In the sewers on the outskirts of Drakenfall, a swarm of rats scurried through the shadows in silent migration.

Suddenly, they all froze in place, twitching their noses, their tiny bodies trembling. Something was coming—something terrifying.

A moment later, a half-meter-long creature emerged, crawling along the narrow tunnel with smooth, efficient menace. The rats scattered immediately, squealing in fear as they bolted in the opposite direction.

It was an Iron-Eating Rat—a mutated beast with razor-sharp teeth and brute strength equivalent to a grown man with a weapon. Commonly used in military and war academy experiments.

This particular rat ignored the fleeing rodents and continued forward through the filthy pipeline, following a very specific scent.

.......

The night had deepened, and Jude was nearly finished packing. Sweat soaked through his shirt. His face, swollen and bruised from the beating at the city gate, twisted in the mirror’s reflection.

This was the lowest day of his life. After tonight, he’d lose his name, his identity. He’d be a ghost hiding from the people he'd once looked down on.

“A bunch of goddamn nobodies…” he muttered, clenching his fist. “They won’t get away with it.”

Just then, a faint, strange sound echoed through the hallway.

“What the hell?” He turned, frowning, and stepped toward the noise.

Before he could react, a large, wet hand clamped over his mouth and yanked him into the room next door.

“Mmph—!”

A brutal wrench dislocated his jaw. Something thick and damp was shoved into his mouth.

The lights flicked on. In the dim glow, he stared into a pair of cold, dead eyes.

Axel.

“WOO—MMMPH!”

Jude thrashed violently, bound hand and foot, panic overtaking him. His heart pounded in his ears. He couldn’t believe it. His father and family’s guards were right outside! How the hell had Axel gotten in?

He tried to scream, to call for help, but only a muffled groan escaped.

Then—searing pain exploded in his gut.

His eyes bulged in disbelief.

Axel’s hand slowly withdrew. His pulse... his Force core... was gone. Destroyed.

He was crippled. Permanently.

Axel’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Don’t worry. You won’t need it... You’re dying tonight.”

Jude froze. Axel was serious. He was here to kill him.

Pure terror took over. Jude began banging his head against the floor in desperation, trying to beg for his life, gesturing frantically toward the door, toward the next room.

Axel paused. “Oh? You’re saying you’re rich?” he said flatly, watching Jude gesture. “You want to buy me off?”

Jude nodded furiously, his eyes wide with desperate hope.

“The Windsor family really is rich.”

Axel casually picked up a jade artifact from the nearby shelf, letting it roll across his fingers. He didn’t know much about antiques, but judging by how Jude had clung to it, it was probably worth a fortune.

“You’re right,” Axel smiled. “This could buy my life.”

Jude smiled, too. Relief flooded his face.

Then his world turned red.

In a flash, his body hit the floor. Blood splattered across the ceiling. He saw, for one brief second, his own decapitated body still twitching on the ground.

Then he saw nothing.

He never understood what lit that fire in Axel’s heart.

Axel wiped the dagger clean, his voice calm in the silence.

“But what about Killian’s life?”

He didn’t bother taking Jude’s life crystal. He already had Cody’s. A Level 4 Awakened—useful enough.

More importantly, Axel knew the rest of the Windsor family was still nearby. Time was running out.

Within seconds, his body shrunk and twisted. Fur replaced skin, limbs contorted, and in the next heartbeat, an iron-eating rat darted into the shadows of the mansion.

He disappeared into the night, retracing the path he’d taken to arrive—silent, efficient.

.....

“Why the hell are you taking so long?!”

Ten minutes had passed, and Jamin’s voice was already laced with irritation as he barked from outside the door.

When there was no reply, he stormed into the room. “I told you not to drag all that junk along with you, just grab the essentials and—”

He stopped dead.

Blood.

The metallic tang of it hit him immediately—thick and pungent, too fresh to ignore.

Something was wrong.

