Ethan’s quiet confidence came from the subtle flicker of information overlaying his vision—Divine Eyes, his newly activated ability. As he assessed each figure in the room, the ranks and attributes became clear, sharpening his understanding of their strengths and weaknesses.
He scanned the five Ascendants, flanking Lucien first. Each bore the rank of Low Star Soldier, their attributes far beneath what would pose a genuine threat to his Warlords.
Handling these five would be routine for the High Star Soldiers at his side—a small, hardly challenging skirmish. Still, the three figures standing just behind Lucien made Ethan’s gaze linger.
These three were different.
Two of them carried the unmistakable aura of High Star Soldiers, their poise and strength evident in their stance alone. But the third figure—a tall, lean man with an unreadable expression—caught Ethan’s attention.
His rank: Higher Star Soldier.
The man’s attributes were evenly distributed, with high marks in strength and speed. Still, one stat stood out with particular clarity: intelligence, elevated above the rest.
Ethan’s thoughts raced, considering this discovery. ‘If his Intelligence is that high… he’s likely the one casting the illusions.’
The realization settled a quiet certainty, adding a new layer to his strategy. ‘An Illusionist of this caliber won’t be easy to take down. But if he orchestrates our disorientation… that’s also a weak point.’
As he refocused on the room, a movement nearby pulled his attention. With a frustrated look, Axel muttered, “Where the heck are they hiding Steven’s family?”
Hale, who had been on guard near Lucien’s group, overheard Axel’s remark. His expression flickered with surprise, and his gaze drifted to Ethan and the Warlords with newfound uncertainty. ‘Steven? They’re here for… Leah, Evan, and Lira?’
For a moment, Hale felt his resolve waver. He hadn’t known exactly why these intruders were here, but realizing they were after the family he’d taken a strange responsibility to protect brought a conflicted feeling to his chest.
Lucien threw his head back, laughter bubbling up, twisted and mocking. He looked down at Axel with a gleam of contempt in his eyes, his voice dripping with scorn.
“Oh, did you really think we wouldn’t know you were coming?” Lucien sneered, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed Ethan and the Warlords mockingly.
He turned his gaze to Axel, a dark smile stretching across his face. “Especially with you leading the way. Your pathetic stealth and tracking skills? We knew you were here when you set foot in the area.”
Axel’s jaw clenched, but he stood, refusing to react to the insult. Lucien’s smirk only deepened, clearly reveling in his taunts.
“It’s laughable, really,” Lucien continued, his tone dripping with contempt. “Did you think the Cole family’s rescue mission would slip by us unnoticed? You’re not dealing with amateurs here.”
He gestured casually toward his Petrova allies, his gaze flicking back to Ethan with a hint of triumph. “So, by all means, try your luck.”
Ethan kept his gaze steady, refusing to give Lucien the satisfaction of a reaction. His calm seemed to fuel Lucien’s disdain, the laughter ringing louder as he spread his arms in a mock gesture of hospitality.
Ethan glanced at his team, his voice low but calm as he shared the details he’d gathered through Divine Eyes. “Five of Lucien’s men—Low Star Soldiers, no real threat to us. But the three Petrova members are a different story. Two High Star Soldiers, and one… Higher Star Soldier.”
Lucien’s confident smirk wavered, his eyes widening slightly as he realized Ethan knew more than anticipated.
Before Lucien could respond, Ethan turned his gaze directly toward him, a hint of amusement in his tone. “All that bravado, Lucien, and yet here you stand—just a High Star Apprentice.” Ethan’s eyes narrowed, a mocking smile playing on his lips. “Funny to hear you talk so big from a rank that isn’t even on par with your allies.”
Lucien’s face twisted with fury, his composure cracking. “You little—” He gritted his teeth, his fists clenching. “You should watch your words, Cole! Reflect on yourself first. Last I heard, you were barely at Low Star Apprentice!”
Lucien’s Petrova allies, standing just behind him, exchanged incredulous glances, their eyes flashing contemptuously.
