Nero moved through the ruins like a shadow.
The storm had scorched the land, leaving behind a hollow silence that clung to the air like a curse.
The scent of burned stone and ozone lingered, and every step Nero took sent bits of charred debris crumbling beneath his boots.
His Raven Eyes gleamed as they cut through the darkness, scanning the jagged remnants of the city with surgical precision.
His Shikigami eagles soared high above, their paper wings gliding silently through the corrupted sky.
Fragments of their vision flowed into his mind.
Broken streets, twisted towers, and distant flickers of movement. No words. No voices.
Only death.
Nero didn't speak. He didn't even let his breathing rise too high.
Every sound felt dangerous, as if the Shatterveil itself was listening.
Silence wasn't safety.
It was a trap. A false lull.
Nero advanced slowly, his breathing controlled, wand steady in his hand.
He hadn't spent these first days wandering aimlessly.
He had taken his time to observe, from a distance, how the monsters stalked and claimed their territories, how the city itself warped and rewrote its own rules, and how the scavengers lived, adapted, and died.
Now, with a growing map in his mind and a clear sense of the rhythms of survival here, Nero felt prepared to push further.
He wanted answers, about the Shatterveil's true nature, the power struggles that shaped it, and the legend of Malrik the Hollow King.
Every bit of knowledge was an edge.
And in this place, he knew, every edge came at a price he was willing to pay.
He found them among the wreckage of the scavenger camp.
Three men in torn robes and patchwork armor, looting the charred remains.
They kicked through ash and splintered bones, scavenging anything of value.
One of them bent down and pried a half-melted wand from a corpse's hand, laughing as he examined it.
"Bet some idiot thought this would save him," the man sneered, tossing the wand aside like trash.
Nero's jaw tightened.
The Reavers hadn't just arrived by chance. They'd been following the mana storm.
Vultures picking through the aftermath for scraps of magic or relics left behind.
He crouched behind a collapsed wall, watching them. Listening.
"I wish the storm didn't kill them all," one of the Reavers muttered, scraping soot from a cracked amulet. "I wanted to have some fun first."
The scarred man with the melted wand smirked. "The Black Talons already hit another camp this morning. Heard they let the kids run, just to hunt them down for sport."
The third man, taller, gaunt, with hollow eyes, snorted. "Idiots. Should've kept them. Fresh blood sells well at the market."
Nero's fingers tightened around his wand, knuckles white.
They weren't just murderers.
They had shed their human feelings to become beasts.
They were exactly the kind of people he wouldn't hesitate to kill.
He activated his Shikigami eagles, sending them to circle above the Reavers' heads.
The paper creatures flapped their wings noiselessly, locking the men into view from multiple angles.
Yet, Nero wasn't here for justice.
The Reavers were scum, but that didn't matter to him, not really.
What mattered was information. They were a source he could use and then discard.
He only needed one alive, long enough to answer his questions.
After that, what happened to them was irrelevant.
The first Reaver died without a sound.
Apparition here wasn't like normal space manipulation.
The Shatterveil fought back, magic thrumming like jagged glass, every attempt at teleportation met with violent resistance.
Still, Nero had tried again and again, since he arrived.
With his unique spatial understanding, he had clawed his way from moving a few centimeters to managing a strained two-meter shift.
Each success came with a strange sensation, as if the space itself hated being bent.
But two meters was enough. At least for today.
Nero appeared behind him in a flicker of distorted air, the Apparition barely more than a twitch. His wand traced a sharp arc.
"Sectumsempra."
The Reaver fell, body collapsing in two pieces, blood hissing against the scorched ground.
The other two spun around, wands snapping up.
"Expulso!"
Nero's blast shattered the rubble, hurling the gaunt Reaver backward.
He hit a jagged pillar with a sickening crack, ribs caving inward.
The third Reaver, the one with the scarred throat, panicked.
He turned to run, boots slipping on blood-slick stone.
Nero didn't let him.
With a flick of his wand, he froze the blood beneath the man's feet, twisting the surface into a treacherous layer of ice.
The Reaver's legs flew out from under him, sending him crashing hard to the ground.
He scrambled, slipping and scraping for purchase, eyes wide with terror.
Nero walked confidently in front of the fleeing man, wand raised.
Desperation twisted his face as he tried to raise his wand, mouth opening, as if to shout for help.
"Arresto Momentum."
The Reaver's body jerked to a halt mid-slide, frozen in place just inches from a jagged outcropping.
Before he could recover, Nero flicked his wand again.
Stone coils erupted from the cracked ground, snaking around the man's arms and legs with relentless force.
