Chapter: 246
“Yes,” Ben confirmed, his eye dark with grim certainty. “Others from our time. From our world. Allies of yours. Enemies of mine. And,” his gaze sharpened, “enemies of yours, Major General. Very powerful, very ruthless, very bitter enemies.” He paused, then delivered the final, terrifying, world-altering blow. “They are here, Evan. Reborn, just as we were. Terrorists you hunted. Rival intelligence agents you dismantled. Soldiers you disgraced, whose comrades you killed. They are here. And they remember you.”
“And worse,” Ben added, his voice a near-inaudible whisper of dread, “many of them have been here longer than you. They are not fumbling teenagers rediscovering their powers. They are adults in this world now. They have had decades to accumulate power, to build networks, to nurse their grievances. Decades to prepare for the day they might, just might, encounter Major General KM Evan again. And not all of them, I assure you, are as… philosophically flexible… as I have become.”
He leaned back, the terrible warning delivered, his work done. “You think your fight with me was difficult? Major General, that was a friendly sparring match. A gentle welcome wagon compared to what is coming for you. Your recent victories, your little tournament triumph… you were fighting children. The real threats, the real ghosts from our shared past… they are out there. They are waiting. And they are already, in many cases, far, far stronger than you are.” He offered a final, grim, almost pitying smile. “Welcome back to the war, Major General. It seems it has followed you. And this time… you are no longer the one with the overwhelming force.”
---
The quiet, tastefully appointed guest room in the Ironwood Manor suddenly felt like the coldest, most confining prison cell in the world. Ben Ferrum’s final words echoed in the silence, not as a warning, but as a death sentence, a chilling epitaph for the brief, almost hopeful, period of peace Lloyd had naively believed he was building for himself.
They are here. They remember you. They are stronger than you.
The words were a bucket of ice water thrown on the nascent flames of his ambition, extinguishing the triumphant glow of his tournament victory, the warm satisfaction of his royal investment, the very hope that had begun to bloom in the ashes of his past lives. He wasn't just a reincarnated heir with a secret and a burgeoning soap empire. He was a hunted man. A man whose past, a past he thought buried under eighty-six years of time and an entire dimension of space, had not just followed him; it had gotten here first.
He leaned back against the plush pillows of the surprisingly comfortable bed, the faint, healing glow from his bandaged legs a mockery of the profound, soul-deep chill that was now seeping into his bones. He thought of the faces, the names, the designations from his long, bloody war on Earth.
Rashid al-Fulan, the charismatic, ruthless leader of the Crimson Crescent terrorist cell, a master of insurgency and improvised explosive devices. A man whose entire network Lloyd had systematically dismantled, a man who had sworn a blood oath of vengeance against him before being killed in a drone strike Lloyd had personally authorized. Was he here? Reborn as some back-alley brawler, some minor noble with a grudge and a sudden, inexplicable talent for explosives?
Colonel Ivan Volkov, his opposite number in the rival Neo-Soviet intelligence agency, a cold, brilliant spymaster with a penchant for poison and political assassination. Their shadow war had been a deadly chess match played across continents. Lloyd had outmaneuvered him, exposed his network, disgraced him before his own government. Volkov, it was rumored, had taken his own life rather than face a firing squad. Was he here? Perhaps as a guild master, a political advisor to some ambitious lord, his brilliant, strategic mind now turned to the intricacies of Riverian power games?
And the soldiers. The men he had faced in the grey zones, the special operators, the mercenaries. Men whose faces he barely remembered, but whose hatred would be sharp, personal, eternal. The survivors of squads he had eliminated, the brothers and sons of enemies he had killed. They would not have forgotten the name KM Evan. They would not have forgiven.
A cold, greasy sweat broke out on his brow. Ben was right. He had been fighting children. Kenta, Mike, even Rayan… they were ambitious, arrogant, but they were boys playing at power. These others… they were killers. Strategists. True soldiers. And they had been here for decades.
