Chapter 195: The Vassel’s Plan

Grom’s eyes snapped open.

He gasped, chest rising sharply as air rushed back into his lungs.

“…Hah—!”

“You’re awake.”

The voice was calm. Familiar.

Grom turned his head.

Zane sat on a chair nearby, one leg crossed over the other, posture relaxed as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

In front of him—

Mira.

She lay peacefully, breathing evenly. Her face was pale but calm. And—

Grom’s breath caught.

“…Her hand?”

Zane followed his gaze.

“I healed it.”

Grom stared for a moment, stunned, then slowly nodded. Relief washed over him before his expression abruptly changed.

“Dren—!”

He tried to sit up, panic surging through him.

“Where is he?!”

Zane raised a hand slightly.

“Calm down.”

Grom froze.

“…Calm down?” he repeated hoarsely. “What do you mean—”

“He’s dealt with,” Zane said.

Grom frowned.

“Dealt with…?”

Zane didn’t answer immediately. He simply lifted his chin and gestured.

Grom followed his line of sight.

And his stomach twisted.

Not far away lay a grotesque mass—flesh unevenly formed, bones partially exposed, breathing shallow and irregular. It was alive. Barely. Slowly. Regenerating with agonizing sluggishness.

At the center of its chest—

The Heart of the Deep Forge.

Dim.

Flickering.

Its glow weak, like an ember on the verge of dying.

Grom felt bile rise.

“…That’s—”

“Dren,” Zane confirmed.

Grom clenched his fists. “He’s still healing…”

“Yes,” Zane said calmly. “The remaining mana in the Heart is keeping him alive.”

He continued, tone flat.

“But it’s damaged. Severely. It can’t generate mana anymore.”

Zane looked at the artifact pulsing faintly.

“Once what little mana remains is drained,” he said,

“the Heart will stop.”

Silence fell.

Grom swallowed hard.

“…How did you stop him?” he asked quietly.

“He was strong. Stronger than anything I’ve ever seen.”

Zane didn’t look at him.

“So am I.”

Grom looked at Zane for a long moment—surprised—then let out a slow breath and nodded.

His gaze shifted.

Dren had regenerated… but only barely.

Scars ran across his body like crude seams. His right eye was gone. His left arm never returned. One leg was missing entirely. What remained twitched weakly, breath shallow, life clinging on by nothing but stubborn inertia.

Then—

The Heart of the Deep Forge pulsed once.

Twice.

And stopped.

Zane observed it quietly.

“Looks like its mana is finished.”

Grom’s jaw tightened.

“With the damage he’s taken,” Zane continued, “he won’t be able to use mana again. Ever.”

Grom closed his eyes briefly.

“He’s alive,” he said. “He’ll spend the rest of his life in prison. Like this. That is his punishment.”

Zane’s expression didn’t change.

“Killing him would’ve been mercy,” he replied calmly.

“Now he’ll suffer. Manaless. Crippled. Trapped in a body that won’t listen to him.”

He glanced down at Dren.

“Like a dying insect.”

Then—

Smoke.

Grom’s eyes widened.

“What—?!”

Zane didn’t move.

From the haze, a hooded warrior burst forward, ripping the Heart of the Deep Forge from Dren’s chest. The artifact—dull, lifeless—was snatched without hesitation. The warrior shot backward, flying toward a second figure hovering at a distance.

A hooded mage.

Grom clenched his fists.

“It’s the space mage—they’re taking the Heart! Zane—!”

But Zane was already gone.

Farther away, the hooded mage floated in the air. The warrior landed beside them, clutching the artifact.

“Quick,” the warrior hissed. “We leave now. Is your spell ready?”

The mage nodded. A navy-blue magic circle bloomed beneath their feet.

“Mission accomplished,” the mage said calmly.

“Heart secured.”

Then—

“What mission?”

The voice came from nowhere.

Both figures stiffened.

They spun around, weapons raised.

Nothing.

“…Why haven’t we teleported?” the warrior demanded.

“I—I don’t know,” the mage replied sharply.

Another voice followed, calm and amused.

“That’s because I locked the space here.”

They turned again.

Zane floated behind them.

Before either could react—

He vanished.

And reappeared.

His hands closed around their necks.

The world folded.

In the next instant, Zane stood back near Grom, holding both intruders effortlessly—one in each hand.

He released them, letting their bodies hit the ground.

“These two,” Zane said casually, “were trying to steal the broken Heart of the Deep Forge.”

Grom stared at them, then at Zane.

The silence that followed was heavy.

Grom stepped closer, his shadow falling over the two hooded figures dangling helplessly from Zane’s grip.

“Who are you?” he demanded, voice heavy with suppressed fury.

Zane glanced down at them, eyes calm, almost bored.

“Judging by the mana,” he said casually, “you’re from the Vassel… right?”

Both figures stiffened.

Zane smiled faintly.

“Looks like I hit the right spot.”

