In a dimly lit section of the black market, the air seemed to thicken with tension. Crowds gathered in twos and threes, standing apart yet drawn together, forming a loose ring around the confrontation's epicenter. The once joyful whispers of the night breeze seemed to hold its breath, as though gravity itself had seized the air, stifling even the faintest sound.

At the heart of this silent storm stood Kal, his Flame-Heat Duality Sword pointed at the face of the kneeling old merchant. The blade glinted ominously, reflecting the faint light of distant lanterns.

"Now, I'll teach you what humiliation feels like, for the sake of your own greed," Kal declared, his voice sharp, cutting through the stillness like a blade through silk.

He raised his sword high, its edge glinting as it pointed toward the beautiful, dark galaxy above, where countless stars shimmered coldly, silent witnesses to the unfolding drama.

"You will give up your right hand." With those chilling words, Kal swung his sword downward, slicing through the moist night air, which hissed and parted in the weapon's path.

But before the blade could find its mark, a sudden surge of energy erupted from afar. Beorn, a man shrouded in mystery, his heart harboring a purpose known only to himself, stood rigid. The scene before him ignited something deep within, an outrage he could no longer contain. A powerful aura surged around him, distorting the air. The ground seemed to vibrate, responding to something ancient and hidden, a secret purpose buried deep within his heart, now threatening to break free.

Yet as he turned to his side, ready to act, he realized Nyxander was no longer beside him. Karl and the triplets, feeling the oppressive pulse of Beorn's energy, froze momentarily. A chill ran down their spines, filling a moment of paralysis, a primal instinct in the face of something unknown, but as quickly as it came, it faded, but now turned back for the source of such ominous energy. Beorn had restrained himself, his eyes now wide with shock,, searching for Nyxander.

Before they could fully process his disappearance, a sharp metallic clang echoed through the air. The crowd's collective breath caught. All eyes snapped forward. Kal's sword, mid-descent, had been stopped.

Nyxander stood there. He appeared like a shadow birthed from the night itself, as though teleportation had carried him between Kal and the old merchant. His movement had been so swift, a blur too fast for the eye to follow, that it seemed the wind itself had parted to make way for him.

With only a butcher knife in hand, Nyxander had effortlessly blocked Kal's strike. The sound of metal colliding thundered through the market, rattling the souls of all who heard it.

Kal staggered backward, shock etched across his face. His sword arm trembled from the collision's impact. His teammates rushed forward, gripping his shoulders, steadying him as though he might collapse.

The old merchant slowly opened his eyes, which had been clenched shut in fear. Blurred at first, his vision cleared just enough to see the tall, familiar figure standing protectively before him.

Nyxander's cold gaze never left Kal. "Teaching people morals about greed?" Nyxander scoffed, the sound dripping with contempt. A bitter smile curved his lips, one that did not reach his eyes.

"Don't make me laugh." His voice rang out, low yet commanding, wrapping around the crowd like a noose tightening.

"If anyone should be teaching lessons here, it's me. About courtesy. About respect. "A low-ranking official who dares approach me from the rear with no courtesy." Dares to step between me and my dealer? Dares to humiliate me, snatching what could have been mine and driving up the price?"

Nyxander's words cut through the thick silence, leaving an uncomfortable stillness in their wake.

The crowd stirred, murmurs swelled along with faint nods, their shifting glances, and subtle hand gestures signaling silent agreement. The atmosphere was no longer thick with tension but with a shifting tide of perception, all now drawn to Nyxander, the man who had swiftly seized control of the moment.

The night breeze, which had held its breath for so long, finally stirred again, as if released from the gravity of the confrontation.

Kal freed himself from his colleagues' grip with a violent shrug, like a predator shaking off dust after a failed hunt. His face twisted with indignation, eyes gleaming with wounded pride.

"It is the job of the merchant to present quality service, and the customer's duty to pay the worth. Yet, I did nothing wrong, he cheated!"