Chapter: 247
Decades. While he had been living a peaceful, technologically advanced life on Earth, growing old, raising a family, they had been here, in this world of magic and steel, accumulating power, honing their skills, nursing their hatred. They wouldn't be nineteen-year-old novices like him, struggling with a single, sluggish Spirit Core and a newly awakened, still-unfamiliar Void power. They would be seasoned adults. They would be Masters, perhaps even Grand Masters, of their respective guilds. They would be Barons, Viscounts, perhaps even Dukes, their influence woven deep into the fabric of this world’s society. They might have Ascended, even Transcended, spirits. Their Void powers would be ranked, refined, deadly.
The power disparity wasn't just a possibility; it was a certainty. His brutal, comprehensive defeat at Ben’s hands was no longer just a humiliating lesson; it was a terrifying preview of what was to come. Ben, even crippled, even after years of pain and adaptation, had overwhelmed him with sheer, raw power. What would a fully-abled, magically-gifted, vengeance-fueled terrorist leader be capable of?
And his destiny… Ben had said they were linked. His old enemies, his old allies… their fates were somehow intertwined with his own here, in this strange, new world. Was this some cosmic, cruel joke? A grand, bloody reunion tour staged by a capricious god with a sick sense of humor?
The soap. The factory. The fifteen thousand Gold Coins. It all felt so… small now. So fragile. So hopelessly, pathetically, inadequate. What good was a revolutionary cleansing elixir against a trained assassin with a Transcended spirit and a generations-old grudge? What good was a perfectly optimized supply chain against a cabal of reborn terrorists plotting to destabilize the entire Duchy?
His recent victories, the praise from his father, the respect from the clan, the favor of the King… it all turned to ash in his mouth. He hadn't been proving his worth; he had been painting a target on his back. A big, bright, 'here I am, all you ghosts from my past, come and get me' target. Every display of his hidden power, every hint of his unusual knowledge, would be a beacon, a signal to those who were watching, those who remembered.
The urgency, a frantic, desperate pressure he hadn't felt since the first, terrifying days after his family’s assassination in his first life, seized him. He was no longer just in a political game; he was in a race. A desperate, life-or-death race for survival.
He needed power. Not just the slow, steady accumulation from his soap venture. Not just the ten System Coins per day from his allowance. He needed it now. He needed to Ascend Fang. He needed to rank up his Steel Blood, his Black Ring Eyes. He needed to buy new spirits, new Void powers, to diversify his arsenal, to become as unpredictable, as dangerous, as the ghosts that were now hunting him.
He looked at his System balance, the number glowing starkly in his mind. 598 SC. It had seemed like a fortune just hours ago. Now, it felt like pocket change. 500 for Fang’s Ascension. That was the first, most critical step. It would leave him with 98 coins, but it would be worth it. An Ascended spirit was a significant leap in power, not just for the spirit itself, but for the user. It would deepen their bond, enhance his own energy reserves, perhaps even grant him access to new, more potent lightning abilities through Fang.
It had to be done. Now.
He closed his eyes, ignoring the throbbing in his legs, the weary ache in his soul. He focused on the System interface, on the pulsating icon for his bonded spirit.
[Spirit: Fang (Lightning Affinity)]
[Current Stage: Manifestation (Peak)]
[Upgrade to Ascension Stage? Cost: 500 System Coins]
There was no hesitation. No second thoughts. The long-term financial strategy could go to hell. Survival came first.
"Yes," he commanded mentally, his will a cold, hard shard of steel. "Do it. Now."
The System acknowledged the command instantly.
[Processing Request: Spirit Ascension Protocol]
[500 System Coins Deducted.]
[New Balance: 98 SC]
[Initiating Ascension Sequence for Spirit Designation: Fang…]
He didn't know what to expect. A flash of light? A surge of power? But the transformation happened not in the quiet guest room, but deep within his own soul, at the very core of his bond with his spirit companion. He felt it. A profound, fundamental shift. A deepening. A soundless, spiritual explosion as the barriers within Fang’s own being, and within their connection, shattered, unleashing a wave of raw, untamed, primal lightning power that surged through their bond, making Lloyd’s own spirit core ache with a blissful, terrifying energy overload.
