Chapter 8: Whispers Beneath the Mask
The first true battle.
Three days had passed since Ethan's confrontation with the bandit leader Garron. The news of Garron's death and the total destruction of the Black Fang hideout had rippled across the Valen territory like wildfire. Villagers whispered tales of a shadow-born monster in the form of a boy. Nobles, though skeptical, took notice. And among the ranks of Allitia's elite sects, Ethan's name had begun to surface.
But none of that mattered to Ethan.
He sat cross-legged on a flat stone atop a cliff near the Valen estate, shirtless, his skin glowing faintly beneath the rays of the morning sun. The energy within him—the hybrid force born of Null and Aether—was no longer quiet. It pulsed. It throbbed. It spoke.
"Too slow," Ethan muttered.
The mana within him, once heavy and foreign, now moved like a second heartbeat. The recent battle had pushed his body to the cusp of a new transformation. He had entered the 7th level of the Mana Condensation realm, but it was unstable—fluid. He could feel his core expanding, refining, evolving.
And yet, it wasn't enough.
He needed more. More battles. More blood. More stimuli to awaken what still lay dormant within him.
"You're hiding something," he whispered to himself. "This body isn't done yet."
Behind him, a gentle breeze carried the scent of lilac and steel.
"You've changed, Ethan," Selene's voice came, her tone unreadable.
He didn't turn. "I've always been like this. You're just now seeing it."
Selene approached, her usual leather armor replaced with a flowing robe that hinted at her status as both a noble and a cultivator. Her long raven hair was tied back, and her eyes—deep and calculating—locked onto Ethan's back.
"You're cultivating faster than anyone I've ever seen. Even the prodigies from Emerald don't accelerate like this."
He smirked. "I'm not from Emerald."
"That much is obvious."
She circled him slowly. "What you did to Garron—it wasn't just power. You broke him. Mind, body, and spirit."
Ethan opened his eyes, golden irises swirling subtly with mana. "He underestimated me."
"And you enjoyed it."
A pause.
He stood slowly, facing her now. "Yes. I did."
Selene's breath hitched for the briefest second. Her pulse quickened—not out of fear, but excitement. The boy in front of her wasn't a boy at all. He was becoming something else entirely.
She stepped closer, so close that the heat from his body mingled with hers.
"You know," she whispered, "when I took you in, I thought you'd be another lost orphan. But now? You feel... dangerous."
Ethan leaned in, his voice low. "Is that a problem?"
She chuckled darkly. "Only if you make it one."
Elsewhere, deep within the capital city of Allitia, the High Scribes of the Arkanis Sect convened.
A glowing orb floated in the center of their chamber, replaying distorted images: a young man wielding impossible force, tearing through Garron's fortress, limbs breaking, fire erupting, bandits screaming. The final image froze on Ethan's smirking face, half-covered in shadow, blood dripping from his chin.
"He was supposed to be powerless," one scribe muttered.
"Reports say he was found as an infant in the forest eighteen years ago, raised by Viscount Valen. No known bloodline."
"But this energy signature… it's not just mana. It's something else entirely."
"We need to bring him in."
A pause.
The oldest scribe, a woman cloaked in black silk and arcane runes, spoke at last.
"No. We observe. Let the wolf grow teeth. Only then will we see if he is worth consuming—or if he will consume us."
Back at the Valen estate, Ethan returned from his meditation to find a letter waiting on his bed.
Thick parchment. Golden wax seal. Crest of the capital.
Selene leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed beneath her generous chest. "It's from the Royal Academy. They're summoning you."
Ethan turned the envelope in his hand. "Why now?"
"Because they're scared. And curious. You made too much noise."
He raised an eyebrow. "Should I go?"
"You should do what you want, Ethan. You're not a tool for the Valens or the crown."
He stepped toward her, stopping inches from her body. She didn't flinch.
"Then I'll go."
"Good."
She tilted her head, lips parted just slightly. "And maybe… after you show them what real power looks like, you can come back and show me too."
Ethan's smirk returned. "Is that a promise?"
"No. That's a challenge."
Three days later, Ethan arrived at the gates of the Royal Academy of Allitia.
It loomed like a city within a city—tall towers of obsidian stone, courtyards crackling with magical defenses, and statues of past heroes who had ascended to realms beyond Earth.
As he walked the marble paths toward the entrance hall, students in silver robes stopped and stared. Some whispered. Others sneered. But all felt it—the strange pressure in the air. A distortion around Ethan's form that made mana twist and flicker.
A group of upper-year students, led by a silver-haired cultivator named Kael, blocked his path.
"You're the orphan from the Valen territory?" Kael asked, voice dripping with condescension.
Ethan didn't stop walking. He passed through them, brushing Kael's shoulder deliberately.
"Make way."
Kael's hand snapped forward—grabbing Ethan's wrist.
Big mistake.
In an instant, the air exploded with force.
Kael flew backward ten meters, crashing into a stone pillar.
The other students gasped.
Ethan looked down at his hand. Didn't even need to try.
He turned back. "You were saying something?"
Kael groaned, struggling to stand, face pale.
Ethan walked on.
Inside the Grand Hall, dozens of instructors and sect representatives waited.
A woman in red robes stepped forward. She had sharp eyes, a regal posture, and the aura of someone who had fought on battlefields.
"You are Ethan Walker?"
"Yes."
She gestured. "Come. Show us your cultivation."
He stepped into the glowing circle. Raised his hand. Closed his eyes.
And released a fraction of his energy.
The runes on the testing platform shattered.
The observers stood in stunned silence.
Ethan opened his eyes.
"Oops."
One elder dropped his tea.
The woman in red cleared her throat. "You're not just a cultivator. You're an anomaly."
"I've been called worse."
By evening, his enrollment was confirmed.
He had been assigned a room at the top of the eastern tower, isolated from others for "safety" reasons.
As he unpacked, he sensed a presence behind him.
"You made quite the entrance," said a sultry voice.
He turned to find a woman in her mid-thirties, long blonde hair, emerald eyes, and curves that defied the tightness of her crimson instructor's robe.
"Instructor Yavanna," she said with a wink. "Advanced Combat and Magical Resonance."
Ethan tilted his head. "You don't look like the other instructors."
She stepped closer. "That's because I'm not like the others. I like… potential."
She traced a finger down his arm.
"And you, Ethan, have more than anyone I've ever seen."
His heart raced—not from fear, but from that dangerous obsession he tried so hard to control.
MILF.
He smirked, fighting the primal urge bubbling beneath his calm expression.
"Tell me, Instructor… how hands-on is your training?"
Yavanna grinned.
"Oh, Ethan. You have no idea."