The total lockdown protocol locking down the entirety of Astrea Academy failed to slow Rian down. For a veteran elite mercenary accustomed to piercing enemy defense lines on blood-drenched battlefields, magical energy domes and locked iron gates were not absolute barriers—merely tactical puzzles waiting to be unraveled.

Utilizing a blind spot in the protective rune grid near the underground drainage system, Rian slipped past the dormitory perimeter without tripping the main alarm. Unleashing the full velocity of his Shadow Step technique, he streaked through the blackness of night, slicing across the academy forest toward the coordinates printed on the threat letter: the Abandoned Old Tower at the northern edge of the campus.

The tower stood grand yet grim, soaring high amidst a circle of skeletal, withered trees. Not a single light flickered from its windows, save for the sickly, pale glow of cheap magical torches bleeding from the ground floor.

Rian halted behind the shadows of a massive oak trunk ten meters from the tower's heavy main doors. His heightened senses instantly snared a dozen separate life signatures humming within the ancient structure.

Thirteen targets, Rian calculated swiftly in his mind. Twelve scattered across the ground and second floors as heavily armed ambush operatives, and one stationed on the top floor alongside Elia.

The trap had been meticulously engineered to slaughter or capture him alive. Yet they had forgotten one crucial truth: they were dealing with a monster wearing the guise of a child.

Rian wasted no time drafting negotiations. He pulled the deep cowl of his black cloak over the upper half of his face, then stepped out from concealment. Without an ounce of hesitation, he slammed his palm against the massive wooden doors, throwing them wide open with a deafening crash.

Bang!

The echoing thunder of the doors reverberated through the dusty interior of the tower. Instantly, all movement inside froze.

Across the sprawling ground floor, a dozen muscular men clad in obsidian plate armor and wielding broadswords stood arrayed in a blockade. They were no academy students; these were high-tier professional mercenaries specially hired by the aristocratic faction. Standing dead center among them was a cold-faced academy instructor—Master Vane himself, personally commanding the kill squad.

"Well, well... look who decided to arrive right on schedule," Master Vane sneered with a patronizing smirk, crossing his arms over his chest. "I’m genuinely impressed you slipped through the academy's lockdown grid, Rian. But your little game as a 'shadow judge' ends tonight."

Rian offered no reply. His icy gaze swept across the dozen mercenaries. The mana circulating through his meridian pathways boiled hot, twisting the shadows at his feet into dense, pulsing waves of absolute blackness.

"Tear the brat apart! Break his arms and legs, but keep him breathing enough to drag before the Steering Council!" Master Vane commanded with vicious cruelty.

The three mercenaries in the vanguard lunged forward in absolute synchrony, heaving their steel blades through the air with devastating force. Their speed was phenomenal, soaring far past the tier of ordinary swordsmen.

Yet, to Rian's eyes, their movements crawled in slow motion.

Before the razor-edged steel could bite into his skin, Rian dropped low. Blending close-quarters hand-to-hand combat styles from his first life on Earth with the destructive shadow magic of the forbidden grimoire, his slight frame shot forward like a streak of pure midnight.

Swish!

Rian slipped past the first mercenary's sweeping slash, slammed his elbow hard into the man's solar plexus, and wrenched the heavy blade free in one fluid rotational arc. Without sparing a fraction of a second, he swept the captured sword horizontally.

Fast. Precise. Lethal.

Fresh crimson sprayed into the air. The first mercenary collapsed instantly, a fatal gash yawning across his armor and chest.

Two more mercenaries converged from his left and right flanks simultaneously. Rian leveraged the shadows cast by their own bodies as stepping stones for his Shadow Step. In a blink, his form fractured and rematerialized directly behind the second attacker's spine.

Boom!

Rian’s palm—thickly coated in concentrated shadow energy—struck the armored man's back with a concussive shockwave that instantly pulverized his internal organs. The mercenary catapulted forward, crashing hard into his teammate so that both tumbled to the stone floor unconscious.

The solo duel devolved into a brutal, one-sided slaughter. In less than a minute, six of the twelve mercenaries lay broken in pools of blood, while the survivors began retreating backward with ashen faces warped by stark terror. They realized they weren't fighting an eleven-year-old boy; they were facing a grim reaper wrapped in human skin.

"You worthless cowards! Attack all at once!" Master Vane roared, his face flushing with fury and panic as his elite squad shattered into pieces.

The remaining mercenaries charged together. But Rian moved like a black tempest. Every strike, kick, and blade arc hunted vital pressure points without a single flicker of hesitation. Bone snaps and choked screams filled the hollow stone tower.

In the blink of an eye, the entire elite mercenary squad was laid out, utterly incapacitated across the ground floor.

Rian stood alone amidst the wreckage of the chamber, his breathing slightly elevated while his surrounding aura grew denser and more lethal. He lifted his gaze to the winding spiral staircase leading to the upper levels.

Without a word, Rian ascended the steps one by one at breakneck speed, leaving bloody boot prints on every stone tread.

The moment he breached the topmost chamber on the third floor, the sight awaiting him froze him dead in his tracks.

In the center of the dust-choked room, Elia—the orphan girl who had stood as his steadfast confidante—was bound tightly to an old wooden chair by drain-magic binding ropes. Her face was chalk-white, tear tracks gleamed down her cheeks, and her lips trembled violently in terror.

And standing directly behind Elia, Master Vane—having bypassed the lower floors via an emergency spatial blink scroll—wore a triumphant grin. The traitorous instructor hooked his left arm around Elia's throat, while his right hand gripped a razor-thin stiletto dagger, pressing the cold point directly against the girl's delicate neck until a single bead of fresh crimson welled against the steel.

"Don't take another step, Rian!" Master Vane barked, his voice hoarse with manic triumph, his eyes bulging as he glared down his prisoner. "Make one twitch of your finger, and this stupid commoner girl's head parts ways with her shoulders this exact second!"

Rian locked his feet in place. He stood ten paces away, his gaze burning intensely into Master Vane. Deep within his meridians, shadow energy raged, teetering on the edge of total collapse.

Master Vane chuckled darkly at the strangled tension etched across Rian's face. "Good... now, drop your weapon to the floor! Drop to your knees before me and lock your hands behind your head, or the girl dies right now!"