Stanley nearly laughed out loud at Diggen’s ignorance. “You idiot, he thought. You have no idea how much those nobles are paying for your drugs. The merchant’s making fifty times the cost, at least.”But he kept those thoughts to himself. Diggen, despite his past as an aura user, had never rubbed shoulders with anyone higher than a baron.He had no idea about the secret circles—the shadowy sororities and elite enclaves where nobles indulged in their darkest fantasies without consequence. For those people, drugs weren’t a vice—they were a necessity.For them the more grand and luxurious the party is, the more standings they would have in their circles. And to make the party even more crazier, they use drugs to dilute their mind and reach new height of ecstasy. Stanley had no intention of sharing that truth. Greed was a dangerous thing, and the same greed that had landed him here could just as easily spiral into something worse.So instead, he shrugged. “Well the real reason for his e

Inside Stanley's house, the atmosphere turned ice-cold.The men who had just barged in froze in place, stunned by the quiet menace in Ethan's muttered words.For a moment, silence reigned—thick, charged, and dangerous.Then Dan broke it with a sharp bark of laughter, throwing his head back as if Ethan's threat was the funniest joke he'd ever heard.He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye as he leaned on the wall for support.His two companions soon joined in, their chuckles rising into mocking, high-pitched giggles that echoed through the cramped room.But Stanley didn't laugh.He couldn't.His instincts, sharpened by years of surviving among thugs and backstabbers, told him the truth: Ethan meant it. Every blood-soaked word. This wasn't some childish tantrum. This was a vow.He's serious. That little bastard's going to kill me one day but wait and see you fucking runt I will never give you the opportunity.Dan's voice sliced through the tension, still laced with laughter."You hea

Jenkins, the leader of the Dark Scimitar team, wasn't among the organization's upper echelons—but his reputation among his peers was high.Strategic, ruthless, and meticulous, Jenkins had a rare talent for turning even the most cursed backwater into an asset. His men respected him not just for his cunning, but because he delivered results.Now, as he addressed his squad on the shadowy outskirts of the village, his voice was calm, yet commanding. Each word felt like a carefully placed piece on a chessboard."If we take out Diggen and his two right hands, the rest will fall like loose bricks," he began. "But the real issue is the five retired assassins still loyal to him—or so the kid claims."He let the words hang in the stillness, eyes scanning his men."In our world, loyalty's just fear dressed up nice. People switch sides when the wind changes. So we will test them and see their reaction."Jenkins raised one fi

Even though the Doomblade didn't harm Ethan he felt threatened by the black tendrils, he was still observing him from a far.His eyes never left him when he woke up; his eyes were even piercing through the bushes and the thick branches of the trees.He didn't move when he saw the two humans following Ethan, he didn't move when Ethan stabbed one of the two humans but the moment Ethan was chocked and felt the killing intent from the human the Doomblade made his move.When the man chocking Ethan heard the terrifying roar, he let go of his neck from fear.The moment Ethan fell he was able to breathe again, he started to cough uncontrollably, his breath was ragged his eyes bulging with tears streaming down.But when he lifted his head and saw what was in front of him, he wished he was unconscious."How can something like this exist?"While wondering the woods he saw all kinds of creature, sometimes he would see them from a far, so

The darkness of night had fully claimed the village, casting jagged shadows across crooked huts and winding dirt paths.A bitter chill hung in the air, the kind that crept through the cracks of every wooden wall and made even the bravest criminals pull their blankets tighter.At this hour, the streets were deserted—only the occasional bark of a hungry dog or the creak of a broken shutter interrupted the silence.Inside one of the larger, filthier homes near the village center, Stanley paced back and forth like a man possessed. His heavy boots thudded against the warped wooden floor, each step echoing louder than the last in the claustrophobic room.A single candle flickered on a cracked table, casting a feeble light that stretched his hunched silhouette across the walls like a grotesque puppet."The kid'll be the end of me," he muttered, voice low and hoarse, barely audible over his own footsteps. Sweat clung to his forehead despite the cold.