Lucien had completely erased his presence. And because of it, Red cape is unable to see the tremendous gap between him and Lucien.

  The only reason Red Cape had spotted him on the rooftop was a fleeting, accidental glimpse during his earlier fight. Finding both his enemies gone, he had pursued the only lead he had.

  "Are you mute or what, huh? Reply quickly!" Red Cape shouted, leaping forward to close the distance. He threw a punch, which Lucien sidestepped. A kick followed, also dodged. An elbow smash met only empty air as Lucien disappeared, reappearing several feet away and leaving Red Cape stumbling forward.

  Lucien threw the spear back to him, then turned his back, preparing to leave. He could have vanished instantly, but he didn't bother—a subtle act that stung Red Cape's pride.

  "Thunder Lord Mode, on!"

  The declaration ripped through the night. Red Cape's body became sheathed in a crackling nimbus of lightning, a volatile fusion of aura and mana.

  An immense glow erupted from him, his knight's helmet gleaming silver as arcs of energy danced across his form. This was his retribution.

  He launched himself at Lucien, grabbing his spear on the way and striking the rooftop so hard it shattered, forcing Lucien to drop to the street below. Lucien landed without a sound.

  Red Cape struck again. Lightning bolt after lightning bolt shot from his spear, each one effortlessly dodged as Lucien glided backward, his face—still hidden—remaining calmly oriented toward his attacker. When Red Cape closed in to attack with the spear itself, Lucien simply increased the distance, maintaining the gap with infuriating ease.

  The chase began. Lucien moved at a phenomenal speed, traveling backward while keeping his eyes on his pursuer. Red Cape followed with matching, lightning-fueled velocity, his missed attacks carving visible scars into the streets and buildings as they blitzed through alleys, main roads, and the deserted market district. Their path was a destructive maze, with Red Cape's power leaving a trail of minor ruin.

  In a final, desperate move, Red Cape spun his spear, leaped high into the air, and dove downward, aiming to strike Lucien with the full force of his momentum and power.

  At that same moment, Lucien stopped.

  "Thank you for giving me this idea," he said, his voice calm. "Let us see if it works. Answer me, Purgatory Flame."

  Suddenly, from a single finger to his entire body, he was enveloped in flame. It was a manifestation of pure energy. His cloak, clothes, hair—everything radiated an intense, controlled inferno, yet nothing burned.

  "For a first attempt, it is passable. I can improve its aesthetic later," he noted, analyzing his own work.

  He created a concussive blast from his leg, propelling himself upward, then used a burst of flame from his hand to meet Red Cape's lightning strike midair.

  Fire and lightning collided in the sky with a thunderous roar that shook the town awake. The clash painted the heavens in violent hues—a dome of high-level flame against a spear of white lightning. It almost looked like the sun was up. People rushed to their windows, staring in awe and terror at the spectacle above.

  Not content, Lucien propelled himself higher, dragging the fight further into the sky, testing the limits of his new capability. Red Cape, pushed upward but losing momentum, began to fall.

  He reacted quickly, hardening his aura around his spear to create a temporary platform in midair. He kicked off it with his lightning mode activated, shooting toward Lucien in a clumsy, flight.

  Lucien, still slow in this new medium, simply brought his hands together and launched a concentrated blast of flame.

  Red Cape crossed his arms, mustering every drop of his remaining energy to form a barrier. The flame blast struck, deflecting him violently through the air. But because of Lucien’s intention not to kill him, he was left alive.

  As he was thrown back, Red Cape bent his knees in midair, altering his trajectory one last time. He opened his hand, shouting, "Lighting Shower!" A tunnel of concentrated lightning strikes filled the sky, targeting Lucien's flaming body.

  Lucien responded by bursting a circular wave of flame around himself, eradicating the lightning and causing a secondary explosion that lit up the night.

  Red Cape, almost entirely out of energy, saw Lucien point two fingers at him. A thin, precise ray of flame shot forth.

