Three days passed in silence within the cavern.

The stone walls were scorched black, cracks spreading like veins across the surface, still radiating the faint remnants of destructive heat. At the very center sat Ezra, cross-legged, his body surrounded by the dim flicker of silver light. His aura, once unstable and raging like a storm, had finally calmed to a steady rhythm.

A sharp breath escaped his lips as his eyelids parted. For a fleeting instant, silver mana flickered in his pupils—sharp, cold, and majestic—before it vanished like mist. His clothes, however, hadn't survived the ordeal. Burnt edges clung to his skin, charred and tattered. With slow, deliberate movements, he rose to his feet, his body radiating quiet strength.

From his storage ring, he retrieved a fresh set of clothes and dressed himself. His gaze drifted to the empty crystal shards littering the cavern floor. Every last mana crystal he possessed had been consumed. The sheer value was staggering—millions in gold. But Ezra knew better than anyone that it was a gift freely given by his master, an investment in his path forward.

He clenched his hand. "Rank Five," he whispered.

Silver light condensed in his palm, weaving into shape. The mana morphed into a sleek, glimmering sword, humming with restrained power. Ezra raised his arm and released it into the distance.

Whistle—

The blade shot forth like lightning, cutting through the air. With a thunderous crash, a chunk of the mountain ahead split apart, stone fragments tumbling down in a cascade of dust. Ezra's eyes narrowed as he lowered his hand.

"My mana is as pure as ever," he murmured. He could feel it—his strength had surged beyond the fragile edge he once balanced on. If he were to cross swords with Ryun Jae-Syuk again, it would no longer be a desperate struggle for survival. This time, he would stand unshaken.

Without lingering further, he stepped out of the cavern. His body moved lightly, each leap carrying him across ridges and slopes. Soon, the mountain was behind him. At the foot of the range, he hailed a cab and sank into the seat, the evening sun painting the horizon in hues of crimson and gold.

By the time he reached his hotel, the sky had darkened. Ezra wasted no time. He strode into his room, tossed his belongings aside, and walked directly into the washroom. Cold water poured over him as he stood under the shower, the steam and dust of three days of cultivation washing away.

Refreshed, he dressed once more, then pulled out his travel bag. One by one, he packed away his belongings—clothes, blades, notebooks, even his laptop. His movements were methodical, precise, as though he had already decided his next step.

But before he left, a thought struck him. Should I meet Elena and tell her I'm leaving?

He reached for his phone. The screen lit up—dozens of missed calls blinked at him. Thirty, perhaps thirty-five, all from Elena. Another ten to fifteen from Professor Sergei.

Ezra clicked his tongue softly. "Tch. All this fuss for nothing. If I had just sent a message earlier, I could've avoided worrying them like this."

With a sigh, he unlocked the phone and typed out a simple message:

Meet me at 7 PM. [Restaurant Name].

The words were direct, without flourish, carrying the same quiet decisiveness that now defined him.

He pressed send.

__________________________

Meanwhile – Elena's Unease

For three days, Elena's mind had been restless. No matter how many times she dialed Ezra's number, the call never went through. Each unanswered attempt only deepened the knot in her chest.

Professor Sergei had visited her once during this period. His expression was as grave as ever, his words carrying quiet weight.

"Elena," he said bluntly, "I have reason to believe Mirella may be a spy. If you don't trust my judgment, then observe her for yourself. Sometimes, what the eyes refuse, the truth will reveal."

At first, Elena had refused to even consider it. Mirella had fought beside them, had bled as they all had—how could she possibly be a traitor? But Sergei's words gnawed at her. Finally, she decided: I'll watch. Just once, to prove him wrong.

The first two days seemed harmless. Each time Elena approached Mirella directly, usually under the pretense of delivering training reports from the soldiers, the woman acted completely normal. Calm. Professional. Her demeanor betrayed nothing.

But when Elena cloaked herself in her concealment skill and watched from the shadows, she noticed details others would miss. Mirella sat at her desk late into the night, quietly sketching intricate diagrams. Not maps—something more complicated. Lines, symbols, mana pathways. Once complete, she slipped the drawings to Jonas, a low-ranking aide.

And Jonas, in turn, delivered them to an officer from the Magic Tower—one of the Colonels.

Elena's first instinct had been to confront Mirella directly. But instead, she bit her tongue and brought the matter to Sergei.

Sergei only nodded gravely. "Good. We'll watch longer. Shadows reveal themselves only with patience."

So they waited. And watched.

On the third day, their vigilance bore fruit. Mirella met secretly with General Yun Hao. For hours, they spoke in private. No words carried across the courtyard to Elena and Sergei's hidden vantage, but their body language, the serious expressions—it was enough to plant deeper doubts.

That night, Mirella retired to her quarters as though nothing had happened.

Elena exhaled slowly, whispering to Sergei who crouched beside her in the shadows. "General… I think we're imagining things. She behaves too normally. If she were truly a spy, would she risk acting so carelessly? Maybe… we're just forcing suspicion where none exists."