Chapter: 248
The gathering storm had just arrived. And Lloyd Ferrum, armed with the ghosts of his past, the fears for his future, and a newly Ascended, terrifyingly powerful lightning wolf, was finally, truly, beginning to fight back.
---
[Initiating Ascension Sequence for Spirit Designation: Fang…]
The change was instantaneous. It wasn't a slow build-up of energy, but a cataclysmic explosion within his very soul. He felt the bond between himself and Fang, usually a strong, steady thrum of connection, suddenly ignite, transforming into a raging, white-hot river of pure, untamed power. An immense, overwhelming wave of energy surged from the unseen, intangible System, pouring not into Lloyd, but through him, using him as a conduit, a gateway, into the very essence of his spirit partner.
It felt like grabbing onto a live, cosmic power line. His own meager Spirit Core screamed in protest, overwhelmed by the sheer, unimaginable voltage. A cry of pain and effort ripped from his throat as he was thrown back, stumbling against the writing desk, sending parchments and inkwells scattering.
He didn't need to summon Fang. The process did it for him.
The air in the center of the room tore apart. Not with a shimmer, but with a violent, explosive rupture of reality itself. Light, brilliant, blinding, and impossibly white, erupted from the focal point, a miniature sun born in the heart of his suite. It pulsed once, twice, a silent, concussive wave of pure energy that made the very tapestries on the walls ripple and the glass in the windows hum with a high, keening note.
Lloyd shielded his eyes, his heart hammering, his every nerve ending screaming with the overload of raw, unfiltered power. The connection to Fang, his Fang, was still there, but it was different now. Deeper. More intense. Woven not just with loyalty and affection, but with an ancient, primal, terrifyingly potent energy that he had only glimpsed before. This was the true nature of his spirit, unleashed, unshackled, reborn in the crucible of Ascension.
Then, as quickly as it had erupted, the blinding light began to recede, to coalesce, to fold in on itself, drawing back from the corners of the room, gathering, shaping, solidifying into a new form.
The light faded completely, leaving behind dancing, purple afterimages on Lloyd’s retinas and a profound, humming silence.
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Where his dark grey wolf, his loyal companion, had stood, there was now… a woman.
---
The silence in the suite was absolute, profound. The echoes of the explosive Ascension still hummed in the very air, a lingering symphony of ozone and raw power. Lloyd, his back pressed against the writing desk, his breath still ragged from the spiritual backlash, could only stare, his mind struggling to process the impossible, breathtaking vision before him.
The wolf was gone.
In its place stood a woman. Or rather, the ethereal, breathtaking embodiment of a woman, a being who seemed less born of flesh and more woven from starlight and storm.
She was tall, her form slender yet radiating a palpable, contained strength. Her skin was pale, flawless, seeming to possess a faint, internal luminescence, like moonlight captured beneath alabaster. But it was her hair that stole his breath. It was no longer the storm-grey fur of a wolf, but a cascade of pure, shimmering silver-grey light that fell to her waist, each strand seeming to crackle with a faint, almost invisible, static charge. It moved with a life of its own, stirred by the residual energy in the room, a living river of molten moonlight.
And her eyes… they were the same. The same intelligent, molten-gold eyes he knew so well, the eyes of his loyal companion, his Fang. But now, set in this new, impossibly beautiful humanoid face, they held a new depth, a new awareness, a profound, ancient wisdom that seemed to look right through him, seeing not just the man, not just the Major General, but the very soul tied to hers. They were eyes that had seen the birth of storms and the death of stars.
She was clad not in cloth, but in what appeared to be a form-fitting bodysuit of pure, solidified energy, the color of a deep, twilight storm cloud, swirling with subtle patterns of darker grey and faint, shimmering indigo. It clung to her form like a second skin, accentuating every elegant line, every hint of contained, predatory power. It was less clothing, more a manifestation of her very essence.
This was Fang. Ascended.