Jamin, a third-tier Awakener, instinctively tensed. Every hair on his body stood on end. He didn’t dare take another step inside. He spun around and leapt back like he’d been burned.

“GUARDS!”

“GET OVER HERE, NOW!”

His voice cracked with an edge of panic he hadn’t felt in years. The fear clamped down hard on his chest until several armed guards arrived and flanked him.

“Mr. Jamin, what happened?”

Only then did he exhale, swallowing hard to steady himself. “Go check. Inside.”

The group entered the lavish villa, following the sharp trail of blood through the halls. They pushed into the room.

And there it was.

The lifeless, headless corpse.

Everything stopped. The air went cold.

Jamin froze in place, staring. It was like time had halted around him. Then, slowly, fury took hold.

“WHO DID THIS?!”

His voice was a thunderclap. “WHO THE FUCK KILLED MY SON?! I’LL BURY THEM MYSELF!”

He slammed his fist into the wall—an explosion of brick and plaster rained down in his rage.

“Mr. Jamin, please calm down!” one of the men tried.

The others didn’t speak. They were just as stunned. Their mission had been simple: escort Jude safely out of Drakenfall. And now\... this.

How were they supposed to explain this to Governor Brooks?

“Call Ian. NOW.”

Jamin was shaking, but his voice was like ice.

Ian was a first-tier Awakener with a very rare ability: Undead Guide. Not a fighter—but invaluable in a situation like this.

Dragged from bed in the middle of the night—half-dressed and still dazed—Ian arrived at the mansion, grumbling.

“What the hell is this?! I was close with Mr. Jude! You—”

He stopped mid-rant the second he locked eyes with Jamin.

“M-Mr. Jamin…”

“Use your ability,” Jamin ordered, his voice like a blade. “I want the truth.”

Ian’s face drained of color. “Wait… is that… Jude?”

The body on the floor was a mess, but unmistakably Jude.

“Don’t waste my time.”

Ian swallowed hard. “Understood…”

This wasn’t going to be easy. Jude was a second-tier Awakener—and soul-tracing someone at a higher tier was dangerous, exhausting work for someone like Ian.

He pressed his hands together, then began chanting in a low voice. “Wandering soul, follow my call… return…”

His pupils turned a ghostly white. His breathing slowed. The atmosphere in the room thickened.

Moments later, his body jerked like he’d been shocked.

"AHH!"

Every time Ian used this power, he had to relive the victim’s final moments—and this one was brutal. The shock of being decapitated—he felt it all.

“Well?”

Ian shuddered. “It was… a young man. Couldn’t be more than twenty.”

“Bullshit.”

Jamin didn’t hold back the roar. “A teenager snuck past my guards, into this heavily warded house, and killed my son like this?!”

“I swear I’m not lying,” Ian stammered. “He was thin. Cold eyes. I’ll never forget that face.”

Jamin’s jaw clenched tight. His patience snapped. “Enough. I’ll look for myself.”

He grabbed Ian by the head, slamming his palm onto his scalp. A pulse of energy surged through them both.

Ian cried out, his whole body seizing. Sweat poured down his face.

For Jamin, the soul imprint bloomed into view.

And what he saw…

Jamin stood still, his brow furrowed deeply as he pulled out of the soul trace.

His Awakening skill—Soul Invasion—was a spiritual-class ability, far more aggressive than someone like Kaia’s. It didn’t just read the mind—it pierced it, hijacked it, broke it.

Behind him, Ian lay twitching on the floor, white foam bubbling from the corner of his lips. Jamin didn’t spare him a glance. He’d served his purpose and was tossed aside like garbage.

“That guy…”

Jamin's voice was low, filled with ice and venom.

In that fragmented memory, he’d seen the one Ian described: thin, young, sharp-eyed, and terrifyingly calm.

“Whisper Syndicate… Axel. You killed my son in Mirabelle?”

He clenched his fists, his spiritual pressure warping the air around him. “You’re fucking dead.”