The Method of Val was not merely a style of invitation protocol or a martial discipline; it was the existential doctrine upon which the city's walls were raised.
While most nobles believed it to be nothing more than extravagant "protocols," those who truly understood knew it was a complete system of control, power, and cunning.
The Method of Val was not limited to invitation cards—currently used by the city's High Council.
Val had also devised a security system that rendered the City of Adventurers nearly impregnable for centuries. This system relied upon the Crystals of Sovereignty.
The great clans and neighboring cities attempted to replicate these crystals, yet none succeeded in reproducing the original composition.
They were forced to rely on exceedingly rare gemstones—possessed only by the heads of the greatest clans and their heirs.
Val, however, through a chemical method, transformed less rare stones into immense vessels of energy by fusing them with his royal blood.
This secret ensured that every noble within the City of Adventurers possessed a personal security crystal—even the outcasts among them.
Thus was formed a living surveillance network that never slept, capable of sensing assassination attempts or nearby threats.
It was Val's doctrine that made the city a center of power despite the poverty of its natural resources compared to the clans and the few other cities. Val replaced the scarcity of stone with the abundance of genius and sacrifice.
And of course, such information would not escape Karsu.
He had realized this truth long ago. Yet—even with his awareness—he had not expected its effectiveness to reach such ferocity.
While he used that single minute of silence to weave his threads, dozens of Qaz Masters had already begun to gather. Some had arrived. Others were moments away.
At that very instant, the auras of four of those Masters had begun to manifest within the warehouses—and the rest would not be far behind.
---
Karsu's pupils widened for a fleeting instant—sharp as a blade's flash—then narrowed.
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. A faint smile formed, one that did not conceal admiration but nearly revealed it—directed toward the creator of the first technique.
"Impressive."
The word left Karsu's mouth in a thick, toneless voice, making impressive sound almost dismissive—perhaps even faintly mocking in the ears of Fashar and his two guards.
"Huuh… fff…"
The guards exhaled with difficulty, tension clear upon their faces.
The most rational solution for them was to wait for reinforcement. Under normal circumstances, that would have been the wisest choice.
But the fact that the summoning crystal had already requested aid was not public knowledge.
And Fashar had not taken the time to explain—or even hint at it.
He feared the stranger might detect the implication. Fashar trusted the stranger's intelligence more than he trusted his own guards.
At last, the guards prepared to move, intending to launch a sudden assault before the corridor and staircase were fully enveloped by those invisible threads.
In their judgment, speed was the answer. The longer they waited, the tighter the snare.
A logical decision… but a wrong one.
The reason? Missing information.
As for Karsu, his original plan had been nothing more than intimidation. To create a bubble of conspiracy within Fashar's mind—to make him believe he was being targeted.
Karsu… withdrew.
A logical decision… yet a mistaken one.
The reason? Information.
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That was how Fashar interpreted the scene from his perspective, watching the stranger retreat in haste.
He exhaled in final relief. He had escaped certain death.
But his relief did not last.
Suddenly, he felt something warm and sticky touch his hand.
Only then did he notice—
The crystal he had been holding had been worn through by a sharp white thread, like a blade of blood.
"Ah—ahhh! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!"
Fashar screamed in fury. A summoning crystal could not be replaced.
---
Karsu emerged from beneath the warehouses in measured steps—then shot forward like an arrow.
His run was not chaotic. It was straight. As though he were crossing an invisible bridge toward his objective.
The wind shifted abruptly. Its chill deepened.
Tiny grains of dust rose from the ground before his next step touched it—as if fleeing from something approaching.
"Stop."
The word came like a declaration of death. Not a command—a fact.
The first descended before him. His cloak burned with silent orange edges, as if fire breathed through its fabric.
A Lord of Flame Qaz.
He did not charge. He merely raised his palm.
A half-circle of crawling fire opened, devouring the earth and severing the street across its width.
At that same moment—
Dust erupted behind Karsu. A living wall of shifting sand coiled around him, sealing his path of retreat.
A Lord of Sand.
Above them—
A sharp cry tore the sky. The shadow of vast wings swept across the ground.
The Blood Eagle circled overhead.
To the right, the scraping of claws against stone.
Ajjad monkeys climbed the walls, eyes fixed, fangs bared.
A perfect pincer.
No escape.
—
Karsu stopped.
He did not turn. He did not step back.
His stance was solid as stone.
But the fingers of his right hand trembled slightly.
Then—
The thread launched.
One thread. Thin. White. It shot from between his fingers like an unseen flash in broad daylight.
It was not aimed at any of them.
It struck the ground.
The Lord of Sand smiled. A fatal mistake—so he thought.
But the smile did not last.
The scattered dust… hardened.
It became brilliant white masses.
Then from them extended metallic threads—fine as hair, sharp as blades. They spread in multiple directions, forming a deadly web in seconds.
"Watch the threads!" one shouted.
