Chapter 59: Years of hatred

Rovan was still a third-year student when he first encountered Valthazar Stitch. Back then, he had been younger, less experienced, and far too confident in his abilities.

He and his best friend had been assigned to assist with an investigation in a small town where a series of thefts had left the local merchants terrified. Several valuable objects had disappeared from locked buildings, and witnesses reported seeing a cloaked figure moving through the streets after midnight.

At first, the case seemed simple.

The two students expected to identify a thief, gather evidence, and turn the culprit over to the local authorities. Instead, their investigation led them to an abandoned building on the outskirts of town.

The place was filled with strange symbols.

Some had been carved into the walls, while others had been drawn across the floor using substances Rovan had been unable to identify at the time.

Then they heard a noise from the basement.

A faint metallic sound.

Followed by a scream.

Rovan and his friend descended without waiting for reinforcements. They found Valthazar standing in the middle of a room filled with scattered tools and broken restraints. Several people lay unconscious nearby.

Some were thieves who had disappeared during the previous weeks. Others appeared to have been captured from surrounding settlements.

Valthazar had been conducting experiments on them.

The moment the two students entered, he turned toward them. His eyes had glowed crimson even then.

Rovan remembered the way his friend had stepped forward without hesitation.

"We’re taking you into custody," his friend had declared.

Valthazar laughed.

That was the beginning of the worst night of Rovan’s life.

They fought together, combining their techniques to overwhelm the criminal before he could escape. For a brief moment, their coordination had even forced Valthazar to retreat.

But they had underestimated him. Valthazar’s dark magic disrupted their mana circulation, turning their strongest techniques against them. He isolated them, dismantled their defenses, and gradually wore them down.

Eventually, both students fell. Rovan remembered struggling to rise while Valthazar dragged his friend across the floor.

He remembered his friend’s desperate attempts to resist. He remembered the sound of restraints tightening. And he remembered Valthazar’s voice as he explained, with chilling indifference, that their decision to interfere had made them responsible for what happened next.

Rovan had tried to save him.

He had crawled across the floor, ignoring the pain in his shattered arm and the blood running into his eyes.

Valthazar had stopped him with a single spell.

Then the torture began.

Rovan had been forced to watch as his best friend suffered at the hands of the very criminal they had tried to apprehend.

He remembered the screams. He remembered the pleas. And he remembered the moment the room finally fell silent.

By then, Rovan could no longer stand.

He had believed he would die there as well.

Only the unexpected arrival of a group of high-ranking adventurers had saved him. They had tracked the missing townspeople to the abandoned building and arrived before Valthazar could finish with his remaining victims.

The criminal escaped during the confusion.

Rovan survived.

His best friend did not.

In the weeks that followed, Rovan struggled to recover physically. But the injuries that troubled him most were the ones that no healer could treat. He could not forget the expression on his friend’s face.

He could not forget the helplessness that had consumed him. And he could not forgive himself for surviving when the person who had trusted him had died. When he finally returned to training, he made a promise.

He would never again allow himself to be so powerless.

He would never stop improving.

And if he ever encountered Valthazar Stitch again, he would make the criminal pay for everything he had done.

From that day onward, Rovan trained relentlessly.

He refined his swordsmanship, studied advanced mana manipulation, and developed techniques specifically designed to overcome opponents who disrupted conventional magic.

He never missed a day of training. Even when his body ached, even when his instructors told him to rest, he continued. He had no guarantee that their paths would cross again. But he refused to let the possibility pass without being prepared.

Years went by.

Valthazar remained at large, and the Black Veil Covenant continued to operate from the shadows.

Rovan eventually became an instructor, dedicating himself to training students and protecting those who lacked the strength to defend themselves.

Yet the memory never disappeared.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he continued to hope that the day would come when he could face Valthazar again to settle the score.

He had simply never imagined that it would happen like this.

"You’re still alive."

Rovan’s voice sounded strangely calm.

Valthazar tilted his head.

"Disappointed?"

Rovan raised his sword.

"No."

His eyes hardened.

"Just surprised that you haven’t found someone else to torture."

Valthazar laughed.

"I’m quite happy. Happy that no one but me will be the one to kill you."

Valthazar’s crimson eyes narrowed with amusement.

"How long has it been? Eight years? Nine?"

Rovan’s expression darkened.

