A trail of flames roared all over the hall, sucking inwards.

  The marble floor gleamed crimson as heat waves soared about.

  "Arrrgh." Ryūma exhaled, steam gushing out from his lips.

  His arms were stretched out as the soaring flames emitted from them gradually condensed into a single orb.

  Fire boomed out, blowing inwards at a blistering pace.

  "Nnggh!" Ryūma's teeth gritted, veins bulging, as sweat poured down his face.

  'Almost there,' he thought. 'Almost—'

  A crack suddenly formed in the orb as the surrounding air vacuumed into it.

  "Shit!" Ryūma's eyes snapped open. He lunged backwards, attempting to turn.

  The orb exploded, unleashing a destructive flare of heat as the ground shattered.

  The wave threw Ryūma backwards, sending him crashing into a wall.

  "Aww man, you playing Ragdolls or what now?" Ken said coldly, smoke trailing off his cigarette. He blinked in indifference, staring at the cratered wall from the other end of the room.

  "Guhh... that hurts," Ryūma winced, staggering to his feet. His face was smeared with bruises and blood.

  "You're hastening the process," Ken muttered.

  "What process?" Ryūma shot back. "All you did was ask me to start condensing my flames! How's that any way to teach?!"

  "Can't blame me. I never wanted to do it in the first place," Ken shrugged, puffing a cloud of smoke onto Ryūma's face.

  "I paid you," Ryūma grimaced.

  "Anyway, all I'm trying to make you do is create a core," Ken began.

  "A core?" Ryūma repeated. "Jeez. What have I gotten myself into?" He facepalmed.

  "Everyone already has a core, goddammit!" He shouted.

  "Chill, man, I haven't finished," Ken replied calmly. He raised a finger and poked it at Ryūma's chest.

  "How does your heartburn technique work?"

  "Uh... my heartburn. What I do is heat up my heart with flames, causing my heartbeat rate to increase. As a result, a greater amount of tenzen can be distributed to my body at a faster rate," Ryūma answered.

  "And after about ten seconds, the technique stops?" Ken asked.

  "Y-yeah," Ryūma replied, cheeks flushing. "The technique strains my cardiac muscles, and further usage could burst my heart, so I only have a limited time to use it," he explained, gaze falling to the ground as memories of the aftermath of his fight against Aghnis flashed. "Even after that, I still have to recover."

  "What a stupid technique," Ken cut in coldly, breaking the tension.

  "You bastard!" Ryūma snapped.

  "I mean, what's the point of a power that doesn't last?" Ken asked.

  "Well, yeah," Ryūma admitted, pouting. "That's why I asked for your help!" He shouted.

  "And that's the point of another core," Ken said sharply. "You think your effect is the generation of flames, right?"

  "Yes?" Ryūma nodded.

  "That's where you're getting it wrong." Ken crouched. "You are not creating fire directly..."

  Ryūma's eyes narrowed.

  "...you're creating heat. That heat is what produces fire."

  "Wha?" Ryūma blurted. "That totally sounds like bullshit."

  "It's not supposed to be reasonable," Ken replied.

  "So what you're saying is..." Ryūma's eyes slowly widened.

  Ken snapped his fingers. "Your tenzen effect is transmitting heat energy into external tenzen particles, raising their average kinetic energy. The collision of those agitated particles sparks flames."

  "...I've been looking at my powers the wrong way?" Ryūma completed the statement.

  "So, you wanna stabilize the heartburn technique without hurting your heart in the process, huh?" Ken continued. "All you need to do is produce another core. That core will be the new fuel for your heartburn technique. That way, you aren't useful for only ten seconds, and I get to enjoy my day without someone bothering me. We both win." He grinned at the last part.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  "Uh... so, the flames condensation technique is the way I'd create another core?" Ryūma asked.

  "Exactly, but you're doing it all wrong," Ken said. "What you've been doing is using your effect on the tenzen from your core. That won't work. You'll run out of tenzen in no time."

  "All you have to do is activate your effect into the atmosphere. Leave it to the environmental tenzen to generate flames, condense those flames into a single orb, and ingest it. A new core is born, though temporal."

  "Meaning I'd still have to create another one after exhausting the former?" Ryūma's brows furrowed in part disappointment.

  "Still better than a technique that lasts for not more than ten seconds, though," Ken chimed in flatly.

  "Man, could you stop taking it out on my heartburn?" Ryūma snapped.

  "Anyway, shouldn't you start already?" Ken changed the subject.

  "Sheesh," Ryūma hissed, falling into stance.

  "Also, lemme warn you," Ken called as Ryūma paused. "Don't try to rush the ingesting process. There's this kinda attraction effect between tenzen particles. Meaning there's a possibility your true core detects the new core and attracts it to itself."

  "So what happens after that?" Ryūma asked, confused.

  "Every core has a maximum tenzen capacity. If it takes too much tenzen, it goes kaboom, and that's the end of your sorry life," Ken warned.

  "Hmm, guess I'll keep that in mind," Ryūma muttered. "Alright, I can do it this time," he whispered, eyes shutting.

  Ken brought another cigarette out of the pack, lighting it. He was about to put it to his mouth when a noise halted him. His gaze fell to the ground, locking on Ryūma, a pool of blood surrounding his body, arms burnt.

  "Damn, he passed out."

  The door slid open as Ken stepped out of the hall, a lazy and indifferent expression spread across his face.

  "Uh?" He turned, sighting Van, who also walked out of another room at the far end of the corridor.