Too late.
The Blood Eagle had already dived, wings spread wide—only to entangle itself in the woven net.
---
Karsu's fingers flowed between the threads as though playing unseen strings.
A flick.
A pull.
A release.
The Blood Eagle did not crash.
It halted midair, inverted, its wings ensnared by gleaming threads. It thrashed violently, but the threads dragged it down.
Karsu did not look at it.
His eyes fixed on the Lord of Sand.
A subtle motion of his index finger.
The hardened threads moved as one. Dozens rose from the earth like white serpents, bending toward the Lord of Sand.
He stepped back, raising his hands. Dust surged around him, forming a defensive wall.
But Karsu was faster.
A circular flick of the wrist.
The threads wrapped around the dust wall, constricting. Crushing.
The barrier shattered.
The threads lunged, coiling around ankles, wrists, throat.
"Lift him," Karsu whispered.
And the threads obeyed.
They raised the Lord of Sand into the air like a broken puppet.
—
A crack sounded above.
The Lord of Flame did not wait.
Fire ignited in his palms and surged forward—not a half-circle this time, but a full torrent of devouring blaze.
Karsu did not move.
He moved only a single thread—one still attached to the fallen Blood Eagle.
The eagle convulsed. Its blue eyes widened. Then it launched—not toward Karsu—but into the wave of flame.
It collided.
A faint cry.
Its wings burned, and it fell.
The flame faltered.
Karsu seized the second.
Three threads shot forward.
One to the right wrist.
One to the left.
One to the throat.
The Lord of Flame tried to burn them—but the threads were faster. They coiled around his wrists before ignition could spread, yanking him forward.
He fell to his knees.
—
The Ajjad monkeys still clung to the walls.
They had not attacked.
They froze.
A distant whistle.
Their master's signal.
Karsu heard it too.
He lifted his gaze.
On a distant rooftop stood a silhouette.
The Lord of Subjugation.
He gestured as though pulling invisible strings.
Four monkeys leapt toward Karsu.
He did not flinch.
Threads rose like a wall before him.
The first monkey collided—ensnared instantly.
The second tried to evade—but a fine thread wrapped its neck.
The third and fourth halted midair—not by choice.
Another whistle.
Stronger.
The remaining monkeys stiffened.
Their eyes dulled—then returned.
But now they looked at Karsu differently.
Not hostile.
Empty.
The Lord of Subjugation understood.
He controlled them—
But so could Karsu.
Not through dominance.
Through disruption.
Karsu's fingers moved erratically.
Threads twisted in every direction, forming visual chaos.
The monkeys faltered.
Then—
A crash.
The Lord of Sand had freed himself partially. Still bound, he dragged himself through the dust and rolled behind wooden debris.
The Lord of Flame remained kneeling—but fire was beginning to eat through the threads.
Karsu inhaled deeply.
Three Lords.
Dozens of threads.
Time shrinking.
He moved his fingers again—not to attack.
To reposition.
Threads traced a wide circle upon the ground.
A new space within the battlefield.
The monkeys approached.
Sand stirred.
Flame swelled.
Karsu closed his eyes.
His fingers trembled one last time—not from hesitation, but control.
And he waited.
---
"Ha… how ridiculous. How foolish!"
The Lord of Flame's voice cracked like a whip through dust-heavy air.
"Pretty finger dances—but mere display! Do you truly think you'll win with tricks like that?"
His words burned sharp.
But behind anger, his mind calculated.
This man is dangerous. Not just precise—but confident. Too confident.
—
Behind debris, the Lord of Sand crouched, breathing unevenly.
Fast. Recklessness won't work. We initiated—and he reversed it instantly.
This is no ordinary Qaz Master.
—
On the rooftop, the Lord of Subjugation observed in cold silence.
Every motion recorded.
Every thread analyzed.
Third-rank Qaz Master.
Even peak second-rank Masters lack such control.
—
Moments grew heavy.
Heavy as molten lead.
No camaraderie united them.
No affection.
Perhaps hatred only minutes ago.
But now—
All understood.
This was no hunt.
This was total combat.
And the man before them… was anything but ordinary.
—
Within the white-threaded circle, Karsu stood motionless.
His body still.
His fingers trembling—not from doubt, but strain.
His eyes closed.
In his mind, numbers moved.
I expended two-thirds of my power at the start.
Expanded lithic conversion cost heavily.
Then a tenth disposing of guards and laying the net.
And now… again.
He breathed deeply.
Less than a fifth remains.
Three major attacks.
Or five moderate.
Then—
His eyes opened sharply.
Not because of them.
Because of something distant.
Six distinct auras.
Qaz Masters.
Approaching fast.
Very fast.
He calculated distance and speed with machine-like coldness.
"At most… three minutes."
He lifted his gaze toward Flame. Sand. Subjugation.
"Three minutes to finish this."
Then—
His fingers moved.
