The darkness enveloped him in deadly silence, as if the world itself had forgotten his existence. Noel remained motionless for seven days—his body lifeless, his pulse faint—suspended between death and something else.
Then suddenly... he breathed.
His eyes fluttered open slowly, adjusting to the dim, sterile light flickering above. He was no longer in the Abyss. The smell of blood and ash was gone, replaced by cold metal and antiseptic.
He sat up, instinctively alert.
His body was sore but intact. His wounds had healed, though faint traces of old battle scars remained on his skin.
But that wasn't what shocked him.
It was the *memory*.
All of it.
Leo. Earth. The book. The explosion. The Black Lotus. The Abyss. The beast's roar. The dagger. The scream.
Everything returned—not as a haze or fragmented dreams, but *real*. Vivid. As if he had always been meant to remember.
Because he wasn't *Leo* anymore.
He was *Noel*.
And then came the surge.
A violent pulse of energy erupted through the room. Static danced across the ceiling. Lines of data flickered before his eyes.
**[System interference detected.]**
**[Unrecognized sequence initiated...]**
**[Corrective override active.]**
**[Host identity stabilization in progress...]**
He winced, clutching his temple. A new voice echoed in his consciousness:
**"Black Lotus System Interface – Version 2.4. Update complete."**
Transparent panels unfolded in his vision:
**[BLACK LOTUS SYSTEM – VERSION 2.4]**
**Host:** Noel Vier
**Status:** Conscious | **Memory Integration:** Complete
**Current Rank:** E
**Primary Art:** Thorned Blossom Katana Style (Rank: EX – Personal)
**Art Mastery:** 10% (Beginner – Locked)
**Known Movement(s):** [1st Form – Void Sever] – *Unpracticed*
**Special Trait:** [Void Regulation] — Rank: ???
**Passive State:** Masked Identity – System Concealment Active
**Note:** No external system, scan, or observer can access host's detailed data.
**Cooldown:** Interface locked to host-only visibility.
He blinked.
The interface was clearer now, more detailed than before. But he froze when he saw:
**Void Sever**—the first technique of a sword art he didn't remember ever using. It had been granted during the battle with Airghoul, but he hadn't activated it—not consciously.
He didn't know what it looked like. How it felt. It remained a mystery even to him.
And yet... Airghoul had died.
He remembered the beast lunging.
Then darkness.
The next thing he knew—he woke up here.
Lost in thought, he heard approaching footsteps.
The door to his room hissed open.
Three figures entered: two armed men in combat gear and a tall officer with iron-gray hair and deep violet eyes. His uniform bore the insignia of **Section Four**. His gaze locked onto Noel.
"You've been missing for a year and a half," he said flatly.
Noel didn't respond immediately.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice low and cautious.
"Commander Delvin. Southern Coalition, Strategic Intelligence."
Delvin stepped forward.
"You disappeared during the Demon Continent purge. No one survived. Until now. You were found in **Zone 731**, surrounded by what was left of a **Class-One predator**. Airghoul."
Noel's expression didn't change. "And?"
"We've never seen anyone survive there before. And the beast's **mana core** was missing—after we found it **split in half**."
"I didn't kill it," Noel answered truthfully.
Delvin studied him. "That wasn't the question."
Silence.
Then:
"Do you want us to contact your House?"
"No."
Delvin raised an eyebrow.
"They don't know I'm alive. Leave it that way—for now."
"Your father—"
"He'll know soon enough. I'll go on my birthday."
He stood calmly, the sheet slipping from his shoulders. His bare chest revealed a faint, self-inflicted scar—a memory of the **pact** he had carved into his flesh.
He walked past them.
No orders. No permission.
Just **presence**.
That night, he stood alone in the training hall. No guards. No cameras. Just him... and the **katana** beside him, which he had requested from Commander Delvin earlier.
Its hilt was familiar—silver-black, shaped like thorns. It wasn't forged by human hands. It was *designed*. **His** design.
"**Void Sever**," he whispered.
He had never used it.
Didn't even know how.
But as he raised the blade, something inside him **aligned**.
The mana in his limbs shifted—responding not to logic, but **instinct**.
He struck.
The movement was fluid, breathtakingly fast—a perfect dance between elegance and lethal precision.
The katana sliced through the air so swiftly it blurred into a ribbon of shimmering light, like a ghostly petal falling silently in a storm. It was as if **time itself hesitated**, unable to trace the blade's path.
Around him, the faint glow of the training hall's light refracted off the blade, casting fractured shadows like blooming flowers and thorned vines upon the walls.
The air split with a silent crack—a delicate fracture in reality itself, imperceptible to any observer, yet undeniable in its existence.
He stopped.
His breathing steady.
The world remained still, as if holding its breath, captivated by the **beauty and lethality** hidden in that single stroke.
"...Only **ten percent mastery**," he murmured, a faint smile touching his lips.
In this world of overwhelming beauty and power, where mana shimmered like liquid starlight, **Noel stood as a quiet storm**—masked, enigmatic, and ready to **rewrite his fate**...
And the fate of **this story**, to reach the best possible