Chapter 92: The Black Reaper

While the Myrain Viscounty bustled with the energy of Craig’s Festival and the tight defensive patrols of Ser Gunther’s garrison, far to the south-eastern expanse of the vast Rynchester Duchy lay a domain of starkly different character.

The Vexion Viscounty.

Extending across hundreds of square leagues of rugged terrain and dense, mist-shrouded forests, Vexion was a fortress domain built on constant tactical vigilance.

It was geographically encircled by no fewer than four separate C-Level Danger Zones—treacherous wildernesses teeming with mutated Abominations, volatile mana rifts, and lawless beast tribes.

To maintain control over such a hostile perimeter, the territory was partitioned into seven heavily fortified baronies, each serving as a defensive buffer protecting the core of the estate.

Directly bordering the northern frontier of Vexion was the Javeren County, a prosperous, high-ranking domain governed by the powerful Tezor noble family.

A house long aligned with shadow dealings and ruthless political ambitions.

At the heart of the Vexion Viscounty stood the Great V Castle, a colossal structure carved from dark granite and ironwood.

Inside the castle’s isolated grand dining hall, Aaron von Darkstar sat alone at the head of a massive mahogany table.

As the Sixth Successor of the Darkstar bloodline, a recognized Sword Sage, and the undisputed Lord Viscount of Vexion, Aaron projected a cold, suffocating aura.

Silver platters filled with roasted game, rich sauces, and imported vintages sat before him as he quietly enjoyed his mid-day meal in complete solitude.

CREAK—THUD.

The heavy double doors of the dining hall suddenly swung open, breaking the silence.

A tall, sharply dressed young noble stepped casually into the room, a smooth, confident smile gracing his features as the doors clicked shut behind him.

It was Malcolm Tezor, heir to the neighboring Javeren County.

Malcolm folded his hands over his chest and offered a smooth, theatrical bow.

"My Lord Viscount, I offer my greetings."

Aaron didn’t look up immediately.

He slowly chewed his meat, set his gold utensils down with a sharp, metallic clink, and uttered a low, guttural grunt of displeasure.

His sharp eyes narrowed at Malcolm, visibly irritated by the unexpected intrusion during his private meal.

"You have terrible timing, Malcolm," Aaron spoke, his voice deep and laced with suppressed authority. "I do not recall granting you an audience while I dine."

Malcolm quickly bowed his head a fraction lower, his smile softening into an apologetic posture, though his eyes remained sharp.

"Forgive my sudden intrusion, My Lord. I would never dare disrupt your privacy without reason. However, the report I bring from the intelligence network is of absolute, pressing importance."

Aaron frowned, reaching for his linen napkin to wipe his fingers.

"Speak. What is it?"

"There was an assassination attempt on the Seventh Successor’s life yesterday," Malcolm reported smoothly. "Five Rankers, all assasins were deployed deep within the Jeju Forest."

Aaron’s frown deepened, his brow furrowing into heavy creases as his cold gaze locked onto Malcolm.

The room seemed to grow slightly colder. "Did our house have a hand in this move, Malcolm? Did you act without my explicit command?"

Malcolm immediately shook his head, a dark, amused smirk curling the corner of his lips.

"Absolutely not, My Lord. Had the Tezor family or your private assets orchestrated the strike, the Seventh Successor would already be a cold corpse rotting in the woods.

Besides, we have yet to make our formal play. The Red Angels are still quietly observing his territory from the shadows, monitoring his every movement as instructed."

Aaron exhaled a long, heavy sigh, picking up his goblet of red wine. "If our hands are clean and the Red Angels did not move... then who in the four continents launched five Rankers into my little brother’s domain?"

"From the intelligence reports gathered across the Western trade routes," Malcolm answered, his tone dripping with intrigued malice, "it appears a fanatic shadow organization calling itself ’Hydra’ issued the execution order. But what is truly fascinating is the outcome.

The Seventh Successor not only survived the ambush completely unscathed, but he also shattered his core limits during the battle—officially ascending into the class of a Sword Runner."

"That was fast," Aaron raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip from his goblet as a look of genuine surprise crossed his face.