Chapter: 249
Lloyd’s mind, which had just weathered the revelation of reborn enemies and a clandestine king, which had coolly calculated the risks and rewards of a fifteen-thousand-gold-coin investment, simply… stopped. It was one thing to read about Ascension in the System’s dry, clinical text. It was another thing entirely to witness his scruffy, underfed wolf-spirit-turned-magnificent-predator transform into… this. This ethereal, terrifyingly beautiful, storm-goddess-in-a-bodysuit.
“Fang…?” he whispered, the name feeling clumsy, inadequate, almost profane on his lips.
The woman did not speak. Her new form, though humanoid, was not yet capable of human speech; that was a power reserved for the further, almost mythical, stage of Transcendence. But her golden eyes softened, a flicker of familiar recognition, of loyalty, of a bond that now ran deeper and stronger than ever before, shining within their molten depths. She inclined her head, a gesture of quiet, regal acknowledgment. Yes. It is me.
Slowly, hesitantly, as if moving in a dream, Lloyd pushed himself away from the desk. His own aches, his own exhaustion, were forgotten, eclipsed by the sheer, overwhelming presence of the being before him. He took a step forward, his hand reaching out, an unconscious, instinctive gesture, needing to confirm that this vision, this miracle, was real.
As his fingertips, still stained with the faint grime of his Galla Forest misadventure, drew near, as they were about to touch the pale, luminous skin of her outstretched arm, her new, innate Ascended skill activated.
A brilliant, almost violent, nimbus of crackling, azure electricity erupted around her entire body. It wasn't a wild, uncontrolled discharge, but a controlled, form-fitting aura, a shimmering, incandescent cloak of pure lightning that hummed with a low, menacing, aural warning. It cast the room in a stark, flickering blue light, making the shadows dance and the very air feel crisp and charged. It was beautiful. And it was deadly.
Lloyd snatched his hand back instinctively, a sharp jolt of static, a mere whisper of the cloak’s true power, leaping to his fingertips, making them tingle with a phantom burn. The message was clear, delivered without a word, without a gesture.
Do not touch me unbidden.
This wasn’t just a defensive field; it was a statement. A declaration of her new status, her new power. She was no longer just the loyal companion to be patted and fed. She was a force of nature, an Ascended spirit, wreathed in a power that demanded respect, a power that would now protect her, and him, with a lethal, elemental fury.
[Ascended Skill Unlocked: Lightning Cloak]
[Description: Spirit can wreathe their form in a controlled, sustained aura of high-voltage lightning. The cloak acts as a passive defensive field, delivering a severe electrical shock to any object or being that makes direct, unauthorized physical contact. The intensity of the shock can be mentally controlled by the Spirit/User, ranging from a non-lethal deterrent to a fatal discharge. The cloak also provides moderate resistance to physical and energy-based attacks.]
Lloyd stared at the shimmering, crackling aura, then at her calm, watchful golden eyes. A slow, almost dazed, smile spread across his face. A defensive field that could electrocute anything that touched her without permission. It was practical. It was intimidating. It was… perfect.
“The Lightning Cloak,” he murmured, a sense of profound, almost giddy, relief washing over him, chasing away the last of the dread from Ben’s warning. The ghosts from his past were still out there. They were still stronger than him. But now… now, he had this. He had her. A guardian angel wreathed in a thunderstorm. More importantly, he has the system.
He looked at her, truly looked at her, seeing not just the power, not just the beauty, but the familiar, unwavering loyalty in her golden gaze. The bond between them felt… different now. A two-way street of immense, terrifying power.
The fear, the dread of the gathering storm, hadn't vanished. But for the first time since Ben’s revelation, Lloyd felt a flicker of something he hadn’t dared to feel before.
Hope. A sharp, defiant, crackling, lightning-infused hope. Let them come, he thought, a new, dangerous resolve hardening his gaze. Let the ghosts of my past come. They will find that the Major General is not as defenseless as they might think. He has a new partner now. And she wears a cloak made of thunder.
---
---
The crackling, azure nimbus of the Lightning Cloak slowly subsided, its menacing hum fading back into the quiet thrum of contained power. The beautiful, silver-haired woman stood before him, her golden eyes watching him with that new, profound depth of understanding. The silent, powerful warning had been delivered, the boundaries of her new form established.
