The villain's side of the novel

In the depths of a vast and turbulent sea, within the confinements of a weathered and creaking wooden ship, Morcal was abruptly awakened from a slumber that had stretched on for over five thousand years. Emerging from his timeless sleep, he found himself confronted by a descendant of the lineage he had dutifully served for countless millennia. Yet, the moment his gaze fell upon this individual, Morcal sensed an aura of unparalleled uniqueness and latent danger, surpassing that of any previous member of the family.

Morcal, a seasoned and experienced spirit of the ninth rank, possessed centuries of knowledge in dealing with souls and spirits. However, despite his best efforts, he found himself unable to perceive the presence of Fray's soul. The likelihood of encountering a soul powerful enough to elude Morcal's senses was virtually nonexistent.

Moreover, according to the Spirits Gate that Morcal held a bond with, Fray had contracted with two spirits—an achievement that was already extraordinary in its own right. Yet, to Morcal's bewilderment, his control was limited to just one of these spirits, while the other remained dormant and impervious to his attempts at awakening or commanding it. Morcal was certain that even with his full strength, he would be unable to exert any influence over this enigmatic spirit.

Spirits possessed the ability to manipulate those weaker than themselves, and as a ninth-rank spirit—one of the most formidable beings within the realm of spirits—Morcal could easily dominate any that traversed through the Spirit Gate. The number of ninth-rank spirits scarcely exceeded a hundred, making the existence of a spirit capable of defying Morcal's authority an extraordinary anomaly. This realization led Morcal to chill speculation.

"Could it be a ninth rank? No, that's impossible. Even if it were, with the power bestowed upon me by the necklace, I could effortlessly control it... But wait, could it be a primordial spirit?" Morcal pondered, his eyes widening as a long-forgotten sense of horror washed over him.

With these thoughts tormenting his mind, Morcal mustered the courage to ask, his voice tinged with trepidation, "Boy, do you possess a special soul?"

Fray, upon hearing Morcal's question, set aside the book he had been reading and replied with a somber tone, "Yes, I bear a soul of golden essence."

"Ah, I see. It all makes sense now. No wonder I failed to perceive its true nature," Morcal murmured.

"You don't appear particularly surprised. I thought a soul of legendary rank would be exceedingly rare," Fray remarked, astonished by Morcal's impassive response.

"Yes, it is rare indeed. In fact, even rarer than one might imagine. Throughout my million-year existence, I have encountered but two souls of legendary rank apart from yours, and this conclusion was inevitable upon witnessing your contracted spirits," Morcal replied, his words measured and deliberate.

Knock, knock, knock!

Suddenly, the sound of knocking echoed through the door, abruptly halting their conversation. Fray called out, "Enter."

Montaser, a trusted figure, stepped into the room. "Sir, we have emerged from the depths of the dungeon and shall soon reach the port."

Morcal's eyes gleamed with intrigue, an expression of profound interest adorning his face. He admired the old man before him, recognizing that Montaser possessed a contracting spirit. For Montaser to be aware of the loyalty pact signified his allegiance and professionalism. Furthermore, Morcal discerned that Montaser had detected his presence—an ability not possessed by all.

Typically, only the necklace's owner could perceive Morcal, while spirits could see him but would refrain from mentioning his existence without his consent, even to the humans they had contracted with.

"I require two Pegasus horses to be prepared at the port. Once we arrive, you and I shall embark on a mission before returning home," Fray declared.

After several hours, the ship finally docked at the port, teeming with bustling life. Fishermen, vendors, and a flurry of activities animated the surroundings, lending the port a vibrant atmosphere.

Fray disembarked and discovered Montaser awaiting him at the port's exit, accompanied by two winged horses.

"These are the Pegasus horses you requested, sir," Montaser informed him.

"Thank you, Montaser. Let us proceed. Our destination is Turtle Mountain," Fray declared, mounting the winged horse.

In a pitch-black realm where even the most ordinary person would struggle to discern their own hand before them, a group of children stood in perfect formation, their cold expressions directed towards a common focal point. Before they stretched an immense platform, upon which a gathering of men stood side by side.

Suddenly, one of the men stepped forward and announced in a chilling voice, "Today, the maze shall witness another trial. Hidden within its labyrinthine depths are badges that must be found and protected from competing individuals until the test's conclusion. Be aware, the maze comprises only ten symbols, and as is customary, there are no rules. Failure in this trial shall result in death."

Not far away, two winged horses descended amid a forest nestled beneath the towering presence of Turtle Mountain.

"Sir, may I inquire as to the purpose of our presence here?" Montaser questioned, his gaze scanning the surroundings with a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

"Do you recall the rare weapon stolen from the family three months ago?" Fray queried, his gaze fixed upon the mountain peaks.

"You mean the Ice River Sword?" Montaser asked, surprise etched upon his face. The Ice River Sword—a rare-ranked weapon and one of the Parada family's most potent assets—had been mysteriously pilfered from their mansion three months prior.

"Yes, the organization responsible for the theft is known as the Serpents, an infamous assassin's guild. Their headquarters lie concealed within this forest," Fray revealed. "Unfortunately, I lack precise knowledge of their exact location, which is where your expertise becomes indispensable."

"Understood, sir," Montaser affirmed, closing his eyes without further delay and unleashing his spiritual senses.

After a brief interval, Montaser's eyes fluttered open, his gaze now fixed in a specific direction. "I sense a pervasive aura of death emanating from that path," he stated, pointing toward a specific route.

"Very well, let us proceed," Fray commanded, and together they ventured forth.