  "Let me guess. He also passed out," Van asked, walking toward him.

  "Yeah," Ken nodded.

  Inside the hall Van had just come out of was Code. His back hunched against the wall, eyes blank, entire body bathed in blood.

  "Good grief," Van sighed, reaching Ken. The two faced the balcony as a soft wind blew against their faces.

  "So you're heading to Hazen, huh?" Ken broke the silence.

  "Can't help it," Van replied. "I've got to answer the old man's summon."

  "You sure you aren't doing this 'cause of the incident twelve years ago?" Ken asked.

  Van yawned, stretching his arms upwards. "Really, I'll be frank," he replied, hands still raised. "It's one of the reasons." His ace turned serious.

  "I need to know what really happened that night."

  "Phew." Ken puffed a perfect ring of smoke into the air. "I really can't help it, then," he said. "You're the one who knows your stuff... just don't go too far."

  "You still planning to show up?" Van asked, flicking a gaze at him.

  "I'm not sure," Ken replied. "Depends on how fast they perfect their training." He gestured towards the halls.

  "And man. Y'know I'm not a fan of the noise and bustle that comes with Hazen," he added.

  "Yeah," Van chuckled. He straightened, raising his palm as he and Ken high-fived.

  "Then I'll be off," Van waved as he walked away. "I probably won't even show up on the meeting depending on my mood."

  ...

  UNKNOWN LOCATION...

  The setting sun shone a pale crimson glow over the city park.

  Squeals and chatter filled the air as little children ran and played about in the town park.

  At a corner, a boy was seated on a swing. His eyes were unnaturally narrowed, dark blue hair framing a handsome teenage face.

  Standing some meters before him were two other people. One was clad in gothic-style attire, while the other wore a white priest robe.

  Black marks strung across the face of the latter, and in his right hand was a Rubik's cube, pulsing silently.

  "How paradoxical," Terror muttered, staring at the children running across the field. "Children are adults who haven't learnt how to hide their greed yet."

  "Interesting, I'd say," Glock replied. "What matters isn't trying to understand the paradox that governs humanity. Instead, we just need to conquer it by destroying both children and adults. This way, we don't have to bother about anyone growing up to hide his greed."

  "Right," Terror hummed.

  "Zoldrak has summoned all sorcerers to a W.A.S. meeting in Hazen, which is going to take place tomorrow," Glock said.

  "How pathetic," Terror hissed. "Useless efforts which would end up in futility."

  "However, we still need to be careful," Glock continued. "Humans aren't so stupid. They know there's a high chance we'd attack during the meeting to create a commotion."

  "True," Terror admitted. "That commotion would enable us enough time to find the key."

  "But that won't work," Glock chimed in. "The key isn't something we can find just by looking for it. It's much more complex than you think."

  "So, the best way to retrieve it..." Terror started.

  "...is to isolate the one who keeps it," Glock completed the statement.

  "Zelazny Zoldrak," Terror's eyes darkened.

  "Meaning we'll strike immediately after the meeting has been concluded!"

  "Heyy!!" A sudden voice cut through their discussion.

  "Uh?" Glock and Terror turned, sighting the security guard heading towards them.

  "This place isn't for adults!" The man shouted, reaching them.

  Glock's eyeballs rolled, glancing at the boy riding the swing. "You haven't had dinner yet, have you?" He asked.

  "Yeah," the boy grinned, mouth splitting wide as his tongue slithered out.

  "There you go!" Glock said, nodding toward the man.

  "Eh... what're you talking about?" The guard exclaimed, stepping backwards in alarm as the boy neared him. The guard screamed, attempting to bolt, but his head was already between the boy's jaws.

  Blood sprayed out as the boy gobbled down the man's body in a ravage.

  "I thought he died?" Glock asked Terror.

  "Aghnis can transmit his consciousness into his puppets," Terror replied.

  "What you're looking at is just another puppet. His true body is somewhere even I don't know."

  HOLY AETHRAUZON CATHEDRAL, HAZEN.

  The sunlight's fading glow streaked across the glass walls of the Aethrauzon Cathedral, bathing it in an almost divine light. Before the church building stood the "Statue of Aethrauzon," a gigantic figure made of stone and clad in a robe that reached his feet, and placed on his head was an inverted crown that covered his eyes.

  Behind the domed auditorium lay a large expanse of land. Rows of tombs belonging to sorcerers who had died in action stretched across it, numbering in the hundreds. Some tombs were specially adorned, such as that of Sir Reginald Welles, First Sorcerer-General of Eldrid, decorated with the Welles House crest, and that of Sir Heinrich Ackerman, marked with the Ackerman House crest.

  A soft wind blew through the field, fluttering the branches of the fully bloomed cedar tree situated in the middle of the expanse.

  Directly in front of the tree stood three tombs inscribed with the names: Sir Gin Ackerman, Sir G.H. Thorne, and Lady Aurelia Welles.

  A shadow loomed over them—the shadow of the man who stood before the tombs, eyes closed and hands joined in prayer.

  Sir Zoldrak.

  He muttered quiet words as he prayed.

  After a few seconds, his eyes slid open. His arms dropped as his gaze shifted heavenward.

  He heaved a deep breath, as his baggy eyes narrowed against the pale sun.

  "Here we go," he muttered solemnly.

  A second breeze tugged at his suit. Then he turned around and walked away.

  ANNOUNCEMENT:

  Blackthorn Invasion Arc begins with the next chapter.