Chapter 175: The Past Blurs, the Raid Begins

In the

Zeroth Expanse

, a storm of rumours spread like wildfire.

The

Mist Zone

, once called the

No Man's Return

, was changing for the first time in centuries.

After the Undead Zone incident, countless adventurers had skyrocketed in strength, and now—hearing the Mist Zone was collapsing—flocks of them surged toward it.

Thousands moved in waves.

Every group wanted the same thing: a chance at the unknown.

But one group stood still amid the frenzy.

The

Twilight Group

.

While others chased chaos, they were preparing for a different hunt—a

Lord Raid

.

Some members protested, unwilling to miss what might be another miracle.

But their leader,

Sylen

, remained unmoved.

He stood apart from the crowd—cold, sharp-eyed, and silent.

Because Sylen wasn't just another adventurer.

He was a

Candidate

in the

Legacy Race

.

That morning, while reviewing logistics with his team, a soft

ding

echoed in his mind.

His system had delivered a message.

[The final Candidate has entered the Nexus Legacy Race.]

Sylen's lips curled.

"Another fool walks into the pit," he muttered, not bothering to look further.

His crimson eyes glinted with faint irritation.

'First, that idiot Kael, running around with someone else's proof… now this? They're just distractions. I'll clean them up when I'm done and meet with others quickly.'

He closed the notification with a flick of thought.

'And if I rushed there now, everyone would think I'm chasing scraps. No—let the greedy dogs run. I'll take what's left when they're dead.'

That confidence wasn't arrogance.

Sylen had

earned

it.

He wasn't called

the Strongest of the Zeroth Expanse

for nothing.

Behind him, his squad assembled at the town's outer gate, ready to depart.

"My warriors," Sylen commanded from atop his

Moon-Imprinted Wolf

, its fur glowing faintly under the morning haze, "march toward the Lord's Castle. The raid begins now. Tonight, the Lord falls."

A chorus of howls answered.

Hundreds of wolves—black, silver, and ash-grey—stood in disciplined rows.

Beside him rode

Elya

, her wolf as dark as night, eyes glowing red like embers.

"Leader," she spoke carefully, "are you certain we shouldn't investigate the Mist Zone? We could gain something powerful—maybe even make the raid easier."

Sylen's gaze stayed forward, unflinching.

"Elya. I've already said it once. There's nothing there worth our time."

His tone was cold, absolute.

He'd been there before—he knew the truth. The Monolith's function was already sealed. No more entry, no more rewards.

Elya lowered her head slightly.

"…Understood."

But her heart softened as she looked at him.

Maybe he was right.

'

Yes,

he

had

been there… and maybe he'd found something beyond comprehension.

His strength wasn't human anymore—it was the kind that made men follow without question.'

And she—Elya—owed him everything.

Her gaze drifted toward the distant horizon as old memories clawed their way back.

She had once been a child of pain.

Born into a family that treated her as less than dirt—Forced to labour day and night, beaten for mistakes, starved for obedience.

She had thought they were her parents.

Until the truth came out.

She wasn't their child.

She was the

stolen daughter

of adventurers who'd died in battle.

Her now so-called parents were once their servants. They'd kidnapped her to claim her inheritance.

And their son—the one she'd once called "brother"—was a monster in human skin.

He beat her, mocked her, and once nearly strangled her to death.

Yet she endured.

Because children always believe—somewhere deep down—that love will come if they just keep trying.

But that love never came.

Only pain.

When the truth surfaced, she fled.

They sent men to hunt her down—men who intended to silence her forever.

Weak, malnourished, terrified, she ran through the forest until her legs gave out.

They found her.

She thought it was over.

That the world had no place for her.

And then—

he appeared.

Not a knight. Not a hero.

An old man with a ragged coat and a dull sword hanging loosely from his waist.

He walked into the clearing like he'd just woken up from a nap… and in one motion—he

decapitated eight men

.

The sound was like the wind cutting through silence.

Heads fell.

Blood misted the air.

He laughed softly, drunk and half-broken, and looked at her. And she still remembers what he said that day.

"Still breathing?" he said.

That was the first time she'd met

her master

.

From that day, her life changed.

She served him at first—cooking, cleaning, learning to live again.

Then, after months of begging, he agreed to train her.

Seven years under his brutal tutelage turned her into steel.

Her final trial or test had been simple: Kill him.

She had refused.

Her master's words had seemed foolish then—just the drunk mutterings of a tired old man.

But when the letter came the next morning, the truth struck her harder than any blade ever could.