"You remember."

"Of course I do."

Valthazar spread his arms, revealing more of the grotesque stitches crossing his pale body.

"I remember all my interesting experiments."

Rovan’s grip tightened around his sword until his knuckles turned white.

The air around him changed. Until now, his anger had been mixed with desperation. He had been fighting to reach the barrier and save the students trapped inside.

Now something colder had taken hold of him. His mana began to circulate with frightening precision, compressing around his body and flowing into his sword.

The pressure forced Garrick to take a step back.

He had seen Rovan some times, but he had rarely felt this kind of hostility radiating from him. It wasn’t uncontrolled rage.

It was a focused hatred.

Garrick immediately moved closer.

"Rovan, whatever history you have with this man, don’t let it cloud your judgment. We’ll fight him together."

Rovan shook his head.

"No."

Garrick stared at him.

"Are you serious?"

"This fight belongs to me. I waited for this for many years."

"But you’re already injured!"

"Not that much. My body is perfectly fine."

Rovan didn’t take his eyes off Valthazar.

"Besides, I won’t ask you to settle a debt that belongs to me."

Garrick’s expression tightened.

"Your personal history doesn’t change the situation. He’s a threat to all of us, and we’re stronger together."

Rovan understood the argument.

Under ordinary circumstances, he would have agreed without hesitation. But Valthazar wasn’t an ordinary opponent.

He knew how the man fought. He knew how his magic operated, how he manipulated his opponents, and how quickly he exploited even the smallest mistakes.

More importantly, Valthazar had killed his best friend. Rovan had spent years preparing for this moment. He couldn’t allow the fight to become another memory of helplessness.

"Trust me," he said quietly.

Garrick was about to disagree, but seeing Rovan’s firm face, he hesitated.

"Keep the others safe. If I need help, I’ll ask for it."

The two men stared at one another.

Finally, Garrick stepped back.

"Don’t make me regret this."

Rovan nodded once.

Then he turned toward Valthazar.

The purple mana surrounding his sword grew brighter.

"Let’s finish what we started."

Valthazar’s shoulders shook with laughter.

"Wonderful. I’ve always wanted to see what became of the little student who crawled across the floor begging me to spare his friend."

The clearing fell silent.

Rovan’s face became completely still.

Valthazar had deliberately chosen those words. He wanted to provoke him, to drag him back into the helplessness he had experienced all those years ago.

But Rovan was no longer that student. He had spent years turning his regret into strength. And he intended to make Valthazar understand the difference.

Rovan lowered his stance.

His sword angled toward the ground, and the mana surrounding its blade compressed into a narrow, purple-gold line.

Valthazar’s smile widened.

"Oh? You learned something new."

Rovan moved.

The first strike came so quickly that Valthazar barely raised his arm in time. The blade collided with his dark magic, sending sparks and crimson fragments scattering through the air.

Valthazar twisted away, attempting to redirect the attack.

Rovan anticipated the movement.

He changed the angle of his sword halfway through the swing, forcing Valthazar to abandon his counter and retreat.

A second strike followed.

Then a third.

Rovan’s swordsmanship had changed dramatically since their last encounter. His movements were tighter, his transitions smoother, and his mana control far more precise.

Every attack was designed to test a different part of Valthazar’s defense.

When the criminal attempted to disrupt the mana surrounding the blade, Rovan shifted his energy inward, reinforcing the weapon’s physical edge rather than relying entirely on its magical coating.

When Valthazar formed a barrier, Rovan struck the connecting points of the formation instead of wasting strength against its surface. And when the criminal attempted to draw him into close combat, Rovan used carefully timed bursts of mana to alter his own momentum, preventing Valthazar from controlling the exchange as he had before.

For the first time, Valthazar was forced to defend himself repeatedly. His laughter gradually faded.

Rovan’s blade swept toward his neck.

Valthazar leaned backward, but the edge still cut through the remaining fabric around his shoulder.

The dark cloth split apart. A larger section fell away, exposing his upper chest. The pale skin beneath was covered in thick stitches, some running vertically along his torso while others crossed his ribs and collarbone. Several marks appeared newer than the rest, their edges still dark against his unnatural pallor.

Rovan’s stomach tightened.

The sight confirmed what he had suspected.

This wasn’t merely a disguise.

