Dan had always wondered what "one day" truly meant—but there was no time for reflection now. He had learned the hard way that hesitation could cost him everything. If the worst came, he had to be ready. Without wasting a second, he made his way to the underground prison where Brent Leion was being held—third son of Duke Leion, ruler of the entire Leion Galaxy.
Dan wasn't foolish. He knew the Duke had no idea what had transpired inside the base over the last few days. As he entered the dimly lit cell block, Brent's eyes widened in disbelief. The man who was supposed to be dead now stood in front of him—alive.
Dan approached calmly, breaking the silence with casual chatter. He confessed how he had been forced into a decision: death or servitude under the Warnack. "So I chose to live—just for a few more days," he said with a faint smile. Then, his tone shifted.
"There's going to be a window," Dan whispered. "Within a day or two, the base leader will leave the stronghold. That's our chance. I'll take down the captains and break us out. I swear, whatever happens, I'll take you with me."
He painted a vivid picture of escape or shared death—binding Brent to him through a mix of hope and veiled manipulation. It was gaslighting, yes—but calculated. Brent wasn't just an ally now; he was insurance. If things went south, Dan could use him. After all, the son of the Duke carried weight. No matter the enemy's strength, even the most powerful forces had to pause when dealing with Leion blood.
By the next day, Dan's mind was racing. Rose's words echoed in his head—"You have only one day left." But nothing had changed. His duties continued as if nothing was amiss. The silence was deafening. Doubts lingered, but he buried them, focusing instead on his tasks. Brent was still there—his contingency plan.
Then, without warning, a deep rumble shook the base.
A muffled blast. Then another.
Chaos erupted. Sirens wailed through the intercoms. "Alert! Alert! Base under attack! Hostile infiltration detected!" the speakers blared. Dan froze, then smiled slightly. So this is what she meant.
Without hesitation, he slipped into action. Utilizing the Art of Disguise, his form shifted. In seconds, he became someone else—someone no one would recognize. While soldiers rushed in every direction—some to flee, others to fight—Dan moved with eerie calm. He wasn't running. He was hunting.
His destination was clear: the highland battlefields outside the base, the same hills where Jordan had once defeated Bluemount—the very place Dan himself had lost to him. And now, it was time for vengeance.
He walked through the chaos, still disguised in the uniform of a regular soldier. Only one man stood ahead—Base Leader Bluemount. The leader's eyes narrowed as he recognized something off.
"Well, well... a spy among us?" Bluemount smirked. "An imposter... about to be killed."
He began walking forward, a cruel grin spreading across his face. But Dan didn't waste time.
In a flash, he unleashed a flurry of movements—Shadow Step Pulse, Wind Curve Dance, and then Thousandfold Grasp. His fist slammed into Bluemount's chest, sending the commander flying. A red blot bloomed across Bluemount's uniform—only to vanish as his healing kicked in instantly.
Dan grinned. He still has it. But so did Dan.
He vanished into thin air, reappearing above his target to land another punishing blow. Bluemount reeled, stumbling back. Before he could recover, Dan launched Heaven Pierce Thread—a searing energy attack that exploded on impact, hurling Bluemount against the hillside. Wounds appeared, then healed again.
But now, Bluemount understood—this opponent wasn't ordinary.
With a snarl, he invoked his Sacret Art: Sealflow Requiem—his strongest technique. Instantly, chains of energy twisted through the air, locking onto Dan. He felt it—his powers, sealed. Energy blocked. Aura jammed inside his own body.
But Dan had prepared for this.
Using his disguise technique again, he altered the internal structure of his own body, shattering the internal "knots" that bound him. The seals broke. His energy surged back in full.
He returned to the fight with a vengeance.
Dan's fists hammered into Bluemount's frame again and again. Kicks, slashes, detonating blows—he unleashed a merciless barrage. Bluemount was no longer a fearsome leader. He was a ragdoll, flailing beneath Dan's fury.
While Jordan had unmatched raw strength, Dan had precision, fury—and persistence.
Bluemount's healing slowed. The limits of his regeneration were nearing, though still distant. But Dan pressed on, breaking the leader down, piece by piece.
It was his revenge, He purposally blasted and throw him in the mountain and crashed and toyed with him. Just as Bluemount had done to him on the first day.
At last, Bluemount faltered. The fight drained from him. He was no longer resisting—just enduring.
Dan knew it was time.
He channeled his energy and, in a dark twist of irony, cast Sealflow Requiem—the very technique Bluemount had once used against him. knots of power constricted the base leader, draining him of strength. This time, the wounds stayed. Blood pooled. No more regeneration.
Yet Bluemount remained conscious—barely.
Dan approached, prepared to finish it. But then he sensed them.
Figures on the horizon—fast, armored, unmistakable. The Royal Guards of Duke Leion. Yellow armor. Etched sigils. Reinforcements.
He had to end it—now.
With a smirk, Dan slapped Bluemount's face, jolting him back to awareness. Their eyes met.
"You…" Bluemount whispered.
But before the sentence could form, Dan drew his Soul Needles and drove them into his opponent's chest. A wave of energy burst through the commander's body, leaving glowing holes.
Recognition dawned in Bluemount's eyes—but too late.
Dan gave him no time.
With a twist, Bluemount's neck snapped. His body fell. Silent. Broken. Final.
Smoke still curled from the Soul Needle impact sites.
Dan had no time to savor victory.
The guards were closing in.
He detonated the ground beneath him, launching dust and fire into the air. In the chaos, he transformed—this time into a cat. One of the many small strays that roamed the base.
Unnoticed, unimportant—perfect.
While the guards scrambled through the haze, Dan slipped away.
He raced toward the underground prison—deep beneath the base, known only to a few. He passed the scattered soldiers and panicking staff unnoticed, re-entered the depths, and reverted to his real form: Dan.
With a practiced hand, he cracked the lock, opened the cell, and faced Brent.
"It's time."
They stepped out into the corridor. Upward. Toward the surface.
And into the chaos above.