Sergei's eyes remained sharp. "No, Elena. Truth hides best under the mask of normalcy. We'll give up only if tonight reveals nothing. But don't forget—yesterday, Yun Hao hinted at taking her somewhere. Did you hear?"

Elena frowned, remembering.

"Then," Sergei continued, "tonight we follow. If it's nothing, we stop. If not…" His voice trailed into a low hum, the unspoken implications heavy.

Before Elena could respond, her phone buzzed.

The sound pierced the silence. She flinched, quickly pulling it out. Her heart skipped as she read the message.

Meet me at 7 PM. [Restaurant Name].

Ezra.

Sergei leaned over, his sharp eyes catching the words. "Finally," he muttered. "Let's go meet him."

But Elena shook her head. "No, sir. You should stay here. If Mirella makes a move, someone needs to watch. I'll go alone and ask Ezra where he's been all this time."

She hid the conflict in her voice, but it lingered in her heart.

For days she had worried for him, feared the worst. And yet, now that he had finally resurfaced, a seed of doubt had already been planted.

What if Ezra… is also connected?

As she turned to leave, her thoughts churned. Between Mirella's secrets and Ezra's sudden silence, suspicion began to blur the lines of trust she once held.

______________________

The restaurant's private chamber was quiet, its walls lined with sound-dampening charms. A small table stood at the center, lit by the glow of a crystal lamp, casting warm hues over the polished wood.

Elena entered first, her steps hesitant but quickening when her eyes fell on the figure already waiting.

"Ezra!"

Her voice carried both relief and reprimand, and when he turned toward her with that faint, calm smile, the weight she'd been carrying for days finally lifted. She strode forward, almost forgetting herself, and sat opposite him.

"You—where have you been all this time?" she demanded, her brows furrowed. "Do you know how many times I tried calling you? Everyone was worried, Ezra."

Ezra leaned back slightly. Instead of answering with words, he let his aura unfurl.

A silver tide of mana surged into the room, pure and overwhelming, shaking the air itself. The crystal lamp flickered as the pressure pressed down on the chamber. Elena's eyes widened, her hand instinctively gripping the edge of the table.

Then, as suddenly as it came, the aura dissipated, vanishing into silence.

"Rank Five…" she whispered.

Ezra nodded. "I was in seclusion. Breaking through. That's why I disappeared." His voice was calm, but his gaze was steady, as though he already knew how she would react. "And I know what you're thinking. That I've been up to something else. That's why I'm telling you this directly—"

He leaned forward, his tone sharpening.

"There's a Rank Seven assassin after me. His name is Justin. He's already made one attempt, and he won't stop until I'm dead. That's why I plan to leave for Academy Elena. Staying here only puts more people at risk. I asked you here because I wanted to tell you… before I go."

Elena's lips parted, her breath catching. She stared at him, torn between disbelief and the sting of his words. "You're… leaving?"

Before Ezra could answer, the door clicked open.

A man walked in casually, pulling a chair across the floor with a grating sound. He sat down as though he owned the chamber.

Professor Sergei.

"You can't go, Ezra." His tone was smooth, but his eyes gleamed with a hard edge.

Ezra turned his gaze toward him, the warmth from before vanishing into cold steel. "And why not?" His words were polite, but his voice carried frost.

Sergei's lips curved into a thin smile. "Because you are under suspicion. Clear your name first, and then I'll allow you to leave."

Ezra's eyes narrowed. "Suspicion?" His voice was calm, but a flicker of irritation passed beneath it. "Whose suspect am I supposed to be?"

Sergei didn't flinch. "A spy of the Demon Alliance."

The chamber fell silent. Elena stiffened, her gaze snapping between them.

Ezra stared at Sergei for a long moment, his silver eyes boring into him. Finally, he spoke, his voice laced with quiet disdain. "I am not a spy. But you want to drag me into your games. Is this all for your own amusement, Professor?"

Sergei only smiled faintly, saying nothing.

Ezra exhaled through his nose, then leaned back. "Fine. If you want me to prove myself, tell me—who exactly do you suspect?"

Sergei's smile widened, just slightly. "Mirella."

He explained in detail: the late-night drawings, the exchanges with Jonas, the delivery to a Colonel of the Magic Tower, the secret meetings with General Yun Hao. For days, he had watched her carefully, and every sign pointed toward treachery.

Ezra listened silently, his expression unreadable. When Sergei finished, he nodded once.

"Alright," Ezra said. "I'll come with you. But if it turns out you're wrong, if Mirella is innocent… then don't ever bother me with your suspicions again."

Sergei chuckled softly, raising a hand as though to placate him. "As you wish, Ezra. As you wish." He patted Ezra lightly on the shoulder, as though sealing a deal.

But his smile lingered, and in it was a glint that promised this game was far from over.

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