Blackstrain was an enhancement drug formed from the blood of a specific mana beast that could temporalily enhance it's strength at the cost of it's own life.
It's effect caused the user to increase their strength exponentially if two conditions are met. One is that they must be at least above F rank in terms of strength or else their body would crumble under the strain. And the other is that they must be below B rank or else the Blackstrain would have no effect on them.
It was a weapon of desperation, not strategy. A gamble.
But for someone like Luck—an E rank, just high enough to survive and low enough to benefit—it was devastatingly effective. Under its influence, he could reach D+, if only for a short time.
And right now, time was all he needed.
Clink
The sound of the cork falling on the ground brought him out of his thoughts as he tightly grasped the vial in his hand.
His heart thudded.
He didn't think.
He just drank.
The liquid hit his tongue like acid and lightning. Bitter. Alive. His throat seized, muscles locking as if rejecting it—but it was already too late.
It tore through his system.
Like being struck from within.
His pulse spiked, eyes burning behind the blindfold. Every breath felt like it might split his ribs. Mana surged in him—not like a gentle stream, but a flood, wild and pulsing.
From E+, he climbed.
D-. D. D+.
Then, as if a curtain was being parted, the darkness he had gotten used to slowly faded away. The onslaught of colors 'blinded' him.
He staggered, clutching his head as shapes began to form—outlines, edges, movement. Light stabbed into his mind like knives, chaotic and raw. His eyes—eyes that had known nothing but black for years—were now flooded with sight.
It was overwhelming.
The enforcer's glowing runes blazed like miniature suns, every line of magic a searing brand against the air. Rook was a shifting silhouette, surrounded by a halo of heat and adrenaline. The walls shimmered with latent mana, flickering like ripples on water.
Luck's breath caught.
He was seeing.
He blinked once and then twice.
"I-I can see."
But he didn't let that fact distract him from what was important.
In front of him stood the enforcer, the wall that stood between him and Rook's freedom. If they wanted to escape, someone had to hold the line. Someone had to give the other a chance to run.
Luck took a breath, steadying the storm inside him. The power from the Blackstrain surged through every fiber of his being, begging to be unleashed.
He turned his head toward Rook's direction, curiosity slipping in beneath the tension. For the first time, he saw him, not just the outline or the voice, but truly saw him.
And what he saw surprised him.
He had imagined Rook as compact and wiry—short, lean, sharp-eyed. Someone who could disappear into shadows and dart through alleys. But reality betrayed that image.
Rook was tall, skinny, and strong in a quiet, unshakable way. His reddish hair caught the light, messy but unmistakable, and his eyes… they weren't dark at all. They were a striking green, sharp like emerald shards, wide with alarm as he met Luck's gaze.
Luck blinked, his voice steady but quiet. "You've got green eyes."
Rook's expression flickered with shock—then something else. Regret and a flicker of fear.
"Luck…" he started.
But there was no time.
The enforcer raised his hand, runes spinning to life, glowing hot with kinetic energy.
Luck stepped forward.
"I'll hold him," he said, crouching slightly into a low stance. His limbs thrummed with raw energy. "Find a way out. I'll meet you on the outside."
He didn't wait for a response. The moment Rook moved, the enforcer struck.
And so did Luck.
The moment the enforcer's spell activated, Luck lunged—not toward him, but toward the shattered doorway. He heard a whistle sound shoot past his ear as he saw a lighting bolt crash into a cabinet of potions behind him.
His hand closed around a jagged piece of wood, still warm from the barrier's impact. It was rough, splintered at the edge, but sturdy enough to serve a purpose. Luck held it like a short sword, fingers tightening as if it were the wooden practice blade he'd used a thousand times.
The enforcer advanced calmly, no fear, no hesitation. His uniform shimmered with gem embroidery, silver thread shaped into weird patterns most likely to serve some weird magical effect. A deep-blue mantle draped over his shoulders, pristine even in the chaos. His face was mostly hidden behind a steel half-mask etched with glowing runes—but Luck could see the eyes.
Cold.
Detached.
They didn't look at him like he was a threat.
They looked at him like a formality.
The enforcer raised his hand again, conjuring a circle of floating runes. Lightning sparked at the center.
Luck didn't wait.
He dashed forward, the ground cracking beneath his feet from the sudden burst of speed. The power from the Blackstrain roared in his blood—hot, heavy, addicting.
The enforcer's eyes widened slightly. Just enough to register surprise.