  With his last strength, Red Cape raised a faltering shield. The ray struck him, and he fell, crashing onto the hard ground of a vacant lot, completely drained and beaten.

  Red Cape stood up, his body screaming in protest, his breathing a ragged gasp. He had lost his spear mid-fight. He needed to get to a hidden alley, to disappear before sunrise revealed his battered state.

  He took a pained step, then froze. An intimidating presence materialized directly behind him. He turned his head slowly.

  It was Lucien, holding his spear.

  He then threw the weapon back to him. The voice that spoke was purposeful and altered, a low, synthesized rumble. "I have nothing to do with those two guys or anyone you know. If anything, consider me a neutral observer. Nothing more."

  In the blink of an eye, he was gone.

  Lucien had left him alive for two logical reasons: first, He had provided the inspiration for a new, powerful application of his New powers, and the second was to clarify his neutral stance. It was the most efficient way to avoid further entanglements in the town's petty conflicts for now.

  Red Cape took his spear. As he walked, the adrenaline faded, replaced by a crushing wave of exhaustion and frustration.

  "What the fuck was that? Damn," he muttered to the empty street. With a final effort, he channeled a flicker of energy and vanished into the shadows, using the hidden backdoors and passages he had mapped out for himself.

  Once inside the safety of his home, he let out a heavy sigh of relief. "Damn. It was my debut day, and I lost miserably to some silent observer. Fuck it."

  In his bedroom, Liam pulled off the knight's helmet. He unbuckled the belt holding his sword, placing both it and the spear into a reinforced hidden compartment. He went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, staring at his reflection.

  "It was definitely exciting, though. I took out many rings today. For day one, it's good, maybe. But seriously, I need to do something about the killer."

  After a long, contemplative bath, he went straight to his study, lit a lamp, and began to jot down his deductions.

  “First and foremost, the main guy responsible for the serial killings is most probably that man with the staff—at least, that’s what my assumption and gut are telling me. Second, that yellow bird mask guy isn’t Frode for sure. Frode is on his own level. While he was strong, he wasn’t on par with the Green Weaver. But he was angry at the staff guy for calling him a copycat. That staff guy was copying Frode—the Green Weaver and yellow bird mask is not Frode. So why was he angry.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Frode likes to make art out of his victims. Many twisted minds admire his work, and some even go as far as creating their own. That’s it—he’s probably just a fan of Frode. Though those who adore Frode’s art never dare to copy him—that would be plagiarism. Maybe that’s why he was angry. Still, a normal killer shouldn’t be this strong. The only plausible reason is that he’s a member of the Weaver’s Club—a lesser-known group of serial killers who call themselves artists. They’re heavily inspired by the Green Weaver and worship him like a god. That makes sense—they must have hated the idea of a copycat pretending to be the Green Weaver.”

  “But I don’t think that’s the whole picture. I’m pretty sure there’s another killer completely unrelated to any of them. Whoever that is, must be responsible for most of the cases in this town. The question is, who started the chain? Was it the staff guy or the other one?”

  “Moving on—that guy, an observer? Yeah, right. Let’s see how long you can keep pretending to be an observer.”

  Once his writing was done, he leaned back. "Yep. That's it. If I want the truth, I have to find the real identities of these guys and pinpoint any other suspicious players."

  With a newfound, grim confidence, he stood and walked toward his bed. But before he moved, his eyes fell on a worn, carefully preserved clipping tacked to his wall. It was a piece of newspaper, the thing that had finally given him the idea to become Red Cape.

  The headline was stark. Alteria Slum in Ruins, Unknown Savior Thwarts Monster Onslaught. The article detailed how a coordinated monster attack had devastated the slum and several major towns.

  While official were delayed, tied up defending more affluent districts, someone had emerged in the heart of the carnage.

  A figure in a simple silver mask and white cloth, with no name and no affiliation, had fought back the tide alone, saving countless lives.

