The path to the Black Ravine after dark was a secret kept by those who had something to hide.
To reach it, one had to slip past the academy’s boundary perimeter and tread through the Whispering Grove—a gnarled, ruined archway in the old academy wall that served as the final threshold between Valerius’s protected grounds and the absolute lawlessness outside.
Stepping through that stone breach felt like crossing the threshold of a forgotten world.
The Black Ravine was a deep, narrow trench carved violently into the earth, its sheer basalt walls rising up like shadowy teeth against the night sky.
It was said that centuries ago, a roaring river had thundered through this chasm, feeding the land and carving the stone.
But when the academy’s original founders raised Valerius, they needed a vast, concentrated source of elemental energy to anchor the powerful sentinel wards and keep the lower-tier beasts at bay.
Thus in a grand act of magic, the founders forcibly diverted the river’s subterranean pulse into the academy’s central mana core, bleeding the river dry overnight.
Despite being trapped between two stone walls, the air inside the gorge howled with a violent, unnatural wind.
Forced through the narrow chasm like a funnel, the freezing gusts shrieked against the jagged rock faces, masking the sound of footsteps and drowning out any cries for help.
Down in the deepest hollow of the ravine, where darkness was so thick it swallowed the moonlight whole, four silhouettes stood waiting against the cold basalt, the wind whipping their combat coats as midnight finally struck.
Vance Montrose adjusted his leather gloves, his breath hitching into a faint pale mist in the freezing wind.
He checked the inner pocket of his vest, making sure that the toxin vial was still within reach as his heart hammered against his ribs with a mixture of adrenaline and pure hatred.
“You sure he’s coming?” one of the Vanguards muttered, pulling a heavy serrated blade from his belt.
“It’s past twelve.”
“He’ll come,” Vance spat into the dirt.
“That arrogant bastard’s pride wouldn’t let him back down from a direct challenge. He thinks this is just another arena match where he can act like a God.”
Right on cue, the shriek of the funneling wind seemed to dip into a sudden hush.
From the pitch-black shadows of the narrow gorge came the leisurely, measured sound of boots crunching over dry gravel as a solitary figure stepped out from the gloom into the faint silver of moonlight piercing the top of the canyon.
Roman looked less like a man walking into a notorious blood-graveyard and more like an aristocrat who had accidentally taken a wrong turn on his way to a gala.
He had not even bothered to put on combat leather and was instead wearing a crisp, tailored black silk shirt and trousers that looked entirely too expensive for the dust beneath his boots.
Vance gaze hardened.
The pureblood stopped ten paces away, resting one hand in his pocket while his other hand brushed an invisible speck of dust off his collar.
He lifted his head, his dark crimson eyes gleaming in the dark with the same intoxicating brilliance.
His gaze swept over Vance before drifting across the three heavy-set Vanguards flanking him while holding bare blades and iron knuckles.
Immediately, a terribly disappointed sigh escaped his lips.
“Really, Vance? Four of you?” He asked, his disappointment appeared almost genuine.
“I have to admit, I’m actually impressed you have this many friends.”
The Vanguard on the left let out an offended growl, eyes darkening.
“You think this is funny?”
Roman briefly glanced his way, then all of them once again as he assesses what to expect tonight.
Four fighters.
Subpar stances.
Their weight sat too heavily on their back heels, which meant predictability, sluggish movement, and an overreliance on brute force.
His eyes narrowed.
Part of him was almost insulted that Vance thought this was a threat.
He had half a mind to end it in three seconds just so he could get back to the dorms and wash the smell of this dry riverbed out of his clothes.
“A little,” Roman admitted, a razor-thin smirk touching the corner of his lips.
“Though not quite enough to make me laugh. I brought high expectations and you brought a study group.”
Vance’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched violently in his cheek.
He stepped forward, his heavy combat boots crunching against the loose gravel.
“You talk a lot of shit for a guy who walked into a dead-zone alone, Laurent.”
“I walked here alone because I don’t need three babysitters to hold my hand while I cross a dark alley.” Roman gestured vaguely toward the heavy-set Vanguards flanking Vance.
“But I suppose I understand your strategy. If you bring enough body count, maybe the sheer weight of your incompetence will slow me down.”
“Keep running that pretty mouth,” Vance snarled.
“If you haven’t noticed, there are no sentinel wards to log an incident report out here. Just us, and a lot of empty space to bury a body.”
Roman pursed his lips, pretending to ponder the thought as he took two lazy steps forward, closing the distance while being completely unbothered by the fact that they were slowly fanning out to encircle him.
“Ah, right… the infamous Black Ravine,” he mused, spreading his hands as he cast a fleeting, almost offended glance around the jagged basalt walls.
“Bit cliché, don’t you think? If you were going to murder me over a bruised ego, you could’ve at least picked a place with better lighting. My complexion is suffering out here.”