The stone reshaped itself into a jagged throne, its edges sharp, its back rising high to cage the Reaver in.
Thick bands of rock locked his wrists and ankles, pressing him deep into the seat, unyielding, cold, and utterly inescapable.
The smallest movement only tightened the grip, making any hope of struggle futile.
Nero approached, crouching until his eyes met the Reaver's frantic, trembling gaze.
The tip of his wand pressed firmly against the man's chest.
"Tell me about Malrik," Nero said, voice sharp as glass.
The Reaver shook his head violently, eyes bulging.
"N-N-Never. He would kill me. I'd rather go through any kind of torture…"
Nero sighed, reached into his robe, and pulled out a small glass vial filled with clear liquid.
Nero crouched beside the bound Reaver, fingers tight around the vial of Veritaserum.
The man trembled, sweat dripping down his scarred face, eyes wide with a mix of fear and exhaustion.
"Trust me, I could rip the information out of you if I wanted.
But for now, I need to move fast, and to make sure the information I receive is whole and accurate.
Count yourself lucky. Not many people have tasted Veritaserum."
He uncorked it with his teeth and shoved the vial into the Reaver's mouth, forcing him to swallow.
"Didn't expect this to be useful so soon though," Nero muttered, watching the potion take effect.
The Reaver's shaking slowed.
His eyes glazed over, and his body sagged as the truth serum seeped into his system, dissolving his ability to lie.
"Who controls the Shatterveil?" Nero demanded.
The Reaver's lips moved, voice a dull monotone.
"Malrik the Hollow King. Black Talons, under his order, control the central ruins. The Reavers and smaller groups fight over the outskirts."
"How many Black Talons are there?"
"Thousands. Maybe more. Some say Malrik uses magic to keep them bound to him."
"What kind of magic?" Nero pressed.
"Dark magic. Blood rituals. They say he carves pieces of their souls and chains them to his will. No one disobeys him and lives."
Nero's chest tightened. He filed that away for later.
"What about maps of the Shatterveil?"
"There are no maps," the Reaver rasped. "The ruins shift. The land warps after storms. People use landmarks. The broken tower. The hollow tree. The bone fields. The bleeding stair. The sunken courtyard. Only the center is stable. We call it the Fortress"
Nero's mind raced.
The terrain was unstable, constantly changing. No wonder no one had ever truly conquered the Shatterveil. It was a living labyrinth.
"Where's Malrik's fortress?" Nero asked, voice sharp.
The Reaver's breath hitched. "At the city's heart. Where the Veil shattered."
"What's he planning?"
The Reaver shuddered. "A ritual. Something... old. According to rumors, he needs blood. A lot of it. They say he's hunting the cursed clan to finish it."
Nero's eyes narrowed. He tilted his head. "The cursed clan?"
The Reaver twitched at the words, a shadow of fear breaking through the potion-induced haze.
"They live near the hollow tree," he rasped. "No one goes near them. Not even Reavers."
"Why?" Nero pressed, leaning closer.
"Being close to them..." The Reaver's lips trembled. "It's like something crawls into your head. All your good memories… gone. It makes you feel... hopeless. Like you want to die."
Nero's fingers twitched around his wand. "And Malrik takes them?"
The Reaver nodded stiffly. "His men come. They drag them away. One by one. They never come back."
"How long has that been happening?"
The Reaver's jaw clenched. "Years. No one knows why. Malrik... he's searching for something. Something he can only get from them."
"Is there anything else known about Malrik's ritual?" Nero asked, voice cold as ice.
The Reaver shuddered. "Some Black Talons mentioned that… he wants to ascend. To break the Shatterveil's magic and become something more."
Nero stood slowly, brushing the dust from his robe.
The cursed clan.
A warlord playing god.
And a city that twisted itself like a living organism.
He felt like he was staring at pieces of a broken puzzle, the edges sharp enough to cut.
He met the Reaver's dull, unfocused gaze.
"Thank you." Nero said, voice devoid of emotion.
Then he ended it.
"Avada Kedavra."
The green light flared, casting jagged shadows across the ruins.
The Reaver collapsed, lifeless.
Nero tucked the Veritaserum vial back into his belt, and proceeded to clean up traces of his involvement. He then turned to disappear into the ruins.
He didn't regret killing them.
But he hated that he had needed a potion to get the truth.
He exhaled slowly, letting the tension bleed out of his limbs.
"When I get out of here," he muttered, voice low and sharp, "I'm learning Legilimency for sure."
The Shikigami eagles took flight, and Nero melted back into the ruins.
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50 chapters ahead on Patreon (Suiijin): Chapter 194: The Coward Returns