  That event had solved a major confusion and dilemma burning within Liam. It had given him an answer he accepted with grace. The path of the masked vigilante, operating from the shadows, was the one that fit him most. It was the purpose he needed.

  He reached out and touched the edge of the yellowed paper, a quiet oath solidifying in his heart.

  The thought of the mysterious, fiery observer flickered in his mind, no longer just as a rival, but as a benchmark.

  Then, exhaustion finally claimed him. He walked to his bed and fell onto it, sinking into a deep, dreamless sleep like a log, his body and spirit utterly spent.

  [At Emily's Mansion]

  Sunlight graced the town as dawn arrived. In a quiet bedroom, Pelta’s consciousness fully synced with her clone. She opened her eyes, her systems booting up to a full diagnostic scan of her surroundings.

  She found herself in a stranger’s bed, being held tightly. Emily was hugging her in her sleep, a protective, caring embrace.

  Feeling the movement, Emily stirred and opened her eyes. Seeing Pelta was awake, she smiled warmly, her touch gentle as she brushed a strand of hair from Pelta’s face. “You can sleep more,” she whispered.

  “No. That would be inappropriate,” Pelta stated, her voice analytical. “It seems I have already greatly bothered you and caused you pain.”

  Emily’s smile widened, a genuine, heartfelt expression. “You silly girl. Of course, you didn’t. If anything, you brought me a great deal of joy.” She began to squeeze Pelta’s cheeks affectionately, then pulled her into a tight, cuddling embrace.

  Pelta observed the behavior. Her response was a simple, logical query based on observed familial patterns. “Hmm. Could it be that you are my elder sister?”

  The words struck Emily right in the heart. Her eyes glistened as she let out a soft, emotional sound and proceeded to cuddle Pelta like a madwoman, the last shred of her restraint barely preventing her from covering the girl’s face in kisses.

  After a while, they finally decided to get ready and go downstairs.

  “Oh! You didn’t eat anything yesterday,” Emily exclaimed, a note of sudden concern in her voice. “You must be starving. Wait, I will make something for you quickly.”

  “You do not have to go that far. I believe you are already quite busy. Should I help with your chores?” Pelta offered, her tone practical.

  Emily laughed, a light, happy sound. “Don’t talk like that. You said I am your sister, right? Then talk to me like one. And I am also quite hungry, so it is not an issue for me.”

  Together, Pelta and Emily reached the downstairs of the mansion, the morning light streaming through the windows.

  As they came downstairs, a growing realization dawned on Emily. She had felt it in the corridor—the unusual cleanliness, the absence of dust. Reaching the first floor confirmed it.

  The mansion was spotless.

  She looked around, her eyes wide. The floors gleamed, the walls and shelves were wiped clean, and not a single cobweb clung to the corners of the high ceilings.

  She hurried to the kitchen. Every surface shone, all the utensils were washed and put away. A pot of tea was still warm on the stove, and a plate of fluffy omelets sat waiting. There were no dirty dishes in the sink.

  She rushed back upstairs to check the other rooms, then returned to the main hall, her expression one of pure bewilderment. "All of it... has been cleaned," she murmured. Not only were half of her daily chores gone, but someone had also gone ahead and cleaned the entire house thoroughly.

  She entered the living room, which was equally immaculate. Finn sat in one chair, sipping tea, while Ultimare lounged in another.

  Finn looked up. "Good morning, sister." His gaze shifted to Pelta. "Oh, you are awake as well. Good morning, Pelta."

  Ultimare offered a charming smile. "Good morning to both of you."

  "Good morning," Pelta replied.

  Emily, still trying to process the scene, asked, "Did you two... clean all of this? And arrange everything?"

  Finn nodded calmly. "Oh, yes, we did. My apologies if it looked like we were trespassing. We did not have much to do to pass time, so we took the liberty."

  "Indeed," Ultimare added smoothly. "I also trimmed the front and back yards and watered your flowers and trees. I was thinking of doing some more laundry next. I have already done mine and Finn have done his. I went a little ahead and cooked some tea and eggs. Would you like some?"

