Journey to Become the Zenith

The Fall of the Ox King

A man was sitting in a chair, sharpening his sword.

The scraping sound of whetstone against steel echoed through the dim chamber, slow and steady—like the breathing of a beast at rest.

He was massive.

Muscles layered upon muscles stretched beneath rough leather armor. Veins coiled across his forearms like knotted ropes. His mana was scarce—barely a flicker compared to true fighters—but what he lacked in mystical energy, he compensated with monstrous physical power. With raw strength alone, he could crush boulders into powder.

This man was Eon.

Known throughout Fantom City’s southern district as The Ox King.

The southern district was filth incarnate. Mud-clogged alleys. Rotting refuse. The stench of cheap liquor and desperation. Thieves, slave traders, beggars—they all nested here like rats beneath the polished floors of noble estates.

Yet irony ruled the world.

For when nobles desired something done without witnesses—without honor—they came here.

Which was why the district had never been truly eradicated.

It was ugly.

But useful.

Eon continued sharpening his blade, eyes half-lidded, when the door burst open.

”Boss! There’s someone attacking all our hideouts!”

The whetstone stopped mid-stroke.

Eon lifted his head slowly, black eyes narrowing.

”Is it the knights?” His voice was deep, gravel dragged across stone. ”Have they finally decided to attack us? How many are there?”

”No, Boss. It’s not the knights. It’s someone else.”

Eon clicked his tongue.

”Is it that night bstard? Or that lusty btch? Isn’t their territory enough for them? Are they eyeing mine now?”

Killing intent bled from him—not refined like a mage’s aura, but primal, heavy.

”No, it’s neither of them, Boss. It’s someone else.”

Eon stood.

The chair groaned in relief.

”Another faction? How many men do they have?”

The subordinate hesitated.

”Just... one?”

Silence.

Eon blinked once.

”What?” His voice dropped dangerously low. ”One person? Just one person and you’re trembling like a frightened child? How much damage could one person do?”

”He already f—”

The sentence never finished.

A blunt impact struck the back of the subordinate’s skull.

He collapsed instantly.

Unconscious.

Eon’s instincts roared to life.

He spun—

And saw her.

A blonde girl stood a few steps behind him.

Long golden hair fell down her back. Blue sapphire eyes, cold and focused. Her frame looked slender—almost fragile compared to his towering build.

Yet something about her presence disturbed him.

She wasn’t breathing heavily.

She wasn’t nervous.

She simply... stood.

”You,” Eon growled. ”Who are you? Why are you attacking my territory?”

He stepped forward, intentionally looming. He was nearly a head taller, twice as broad.

Most would falter.

She didn’t.

”I don’t have time to talk,” Videl replied evenly. ”Since you claim this is your territory, I assume you are Eon—the Ox King.”

His lips curled.

”Hmph. Arrogant little brat. I am the Ox King an—”

He never finished.

The world blurred.

Videl vanished from his sight.

For a man who prided himself on physical dominance, not seeing an opponent move was unthinkable.

A sharp impact exploded at the back of his head.

Stars erupted across his vision.

He staggered forward—but didn’t fall.

His knees buckled.

He roared and swung blindly.

The blade cut through air.

Videl was already behind him again.

Fast.

Too fast.

”Fragile...” he muttered under his breath.

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she stepped in.

A precise kick to the back of his knee.

His leg gave.

He twisted, trying to grab her arm—if he caught her once, it would be over.

His hand brushed fabric—

She twisted away like silk in the wind.

Then—

Another strike.

This time not to knock him out.

But to test.

She hit his ribs.

The sound was solid—like striking iron.

Pain flared in her knuckles.

He’s durable.

Eon grinned despite dizziness.

”So you’re not just quick... you hit hard too.”

Blood trickled from his scalp.

He lunged.

Not refined.

Not elegant.

But devastating.

The floor cracked under his charge.

Videl sidestepped barely in time.

The wall behind her shattered from his shoulder impact.

Dust filled the room.

Eon swung horizontally—

She ducked.

The blade shaved strands of her hair.

Her heart pounded.

Victor was right.

Brute strength had its own weight.

She inhaled.

Centered herself.

She didn’t want to kill him.

Not yet.

Victor’s plan required control.

Eon charged again.

This time she didn’t evade completely.

She met him head-on.

Their bodies collided—

The impact sent shockwaves across the floor.

Eon’s eyes widened.

She blocked him.

With far less mass.

Mana reinforced her limbs.

Precision over power.

He tried to overpower her.

She shifted her stance, redirecting force.

His own momentum turned against him.

Her elbow slammed into his jaw.

Crack.

His head snapped sideways.

He stumbled.

Before he could recover—

Her fist struck the same spot she had hit earlier at the back of his skull.

This time she didn’t hold back.

The force was surgical.

Focused.

Precise.

Eon’s massive frame swayed.

His vision dimmed.

His final thought wasn’t fear.

It was confusion.

How... is this fragile girl beating me...?

Darkness swallowed him.

He collapsed.

The floor trembled from the fall.

Silence returned to the chamber.

Dust settled slowly.

Videl stood over him, chest rising and falling.

Her fists trembled slightly—not from exhaustion.

From restraint.

She looked down at the unconscious Ox King.

Her blue eyes hardened.

”I would’ve killed you for your crimes,” she murmured quietly, ”but the fate waiting for you may lead you toward redemption.”

The words tasted bitter.

Redemption.

Did monsters deserve it?

Victor believed in controlling darkness.

She believed in justice.

She exhaled slowly.

Then bent down.

Gripped Eon’s collar.

And began dragging the massive body across the floor.

The sound echoed through the broken hideout.

Outside, Fantom City’s southern district continued breathing its filth-stained rhythm.

Unaware that its ruler had fallen.

And unaware that a new hand was about to reach into its shadows.

Not to destroy them.

But to claim them.

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