He tilted his head toward the mangled body on the ground.

“Well, we already know this one worked with you.”

His gaze lingered on Dren for a moment.

“With your help, he made that.”

Grom’s eyes narrowed as he followed Zane’s line of sight to the ruined artifact.

“You were trying to take it,” he said coldly.

“Even broken like this… you still want it. Which means you have a way to replicate it. Right?”

The hooded figures suddenly straightened.

“Glory to the Vassel!” they shouted in unison.

Mana flared violently around their bodies.

Grom’s expression changed instantly.

“They’re about to explode—!”

But—

Nothing happened.

The glow flickered… then died out completely.

The hooded warrior jerked in panic.

“Why—why didn’t it activate?!”

The mage looked just as stunned, frantically trying to channel mana that simply wouldn’t respond.

Zane spoke calmly, as if explaining something trivial.

“I disabled the curse embedded in you,” he said.

“You won’t explode.”

He looked down at them, eyes sharp.

“As much as I’d like to snap your necks right now, I’ll refrain. You’re more useful alive.”

He released them.

The moment their feet touched the ground, Grom moved.

Two thick, rune-etched ropes flew from his hands, snapping around their bodies in a blink, binding them tightly.

The hooded figures struggled—then froze.

Grom straightened.

“Mana-inhibiting ropes,” he said grimly.

“My own design. You won’t be using magic again.”

He stepped forward and took the broken Heart of the Deep Forge from them, its surface dull and lifeless in his grip.

The room fell silent once more.

Zane let out a quiet sigh.

“Drop the act, Mira,” he said calmly. “I know you’re awake.”

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then Mira’s eyelids twitched. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple. She inhaled sharply and opened her eyes.

“P-Professor Zane… Master Grom…”

Grom was at her side instantly, kneeling.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice tight with concern.

Mira nodded slowly. “I… think so.”

Her gaze drifted past them.

To the broken body on the floor.

Dren.

What remained of him barely looked human anymore—scarred, incomplete, breathing shallowly. The Heart of the Deep Forge lay dark and inert, its presence no longer suffocating.

Mira’s chest tightened. Sadness welled up in her eyes.

“…Dren…”

She clenched her remaining hand, then looked back at Zane.

“Professor Zane,” she said quietly, “tell me about this… Vassel organization.”

Her eyes were steady now.

“This is the real reason we came here, right?”

Zane met her gaze and nodded.

“That’s right.”

He turned slightly, his expression sharpening.

“Now listen.”

Somewhere far away—

In a room drowned in darkness.

A round table sat at the center, its surface faintly illuminated by a single hovering screen. Five figures were seated around it, their faces hidden by shadows, only silhouettes visible. The air itself felt heavy, tense.

On the screen—

Zane stood calmly, one hand gripping the throats of two hooded figures. A mage. A warrior. Both restrained, powerless.

Silence lingered for a moment.

Then a voice spoke.

“Zane Creed,” one of them said slowly. “Professor at Astralis Arcanum.”

Another figure leaned forward slightly.

“He is a variable that will affect our plans.”

The screen shifted, replaying fragments—Dren fused with the Heart of the Deep Forge, the aftermath, the broken artifact, Dren’s ruined body.

A different voice followed, colder.

“His power rating is undetermined. Subject Dren, with the completed Heart of the Deep Forge, was projected to reach the highest combat tier.”

A pause.

“Zane Creed defeated him.”

The implication hung heavy.

“By that logic,” the voice continued, “Zane’s power must be at least equal to—or greater than—the Heart’s full output.”

Another figure spoke, tone sharp.

“He is also responsible for the failure of our Astralis Arcanum operations. The dungeon explosion plan. The capture of our agents.”

A brief silence.

“And the unexplained disappearances of our people during the academy entrance examination… those too can be traced back to his presence.”

The screen flickered again.

This time, a different image appeared.

An adventurer—black hair, long coat, eyes cold.

“Additionally,” a new voice said, “our Valdoria Kingdom base was annihilated without warning.”

Only one image had been recovered.

“The individual responsible matches Zane Creed’s appearance… but he called himself Zayne Creed.”

A murmur spread around the table.

“Connection confirmed,” the voice continued. “Same face. Same demeanor. Comparable strength. The only difference is his light purple eyes compared to zane creed deep purple eyes”

“Either the same individual,” another said, “or a sibling.”

A brief pause.

“Zayne Creed is currently active as an adventurer in Valdoria.”

The first speaker leaned back.

“He is… abnormal.”

Another voice followed, lower, almost thoughtful.

“There is no record of him in any kingdom. No birth registry. No lineage. He claims origin from a country in the far east—”

A short, humorless chuckle.

“—a country that does not exist in any of our intelligence networks.”

Silence fell again.

The first figure finally spoke, voice firm.

“To complete our objective…”

A pause.

“…Zane Creed must be removed.”

The screen dimmed.

“Otherwise,” the voice concluded, “we will fail.”

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