Undoubtedly, Azriel had learned many things as Subject 666—things he hadn’t even been aware of until now.
One of the most crucial lessons drilled into him during that time was combat.
His skills, affinities, and overall approach to fighting had undergone a drastic transformation. Before reclaiming those memories, Azriel had relied solely on what he had learned as Prince Azriel, along with raw instinct. And yet, no matter how hard he tried, there had always been a nagging sense of inadequacy—a hollow feeling he couldn’t quite place.
It was as though some part of him was missing, and his mind actively avoided the thought of training until it became unavoidable. It felt like an afterthought, something far from a priority.
Now, Azriel finally understood why.
With his memories of Subject 666 restored, it felt as though his body and mind had finally synchronized.
It was like his soul had been made whole.
If he were to face Caleus again at the Christmas banquet, there was no doubt in his mind about the outcome. He would win—again. Only this time, it wouldn’t even be a fight. Back then, Caleus had rushed to end the duel, clearly holding back. Now, Azriel was confident he could dismantle him without giving him the chance to hold back at all.
And if he were to fight Instructor Benson again? This time, Azriel could see dozens of paths to victory—where before, the battle had felt hopeless.
Of course, that didn’t mean Azriel didn’t need to train. He knew better than anyone that there was always more to learn, always room to grow. Strength was an endless pursuit, a never-ending climb toward a summit that no one could truly reach.
His swordsmanship could sharpen further, his affinities could deepen, and his decision-making in battle could become more precise. Improvement was infinite. There was never enough when it came to the pursuit of power.
But above all else, the greatest gift Azriel had gained from his time as Subject 666 was his mastery over aura—and the forbidden knowledge of how to form a mana contract.
Learning to form a mana contract wasn’t something one could do on a whim. It required an unparalleled level of patience, discipline, and control. Even the smallest mistake could lead to catastrophic consequences.
As for controlling his aura, Azriel had always been more attuned to mana than the average person. However, even with his advanced sensitivity, the idea of forming a mana contract was unthinkable. The risks were too great, the consequences too unpredictable.
At least, with his newfound control over aura, Azriel had come to understand the profound difference between strength and power.
Dr. Arthur, for example, was the embodiment of strength. Strength could break walls, topple towers, or crush armies. But power? Power was something far more elusive, immeasurable—a force that only a great king, like Ragnar Frost, could possess.
Ragnar wasn’t just strong. He was overwhelming. He towered over others, his presence as imposing as a steel mountain. His eyes, cold and unyielding, were like frozen lightning, as chilling as a winter storm.
And yet, there was another boon Azriel had received—one that came after he woke from his coma.
[Soul’s Crucible].
He hadn’t yet tested its active effect, [Empathic Healing], so he couldn’t grasp how absurdly powerful it might be. But its passive effect, [Ashen Heart], was already proving to be extraordinary.
It was like wielding two skills in one—and the passive alone was ridiculous. Whenever Azriel was placed under pressure, no matter how intense, his mind would sharpen. He would grow calmer, his thoughts crystallizing with clarity.
Just as its description stated:
“The more intense the situation, the clearer their thoughts become.”
Standing before the weight of Ragnar’s aura—was suffocating.
Yet, Azriel endured.
Joaquin and Aeliana had remained unfazed, as the oppressive aura didn’t bother them at all. Solomon, ever the clown, simply smiled, sitting closest to Ragnar without so much as flinching.
But Nol and Jasmine hadn’t masked their discomfort as well. Jasmine’s unease was subtle, a flicker in her expression. Nol, however, made no effort to hide his irritation, his crimson eyes glaring daggers at Ragnar.
Even Iryndra, had glared at Ragnar with a visible scowl, her discomfort plain to see.
And yet, it was Azriel who disrupted the suffocating tension. The one meant to crumble under the weight of Ragnar’s aura was the one who remained utterly unfazed.
Smiling, Azriel patted Iryndra’s head as though nothing had happened.
“Uncle Ragnar, It hurts my feelings that you’d take such an approach to get answers from me. I thought we had a more… trusting relationship.”
Ragnar narrowed his eyes at Azriel’s composed demeanor. Joaquin and Aeliana, who neither moved nor spoke, exchanged satisfied smiles.
For a moment, Ragnar kept his gaze fixed on Azriel before sighing and reeling back his aura, easing the oppressive atmosphere that had left the younger ones feeling as though they were sitting on needles.
“Woah,” Solomon drawled.
“You’ve really gotten old and weak, huh? A kid doesn’t even flinch at you anymore.”
Ragnar ignored Solomon’s sardonic remark, his sharp gaze still locked on Azriel. Slowly, a small smile curved Ragnar’s lips.
“I would have been disappointed if the son of my rival cowered from something as trivial as that.”