"A Sword Runner already? I suppose the boy possesses far more talent than any of us originally gave him credit for."

Aaron set his glass down, his expression turning cold, calculating, and predatory.

"We cannot allow his growth to continue unchecked. We need to bring him under my absolute control before it becomes too late to handle him."

"I couldn’t agree more, My Lord," Malcolm nodded earnestly, stepping closer to the long dining table.

A sinister, villainous grin spread across his face as he leaned in slightly. "Perhaps... we should make clever use of this ’Hydra’ organization this time around."

"Oh?" Aaron raised an eyebrow, his interest clearly piqued. "And do you possess the means to contact an underground syndicate as elusive as Hydra?"

"Yes," Malcolm answered without a second of hesitation, his smile widening. "I happen to have a very close, highly placed friend operating within their network."

Aaron stared at Malcolm for a long, silent moment, weighing the strategic risk before letting out a soft sigh.

"Very well then," Aaron declared, his voice dropping into a stern, unyielding register.

"However, keep this in mind: following this public incident, Hydra will inevitably be targeted and hunted by the Duke’s intelligence network and our own Red Angels.

You must exercise absolute caution so as not to leave a single thread of evidence connecting Javeren County or my Viscounty to their actions."

Aaron leaned forward, his eyes burning with an absolute, terrifying territorial arrogance.

"Make sure your friend understands the objective clearly. I do not want the Seventh Child dead. I need him broken, compromised, and serving as my puppet."

Malcolm bowed his head deeply, his eyes glinting with dark anticipation. "Your will be done, My Lord Viscount." He turned on his heel and glided out of the grand hall, leaving Aaron alone with his cold feast.

***

Meanwhile, far away from the quiet political plotting of the southern estates, the scene shifted dramatically to the heart of the Rynchester Duchy.

The magnificent, legendary City of Dragons.

Sprawled across grand, elevated mountain plateaus and fortified by towering white-stone ramparts, the City of Dragons was a breathtaking metropolis.

On any given day, its wide, cobblestone avenues were alive with vibrant energy.

Hundreds of thousands of citizens, visiting merchants, dragon-riders, and high-tier martial artists flooded the bustling trade districts, their voices merging into a harmonious hum of urban prosperity.

Then, without a single second of warning, the entire city froze.

It was not a gradual quiet, but a sudden, absolute cessation of all human activity.

Merchants dropped their scales mid-transaction; heavy supply wagons ground to a dead halt; children ceased playing in the plazas; and even high-tier Superhumans stood paralyzed in their tracks.

Instinctively, as if pulled by an invisible, terrifying gravitational force, every living creature within the city raised their heads, their wide, trembling eyes staring straight into the vast expanse of the sky.

A shadow had fallen.

It did not merely cover a street or a city district—a gargantuan, absolute darkness expanded at an appalling speed, engulfing the entirety of the City of Dragons in a vast, unnatural eclipse.

Immediately following the darkness, a suffocating, crushing wave of high-density Abyssal mana flooded down from the clouds.

The air grew immensely heavy, making it almost impossible for ordinary citizens to draw breath as the sheer weight of the aura pressed down upon their chests.

Horrified gasps and terrified, frantic whispers erupted across the crowded streets as the populace recognized the immense, winged silhouette descending through the clouds.

It was the undisputed terror of the skies—the solitary 7th-Tier Dragon that dwelled within the deepest, most sacred recesses of the Temple of Dragons.

A creature known across the four continents by many terrifying titles—the Shadow of Extinction, the Obsidian Sovereign, the Black Reaper.

But known most infamously throughout recorded history as the Calamity Devouring Dragon.

The colossal Black Dragon swept its massive, leathered wings, causing atmospheric shockwaves that whistled over the highest spires of the city as its ancient, crimson eyes looked down upon the realm with supreme indifference.

And seated comfortably atop the broad, spiky crest of the Calamity Devouring Dragon, looking down at his domain with an expression of absolute, terrifying majesty, was none other than the supreme ruler of the territory:

The Crimson Duke of Rynchester—the absolute master of the Black Reaper.