He was gone.

The man she'd admired—the swordsman who'd taught her what strength truly meant—had ended his life.

A single vial of poison, swallowed with wine under the pale moonlight.

Only his final words remained.

"Walk your own path, Elya. Wield the sword as your own, not as mine.

And never drown yourself in vengeance—not for me, not for yourself."

He'd once been a noble swordmaster from a great house—cast down for a failed mission, stripped of his Sword Core, and exiled to the lower expanses as punishment.

Even so, he'd wanted to carry himself with the dignity of a true swordsman until the end.

She had taken his words to heart.

And for years, she followed them—until she met Sylen.

Until she joined Twilight.

Back then, she had sought no revenge.

She'd only broken into her false parents' mansion, shattered the place to ruins, and beaten her so-called brother senseless.

But even after that night, her heart hadn't known peace.

Killing them would've been meaningless.

Revenge, she realised, wasn't a cure—it was a wound that festered the more you scratched it.

But with Sylen, everything changed.

He gave her a reason to live again.

A future to fight for.

A purpose greater than pain.

Elya exhaled slowly, pulling herself out of her memories.

The group was already moving, their mounts kicking up trails of dust under the pale sun.

Sylen's voice echoed back toward her.

"Elya! Keep up, or we'll leave you behind."

She blinked, smiled faintly, and urged her black wolf forward.

Her gaze lifted toward the endless sky, soft and distant—like she was silently thanking someone who once taught her how to walk again.

'For you, Master… I'll live true to your words.'

And with that thought, she rode on toward the battlefield—to end the Lord's reign of terror alongside Sylen, the man who'd given her a reason to move forward.

Meanwhile, far from the Twilight group and the town,

Evan

was racing toward the town, the wind tearing at his cloak.

He needed to reach them before they left.

If Sylen's plan succeeded, the entire Expanse could fall under his control.

And this time, it wasn't just a hunch—Evan had confirmed that the

real body

of Sylen was preparing for succession.

The clones scattered across the Legacy War were mere fragments of a greater threat.

"I must catch them before it's too late," he muttered, eyes narrowing. "If they reach the castle first, everything collapses."

He spurred his undead Great Eagle to greater speed.

The beast shrieked sharply, its wings slicing through clouds of ash and mist.

Undeath gave it stamina no living creature could rival—though Evan himself was near his limit.

Still, he endured.

He had to.

Within five hours, the city walls came into view.

He dismounted several kilometers out, landing in a rush of wind and dust, and sprinted toward the gates.

Guards and adventurers alike froze as a blur shot past them.

To them, it was nothing but a violent gust of air slapping their cheeks.

Evan barely noticed.

His focus was razor-sharp.

He burst through the doors of a familiar inn and headed straight for the bar.

The place was unusually empty—most patrons had already joined the raid or fled for the Mist Zone incident.

The bartender looked up, startled but composed.

"What'll it be, sir?"

"...Something to drink," Evan panted. "And some information."

The man poured a pale-yellow liquid into a glass and slid it across the counter.

Evan downed it in one breath.

"Another," he said, his tone calmer now. "And tell me—has the raid team already left?"

The bartender nodded, refilling his glass.

"You just missed them. Six hours ago, I'd say. You must've come from far out, judging by your state.

You know someone in that group?"

Evan took another drink, masking his impatience.

"Yeah. A friend. Wanted to say goodbye before they left. You never know who'll make it back, right? The Lord's not someone to underestimate."

The bartender relaxed at that.

"True enough. But with Sir Sylen leading them, the raid will be a success for sure. That man's a hero to this city."

Evan's lips twitched faintly.

"Right. A hero."

He paid the bill, left a modest tip, and walked out without another word.

Before heading to the gates, he rented a room for two days—insurance.

Proof he'd "never left" if anyone came asking.

Then, under the cover of wind and dust, he scaled the wall and called out his Eagle once more.

The massive wings spread wide, catching the fading light of dusk as Evan mounted.

Within seconds, they were airborne—another dark shape lost against the crimson sky.

'Five hours,' he calculated grimly. 'If nothing changes, I'll reach the castle before midnight.'

Below him, the city shrank to a blur.

Above him, the stars began to stir awake—silent witnesses to the storm that was about to unfold.

When Evan returned, the Expanse would no longer be the same.

Something was coming—something that would tear open the sky and rewrite the fates of all who stood below.

The race against time had begun.

-To be Continued-

There are many questions, but the answers remain the same.

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