Journey to Become the Zenith

A Blade Between Loyalty and Ambition

Clara—who listened to the reason Victor became the boss of Fantom City’s underworld, found herself split in two.

One part of her admired him.

The other was shaken to the core.

She stood in the dim hallway outside Eon’s chamber, fingers still curled around the hilt of her sword, while Victor leaned against the wall with infuriating ease, black shirt half-shadowed beneath the gold-lined jacket, golden eyes calm as if they were discussing the weather rather than treason.

But Clara’s mind was storming.

Victor had spoken so casually.

As if conquering the underworld had been no grand campaign.

As if subduing monsters in human skin was no more troublesome than brushing dust off his sleeve.

And that was what disturbed her most.

The same underworld ruled by Eon, the Ox King.

Brinda, the Witch of the Northern District.

And Gian—Night himself—the kingdom’s most feared assassin.

Three names even royal knights spoke with caution.

Three powers who had turned Fantom City into a shadow kingdom the crown never fully controlled.

Yet somehow this man before her had bound them all.

Not through years of schemes.

Not through armies.

But seemingly... because he could.

Her purple eyes narrowed.

Her memory unwillingly replayed everything she had seen since meeting him.

The dungeon.

The A-rank monster he had laughed at.

The impossible calm in battle.

His casual cruelty toward enemies.

His strange kindness toward those he accepted.

His terrifying intelligence.

His charm.

His madness.

And now... blood pacts with suspected royals.

What kind of ambition sat behind those golden eyes?

Her common sense, once rigid as steel, had begun warping around him.

And she hated that.

And perhaps... feared how much she did not entirely hate it.

Victor watched her in silence, almost amused.

A faint smile tugged at his mouth.

"What?" he asked.

Clara realized she had been staring.

Her breath came slow.

Then after a long moment of thought, she lifted her head and asked,

"So Victor, what is it you’re planning? Making the leaders of Fantom City’s underworld into your subordinates. Even making a suspected member of the royal family do a blood pact with you. Tell me, Victor, what is it you truly want?"

When Clara said this, she did not mask the killing intent she was emitting, as she tightly held her sword’s handle.

The air shifted.

The corridor seemed colder.

Somewhere deeper in the building laughter from the others had faded.

Only silence remained between them.

Victor’s eyes narrowed.

Gold turned sharper.

Dangerous.

"Tell me, Clara, why should I tell you what I’m planning?"

His voice was soft.

Too soft.

That softness made her spine tighten more than shouting ever could.

Though Victor liked Clara—found her aggression almost adorable in a feral sort of way—hostility was something he never answered kindly.

And Clara sensed it.

Felt it.

Had Victor been another mood, had she been another person, he might already have drowned her under mana pressure until she knelt.

And in that kneeling position...

He might have made her beg.

The thought sent a flicker through her pulse.

Still she held firm.

"If you won’t tell me the answer, I would need to use force and make you tell me... Victor I do not want to do this, but if you are a danger to the kingdom... I cannot allow a threat to the kingdom to remain free."

Victor gave a quiet laugh.

Not mocking.

Almost delighted.

"As a knight, you draw steel against the man who saved your life?"

Clara’s jaw clenched.

"As a subject of Skyfall, I draw steel against anyone who may threaten it."

Victor tilted his head.

Studying her.

Then—

"Are you sure you’re able to do that."

No question mark.

It sounded like judgment.

And Clara...

felt a chill.

It slid down her spine like winter water.

Her throat dried.

She gulped.

Even her hands started shaking a bit.

She hated that he noticed.

Victor noticed everything.

"I know I’m no match for you Victor," she said at last, voice lower now, "but still as someone from this kingdom. As a subject to the royal family, I need to act."

She didn’t really want to do this.

That was the cruel truth.

Because beneath duty, something else had grown.

Respect.

Trust.

Something warmer she refused to name.

And Victor knew it.

He stepped forward once.

Just once.

And somehow it felt like a predator crossing a boundary.

Clara’s fingers tightened on her sword.

But he did not attack.

Instead he leaned near enough his voice brushed her ear.

"Tell me, Clara... do you think kingdoms are innocent?"

She blinked.

"What?"

"Do you think crowns are righteous merely because they wear crowns?"

Silence.

Victor continued.

"You ask what I want."

His golden eyes seemed deeper now.

Ancient almost.

"I want power."

The words landed like stones.

Raw.

Honest.

No lie.

No disguise.

Clara’s breath caught.

Victor smiled faintly.

"But not for the reasons you fear."

He looked toward the chamber where Eon and the others remained.

"I gather pieces because the board is already moving."

"The nobles move."

"The royal bloodline hides secrets."

"Monsters wear human faces."

"And gods..."

His voice lowered almost into a whisper.

"...write ugly scripts."

Clara frowned.

She did not understand all of it.

But she felt conviction.

And something frighteningly vast behind it.

"You expect me to trust that?"

"No." Victor said. "I expect you to judge me by whether I burn the innocent or protect them."

Then he smirked.

"And so far, haven’t I mostly done the latter?"

Mostly.

That word nearly made Clara laugh despite herself.

"Mostly?"

He shrugged.

"I am charmingly imperfect."

Against all reason, a tiny reluctant smile touched her lips.

Victor noticed.

Of course he did.

He leaned closer.

"So... Valkyrie."

His voice dipped teasingly.

"Are you still planning to arrest me?"

She glared.

Which only amused him further.

Then her expression hardened again.

"One more thing."

Victor raised a brow.

"Ask."

"You made Eon swear everything to you."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Victor’s gaze sharpened.

"Because half-hearted loyalty gets people killed."

He paused.

"And because one day I may ask people beside me to walk into hell."

The hallway seemed colder again.

Clara searched his face.

Not for lies.

For madness.

And what terrified her...

was finding neither.

Only certainty.

A dangerous kind.

"You talk like a king," she murmured.

Victor chuckled.

"No."

His smile thinned.

"Kings inherit.

I take."

That should have frightened her more.

Instead something in her chest stirred.

Gods, what was wrong with her?

She loosened her grip on her sword at last.

Victor noticed that too.

"You’re lowering your blade."

"For now."

"For now," he echoed.

Then, with maddening boldness, he lifted a finger and tapped lightly beneath her chin.

Clara froze.

"Victor—"

"You’re trembling."

"I am not."

"You are."

His grin deepened.

"And it is cute."

Her face flushed hot with fury.

Or something dangerously close.

She nearly reached for his throat.

Nearly.

Instead she hissed,

"One day your arrogance will kill you."

Victor leaned back lazily.

"One day perhaps."

Then his voice dropped.

"But not before I change this world."

That sentence lingered.

Not spoken dramatically.

Simply stated.

As if inevitable.