It was no empty praise. If Ragnar had wanted to, he could’ve forced Azriel to kiss the ground with nothing more than his presence. But such an action would bring him face-to-face with Aeliana and Joaquin—something he had no desire to provoke.
The only reason he could even push this far was because they trusted him. Their bond ran deeper than mere titles or obligations. They knew Ragnar would never harm Azriel.
“Very well,” Ragnar said.
“As a guest, I ask you, Azriel… tell me everything you know about Neo Genesis.”
Azriel’s smile didn’t falter. He met Ragnar’s gaze unflinchingly, his composure unbroken.
“Everything I know, huh…”
He took a moment, as if mulling over how to begin, before speaking again.
“Neo Genesis was once nothing more than a whispered rumor in the underground world—a secret organization that many doubted even existed. Recently, though, it’s become much more. Their influence has solidified in Africa and Antarctica, and now they’re making moves to extend their reach into Asia, North and South America, and Australia. Their hierarchy is as follows: Initiates are at the bottom, followed by Acolytes, Void Spawns, Enforcers, Void Commanders, and then Grand Executors. At the top are the seven leaders, known as the Heptarchs. But above even them, there is one figure—the Supreme Archon. He’s the true founder of Neo Genesis. Very few know of his existence, except the Heptarchs. Unfortunately, I don’t know much about him. But, Uncle Ragnar, you might be in luck today.”
He smiled coolly as his gaze shifted downward to Iryndra, ignoring the dumbfounded expressions of everyone else present.
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“I’ve recently adopted a former Heptarch.”
“….”
“Now that I think about it,” Azriel mused, “I’ve kidnapped one and killed another. That leaves five heads remaining, doesn’t it? Iryndra, do you happen to know anything about the Supreme Archon?”
Iryndra blinked, caught off guard. Her voice came out unsteady as she stammered,
“Uh… no. I’ve only heard his voice. I’ve never met him in person. I… I can’t say much about him. Even as a Heptarch. I wasn’t allowed to know where he was. Honestly, I don’t think anyone does. S-sorry.”
Azriel patted her head gently, offering her a warm smile.
“No need to apologize. Thank you for sharing what you know.”
Then, he turned back to Ragnar.
“Does that answer your question, Uncle Ragnar?”
Ragnar didn’t respond.
No one did.
A heavy silence filled the room as all eyes turned to Azriel, their expressions stunned. All except Nol, whose face beamed with pride, as if declaring, See? That’s my master!
Ragnar and Aeliana exchanged a shocked glance, their eyes drifting to Iryndra. Solomon, however, looked more intrigued than surprised, his lips curving into a smirk.
After a moment, Ragnar’s gaze returned to Azriel.
“The Skinwalkers. What connection do they have with Neo Genesis?”
The smile faded from Azriel’s face. Iryndra froze, her expression a mix of confusion and disbelief.
Azriel, however, knew exactly what Ragnar meant. Nol had already told him everything about the incident on the rooftop at CASC.
“I… have no clue, Uncle,” Azriel said after a pause.
“I’m sorry, truly. But that answer is undoubtedly tied to either the Supreme Archon or the remaining Heptarchs.”
Ragnar’s face darkened. The atmosphere in the room grew heavy.
It was Solomon who broke the mood.
“Even as a former Heptarch, she’s practically useless,” he said, scanning Iryndra with a piercing gaze. The young girl squirmed uncomfortably in Azriel’s arms under his scrutiny.
“I mean, she doesn’t know the first thing about her own organization. Honestly, why was this little girl a Heptarch in the first place?”
Solomon’s gaze shifted to Azriel, his smirk widening as if daring him to answer.
Azriel didn’t hesitate. He met Solomon’s eyes head-on and spoke before the man could press further.
“You can take that question straight to the Supreme Archon.”
“Heh,” Solomon chuckled, tilting his head.
“Is that so? I thought fighting a Heptarch was fun, but now… I’m dying to meet this Supreme Archon myself.”
Azriel grinned, baring his teeth.
“We’ve already landed one punch. The best way to keep them down is to throw another.”
A spark of delight lit up Solomon’s face.
“Ah, I really like this side of you, Azriel. But… we’re already too late. The Supreme Archon has thrown the next punch.”
The room stilled as all eyes turned to Solomon. Azriel frowned, confusion flickering across his face, until Solomon’s next words hit like a thunderclap.
“The Supreme Archon revealed himself to the underground world a few days ago—along with Neo Genesis. And he personally declared war on you, Azriel. He placed a bounty on your head.”
Azriel’s eyes widened, mirroring the stunned reactions of everyone else in the room.
“With the price being,” Solomon continued, his voice filled with wicked amusement, “anything one asks.”