone shishi from ancient temples, a creature somewhere between hound and lion, carved from sanctity itself—sat a priestess sideways, regal even in her ruin. Her attire hung torn and scorched, yet a faint trace of Alexander’s mother still clung to her like a verdict passed. Across her chest, a silvery, almost liquid?metal essence writhed, expelling Alexander’s bullet with slow disdain until it dropped with a humiliating clang upon the stone below.

  “Get ready—” Alexander braced himself, only for Barry to pull him back and stride forward. Wisps of invisible power flared around the ox?kin, the air bending as though a titan had stepped onto the field, his sheer weight cracking the ground beneath. His frame expanded, height and width swelling as muscles tore through the straps of his armor, forcing him to cast it aside. Sweat hissed off his skin like steam, yet it did not burn—this was [Mana Overload (Body)], the hidden skill Alexander had unearthed.

  Yvonne and Freya closed in on either side of Alexander, weapons raised, while Zaphiro steadied himself behind with Ludwig perched on his head like a twitching lookout. Nila, on the other side, flashed hand signs and threads of mana, rallying the soldiers into formation—bows nocked, shields raised, spells prepared, pouches of talismans and potions readied. The camp hardened into a war-band under her voice. Ahead of them all, Barry loomed like a wall of flesh and iron, his body radiating the crushing weight of a giant.

  And before them towered the intruder’s beast—more divine juggernaut than mount—its marble?white bulk rippling with sacred strength, every breath rattling the air like a temple bell. The ground quivered beneath its paws, as though even the earth feared its stride. Its [Energy] burned at the high peak of the [Second Conjecture], a force so dense it could scour flesh from bone in an instant. The priestess on its back, calm and poised at the [First Conjecture], wore her smile like a blade, silent proof that her confidence was carved from more than arrogance.

  “Do you really think—”

  Before she could speak further, Barry was already there, a blur of bulk and fury. His fist hung inches from the guardian lion’s muzzle, a meteor caught in the breath before impact. The air shuddered, trembling on the brink—and every soldier knew they were seconds from a clash that could tear the world open.

  Patreon—30 and more advanced chapters for 5$

  RoyalRoad—please rate, follow, and fav!

  Discord—feel free to debate me. I am ready to go for it!