CHAPTER 63: CHAPTER 63: THE WEIGHT OF FIRE

Chapter 63 – The Weight of Fire

The middle zone itself trembled from the explosion. It was so massive, so deafening, that every beast inside turned its head toward Kaden’s direction.

And there... they saw it.

A towering cloud of blood-red fire surging into the sky—violent, majestic, untamed.

It was a mesmerizing view.

But for the beasts who had been going on with their daily lives—who had built their own routines inside this hostile wilderness—seeing that sight? It did something to them.

It broke something.

Because that kind of explosion could only mean one thing:

Someone had entered their territory.

Someone had wrecked their peace.

Someone was tearing everything apart.

And that—

That was something they couldn’t tolerate.

So, in an eerie, synchronized wave, every beast in the middle zone turned

and charged straight toward Kaden and the shadow panther.

All for the same reason.

To tear apart and rip to pieces the one who dared to shatter the stillness of their domain, the one who dared to mock them, to challenge them.

Their goal was simple...

Make him bleed until he died.

And that someone?

That was Kaden Warborn, the Child of Blood himself.

And as for him?

Well—

...

"What a beautiful sight," Kaden muttered with a small smile, eyes gleaming as he looked at the bloody fire in front of him. But that very smile began to fade as the smoke cleared...

And revealed the panther.

It was still standing.

The beast wasn’t untouched. Blood shimmered down from multiple wounds across its body. Its face was cut. Its sleek black fur charred in places with flickers of red fire still dancing on the tips. Its claws—the same claws it had used to strike at Kaden—had melted clean off.

The pain must’ve been unbearable.

But the beast’s face didn’t change. It also didn’t go berserk nor didn’t lash out blindly.

No.

It looked at him again—but this time... with different eyes.

As if reevaluating him.

As if... respecting him.

"...Eerie," Kaden said with a frown.

And yet, the longer he stared at the panther, the more something inside him stirred. The more his blood rushed.

The more he wanted to die by its hand. After all this beast seemed special.

So he smiled.

"You—"

Kaden stopped abruptly, eyes snapping around.

Every direction. Every angle.

Beasts.

Dozens, no hundreds all around him. And they were closing in.

Kaden’s lips twitched. "Did I go too far?"

He clicked his tongue and turned his attention back to the shadow panther, who had also noticed the newcomers—but Kaden didn’t give it time to decide.

He lunged first.

He clenched his fist—and instantly, the blood still clinging to the beast’s body twisted, spiked and pierced it.

"GRRRRR!"

The panther growled—pained, furious—and vanished into the shadows.

Then reappeared behind Kaden.

Its claws—what remained of them—slashed forward in a flash of black.

Too fast.

Too sudden.

Kaden didn’t react in time.

But it wasn’t because he couldn’t.

It was because he didn’t want to.

After all, he didn’t want some random beast to kill him. That would be a damn waste of Death Coins.

So he closed his eyes.

And let it hit him.

The slash landed with full force. Kaden was hurled across the ground like a ragdoll, crashing violently and rolling until he slammed into the dirt. His back was torn wide open, his black coat soaked in blood. And his bone was visible.

And still—

’I... I’m not dead yet?’ Kaden thought, barely coherent through the pain.

Then he felt it.

Reditha...was healing him.

His eyes widened in horror.

’Reditha—no! Don’t heal me!’ he screamed in his mind.

But it was already too late.

And worse—he’d landed too close to the approaching swarm.

Footsteps and growls throughout the night.

Beasts were near, no they were already there.

Kaden turned his head with effort, blood soaking the dirt beneath him and cursed his rotten luck.

’Fucking hell...’

And as if those words were a signal, one of the monsters—a jelly-bodied, acidic horror—lunged toward him.

It wrapped around his head, dissolved his skull, melted his brain.

Kaden...died.

[You are dead.]

...

While Kaden danced between deaths, far away in the Capital—

Another story unfolded.

Inside a quiet study room, Kenan sat surrounded by alchemical tools and glowing runic plates. His focus was razor-sharp, his mind locked in on one thing: the health potion formula his master had given him.

He didn’t notice the presence behind him.

A tall man in a butler’s uniform, standing with perfect posture, arms behind his back, a face carved from discipline. A face that commanded.

He didn’t speak.

He simply waited.

One minute. Ten. An hour.

Then, as if tired of waiting—

"Young Master," he said.

"W-Wait—who!?" Kenan jumped in shock, spinning to face the voice. But when he saw who it was, he exhaled—half relieved, half annoyed.

"Grandpa Albert... I told you not to sneak up on me like that," he grumbled, still respectful.

Albert only shrugged.

"You should have sensed me, Young Master."

"You’re an assassin ranked above Master-rank, for god’s sake. How the hell is a simple awakened like me supposed to sense you?"

"I revealed just enough presence for awakened rank to detect me."

"No awakened could sense that unless—"

Kenan paused.

"Unless they’re at the extreme awakened rank..." he muttered under his breath.

Albert smiled.

"Exactly. And that, Young Master, is what you must become before you’re allowed to take the Evolution Quest."

He paused again.

"That’s the condition your parents left you."

At the mention of his parents, Kenan’s expression twisted. His head lowered. His jaw clenched.

Albert continued.

"And one more thing..."

Kenan looked up, reluctantly.

"...they ordered you to stop slandering the family and to stop chasing the Elamin girl."

And just like that—

Albert vanished.

Gone. As if he’d never been there. Like a mirage or a whisper of pressure in the air.

But Kenan didn’t move.

His fists were clenched tightly, trembling. His jaw locked.

"...That’s all they care about. The reputation of the family. Not the family itself," Kenan muttered, voice shaking.

He was tired.

Tired of the Fireborn name.

Tired of its prestige.

Tired of its weight.

The Fireborn—the Empire’s executioners. They are also known as The Hand of Fire. The ones sent to kill, to burn, to destroy in the name of peace. The ones who bled for justice while others stood back and claimed virtue.

They were the hand that burned every obstacle for the Empire’s sake.

A glorious title.

A cursed one.

"It’s heavy..." Kenan whispered, leaning back in his chair.

Too heavy.

And he was the heir.

The only heir.

He had no choice but to carry it—but...

"What if I fail? What if I can’t shoulder it?"

Those questions never left him.

Not in the day. Not in the night.

Only when he was with Meris... could he breathe and forget about all this burden.

And now they wanted him to abandon her?

To abandon the only thing that gave him peace?

No.

"I can’t do it," Kenan said, firm and clear.

He picked up the runic plate again, jaw set.

He would master this potion.

And give Meris the guidance she needed.

’Wait for me, Meris.’

I won’t give up on you.

Never.

—End of Chapter 63—