The Harsh winds of the Scottish Highlands howled against the reinforced glass of the Hart family's ancestral castle. Unlike the gleaming spires of New Avalon, this place was a fortress of dark stone and ancient magic, hidden from modern satellites by veils of mist that had protected the family for centuries.
Inside a study lit only by a dying fireplace, Sarae Hart stood with his back to the room. He swirled a glass of dark wine, staring out at the storm.
Behind him, seated in a high-backed chair that looked more like a throne, was Darius Hart. The Patriarch. A man whose face was a map of wrinkles, but whose eyes held the terrifying sharpness of a hawk. He looked frail, but the mana radiating from him was dense enough to suffocate a B-Rank.
"The broadcast was... theatrical," Darius said, his voice a dry rasp. "Crushing a Dragon Heart for the peasants. A bit dramatic, don't you think?"
Sarae took a sip of wine. He didn't turn around. "Drama is the grease that turns the wheels of empire, Grandfather. They needed a miracle. I gave them one."
"You gave them a parlor trick," Darius corrected. He tapped his cane on the floor. "The replica heart. The alchemists in the basement did a fine job with the light show. But the real thing... where is it?"
Sarae finally turned. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a small, lead-lined box. He set it on the table between them. The air in the room instantly grew heavy. The fire in the hearth flickered and turned blue.
"The Real Dragon Heart," Sarae said. "Safely in my possession."
Darius eyed the box with naked greed, but he didn't touch it. "Good. If you had actually crushed the real one, I would have had to kill you myself. Wasteful boy."
"Impact is what matters," Sarae said, leaning against the wall. "The Guilds are terrified. The other families are scrambling. They think I'm a benevolent god descending to save them."
"And the matter of your... siblings?"
Sarae's expression didn't change. He swirled his wine again, looking bored.
"What of them?"
"Your mother's bloodline is erratic," Darius grumbled. "The Whitmore woman was a fluke. Your brothers... the runaway and the broken one. They are variables. I hate variables."
"They are irrelevant," Sarae said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Michael is a coward hiding in the gutters of the Frontier. And the other one... Kael."
Sarae laughed. It was a short, sharp sound, utterly devoid of warmth.
"He is a ghost story we tell ourselves. A dead experiment. Even if he survived, what is he? C-Rank? D-Rank? He is an ant looking up at a boot. I do not concern myself with ants."
"Arrogance is a luxury," Darius warned.
"It is a privilege of the strong," Sarae countered. "Let the world unite under the Hart banner. Let them cheer for the fake heart. While they are distracted by the light show, I will be preparing for the true war."
Darius grunted, leaning back. "And the Whitmore slut? Morgan?"
"Handled. My agents tell me there was an... incident at her estate. Victor is dead. Likely a power struggle. It saves me the trouble of cleaning up that branch. She is no longer a player."
"Good." Darius waved a dismissive hand. "Go. Play your king. But remember, Sarae. The throne is only yours as long as you are the strongest predator in the room."
Sarae bowed mockingly. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
He turned and walked out, leaving the Patriarch alone in the dark. As the door closed, Darius reached out, his withered hand hovering over the lead box.
"A Dragon God," Darius whispered. "Soon, we won't need the System anymore."
---
The Jet: Somewhere over the Pacific
"God, I hate economy class. Or the private jet equivalent of it. Do you know how hard it is to type on a keyboard when the turbulence is shaking your scotch?"
Alaric Vance was complaining. Loudly.
Kael sat across from him, eyes closed, meditating. He was currently filtering through the sea of low-tier abilities he had absorbed, sorting the useful data from the garbage.
"You're drinking my scotch," Kael pointed out without opening his eyes. "And this is a 500-million-dollar aircraft. If you complain about the vibration of the mana engines one more time, I'm going to let you walk the rest of the way to the Frontier."
"Touchy," Alaric muttered. "I'm just saying, for a villainous mastermind, you lack basic hospitality. A snack would be nice. Maybe a cheese plate."
Morgan, sitting nearby, looked terrified. She kept glancing between Kael and Alaric, unsure if Alaric was incredibly brave or incredibly stupid for talking to Kael like that.
"He's brave," Kael said, answering her unspoken thought. "Or stupid. The line blurs with scientists."
"I heard that!"
"You were meant to."
Kael opened his eyes. The humor faded from his face, replaced by a look of cold calculation. He had been thinking about the broadcast. About the "miracle" Sarae had performed.
"Alaric," Kael said.
"Yes, oh dark and terrible one?"
"When Sarae crushed the heart... what did you feel?"
Alaric paused, his fingers stopping on the keyboard. "Felt? Through the screen? Just a massive surge of mana. Why?"
"Did it feel like a Dragon?"