Kal's voice echoed with defiance, his gaze sweeping across the scattered audience, as if searching for validation. The onlookers remained silent, their eyes flickering with interest, but none stepped forward.

His attention snapped back to Nyxander, a sneer curling his lips. "Respect you?" Kal scoffed, his laughter dry and hollow. "Who are you to deserve such honor?" His words dripping with disdain.

He drew his sword from the ground, its tip scraping against the dirt with a grating screech, pointing it directly at Nyxander's chest. The blade's edge shimmered faintly beneath the market's dim lanterns, like a snake's tongue tasting the air.

"The rules of the black market," Kal continued, mockery dripping from his words, "are the laws of the jungle. The first to place money into the merchant's palm is the rightful owner of the service. So get out of my way and let me finish my business."

Kal's voice rose above the crowd, but no applause followed his bold declaration, only the low murmur of uncertainty. His folded expression, masked with arrogance, was met not with fear, but with something far worse, Nyxander's smile.

A slow, intriguing smile, like a predator amused by the antics of prey.

"Interesting," Nyxander muttered, his voice as soft as a whisper yet carrying the weight of authority.

"A child who lacks home training... or refuses to have any... will surely become a problem for society if not handled properly."

His words, though calm, stung sharper than any blade, and the crowd shifted uneasily.

Kal's face twisted, rage sparking in his eyes. His fingers tightened around his sword's hilt, knuckles whitening. With both hands gripping the handle, he drew the blade back, stretching it outward to his right.

"You'll regret this! Remember, you brought this upon yourself!"

With a snarl, he swung. But the blade never reached Nyxander. A flash of silver aftermath, as sharp metallic clash exploded through the market, ringing like a thunderclap.

Karl had leaped in. His axe met Kal's sword with a force that reverberated through the air. Kal's sword flew from his grip, clattering onto the stone floor. Kal recoiled, his fingers trembling as the shock numbed his index and thumb.

Karl stood firm, his axe still humming from the impact, eyes glinting with cold resolve. "Boss might not see the need to dirty his hands for someone as insignificant as you," Karl growled, his voice deep and resonant, no longer a subordinate's voice but that of a true right-hand man. "But don't think for a second that we, his subordinates, won't act."

His words roared through the crowd, crushing the tension with undeniable force. Kal staggered back, his arrogance now laced with disbelief.

Turning to Nyxander behind him, Karl spoke urgently. "Boss, will you allow this to continue? If you don't act, this will never stop."

Nyxander's eyes narrowed, locking onto Karl's. For the first time since becoming his subordinate, Karl truly looked into his eyes.

Their eyes met, silent understanding passed between them. "Yeah, sure," Nyxander finally replied, his voice steady.

But before the moment could settle, another voice cut through the tension, calm, yet carrying a piercing weight that silenced the crowd. "I wished not to get involved, but seeing you all ganging up on a weakling…" The voice was familiar, yet the tone carried an unsettling chill.

A figure stepped through the scattered crowd, Centric emerged, his figure gradually revealed as if the shadows themselves had carved him out. His appearance, slow and deliberate, peeled back another layer of tension, suffocating the atmosphere under a thicker, more oppressive blanket.

The crowd instinctively parted, as if pushed aside by an unseen force. The night air, already heavy, now seemed charged with a new electricity, dangerous and unpredictable.

Kal, still reeling from his humiliation, glared upward. Yet even his arrogance wavered. The confrontation, which had seemed so one-sided just moments ago, had taken an unexpected turn.

"B-Boss... when did you get here?" Kal stammered, his widened eyes locking onto Centric's unflinching, serious gaze.

Centric looked at him for a moment, his gaze lingering like a blade poised before a strike, before turning to Nyxander. "The moment you said something about you acquiring something by outwitting them with payment and listening to the rest from there." His voice carried a subtle weight, laced with a quiet pride, as though each word was a brushstroke painting Kal's success, a silent declaration that he had done well.

The air grew heavier, where once tension had ruled, now a suffocating intensity blanketed the scene, as though the night itself were holding its breath for what would come next.

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