Journey to Become the Zenith

Scene of Flickering Temptations

When everyone heard what Victor said, their reactions diverged like shadows splitting under torchlight.

Brinda — once known as the ruler of Fantom City’s northern district — was the first to respond. Her lips curved into that practiced, honeyed smile of hers.

”If that is what you wish, my master.”

She let the word linger.

Master.

Soft. Intimate. Intentional.

She had dealt with countless men. Powerful men. Weak men. Arrogant nobles and desperate criminals. And based solely on Victor’s appearance — sharp features, black hair falling just above golden eyes still too young for the weight they carried — he looked like a sixteen-year-old boy stepping into a storm far too large for him.

So she tested him.

”Master.”

Again.

Yet mentally, Victor remained unmoved. In another life — in another world — he had heard the same tone from women far more refined, far more dangerous. Flattery did not shake him.

But this body...

This human body betrayed him in ways his mind did not.

A faint stiffness passed through him — a physical response he could neither deny nor completely suppress. His jaw tightened slightly.

Annoying.

He hated how reactive this mortal vessel was.

He did not shift. Did not break composure.

But two people noticed.

Lane.

And Videl.

They had always observed him carefully — not out of suspicion, but something deeper. Something quieter.

Lane’s dark eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

Videl’s sapphire gaze flickered toward Brinda, then back to Victor’s expression — reading him in a way no one else could.

Lane’s thoughts turned sharp.

What the hell is that woman doing?

Her fingers curled faintly at her sides.

Videl, meanwhile, stared at Brinda with a calm, almost painfully neutral expression. But beneath it, something stirred.

She’s doing it on purpose...

Her chest felt tight — not jealousy exactly. Not fully.

But something uncomfortable.

Brinda’s posture. The tilt of her chin. The subtle lean of her body when she spoke.

Lane wanted to strike her.

Videl wanted to look away.

Neither moved.

Victor shifted his attention deliberately, as if dismissing the entire exchange.

”Gian,” he said calmly, using the assassin’s true name. ”I want you to take some of the thieves and beggars in the southern district and teach them how to become competent assassins. Aside from that, you can continue your assassination work as per normal.”

Gian blinked.

”Huh? You want me to train other people to become assassins? How do I do that? I haven’t trained anyone before... I don’t even know where to start.”

Victor folded his arms lightly.

”Just train them how you see fit. Or, if someone taught you the way of assassination, train them the same way your master taught you.”

Gian exhaled through his nose.

”I’ll try. But don’t blame me if the results aren’t good.”

”Just try it out for now,” Victor replied evenly. ”We’ll see how we can improve your training regimen later.”

He truly did not mind if Gian succeeded or failed.

There were layers to this move.

He turned to Eon next — the former Ox King, massive and silent.

”As for you,” Victor continued, ”assign a man for each of our new information dealers. I want your people to protect them as they buy and sell information.”

Eon nodded firmly.

”And tell your men to stop stealing. I will give you a salary. I’ll hand you the money tomorrow — you decide how to distribute it. I will send you two some funds as well.”

His golden eyes scanned the three of them.

”Just do as you’re told, and we’ll get along just fine.”

”I will follow your command,” Eon answered without hesitation.

Brinda inclined her head gracefully.

Gian nodded once.

Victor then outlined broader strokes of his long-term plans — supply lines, influence networks, information control. It took half the night. Lanterns burned lower. Shadows deepened.

By the time he finished, silence felt heavy — not oppressive, but charged.

They parted ways.

Brinda lingered.

She stepped closer to Victor, voice lowering.

”If my master requires assistance tonight,” she whispered near his ear, ”I would gladly fulfill my duties.”

Lane moved before she even realized it.

”That won’t be necessary,” Lane said coolly.

Videl stepped beside her, gentle but firm.

”He has no need for that.”

Brinda’s purple eyes flicked between the two girls, amused.

How adorable.

”Maybe next time then.”

She walked away with a slow sway of confidence.

Lane and Videl watched her leave — both silently furious.

Victor exhaled once, internally.

This body...

He rubbed the bridge of his nose subtly.

Next time I should return to the inn sooner. If I stay between the two of them long enough, maybe this ridiculous physical reaction will calm down.

He almost sighed aloud.

Instead, the three of them returned toward the inn.

Waiting outside was Aria.

Her black hair shimmered under the lantern light. Green eyes — sharp, alive — fixed immediately on Victor.

She straightened the moment she saw them.

”Aria—” Videl began gently, but corrected herself. ”Aria. We solved your problem about being a slave. You’re a free person again. So... what do you plan to do now?”

Aria’s eyes lingered on Victor’s face a heartbeat too long before she lowered them.

”...Umm, I just need to do something in my village. Once I’m done with that... I... I want to stay with you, Lady Videl. Can I stay with you, Lady Videl?”

She bowed her head deeply.

Videl froze.

Victor and Lane exchanged a knowing glance.

They had expected this.

Videl hesitated, choosing her words carefully.

”Aria... I don’t think you can come with me. The path I take is harsh. You need strength to follow. As of now... you don’t have that strength.”

Aria’s fingers tightened around Videl’s hand.

Her hands trembled.

”Please, Lady Videl! I have nowhere else to go. My village is gone. The people I care for are dead... I... I have no one else... No one...”

Her voice broke.

Her gaze flickered upward — briefly, unconsciously — toward Victor.

She remembered the first time she saw him. The calm dominance. The way he had stepped forward without hesitation. The way he had looked at her not as property — but as a person.

I want to see where he goes...

Not to manipulate. Not to cling.

Just to witness.

To walk behind that overwhelming presence and see how far it would reach.

”...Please,” she whispered. ”You’re my only hope.”

Tears fell freely now.

Passersby slowed, glancing curiously at the crying girl in front of the inn.

The night air felt colder.

And the moment hung — fragile and heavy — beneath the dim lantern glow.