Isolde, eldest daughter of the Crestwood territory, had just returned to the estate. As she approached her father's study, her thoughts drifted once more to the man who had occupied them so frequently of late. Zane Valerius. The man who had recently slaughtered his brothers to secure his position as the Valerius family heir. "...'Famous,' he called me." Isolde recalled the look in his eyes as he’d gazed at her. They were eyes that revealed nothing, like peering into an abyss beyond the world’s edge, utterly indifferent. No matter how many times she replayed the memory, the chill of that gaze still prickled her arms. In those eyes, Isolde had recognized something: he was her kind of person. If that were all, she would have dismissed him from her mind the moment he rejected her proposal. A rejection meant they could not be allies, which, in turn, meant they were now adversaries. Simple as that. And yet, her curiosity lingered, all because of that single word. "...'Famous.'" The Crestwood family was certainly well-known. Even without dabbling in politics, the financial and military power they wielded was enough to upend the kingdom. But that renown belonged to the Count Crestwood himself, not the family as a whole, and certainly not to Isolde. Yet Zane had spoken of her. He had singled her out, clearly and distinctly. In a world where most nobles had never even seen her face—she had attended only two balls in her life—he had called her famous. Not the Count Crestwood. Her. Of course, Zane had likely said it without much thought, merely recalling the notoriety she would gain when the original story began. But to her, the words carried immense weight. "How very intriguing." Isolde shifted her gaze to the Count, seated at his desk in the study. He was simply processing paperwork, his silence absolute. His head was bowed, completely focused on his work, as if she weren't even there. Click. Click. As Isolde’s heels clicked across the floor, his head rose, his eyes naturally finding hers. They were the same red eyes she saw in her own reflection. He said nothing, but his posture was alert, his entire being brimming with a sharp vitality. —Snap! At least, until Isolde snapped her fingers. The moment the sound echoed through the study, the light in the Count's eyes vanished. The gaze that had been so keen a moment ago turned vacant, like that of a drooling imbecile. His mouth, once a firm line, fell slack, a thin trail of saliva tracing a path down his chin. The Count was clearly not himself. Isolde stared at the shell of a man before her and murmured, "How did he know? No one was supposed to know." Her expression was a mask of pure curiosity as she thought of Zane, who had spoken as if he knew the secret she had guarded for five years, ever since she’d turned her own father into a puppet. "Or was it just a shot in the dark?" Mulling over the possibilities, Isolde turned and left the study, leaving the stage where her longest-running performance continued to play out. "L-Lady Isolde!" a maid cried out from the hall. "What is it?" "Th-there's a corpse! In your room!" At the panicked outburst, Isolde strode quickly toward her chambers. And there— "Hah..." She saw him. The informant she had sent to watch Zane two weeks ago lay dead on her rug. His head was twisted at an impossible angle, his wide eyes staring at a ceiling he could no longer see, denied peace even in death. "The binding seal didn't activate, my lady," one of her knights reported from the doorway. "It doesn't appear he revealed any secrets." So the informant didn't talk, yet they returned his body directly to my room... Considering this, Isolde let out a soft sigh. Her suspicion was hardening into certainty. "...It seems he found one of my greatest weaknesses the moment we met." She murmured the words with a faint, chilling smile. Gideon grimaced, his eyes fixed on the golems glowing a malevolent red in the gloom of the ravine. A mercenary for more than fifteen years, his gaze darted across their hulking forms, searching for weak points, but he couldn't hide the anxiety tightening his gut. He was confident in his skills, but that very confidence made him wary. He had learned firsthand the danger of facing an unknown enemy. Worse, he had someone to protect. To be cornered by unfamiliar foes, their capabilities a complete mystery, was the worst-case scenario. And there were at least twenty of them. As Gideon’s mind raced, trying to formulate a plan— "I'll handle this." "Huh...?" The sudden voice drew a witless response from him. He turned to see Zane, who had stepped forward without him even noticing. His expression was as placid and indifferent as it had been when they first entered the labyrinth. Gideon was once again struck by how profoundly strange his master was. He truly couldn't fathom how anyone could remain so calm in a situation like this. From Gideon’s perspective, this was a full-blown crisis. More than twenty humanoid golems stood before them, each one radiating an aura of immense combat power, and they all had to be destroyed. Yet Zane had stepped forward, declaring he would handle them alone. If Gideon were being honest, he didn't believe for a second that Zane could deal with these things. Of course, he knew his master was no ordinary man; he even had a talent for magic. To have reached the 2nd Rank as a self-taught mage was respectable, impressive even. But as impressive as that was by normal standards, it meant nothing here. Reaching the 