With a thin sneer, one of the Petrova men muttered to his companions, “Is this the intelligence level we’re working with?”
Another nodded in disdain, his voice carrying just enough for Lucien to hear. “He’s more clueless than we thought. The kid’s clearly at High Star Apprentice, same as him.”
The third Petrova shook his head, a look of irritation flashing across his face as he observed Lucien. “Perhaps we overestimated the LaRues’ understanding of their own adversaries.”
“High Star Apprentice?” Lucien’s face flushed as he caught the muttered criticisms, his jaw tightening further. His pride was visibly wounded, but he held his ground, his glare locked on Ethan.
Ethan, unbothered, simply observed the interaction with a glint of amusement. It was clear that Lucien’s allies were losing respect for him by the moment, their patience wearing thin.
Lucien’s five underlings exchanged uneasy glances, each subtly trying to gauge Ethan’s aura. Their brows furrowed as they picked up on the undeniable strength radiating from him, and it didn’t take long for them to recognize it—Ethan was at the same rank as their leader.
One of the Ascendants leaned toward his companion, his voice barely a whisper. “This can’t be right. Wasn’t he just a Low Star Apprentice recently?”
Another nodded, his expression incredulous. “It’s impossible… no one rises ranks that quickly. Not without some kind of help.”
One of the Petrova Ascendants sighed, the sound heavy with irritation as he glanced between Ethan and Lucien’s crew. “Who cares how fast he climbed the ranks?” he muttered, his tone dripping with disdain. “He’s still leagues below us. Let’s just get this over with.”
Beside him, another Petrova Ascendant crossed his arms, his expression cold and unimpressed. “Agreed. This whole thing is beneath us. If it weren’t for Anton’s interest, we’d have no reason to be involved with the LaRues.”
The third Petrova, his gaze steely and detached, nodded slightly. “The LaRues and their endless grudges… always dragging us into their messes. Let’s wrap this up and get out of here. The sooner, the better.”
Lucien sneered, dismissively raising his hand. “Fine, I get it! Leave this pathetic Ethan to me,” he snarled, stepping forward.
But one Petrova Ascendant fixed him with a hard, warning glare. “Careful, LaRue. Anton wants him alive. Try not to let your temper ruin that.”
The reminder only deepened Lucien’s scowl, but he nodded reluctantly, his gaze never leaving Ethan. “Alive… fine. But I’ll make sure he wishes otherwise.”
Sensing the tension mounting, the Warlords moved instantly, positioning themselves around Ethan in a protective formation. Yet, just as they prepared for an attack, the room shifted.
Shadows flickered, walls seemed to bend, and an unnatural fog rolled in within seconds, separating most of them.
Lucan’s eyes narrowed, quickly discerning the manipulation at play. Flint muttered under his breath at his side, his sharp eyes scanning the environment. “It’s the Illusionist… but illusions are just traps of perception. I might be able to break through it.”
Lucan nodded his jaw tight with focus. “Then let’s tear down this trickery.”
Flint moved swiftly, tapping into his expertise with traps and subtle distortions. He guided Lucan through a series of deliberate steps, gradually peeling back the layers of illusion.
The space around them shifted with each unraveling, and the illusion grew weaker, bringing them closer to their target.
As Flint and Lucan pressed forward, the layers of illusion peeled away like a delicate veil, exposing faint glimpses of reality through the shifting mirage. Just as they broke through the final distortion, the Illusionist appeared before them—a tall, lean man with a calm, calculating gaze, his movements as fluid as the illusions he cast.
Without hesitation, Lucan surged forward, his fists clenched, every movement precise and powerful. The Illusionist’s expression remained unfazed, his hands tracing patterns in the air, attempting to reestablish the illusion. But with each strike from Lucan, the illusion fabric flickered and weakened, unable to keep its full grip on the room.
“You rely too much on your tricks,” Lucan growled, closing the distance with relentless momentum. His fists moved with purpose, each strike driving the Illusionist back and disrupting the intricate patterns he was weaving.