Chapter: 250
Lloyd looked at her, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. Awe at her transformation. Relief at her newfound power. And a deep, abiding affection for the loyal spirit who had been with him through thick and thin, from a scrawny, underfed wolf to this… this ethereal storm goddess.
The name, ‘Fang’, echoed in his mind, feeling utterly, almost absurdly, inadequate now. It was a name for a wolf, for a predator of tooth and claw. It didn't fit this being of grace and lightning, of silent wisdom and celestial beauty. She deserved a name that reflected her new reality, her Ascended form.
“Fang,” he began softly, testing the old name one last time. It felt clumsy on his tongue, like wearing ill-fitting clothes. He shook his head. “No. That’s not right anymore, is it?”
She tilted her head, a silent, questioning gesture.
“You need a new name,” Lloyd continued, a slow smile spreading across his face. “A name befitting… well, you.” He considered for a moment. She was a creature of fierce, elemental power, yes. A warrior spirit. But her new form held an almost fey, ethereal quality, a beauty that was otherworldly, magical. Like a spirit from an old tale, a nature deity from a forgotten myth. A fairy. A very powerful, very dangerous, lightning-wielding fairy.
The thought sparked, the name forming instantly in his mind, feeling… right. Perfect, even, in its slightly absurd, yet fitting, elegance.
“Fang Fairy,” he declared, the name a soft pronouncement in the quiet room. “What do you think? It has a certain… ring to it. Acknowledges your past, your predatory nature,” (he grinned, thinking of her wolf form) “but also… this.” He gestured to her new, graceful, almost magical form.
He watched her reaction closely. For a moment, she remained perfectly still, her golden eyes fixed on his. Then, a subtle, almost imperceptible, softening occurred. The regal, almost intimidating, stillness of her posture eased slightly. The corners of her lips, which had been set in a neutral, unreadable line, quirked upwards, just a fraction, in what was undeniably the ghostly echo of a smile. Her golden eyes seemed to shine with a new warmth, a clear, unspoken approval.
The name pleased her.
The connection between them, already deepened by the Ascension, seemed to flare, to solidify, a wave of pure, shared contentment flowing through their bond. It felt less like master and spirit, and more like… partners. Equals.
“Fang Fairy it is, then,” Lloyd confirmed, his own smile widening. The name felt right. It felt like theirs.
He stood there for another moment, simply basking in the shared, silent understanding, in the quiet hum of her newfound power. Then, he remembered. Another aspect of Ascension, one he had read about in the System’s dry, clinical descriptions, but had yet to experience. The deepening of the bond, the sharing of power.
“The System said… at Ascension, the user can begin to directly wield the spirit’s elemental affinity,” he murmured, more to himself than to her, his mind buzzing with the possibilities. He looked down at his own hand, the one that had so recently felt the phantom burn of her Lightning Cloak. Could he? Could he truly command the lightning himself?
It was one thing to command Fang Fairy to use her powers. It was another thing entirely to channel that power through his own body, his own will. His Ferrum power was innate, a part of his blood, controlled by instinct and focus. But this… this was different. This was borrowing, channeling, a symbiotic relationship made manifest.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm the sudden, excited hammering in his chest. He focused, not on his Void power, not on the Steel and Fire, but on the bond, the white-hot river of energy that now connected him to Fang Fairy. He reached out with his mind, not to command her, but to… ask. To draw upon the crackling, azure energy that was her very essence.
He extended his right hand, palm up. He pictured the lightning, the sparks, the controlled, crackling stream he had seen her unleash. He willed it to appear.
For a moment, nothing happened. He felt a flicker of disappointment. Was his own Spirit Core, his single, sluggish, perpetually underwhelming core, simply too weak to act as a conduit for such potent energy?
But then, he felt her. Through their bond, he felt Fang Fairy’s silent, encouraging nudge. A gentle offering of her power, a quiet opening of the floodgates, guiding him, showing him how to draw upon the storm.
He focused again, guided by her silent instruction. And this time, it happened.