"Come again?"
"A Dragon God," Kael said. "I was in the Dragon Bones. I felt the aura of that creature. It was death. It was ancient hate. What I saw on that broadcast..."
Kael leaned forward.
"It was a firework. A flashy, expensive firework. The mana signature was too... clean. Too human. Dragon mana is chaotic. Toxic. That heart he crushed? It was a prop."
The silence in the cabin was deafening.
Morgan gasped. "A fake? But... the healing of the city..."
"Possibly an illusion type magic mixed with a high-tier construction spell," Kael theorized. "Sarae is arrogant, but he isn't a philanthropist. He wouldn't waste a God-tier resource just to fix some potholes in New Avalon. He probably kept the real heart."
Alaric's eyes widened behind his glasses. A slow grin spread across his face.
"Oh, you beautiful, paranoid bastard," Alaric whispered. "If you're right... that means the power spike he's showing off is a bluff. He has the item, but he hasn't consumed it yet, or he's saving it."
"It means he's vulnerable," Kael said. "He's playing a game. And he thinks he's the only one who knows the rules."
Kael looked out the window. The ocean below was dark and endless.
"But that's a problem for later. Right now, we have a landing to make."
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION
Approaching Destination: The Frontier (Sector 7).
Warning: No Landing Strips Detected.
Recommendation: Airdrop.
Kael smirked. "Alaric. Put your seatbelt on. We're jumping."
---
The Frontier: Sector 7
The Frontier wasn't a place you visited. It was a place you survived.
Once the breadbasket of the continent, it was now a sprawling wasteland of mutated jungles and radioactive craters. The System had terraformed this region aggressively, turning farmland into a hunting ground for A-Rank beasts.
The jet hovered at 10,000 feet.
"Jump?" Alaric squeaked. "I didn't sign up for a skydive! I'm a thinker, not a jumper!"
"You wanted adventure," Kael said, standing up. He grabbed Morgan by the waist.
"Master?" Morgan asked, startled.
"Stay close."
Kael grabbed Alaric by the back of his coat.
"Wait! Can't we just land? I have delicate equipment!"
"You'll be fine. The air density here is higher. Terminal velocity is much slower."
"That is not comforting physics!"
Kael opened the side door. The wind roared in, smelling of sulfur and rain.
"Welcome to the Frontier, bitches."
Kael stepped out, dragging his passengers with him.
They fell.
---
The wind screamed. Alaric screamed louder.
Kael fell calmly, his coat flapping like wings. He used [Air Manipulation] to slow their descent, creating a cushion of resistance around them.
Below them, the landscape rushed up. It was a twisted forest of red trees and purple foliage. In the distance, massive mountain ranges jutted up like broken teeth.
As they broke through the cloud layer, Kael's [Primordial Sight] picked up movement.
Lots of it.
"System. Scan the landing zone."
SCAN COMPLETE.
Landing Zone: The Red Forest.
Hostiles Detected: 50+.
Species: [Iron-Fur Wolves] (Level 60-75).
Rarity: Elite Pack.
Kael smirked.
"A welcoming committee."
He looked at Alaric, who was flailing mid-air.
"Alaric! When we land, stay behind me!"
"I hate you! I hate your plan! I hate that I signed that contract!"
They crashed through the canopy.
Leaves and branches snapped. Kael used [Gravity Manipulation] to soften the impact, landing with a heavy *thud* on the mossy ground. He set Morgan down gently. Alaric landed face-first in a bush.
"Owww..." Alaric groaned, pulling leaves out of his hair. "My spine. I think I left it at 5,000 feet."
"Get up," Kael said, drawing the [Void Shard] from his wrist. The black blade extended with a hiss. "We have company."
The forest was quiet. Too quiet.
Then, the growling started.
From the shadows of the red trees, eyes glowed. Yellow. Hungry. Massive wolves, their fur made of metallic spikes, stepped into the dim light. They were the size of small cars, drool dripping from jaws that could crush steel.
Morgan summoned her biological armor, her skin turning grey and hard. Alaric scrambled behind a tree, pulling out a small pistol that looked woefully inadequate.
"Oh look," Alaric whispered. "Puppies. Giant, metal, murderous puppies."
"System," Kael thought. "Initiate Hunt."
HUNT INITIATED.
Objective: Eradicate the Iron-Fur Pack.
Bonus Objective: Devour the Pack Alpha.
Reward: 1,000 XP + Potential Ability Evolution.
Kael smiled, his fangs glinting. The hunger in his gut twisted, eager to be fed.
"Come on then," Kael taunted, waving the Void Shard. "Who wants to be eaten first?"
The Alpha, a beast with a scarred face and one missing eye, threw its head back and howled.
The pack attacked.