“You arrogance-blinded bastard,” the female Vanguard seethed, her hand dropping toward the broadsword strapped to her hip as she bared her shoulders in defiance.
“You think your pureblood name is gonna protect you out here where the wards can’t see?”
“My name?” Roman echoed, letting out a quiet laugh as he tilted his head towards the female.
“People always seem strangely attached to it. The unfortunate thing for you is that even without it, you’re still outmatched.”
He watched as she visibly tense before his gaze drifted past her, settling briefly on the other three.
“Let’s keep it short,” Roman slipped both hands into his pockets, looking almost bored.
“My business tonight is with Vance. So walk away now, and I’ll assume your lapse in judgment was temporary.”
Silence.
The wind screamed through the ravine, whipping dark strands of hair across his forehead.
His gaze swept across their faces one by one, cool and calculating. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
“Stay…” His smile remained effortless.
“…and I’ll stop making that distinction.”
The Vanguard standing beside the female scoffed, loosening his collar.
“If you think we’re afraid of you, you’re sorely mistaken.”
“He challenged me.” Roman nodded toward Vance without a beat.
“You didn’t. Don’t mistake his bruised pride for your personal responsibility.”
“Nobody’s leaving,” Vance cut in, his voice dripping with sinister confidence as he drew a silver-edged dagger from his belt, his eyes gleaming in the dark.
“You aren’t walking out of this Ravine tonight, Laurent. I’ll make sure of it.”
Roman looked at Vance with visible disappointment.
“You really do insist on making simple things complicated.” He turned his gaze back to the other three, tilting his head slightly as if offering one final, merciful window of escape.
“Last chance. The exit is right behind you.”
But instead of turning around, the three Vanguards dropped into predatory stances.
The heavy metallic clatter of drawing broadswords echoed against the cliffs.
Their eyes flared a blinding red in the pitch-black gorge as their fangs lengthened and sharp, obsidian claws tore through the leather of their combat gloves.
With a click of his tongue, Roman slowly drew his hands out from his pockets.
He did not drop into a defensive stance, nor did he reach for a weapon.
But as he flexed his hands, razor-sharp, obsidian-dark claws unsheathed from his fingertips with a deadly glint in the shadow, pulling at the veins along his arms.
His fangs extended, glistening against the deep curve of his smile as his crimson eyes lit up like fresh embers in the night.
”Well,” Roman drawled softly, the wind howling around them like a dying creature.
“Don’t say I didn’t offer.”
While Roman stood in the depths of the gorge calmly baring his claws, three hundred yards back, Lillian was running as if her life depended on it.
She had never run this fast in her entire life.
Just to warn him.
She told herself desperately.
The mantra repeating in time with her frantic, hammering pulse.
That was all this is.
Just a warning.
She would tell him Vance brought a crew; tell him about the warlock’s necrotic toxin, and then she would turn around and walk away.
She does not get involved in the fight.
She just balance the debt.
Lillian burst into the Whispering Grove, her boots cutting through the pale, glowing blue flora that carpeted the forest floor.
Under the cover of darkness, the twisted oaks leaned over the dirt path like sprawling specters, their gnarled branches weaving a thick archway that swallowed the moonlight whole.
The luminescent blue petals scattered under her feet as she sprinted past, kicking up tiny embers of ethereal light that flickered and died in her wake.
Branch after branch whipped past her face, snagging on her hair, but Lillian did not slow down.
She could not.
The moment her boots crossed through the ruined arch, the familiar, grounding hum of the sentinel wards vanished completely, replaced by a suffocating silence.
As soon as she cleared the breach, the howling drafts of the Black Ravine shrieked up from the chasm, pulling at her clothes, stinging her eyes, and biting exposed skin with merciless intensity.
Lillian skidded to a halt near the edge of the rocky descent, pressing her back against the icy basalt wall of the ravine to keep from being thrown off balance.
Below her, the gorge dropped into a deep, pitch-black abyss where the river had long since been bled dry.
Squinting through the wind-wipped strands of her hair, her sight cut through the gloom.
Down in the lowest hollow of the gorge, bathed in the pale glow of distant starlight, she saw them.
Four heavy silhouettes surged around a solitary figure dressed in black silk.
Even from the high ledge, she recognized Roman instantly.
Steel flashed through the darkness as broadswords carved bright arcs through the night, yet he moved between them with impossible ease.
One moment he stood where the blades converged, and the next he was already somewhere else, his silhouette gliding through the storm of attacks like a shadow the moon itself could not pin down.
Every sidestep was effortless, every turn measured, leaving the four Vanguards striking nothing but empty air.
Slash—
A sharp, wet tear sliced through the wind.
One of the Vanguards stumbled back with a cry as three crimson gashes blooming across his chest before Lillian had even seen Roman move.
Slash—
Another scream echoed through the ravine.
A second Vanguard reeled sideways, clutching his shoulder as blood sprayed across the black stone.
Slash.