2nd Rank on one’s own at his age was a fine accomplishment, but that level of power would struggle against even a single one of these golems, let alone an army of them. Thud! The thought had barely crossed his mind when the golems, which had been standing motionless as if assessing them, suddenly lurched into motion, charging straight for Zane. And then— "I enact the Nexus Ring." Zane's voice resonated through the ravine, sharp and clear as a declaration of war. As Zane murmured the incantation, the world seemed to grind to a halt. His vision bled into monochrome, and the golems thundering toward him slowed to a crawl, their movements captured like frames in a high-speed film. And then— [A fragment inheriting the great will of Arcanus, state the two Constraints you wish to impose.] A voice, grand and resonant, echoed not in the air but in the space of his mind. It was the voice of a man and a woman, a child and an elder, all impossibly at once. Hearing it, a cold sweat beaded on Zane's brow. As expected, this is different from the game. The artifact Zane had acquired from the Labyrinth of Echoes, "Nexus Ring," did exactly what its name suggested: it imposed limitations on the user in exchange for an equivalent reward. When activated in the game, a notification window would appear, presenting options for what constraints to apply and what rewards to receive. But this was reality. Instead of a game interface, there was only the voice. A voice so immense that merely listening to it made his head spin, igniting a primal dread that threatened to burst his heart. Letting out a slow breath, Zane forced his racing pulse to steady and spoke the constraints he had already chosen. "One." [State your constraint.] "The use of magic requires the absolute execution of Arcanian hand signs." [What do you wish to gain from this?] "Power that can slightly twist the laws of the world." [Granted.] "And one more." [State your constraint.] "The use of magic requires the limited execution of the great Arcanian incantations." [What do you wish to gain from this?] "The same as before." [...] Following Zane's words, the voice fell silent. In the slow-motion world, a golem’s heavy stone foot lifted, hung in the air, and began its descent. For a brief moment, Zane wondered if he had miscalculated. [I accept.] The majestic voice returned, dispelling his concerns with its affirmation. [To you, who remember the hand signs and mysteries of a forgotten great god, I offer my gratitude for inheriting the will.] The voice delivered its message directly into Zane's mind. "...?" Zane’s brow furrowed slightly. Though his face remained a mask of indifference, his mind was reeling with questions. Inheriting the will? What is that supposed to mean? He had no idea. The reason he chose the Arcanian hand signs and incantations as his constraints was simple: in the game, these two choices provided the highest possible magic attack power. He had selected them so many times that the signs and incantations were burned into his memory. He wasn't a genius, of course. He hadn't memorized every single one he'd ever seen in the game, but that didn't matter. Zane knew where the texts detailing the Arcanian forms were located. Therefore, while the voice’s message was puzzling, the thought was fleeting. [I will always be watching. You, who inherit the will.] As the monochrome world slowly flooded with color once more, Zane knew time had resumed its normal course. He raised his hand, ready to test his new constraints, his eyes fixed on the golems charging ever closer. At the same time, mana began to stir within him, flowing from his heart and gathering at his raised fingertips. The mana that collected there was faint, almost pitiful. Even as he drew on every last reserve in his body, the orb of lightning that formed was not the brilliant sphere described in the texts, but a dim, sputtering glow, like the last ember of a dying fire. Zane felt neither disappointment nor surprise. He was acutely aware that this was the limit of Zane, third son of the Valerius family. Nevertheless— "Refraction." The word hung in the air. "Rebound." The small orb of light distorted, collapsing into a chaos of fractured lines. "Blue Light." With a sharp crackle, it began to emit an azure glow. The tiny sphere exploded into hundreds, then thousands of filaments, a web of unstable energy that sparked and sizzled. It pulsed with a blue light so cold it seemed to burn the eyes. Simultaneously, Zane’s other hand formed a sign. His thumb pressed down on his middle finger, a gesture like one used to flick a person’s forehead. But he inverted his hand, creating a shape reminiscent of the Arcane Wheel gesture. With that, he looked at the first golem, now nearly upon him, and spoke the final incantation. "Linear Diffraction." The blue light flared, momentarily banishing the darkness— Snap! He snapped his fingers, unleashing the flash. —Fwoosh! There was no explosion, no deafening roar. Only the faint whisper of displaced air followed the blinding light. In its wake, the charging golems were frozen mid-stride, as if time itself had stopped. And then— Crack... crackle! Without a sound, the dozens of golems collapsed, their forms crumbling into nothing more than heaps of lifeless stone. Gideon, who had been rushing forward to defend Zane, skidded to a halt, his mouth hanging open in stunned silence. "What in the world...?" he muttered, his voice thick with disbelief.

Chapter 6: A Kindred Adversary