After his first battle, Elias made a deliberate choice.

  Just as he had once hunted the Marked,

  he would now hunt the messengers.

  Not impulsively.

  Not in anger.

  But with intent.

  Each fallen messenger carried fragments of memory within its core.

  Broken. Incomplete. Distorted.

  Yet together, they formed an image.

  Piece by piece, Elias began assembling a path toward Aethron.

  Before long, he noticed something unexpected.

  His aura had not grown stronger.

  Instead, he had.

  His perception expanded. Sharpened.

  He could sense the direction of the messengers—not precisely, but clearly enough.

  The closer he drew, the more certain he became that he was moving the right way.

  The hunt had begun.

  Meanwhile, the world recovered.

  The epidemic faded. Cities slowly returned to life.

  Its origin was never discovered.

  Days passed.

  Then weeks.

  Then months.

  Messengers fell one by one.

  And with each of them, the map within Elias’s mind became clearer.

  Aethron felt it.

  With every lost messenger, his power diminished.

  What he did not realize was that Elias was absorbing more than strength—

  he was absorbing memories.

  And so Aethron chose to act.

  He began erasing his own messengers.

  Thousands were reduced to mere hundreds.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  He abandoned quantity in favor of quality.

  There will be fewer of them, he told himself,

  but they will be stronger. Strong enough to match him.

  The decision was born of frustration.

  And of fear.

  What Aethron failed to understand was that this only shortened Elias’s path.

  The messengers’ aura remained unchanged.

  What increased was their endurance—and their physical power.

  And with greater investment of energy came clearer memories.

  A sharper trail.

  Elias sensed another messenger.

  He moved through the shadows toward it, already aware of an unpleasant truth—

  collateral damage was sometimes unavoidable.

  He had learned that not all good could be done without sacrifice.

  It sickened him when his aura claimed innocent lives.

  Even more so that he grew stronger from them.

  When he found the messenger, he did not yet realize how much they had changed.

  A few clean strikes, he thought. Then I move on.

  The messenger knew of Elias.

  Elias knew of the messenger.

  Elias drew the pursuit away from the city and into the forest, where casualties would be fewer.

  The messenger followed blindly.

  It had a command.

  Kill Elias.

  The clash came without warning.

  Elias struck first—fast, precise, without hesitation.

  The blow was stopped.

  Caught.

  As if he were fighting an ordinary man.

  Elias froze for a fraction of a second.

  What happened?

  The messenger struck back immediately.

  Elias blocked the attack, but the force hurled him several meters backward.

  The weight of the blow stunned him.

  They’re changing, he realized. Not growing—adapting.

  Blows fell in relentless succession.

  Heavy. Merciless.

  Yet Elias noticed something crucial.

  Despite the messenger’s strength, his body suffered no lasting damage.

  He was formed of energy. Of aura.

  He regenerated quickly.

  The messenger did not.

  Physical strikes were less effective.

  But the decay of energy still worked.

  Elias knew he would win.

  It would simply take time.

  He was no longer a complete amateur.

  The hunt of weaker messengers had taught him the basics.

  After hours of combat, the messenger fell.

  The cost was high.

  Part of the forest withered.

  Life around them faded.

  Elias absorbed the core.

  Power flooded him—raw, physical, far greater than before.

  And with it came a memory clearer than any he had known.

  Aethron felt it instantly.

  Fear.

  Elias felt it too.

  He looked up at the sky.

  “So,” he said quietly,

  “you can be afraid as well.”

  Aethron finally understood.

  Elias was not merely consuming power.

  He was consuming paths.

  The realization came too late.

  By creating stronger messengers, Aethron had only shortened the road to himself.

  Now he knew Elias was inevitable.

  He withdrew.

  And turned to his two sons.

  He needed counsel.

  Elias remained standing alone.

  Satisfied.

  After absorbing the core, his perception sharpened further.

  He could now determine the positions of the remaining messengers with near precision.

  He stepped forward.

  “The hunt continues,” he said.

  “Death does not stop.”