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Roman slipped through them like a phantom.
His claws flashed only for an instant before vanishing again into the blur of motion, each passing strike opening flesh with terrifying precision.
Within moments, the four-man encirclement had dissolved into chaos.
It was breathtakingly, terrifyingly brutal.
Lillian’s mouth hung open as she watched the display below.
She had known Roman was strong—he was a pureblood, top of their tier, and casually unbothered by things that terrified normal students.
But seeing him turning a four-on-one ambush into an effortless display of raw dominance was something else entirely.
He did not even look like he was trying.
Every fluid dodge, every blindingly fast strike of his claws cut through the Vanguards’ clumsy heavy armour as if it were parchment.
And despite herself; despite the fear, the cold wind whipping her hair into her face, and her absolute refusal to get dragged into pureblood politics, a quiet spark in her chest was rooting for him.
He’s winning, she thought, her pulse hammering against her ribs.
He doesn’t even need help.
He’s going to tear them apart.
Her eyes swept across the bloody hollow, tracking the movement of the broken formation, and then her stomach dropped into a cold, bottomless abyss.
Vance was down on one knee, clutching a gushing gash across his ribcage, but he was not looking at his own blood.
His face was twisted into an ugly snarl, his teeth bared in pure hatred as Roman turned his back on him to sidestep the female Vanguard’s final, desperate swing.
With a trembling, blood-soaked hand, Vance slipped his fingers inside his leather vest.
Lillian’s breath hitched.
The dark glass phial.
The warlock’s necrotic toxin.
Sealed in purple wax.
Vance was not trying to engage in a fair duel anymore.
He was creeping up behind Roman’s blind spot while Roman was distracted, poising his arm to shatter the wax seal and uncork the lethal poison directly into Roman’s open wounds with his blade.
No. Panic flared hot and wild in her chest.
She could not cast a spell, a visible burst of light or mana arc would expose her instantly to the entire ravine, marking her as an accomplice and dragging her straight into a tribunal execution.
She could not run down the ledge in time; Roman would be infected before her feet even touched the gravel bottom.
Her mind raced at a hundred miles an hour, picking apart the environment, anything she could use.
Then her eyes locked onto the towering, unstable pillar of loose basalt perched directly above the narrow ledge where Vance was crouching.
The years of dry wind and erosion had left the top stones hanging by a thread, precariously balanced over the hollow.
Without thinking anymore, Lillian dropped low to the dirt, her fingers wrapping tightly around a heavy piece of loose slate near her boots.
She pulled her arm back, aimed with desperate accuracy at the crumbling keystone supporting the rockfall, and threw it with every ounce of force in her body.
CRACK—
The heavy slate struck the eroded keystone with echoing crack.
A heartbeat later, the crumbling basalt pillar gave way as a rain of heavy stones plummeted down the canyon wall, crashing against the rock face with a deafening roar that shattered the howling wind.
Vance’s head snapped up a fraction of a second too late.
The rockfall missed his head by a hair’s breadth, the heavy debris slamming violently into his shoulder and knocking him off balance.
The dark phial slipped from his blood-slick fingers, tumbling onto the gravel—its purple wax seal cracking, spilling a thick, foul-smelling black liquid that hissed as it ate into the dry stone.
At the sound of the sudden avalanche, Roman’s head flipped toward the canyon wall.
His sharp, crimson eyes tracked the trajectory of the falling rock, instantly piercing the dark shadows at the top of the ledge.
And there, pressed flat against the icy basalt in her dark knitted cardigan, was Lillian.
For one agonizing second, the world seemed to stop.
Through the freezing wind and the rising dust of shattered stone, their eyes locked.
Roman’s gaze widened for the first time that night, genuine surprise breaking through his effortless composure.
What on earth is she doing here?
“Roman! Watch out!” Lillian cried out, her voice straining against the shriek of the ravine.
Her frantic warning cut through the roar of the wind, but the momentary distraction was all Vance needed.
Exploding from the rubble with a feral, desperate snarl, Vance lunged forward.
He swung a poison-coated blade upward, the blade slicing through the air in a dirty, low arc.
Roman’s reflexes kicked in instantly, but the split-second eye contact had cost him his flawless perimeter.
SLASH—
The edge of the poisoned blade caught Roman across the forearm, tearing straight through the fine black silk of his sleeve and carving a shallow line across his skin.
Without missing a beat, he raised his other hand, his claws digging violently into Vance’s chest plate, launching the Vanguard backward.
Vance crashed hard against the far wall of the gorge, dropping motionless into the dirt as silence fell over the hollow save for the howling wind.
Roman stood in the center of the bloody riverbed, his breathing steady, but the fresh cut on his arm was already turning an unnatural, veiny black as the warlock’s necrotic toxin seeped into his bloodstream.
Slowly, Roman lifted his head again, his dark crimson eyes burning straight up through the gloom at Lillian.