Journey to Become the Zenith

A Finger Against the World

The three rulers of Fantom City’s underworld were now face to face with Victor.

The air inside the western district’s abandoned hall felt thick, heavy with dust and the faint scent of iron. Lanternlight trembled against cracked walls, shadows bending and stretching like nervous spectators waiting for judgment. Outside, the city murmured in the distance, unaware that its balance of power was tilting.

They stared at the very handsome young man before them, each harboring different thoughts, different fears.

Gian—known in whispers as Night—felt something close to vertigo. He had built his reputation in silence, in darkness. Assassins lived by instinct, and his instincts were screaming.

Brinda, who had been subdued by Lane’s sudden spell, stood rigid, shivering ever so slightly. Her long purple hair spilled over her shoulders, her violet eyes wide—not with wounded pride, but with raw caution.

Unlike the other two, who could only speculate how strong Victor was, Brinda could feel him.

Mana wasn’t visible to ordinary eyes, but to someone like her—an advanced mage by the standards of the Skyfall Kingdom—it was as clear as sunlight.

Victor’s mana was immense.

Not merely large.

Dense.

Heavy.

It pressed against the air like a deep ocean trench, swallowing light, swallowing sound. It wasn’t wild or explosive. It was controlled. Contained. And that made it far more terrifying.

Even monsters with greater mana capacity than most humans lacked that kind of refinement. His mana didn’t flare—it coiled.

It felt as though it could devour everything within its reach if he allowed it.

And then there was the other one standing near him—Videl, with her long blonde hair and sapphire eyes burning with restrained intensity. She radiated strength as well. And Lane, expressionless, composed.

Among the three of them, Lane—the one who had frozen Brinda earlier—felt like the weakest.

That realization unsettled her more than anything.

What the hell are these monsters...

Damn it... I could try to seduce the one who looks like their leader... Her gaze lingered briefly on Victor’s sharp features, his golden eyes calm and unreadable. But if I misjudge even slightly... I’ll die instantly.

Her pulse fluttered in her throat.

No choice. I’ll align myself with them. And if an opportunity appears... I’ll stay close to the strongest one.

As Brinda weighed her survival options, Eon—the former ruler of the southern district, once called the Ox King—groaned and stirred.

He blinked once.

Twice.

And then fury flooded his veins.

He didn’t think.

He didn’t assess.

He attacked.

With a roar that shook dust from the rafters, Eon launched himself at Victor. His massive frame moved with surprising speed, muscles tightening as he drove his fist forward with full force.

The blow could shatter plate armor. It had reduced boulders to gravel.

Victor raised one hand.

One finger.

And stopped the strike.

The sound that echoed through the hall was not of impact—but of interruption.

Eon’s knuckles pressed against Victor’s fingertip.

And stopped.

The ground beneath Eon’s feet cracked from the force he had poured into the strike. His veins bulged. His teeth ground together.

Victor did not move.

Not an inch.

Eon’s eyes widened, disbelief tearing through his anger.

Gian’s breath caught.

He knew Eon well. The man’s mana was pitiful—but his brute strength? That was his pride. His only true weapon.

And yet—

Dismissed.

Casually.

Victor tilted his head slightly, studying Eon as if observing a curious insect.

”It seems like you are the weakest among the three,” he said calmly. His voice wasn’t mocking. It was analytical. ”Still, your raw strength is somewhat impressive.”

His golden eyes sharpened.

”Yet your mana is barely even there. How intriguing. I wonder why your mana capacity is even lower than that of a child...”

The words were spoken without contempt.

Which somehow made them worse.

Eon’s face turned crimson.

”F*ck! Are you looking down on me?!”

He withdrew his arm and attacked again—this time unleashing a flurry. Punches. Kicks. Elbows. Each strike carried enough force to cripple a seasoned warrior.

Victor lifted his hand again.

One finger.

He blocked the first punch.

Shifted slightly—deflected a kick.

Tilted his wrist—redirected an elbow.

Every impact echoed like thunder in the hall, yet Victor’s posture remained relaxed. His black hair barely moved. His golden eyes remained thoughtful.

Not fighting.

Observing.

Eon’s breathing grew ragged. His fists struck nothing but inevitability.

He’s not even using mana to block... Gian realized, cold sweat forming at his back. He’s just... precise.

Victor’s mind, meanwhile, drifted deeper.

There’s something interfering with his mana flow.

He watched carefully as Eon attacked again, sensing the stagnation within the man’s internal pathways.

The natural circulation is obstructed. Not damaged. Blocked.

A faint smile tugged at his lips.

This is a curse. And not a crude one either.

He parried another blow with a flick of his finger.

Complex layering. Suppression runes embedded into his core. Whoever cast this knew what they were doing.

Eon lunged again in desperation. Victor sidestepped, tapping his wrist lightly. The larger man stumbled forward, crashing into a cracked pillar.

First Bianca, the shop owner with hidden depth... then Isabella at the guild... and now this.

Victor’s eyes gleamed.

There are powerful humans hiding everywhere.

A low chuckle escaped him.

Hehehe... I can’t wait to battle them all.

Across the room, Brinda swallowed.

He was smiling.

But it wasn’t arrogance.

It was anticipation.

And that frightened her more than cruelty ever could.

Gian finally stepped forward slightly, unable to stay silent.

”You’re... not even serious, are you?” Night muttered, voice tight.

Victor’s gaze shifted toward him briefly—sharp, assessing.

”Serious?” he echoed softly. ”No. Not yet.”

Eon roared again and charged, but Victor finally moved.

His finger pressed lightly against Eon’s chest.

Just a tap.

The air detonated.

A shockwave rippled outward. The floor fractured in spiderweb patterns. Eon’s massive body flew backward, smashing through a wooden table before skidding across stone.

Silence fell.

Heavy.

Eon groaned, barely conscious.

Victor lowered his hand.

”I don’t look down on you,” he said evenly. ”I’m simply trying to understand you.”

He walked slowly toward the fallen brute, boots scraping softly against debris.

”You’ve been shackled. Not physically. Internally.”

Eon’s eyes flickered in confusion.

Victor crouched slightly, studying him more closely.

”Tell me,” he murmured. ”Who cursed you?”

The hall remained breathless.

Even Night felt his pulse thunder in his ears.

Because for the first time—

He understood something clearly.

This wasn’t just a power struggle.

Victor wasn’t merely conquering.

He was collecting.

Studying.

Preparing.

And whatever future he was walking toward—

Fantom City was only the beginning.