The Illusionist’s calm exterior cracked, frustration flashing in his eyes as Lucan’s assault broke his concentration. He staggered for a moment, and the remnants of his illusion wavered, exposing his allies.
Meanwhile, three Warlords, Rhea, Axel, and Seraph, acted against Lucien’s five underlings.
Rhea, Axel, and Seraph moved swiftly, their movements sharp but not fully refined as they confronted Lucien’s five underlings. Each of them had only recently ascended to the rank of High Star Soldier, thanks in part to the enhancement potions Ethan had provided.
However, the rapid leap in power left them adjusting, unable to fully wield their newfound strength with complete control. It was clear that while they had the rank, their abilities hadn’t yet settled into the steady, practiced ease of seasoned High Star Soldiers.
However, Darius and his team remained eerily calm, an unspoken coordination between them that was immediately apparent. Each step, each movement seemed practiced, synchronized—as though they operated as one.
At the head of his formation, Darius directed his team with subtle gestures, his intense gaze never leaving the Warlords. “Positions,” he muttered to his team, his voice steady. The five shifted seamlessly, falling into a formation they’d trained in countless times. Together, they formed a formidable barrier, each member supporting the other, moving as one cohesive unit.
Rhea darted forward, her movements fluid and precise, but she was quickly intercepted by Vera, who sidestepped her attack with calculated grace. Her piercing gaze read Rhea’s movements before they happened. Vera’s footwork allowed her to evade Rhea’s strikes, countering each one with subtle, well-placed movements designed to wear her down.
Seraph, known for her strategic mindset, found herself matched against Rhys, the stoic strategist. Rhys observed her, his calm blue eyes missing nothing. He blocked her with minimal effort, deflecting each strike with an efficiency that betrayed years of tactical experience.
Every time Seraph tried to break through, Rhys adjusted his stance, positioning himself just enough to stop her momentum.
Meanwhile, Axel found himself face-to-face with Hale, Darius’s team’s youngest and most impulsive. With his wiry frame and fierce green eyes, Hale mirrored Axel’s energy.
Although Axel was skilled in swift, evasive maneuvers, Hale matched him beat for beat, a fierce smirk playing on his lips. Axel’s agility kept him out of reach, but Hale’s fiery determination kept him in place, never allowing him the advantage.
Lucien’s underlings were trained to operate together, not relying on brute strength alone. Instead, their years of experience fighting side by side allowed them to cover each other’s weaknesses seamlessly, anticipating one another’s movements.
Their formation allowed them to withstand even the might of stronger opponents for extended periods—a tactic they used now to their full advantage against the three Warlords.
Rhea gritted her teeth as she realized their approach. “They’re stalling,” she murmured, her eyes flicking to Axel and Seraph, similarly locked into a grueling dance. “These five… they’re not ordinary.”
Seraph’s eyes narrowed as she recognized the depth of coordination between Darius and his team. “They’ve been trained for this exact formation,” she noted. “They can hold off even stronger Ascendants if they work together.”
Axel, catching his breath, nodded. “They’re playing defense, waiting us out. They know we’re not the brute force type.”
Darius watched them coolly, his expression unwavering. “Don’t waste your strength, Cole’s Warlords,” he called his voice even. “We’ve trained for years to do exactly this. You won’t break through that easily.”
With the formation holding steady, the Warlords found themselves momentarily at a stalemate, testing the limits of their skills against an opponent that moved as a single, impenetrable wall.
The Warlords knew they would need a new approach—or a decisive opening—to turn the tide in their favor.
Across the room, Thorne and Calder engaged the two High Star Ascendants from the Petrova family. Thorne, the formidable shield of the Warlords, advanced with unshakable force. Calder’s expertise in combat tactics shone through as he calculated every strike with precision, keeping his opponent on edge.
The seasoned and highly ranked Petrova Ascendants met Thorne and Calder’s attacks with swift, skilled responses. The power clash filled the room, each blow echoing as the two sides pushed against each other, testing strength and strategy.