Valthazar’s body had been altered through some form of forbidden procedure, and the dark magic surrounding him was connected to whatever had been done.

The criminal noticed Rovan staring.

His crimson eyes narrowed.

"Do you like what you see?"

Rovan’s expression hardened.

"What did you do to yourself?"

Valthazar laughed.

"What makes you think I did it to myself?"

Before Rovan could respond, the criminal thrust his hand forward. A dense cluster of dark symbols appeared around his wrist. The surrounding mana twisted violently, forming a black spear that shot toward Rovan’s chest.

Rovan pivoted aside. The spear passed through the space he had occupied and struck a tree behind him.

The trunk split apart.

Before the fragments could fall, the spear dissolved into dark mist, which immediately spread toward Rovan. He recognized the danger and swept his sword through the air.

A concentrated arc of mana dispersed the mist before it could reach him. But Valthazar was already moving. He appeared at Rovan’s side and drove an elbow toward his head.

Rovan blocked with his forearm.

The impact sent a jolt through his injured arm, but he held his position and countered with a short thrust toward Valthazar’s abdomen. The criminal twisted aside.

The sword cut across his pale skin, leaving another thin wound.

Valthazar’s crimson eyes gleamed.

"You’re not the same frightened boy anymore."

Rovan’s voice was cold.

"Since that day, I’ve been working my ass off like hell just for this day."

He stepped forward.

"I’m the man who’s going to kill you."

Their weapons collided again. This time, neither opponent retreated. Dark magic spread across Valthazar’s arm while purple-gold mana gathered around Rovan’s blade. The two energies ground against each other, sending sparks through the clearing.

Rovan felt the familiar pressure of Veyrath’s magic attempting to invade his mana circulation. But he had prepared for this.

He altered the flow of his mana, dividing it into several tightly controlled currents that moved independently through his body. When the dark energy disrupted one current, the others continued to support his movements.

It wasn’t a perfect defense.

Maintaining the technique required extraordinary concentration, and each adjustment placed additional strain on his injured body.

But it worked.

For the first time, Valthazar’s interference failed to stop Rovan’s movement completely.

Even the other instructors looked surprised that Rovan wasn’t affected by Valthazar’s dark magic this time.

Rovan stepped inside his opponent’s guard and struck with the hilt of his sword. The blow landed against Valthazar’s jaw.

The criminal staggered.

Rovan followed with a sweeping strike that forced him backward, then drove his sword toward the exposed space beneath his arm. Valthazar twisted away, but the blade cut deeply through the flesh of his side.

Blood darkened the pale skin. He stumbled several steps before catching himself.

Rovan advanced.

His breathing had become ragged, and pain spread through his ribs and shoulder. The technique he had developed over years of training was consuming his stamina faster than he had anticipated.

But Valthazar was injured as well. And for the first time, Rovan could see uncertainty in the criminal’s movements.

The advantage had shifted.

He had finally forced the monster who had haunted his memories onto the defensive.

Valthazar raised one hand.

The dark symbols around him began to multiply.

Rovan recognized the formation immediately.

It was the same technique Valthazar had used during their first encounter, the one that had overwhelmed him and his friend before they could escape.

But this time, Rovan knew how it worked.

He had spent years studying the weaknesses of techniques that interfered with mana circulation, and he had developed a countermeasure specifically for this kind of formation.

He planted his feet and lowered his sword.

The purple-gold mana around the blade compressed until its glow became almost blinding.

Valthazar’s eyes widened slightly.

"That technique..."

Rovan stepped forward.

"Remember it."

He swung.

The blade released a narrow arc of compressed mana that struck the center of Valthazar’s formation.

The dark symbols shattered.

The resulting backlash swept through the clearing, disrupting the criminal’s control over the surrounding energy.

Valthazar staggered once more.

Rovan immediately closed the distance. His sword struck once, twice, and a third time, each attack aimed at a different weakness in the criminal’s defense. Valthazar blocked the first strike with his forearm. He redirected the second with a dark barrier. The third shattered the barrier and drove him to one knee.

Rovan stood over him, his sword raised. For a moment, the clearing seemed to hold its breath.

He had finally done it.

After years of training, after countless nights spent reliving the memory of his friend’s death, after wondering whether he would ever have another chance, he had brought Valthazar Stitch to his knees.