That was all Luck needed.
He twisted low, pivoting off his front foot—Rook's training burning into muscle memory. The lightning bolt flew past him, barely missing, slamming into the wall behind. Dust exploded outward.
Luck was already inside the enforcer's range.
He brought the wooden shard up in a sharp swing, aiming for the mask.
The enforcer moved fast—but not fast enough.
The wood scraped across the edge of the mask with a screech of splintering impact, forcing the enforcer to step back.
A small crack appeared near the jawline of the mask.
Luck exhaled hard, his muscles straining under the unnatural strength coursing through him.
Luck grinned. "Your aim sucks".
The enforcer's eyes narrowed behind the cracked mask. He didn't respond but the air around him shifted. The mana grew tighter, denser, like the calm before a lightning storm.
'Yikes'
Luck looked at him with grim determination. This time the enforcer was going to take him seriously.
"Your people are a plague to this earth. You steal, destroy and harm. You take up honest work just to decieve yourselves that you are a good citizen but always fall back to your old habits." The enforcer said, word's laced with contempt.
"Your friend over there?" The enforcer raised a finger toward Rook. "He once wore the crest of Trestor's military, swore to uphold its laws and defend its people. And yet… he deserted. Abandoned his unit. Turned his back on his country,all for some pathetic wench."
Rook visibly flinched when he heard the enforcer referring to him. His fists clenched, but he said nothing.
The enforcer sneered. "That's right. He knows what he did. He was one of our best. Disciplined. Sharp. Respected. And then he vanished. Left his brothers to die in the Vallenne city breach. Cowardice… dressed up like love."
He stepped forward slowly, hand still glowing with residual mana. "And now he hides in slums. Training a blind street rat to be a thief. Is that what you are? His little replacement?"
Luck's grip tightened on the plank in his hand. "You talk like you know him. Like you cared."
The enforcer's voice went cold. "I did. I watched his back in the field. I killed for him. And he threw us away. Threw everything away. For what? A girl who's dead? A cause no one remembers?"
He took another step closer. "You don't belong in this world, boy. You think one little boost and a piece of splintered wood makes you strong? You're a parasite, leeching off someone who should have died a soldier's death."
Luck stood his ground. "He's not your failure. And I'm not a parasite.."
The enforcer laughed bitterly. "No. You're just the next one who'll disappoint him."
The enforcer pulled a sword from a sheath on his back. "I don't need any more mana to defeat you, the effects of your little reckless gamble are starting to show."
The enforcer's blade cut through the air like lightning, fast and efficient. Luck twisted just in time, the strike grazing his shoulder and tearing a line through his shirt instead of flesh.
He winced. Even with Blackstrain, the man was faster. Which made sense since he was at least C rank. He was a genuine C rank, he forged his body through trials and hardships, something that Luck had skipped through just to fall short of reaching a pale imitation of C-.
Luck countered, swinging the jagged wooden shard like a short sword. It clashed against metal, barely, and splintered a bit more from the force. The vibration rattled through his bones.
The enforcer stepped back, then came at him again, faster now. He swung his sword fiercly with practiced effeciency.
He blocked the strike coming high. The wood creaked under the pressure. When the low strike came, he shifted too late. The blade scraped across his thigh, drawing blood. Luck hissed but didn't fall.
Then the feint followed. He realized too late. The enforcer's foot slammed into his ribs and sent him flying into a stack of crates. Wood cracked. His vision spun.
He hit the ground hard, the air knocked clean from his lungs.
He's too fast. Too sharp. Too clean.
But even as pain roared through his body, Luck forced himself up. Wobbling. Gripping the splintered shard with both hands like it was the last piece of resolve he had.
"Still standing?" the enforcer asked, voice cold and calm.
Luck spat blood. "Disappointed?"
The enforcer didn't answer. He moved again, blade flashing.
This time, Luck didn't try to match him. He moved. Not to block, but to slip past it. The blade carved empty space. He spun low, driven by instinct more than strategy, and slammed the wooden shard into the enforcer's hip.
It didn't pierce the armor, but it made the man stumble.
That one second was all Luck needed.
He backed off, panting, bleeding, shaking.
Blackstrain's burning out.
His muscles twitched with every movement. His vision blurred and ears rang. Everything felt just slightly off.
But the enforcer was slower now too. Just a little. That last strike had thrown off his rhythm.
Luck smiled faintly through the exhaustion.
He charged.