Chapter 182: Assassins

Night draped Stonefang Combat Forge in a veil of dim ember-lights and distant metallic echoes.

Inside Mira’s assigned room, the world felt unusually quiet.

She stood near the window, arms folded, watching the silver moon of Orimund hang high in the sky. Its pale glow washed over the sprawling city of Stren—layers of iron bridges, glowing mana conduits, and slow-moving forge platforms breathing out soft heat like a living thing.

Mira exhaled slowly.

“I’m back here…” she murmured.

Yet the words felt hollow.

Her gaze drifted across the cityscape, memories rising unbidden—late nights in the workshop, arguments over rune efficiency, laughter echoing through metal halls. Back then, everything had felt solid. Certain.

Now…

“It doesn’t feel the same as before,” she whispered.

Something had changed. No—several things had.

Master Grom.

Even Dren.

Her fingers tightened unconsciously.

Mr. Zane is always smiled so casually, and it felt like he was always three steps ahead, hiding things she couldn’t even sense. Master Grom carried a heaviness she had never seen before, as if something inside him had cracked and been sealed shut again.

And Dren…

Mira frowned slightly.

He felt different. Not hostile or cold. But there was something sharp beneath his words earlier, like he was watching, measuring everything or everyone.

She shook her head lightly.

“Maybe I’m just overthinking…”

Her eyes fell to the black box resting quietly on the table.

The Dawnveil Crest.

Even sealed, it radiated a soft, comforting presence. The milky-white gem pulsed faintly, as if responding to her attention.

Mira walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, lifting the box carefully.

“At least I have something interesting,” she said with a small smile.

Her fingers hovered above the crest, curiosity burning brighter than her unease.

She didn’t notice the faint distortion in the mana near academy gate .

Nor the subtle ripple that passed through the night air outside the academy walls.

And in little distance , five shadows began to move.

.

.

.

Mira sat beside the table, fingers loosely interlocked, her eyes drifting between the black box and the moonlight spilling through the window.

She was thinking.

About the artifact.

About Dren.

About the unease curling in her chest for no clear reason.

Then—

Cold metal brushed her throat.

Her breath caught.

A knife.

So close that she could feel its edge dimpling her skin.

Her eyes widened, pupils shrinking in shock—

Before the blade could move, instinct took over.

Mana erupted from her body in a violent pulse.

Boom.

A shockwave of compressed mana exploded outward, shattering furniture, cracking the floor, and blowing curtains apart. The air screamed as the force threw everything back—

—including her.

Mira slammed near the window, boots skidding across broken stone. She barely managed to keep her footing.

“What…?” she whispered, heart pounding.

The room was wrecked.

But empty.

No attacker or presence.

Not even a shadow….

Her breathing turned shallow as she scanned the space.

“I— I felt it,” she muttered. “Someone was right here…”

Then—

Five throwing knives screamed toward her from behind.

Her instincts screamed louder.

Mira twisted sideways, mana surging through her legs as the knives embedded into the stone where her head had been a moment earlier, vibrating violently.

She spun around.

Still—nothing.

Her aura flared fully now, A-rank mana washing through the ruined room like heat haze.

“Who are you?” she demanded, voice steady with vigilance.

“Where are you?!”

Silence answered her.

Then the air itself warped.

A black-masked figure burst into existence in front of her, moving with terrifying speed, dagger aimed straight for her heart.

Mira reacted instantly.

She caught his wrist mid-strike, fingers locking down with reinforced mana. The impact jolted up her arm, but she held.

Before she could counter—

Another presence.

Her eyes widened as a second black-masked attacker lunged from her blind side, blade flashing toward her ribs.

She tried to move—

—but the first attacker twisted, using her own grip to lock her arm. A third presence snapped into place behind her, iron grip clamping down on her free hand.

Trapped.

“Oh no—”

The second attacker’s knife plunged forward.

Just as the blade was about to pierce her—

It stopped.

Abruptly.

Mira’s eyes snapped to the side.

A hand had closed around the knife’s edge.

Barehanded.

Blood didn’t flow from hand. The blade didn’t cut the hand .

She followed the arm upward.

Zane stood beside her, coat fluttering faintly in the disturbed air, expression calm—almost bored.

He looked at the frozen assassin, then at Mira.

“Sorry,” he said casually, tightening his grip on the blade.

“Am I late?”

Mira’s voice trembled despite her trying to stay composed.

“W-what’s happening…?”

Zane didn’t look at her. His eyes were still on the assassins, sharp and cold.

“I’ll tell you later.”

Her jaw tightened.

“I knew it,” she said quietly. “I knew you were hiding something from me. You… and Master Grom.”

She glanced around the ruined room, panic creeping in.

“Where is Master Grom?!”

“He’s fine,” Zane replied calmly. “He went after the other two assassins. After all—once their objective was complete, there was no reason for them to stay.”

Mira frowned, confusion flashing across her face.

Then she turned.

Her breath stopped.

The table.

The black box.

Empty.

“No… no—!” She staggered a step forward. “The Dawnveil Crest…!”

Her eyes widened in realization.

“So that was their real objective… They never came for me—they came for the artifact!”

Zane finally looked at her.

“Incorrect They also came foe you…”

Her hands trembled.

“What really …?”

“Yes and,” Zane said, voice steady. “Your master is already after them. You remember how persistent he can be.”

Before Mira could respond—

The assassin whose knife Zane had caught suddenly released the weapon and bolted, mana flaring as he tried to escape through the shattered doorway.

Too slow.

A hand pierced straight through his chest.

The assassin froze mid-step, choking.

He looked down slowly.

Zane’s arm was buried through him, blue mana crackling faintly around his hand.

Their eyes met.

The assassin’s widened in pure terror.

Zane leaned closer, his voice low and absolute.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

With a sharp motion, he pulled his hand back.

The assassin collapsed to the floor, lifeless, blood pooling beneath him.

Silence returned to the room—heavy, oppressive.

Mira stared at the body, then at Zane, her mind struggling to catch up.

“…They were professionals,” she whispered. “Top-tier assassins.”

Zane wiped his hand clean with a flick of mana.

“And yet,” he said casually, “they still chose the wrong target.”

Outside, far in the city, distant explosions echoed faintly.

Zane turned his head toward the sound, eyes narrowing.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s retrieve your artifact.”

He glanced back at her.

“And after that,” his tone softened just a fraction,

“I owe you an explanation.”

—

Far away, deep within the city of Stren, two shadows raced across the rooftops.

Their footsteps were light, precise—professionals trained to vanish before anyone could react. One of them clutched a black box tightly to his chest, its surface faintly glowing beneath the moonlight.

The Dawnveil Crest.

Wind howled past as they leapt from one roof to another, cloaks snapping behind them.

Then—

A crushing pressure rolled over the rooftops.

“Give that back.”

The voice was heavy. Grounded. Furious.

The assassins twisted mid-run.

Behind them, Grom Ironfury stood atop a steel spire, red beard bristling, mana roaring around his body like a furnace pushed past its limits. The stone beneath his boots cracked.

So this is what Zane meant…

His eyes burned as he locked onto the box.

They aren’t fleeing randomly.

They’re heading somewhere specific.

Straight to their base.

Grom clenched his fist, metal rings grinding together.

“Good,” he growled. “Run.”

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