Six days later..

  I sat at my desk, fingers drumming idly against the worn wooden surface. A single candle flickered beside a pile of neatly stacked reports. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and the lingering trace of sweat from the long day. I let out a quiet sigh, leaning back in my creaking chair, my gaze drifting toward the open window. The town below was silent, almost too obedient. The citizens had been cooperative—too cooperative.

  It wasn’t what I liked.

  I lived for resistance, for the desperate, futile struggles of men who still clung to the idea of freedom. I liked watching that hope crumble under my boot, their spirits breaking as they realized their efforts meant nothing. But for days now, there had been nothing. No riots, no attempts at escape. Just silence. A dull, mind-numbing silence.

  Then, the door to my office slammed open with a bang. One of my subordinates, clad in the standard dark uniform of Obsidian, stumbled in, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. Sweat glistened on his brow, and I could see the tension in his stance.

  "Sir, a few dozen men at the gold mine have refused to work and have taken down a few of our soldiers!"

  I waved a dismissive hand, barely sparing him a glance. "Take care of it yourself. You guys are plenty strong."

  He didn’t move. I expected a quick “Yes, sir.” followed by the sound of boots retreating down the hall, but instead, there was hesitation. I looked up. His eyes flickered downward, avoiding my gaze, his jaw clenched tight.

  "That's the thing, sir..." His voice wavered slightly. "these men were part of the Lithberg Royal Guard. It would take six or more officers to take them down, and they're busy."

  The Lithberg Royal Guard.

  These were trained loyalists, men who had once been the backbone this city. Warriors.

  I exhaled sharply, scratching the back of my head.

  "Alright," I muttered, pushing myself up from the chair. "I'm coming."

  Twenty minutes later..

  I walked down the main street of Trivoko, the uneven cobblestones worn smooth by years of laborers and soldiers treading the same path. The air was thick with dust, kicked up by the steady march of my boots. The farther I went, the stronger the scent of iron and sweat became—the gold mines that lay ahead.

  Toda had been furious when the Eclipse Contract fell through. His wrath had been swift, but since I had proven my worth elsewhere, the punishment had been mild. A warning rather than true discipline. I could live with that. As long as I remained successful, I was untouchable.

  Beside me, my subordinate hesitated before speaking. "Sir, these are some of our best workers. Are you going to kill them?"

  I adjusted my glasses, the metal frame cool against my fingertips. "If you rebel, you die. That’s been our warning since day one. They will be made an example of." My voice was steady, void of emotion. Mercy had no place in a system built on control.

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  I sensed movement—someone entering my range from my left blind spot. My body reacted on instinct. In a single motion, I snapped my right hand toward the intruder, grasping their head before they could strike. With a swift, effortless motion, I hurled them to the ground.

  A dull thud echoed as their body collapsed, motionless. Limp.

  Then, the few dozen rebels emerged onto the main street. Their clothes were in tatters—ragged, dirt-streaked, barely clinging to their battle-worn bodies. Yet their fists trembled, not with fear, but with sheer, overwhelming blood flow. Their knuckles swelled with power, veins bulging along their forearms. Reinforced Fist. Every single one of them use it.

  I straightened my fingers and beckoned them with a smirk. "Come on."

  In an instant, they sprinted forward, their feet pounding against the cobblestone in a synchronized rush. The air tensed. The first two reached me in seconds, throwing rapid punches, aiming to overwhelm me. I caught both their fists with my open palm, absorbing the force effortlessly. The impact reverberated up my arms. Their expressions twisted in shock—before my right fist shot forward.

  They flew backward, crashing into the well-maintained buildings lining the street. Their bodies cracked into the concrete, embedding deep into the walls. Dust rained down from the impact. My fist hissed as steam curled from my skin.

  I rolled my wrist, inspecting it as I exhaled. "The ambusher was the weakest one. You Royal Guard are worth my presence."

  Opening my right palm, I punched it hard, feeling the heat rise beneath my skin. The remaining guards took their chance, lunging at me from all angles. Their movements were aggressive, their hate for us in every knuckle. I stepped back, weaving through their strikes with ease. A fist grazed my ribs.

  Six punches later, I stopped. My fists pulsed, veins wrapping around my knuckles like cords of steel. My power was reaching the peak it could handle right now.

  I cocked my arm back, feeling the pressure coil like a tightened spring. "This will be your final fight."

  Then, I punched.

  The force erupted in a shockwave. A massive gust of wind howled through the street, slamming into the rebels like a tidal wave. The sheer pressure alone sent them sprawling, their bodies skidding across the ground. Their skin bruised on impact—just from the wind alone. It's almost perfected.

  I tapped my subordinate on the shoulder, my voice flat. "Get some cleaners."

  A lone figure sat on a wooden chair outside a modest house, their posture relaxed, but their stare anything but. Their hood obscured most of their face, but I could feel their focus cutting through the air like a blade.

  I blitzed forward.

  The figure flinched, their chair creaking as they recoiled. I shoved my hands into my pockets, looming over them. "You have an intense stare. Curl your hood."

  Their fingers trembled as they reached up, slowly peeling the hood back. Long black hair spilled out, framing a face half-hidden behind glasses. A woman.

  I raised my fist instinctively. My mind flashed through possibilities—spy, assassin, a hidden threat.

  Before I could act, she curled into a ball, her voice breaking. "Please don’t hurt me!!"

  Endo lowered his fist, his voice cold and sharp. "Watch who you stare at next time. Tell everyone else that rebellion ends in suffering."

  Oh, no doubt it does. These people are suffocating under your grip, their hope crushed before it can even form.

  Endo turned away. Behind him, the cleaners moved in. The bodies—some groaning, others dead—were dragged off without ceremony. This was routine. Just another lesson taught through brutality. His confidence was absolute, and why wouldn’t it be? His power was undeniable. Not even Kaiguro, with all his might, could summon wind gusts like those.

  But I see it now. You have a trick.

  You punched your right hand before attacking. Why? The answer is simple. You were storing power. Absorbing the force of your own blows, then unleashing it all in one devastating strike. A calculated burst, multiplying your strength sixfold. A powerful technique... but flawed.

  It isn’t repeatable. A trump card with three or less uses. That must be your ultimate move. Which means, when we raid the fort tonight, Vellin will know what to expect. Endo, you’ve underestimated Sun. And more importantly, you’ve underestimated the greatest spy in Sun.

  Me, Emma Tarren.