  Emily's confusion only deepened. "You really didn't need to do any of this. I would have done it."

  Ultimare laughed lightly. "Oh, come now. I was just bored, nothing else. In fact, tell us what other chores you have. We will do them for you." His smile turned warm, yet carried a subtle, brotherly authority. "I can't be a burden on my little sister, can I?"

  "No, you really don't need to," Emily insisted.

  "Come, sit and eat his omelet," Finn interjected, pushing his own plate toward her. "Ultimare rarely cooks anything. This is a rare moment."

  Under their gentle but firm pressure, Emily finally sat. She took a bite. It was surprisingly good.

  Pelta, observing the exchange, stated logically, "I should also assist in some chores."

  "Leave it," Finn said dismissively, but kindly.

  At the same time, Emily grabbed Pelta's hand, pulled her down to sit beside her, and fed her a forkful of the omelet.

  "Hmm, you two are sure getting along," Ultimare noted, his eyes twinkling.

  "Of course we are," Emily said, a protective arm around Pelta. "Did he... I mean, did Brother Lucien wake up as well?"

  Finn stood as he answered. "He was the first one to wake. Currently, he is in the backyard, picking some mulberries. Ever since he found out you have a tree."

  Emily's face lit up with a genuine smile. "Does he like mulberries? I can make dishes with them for him."

  " 'Like' is an understatement," Ultimare clarified, standing to follow Finn. "It is one of his favorite foods. He can eat as much as possible. You should worry how long your tree will last."

  Emily laughed softly. "Thanks for telling me."

  Finn looked to Emily. "Could you open the rest of the available rooms? I would like to clean them quickly and unload the luggage."

  "Of course," Emily replied. "I have the whole day off. I can assist you."

  "That will not be needed," Ultimare assured her. "We will finish everything within a few hours. Do not worry."

  The two brothers left the room. Pelta silently watched them go, still held firmly by Emily's side like a beloved plush toy.

  Once they were alone, Emily looked down at Pelta, her expression softening into a conspiratorial whisper. "Hey... wanna go outside with me? We can leave them to their cleaning frenzy."

  Finn and Ultimare walked toward the backyard. As they moved, their communication shifted to their private, mental channel made especially for sinclairs.

  Finn:"So, what is the plan? We are not going to just keep playing house here while waiting for the event."

  Ultimare:"Obviously not. We need to plan for the future, and for that, proper analysis and a secure operational base are essential. Once I set up my room, I will begin low-level activities. But a single room is insufficient. You know what to do, right?"

  Finn:"I know, I know. If we lack space, we simply make more. Lucien has already mapped the city, and I have thoroughly scanned the property's substructure as he requested. My plan is to create a hidden complex deep underground. I will guide roots and soil, creating a hollow seven kilometers down. Within that cavity, I will use my abilities to form a large, structured complex from reinforced, living wood. It will be tough enough to withstand extreme heat and energy fluctuations."

  Ultimare:"And the security?"

  Finn:"The depth itself is the primary defense. It is extremely rare for anyone to sense anything five kilometers down, let alone seven. To be certain, I will make the structure very thick, and we can also layer it with artifacts and tools for dampening. The complex will be undetectable."

  Ultimare:"Hmm. That is acceptable. How much time will it take?"

  Finn:"Three days if I work simultaneously on other tasks. One night and half a day if I focus entirely."

  Ultimare:"Good."

  They reached the backyard. The carriage stood to the side, where Eisen was unloading supplies. Nearby, Lucien sat leaning against the trunk of the mulberry tree, a picture of calm indulgence.

  As Finn and Ultimare approached, a single, clear thought from Lucien brushed against Finn's mind, carrying the weight of a direct order.

  Lucien:"Use this place as the starting point."

  Finn gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment.

  Lucien popped another mulberry into his mouth, his gaze distant, as if he were already visualizing the secret fortress that would soon burrow deep beneath the peaceful garden.