The criminal looked up. His crimson eyes remained cold, but the amusement had disappeared.

Rovan’s sword trembled slightly.

Not from fear.

But from exhaustion and excitement.

His injuries were catching up with him. His breathing was uneven, and his Hero Core had been pushed close to its limit.

He knew he had to finish the fight immediately.

Valthazar knew it, too.

The criminal’s lips curled into a faint smile.

"Well done, kiddo."

He slowly raised his head.

"You’ve become quite the fighter."

Rovan tightened his grip.

"Save your breath."

He stepped forward and brought his sword down.

Valthazar rolled aside.

The blade struck the ground, sending fragments of stone and soil into the air.

Rovan attempted to follow, but pain suddenly tore through his ribs.

His body faltered. He dropped to one knee, his sword barely preventing him from collapsing completely.

Valthazar seized the opportunity to retreat. He struggled to stand, one hand pressed against his bleeding side.

Neither man spoke for several seconds. Rovan forced himself upright. He could still fight.

He had to.

Valthazar was injured, exhausted, and no longer capable of controlling the battlefield as he had before.

One more decisive attack might end everything.

Rovan raised his sword.

Then a quiet laugh came from behind them.

"Hehe. That’s enough, Val."

The smaller stranger stepped into the clearing.

She glanced at the wounded criminal, then at Rovan.

For a moment, she seemed genuinely amused.

"How amusing. I can’t believe someone managed to push you that far."

Valthazar’s expression darkened.

"Shut up. It’s because I’m not in top form right now."

The smaller figure ignored him.

She looked at Rovan.

"You should be proud. Not many people can push him that far."

Rovan raised his sword toward her.

"Stay out of this."

The smaller stranger tilted her head.

"Or what?"

Rovan tried to advance but his injured leg gave way. He caught himself with his sword, but the movement exposed how little strength remained in his body.

The smaller figure smiled.

"That’s what I thought. You pushed your core beyond its limit."

Garrick immediately stepped forward.

"Rovan, fall back! We’ll handle the rest together."

Rovan shook his head.

"No."

"Don’t be ridiculous!"

Garrick moved closer, but Rovan raised his free hand to stop him.

"I said no."

His gaze remained fixed on Valthazar.

"This man is mine."

The smaller stranger’s smile widened.

"How touching."

She stepped between Rovan and Valthazar.

"But I’m afraid your little reunion is over."

The moment she entered the clearing, the atmosphere changed.

The crimson barrier behind her pulsed.

A wave of oppressive energy spread through the forest, forcing the instructors to reinforce their bodies instinctively.

Rovan’s expression hardened.

He had felt this pressure before, but he had underestimated its significance.

The smaller stranger was not merely supporting Valthazar. She was far more dangerous than he was.

Garrick stepped forward, positioning himself between her and the injured Rovan.

Selene and Liora moved to his sides.

"Rovan, let me heal your wounds!" Liora said.

Rovan shook his head.

"Don’t. If you heal me right now, I’ll faint for sure."

What he meant was the pain from his injury was keeping him conscious. So if the pain disappeared, his body fueled by adrenaline from the pain would immediately lose consciousness.

The smaller stranger looked at them and sighed.

"Let’s end this quickly."

She raised one hand. Crimson energy gathered around her fingers, forming a complex pattern that resembled the barrier surrounding the examination grounds.

Selene’s eyes widened.

"That formation..."

Liora immediately recognized it as well.

The stranger wasn’t simply using a similar technique.

She was manipulating the same type of energy that sustained the barrier.

Garrick clenched his fists.

"Everyone, be careful!"

The smaller stranger looked at him.

Then she smiled.

"Let’s see whether you can take this."

She flicked her fingers.

A crimson pulse swept toward them. Garrick immediately stepped forward receiving the attack alone.

"Garrick!"

Liora, Selene, and Rovan shouted his name.

Garrick braced himself. The energy struck his body. For an instant, the dark aura surrounding him flickered.

Then it stabilized.

The crimson pulse dispersed without breaking through his reinforcement.

The smaller stranger’s smile vanished.

"...What?"

Garrick raised his head.

His expression was grim.

"Your tricks won’t work on me as easily."

The stranger stared at him for several seconds.

Then her eyes narrowed.

For the first time, she looked genuinely interested.

"Well, now."

She lowered her hand.

"This might actually be fun."