As Lucien stepped out of the auction house, the cool wind of the 12th District brushed against his face. The streets were dim, the lanterns flickering weakly, and people shuffled past like shadows. He wandered aimlessly, holding the items he had won earlier—each pulsing faintly in its own way.
Then he felt it.
A sudden pressure.
It wasn't directed at him, but it was there—dense, heavy, ancient. His eyes narrowed, and his steps slowed.
Sitting against a broken wall near an alley was an old man wrapped in dirty, torn rags. His beard was thick and white, hair long and unkempt. Most would see him as just another beggar.
But Lucien wasn't like most.
The energy the old man was giving off… it was suffocating. Quiet, hidden beneath layers of filth and weakness—but unmistakable.
It was stronger than any person he had encountered in this city.
That's not just a Grandmaster aura… Lucien thought. That's something beyond Sovereign.
He slowly reached into his pouch and tossed a single gold coin at the man's feet.
The coin spun slightly, catching the light before resting on the ground.
The old man's eyes opened. A strange gleam flickered behind his dull irises.
Then he spoke, voice rough but clear. "Hey… brat."
Lucien paused mid-step. He turned back, calm as ever.
"Why," the old man said, picking up the coin, "did you just throw me one gold coin? That's a month's wage in this rat hole."
Lucien walked toward him slowly, stopping a few steps away.
"You're not a beggar," Lucien said plainly. "The aura you're hiding… it's stronger than anything I've seen in this district. So I thought, if I give you one gold—"
He looked the old man in the eye.
"—you might give me something in return."
The alley was quiet for a moment.
Then the old man grinned, revealing crooked yellow teeth.
"You're sharp for someone so young." He leaned forward slightly. "Then tell me… what rank do you think I am?"
Lucien didn't hesitate.
"Higher than Sovereign."
The grin froze for a second. The old man blinked. "You can tell?"
Lucien nodded. "Your energy is hidden, like it's asleep. But it's there. Anyone sensitive to aura would feel it—even faintly."
The old man chuckled and leaned his head back against the wall. "No wonder you caught my eye. Not many would notice. Not even the so-called experts of the inner districts."
He looked back at Lucien, now curious. "And what about you, boy? What rank are you?"
Lucien tilted his head slightly. "…Adept Stage."
The old man stared at him for a long second.
Then he burst into laughter, a raspy, almost wheezing sound.
"Adept Stage, huh?! That's all? And you walk around like you own the streets?"
Lucien stayed silent, his gaze calm.
"…but you see things others can't," the old man added, wiping his eyes. "You notice my power despite being so 'low-ranked.' Either you've trained under someone monstrous, or… you're just built different."
Lucien didn't reply.
He simply stepped forward and held out his hand—and in it was the skill book he won from the auction.
"You feel this too, don't you?" Lucien asked.
The old man's eyes widened slightly. He slowly reached out and touched the edge of the book.
A shiver ran through his hand.
"…This book. It's cursed. But not ordinary cursed. It's sealed—black aura of a kind that eats through mana." He glanced up. "Where did you get this?"
Lucien looked down at the worn tome. "Bought it. No one wanted it."
The old man gave a dry chuckle. "Fools. This book isn't just cursed—it's a remnant of a fallen art. Something ancient, forbidden even by the gods."
Lucien raised a brow. "You know how to unseal it?"
The old man's smile returned. "I might. But I want something first."
Lucien folded his arms. "What?"
"…A drink. A real one. Not this muddy water these people give me." The old man said.
Lucien nodded once, then turned away. "Wait here."
He walked off, leaving the old man chuckling to himself.
"Adept stage, huh?" the man muttered with a grin. "Then why does your aura feel like it's staring down heaven itself?"
Lucien returned after a few minutes, holding a dusty bottle of old wine. He handed it silently to the old man, who took it with a raised brow.
"You really brought one," he said, sniffing the cork before popping it open. He took a long drink and sighed. "Ahhh... finally. Something with taste."
Lucien didn't say anything. Instead, he pulled out the darkened skill book again and held it out. "…You said you could unseal it."
The old man raised a brow, then smirked. "I did."
He placed the wine beside him and wiped his hands on his tattered robes. Then, with both palms hovering above the book, he whispered something inaudible.
A shift filled the air.
The book trembled in Lucien's hand. Black tendrils of energy coiled from the old man's fingers like smoke made of hunger. Then—
*CRACKK—
A deep sound echoed as a seal shattered.
The book's torn cover dissolved into dark ash. What remained underneath was smooth and matte black—no title, no markings. Just a void-like presence that pulled at the senses.
Suddenly, Lucien's aura flared, the black essence within him reacting uncontrollably. He took one step back, gripping the book as if something inside it stirred awake.
"…What is this?" Lucien asked, his voice lower.
The old man's eyes sharpened. "Devouring Scripture: Path of the Hollow Maw."
Lucien narrowed his eyes.
"It's a cursed magic scripture. You don't cast spells with it. You feed it," the old man explained. "It eats spells, devours auras, and if your will's too weak—it might even consume you."
Lucien stared at the book, then let out a faint exhale. "It called to me."
"Of course it did," the old man muttered, almost respectfully. "It only responds to those with emptiness buried inside them. Or those whose power stems from the void."
Lucien slowly closed the scripture, and his aura settled.
Then he asked, "…What are you doing in a place like this?"
The old man looked at him lazily. "What do you mean?"
"You sealed a scripture like it was nothing. You have enough aura to choke a Grandmaster. You're not some drunk in rags," Lucien said coldly. "Why are you pretending to be homeless?"
The old man leaned back and laughed dryly.
"Ahhh, the sharp ones always find me."
He scratched his beard and looked up at the sky.
"I used to be someone. Led a battalion. Served one of the Twelve High Thrones. But I said no to an order that would've killed thousands of innocent people. Guess how that turned out?"
Lucien's silence was enough of an answer.
"I got branded. Stripped of everything. Exiled to this gutter of a district," he said. "But better here than playing lapdog to hypocrites."
Lucien nodded slowly, no sympathy in his eyes—but respect.
"So why help me?" Lucien asked.
"…Because you didn't look at me with pity. You saw me. And more importantly—your soul isn't normal." The old man took another drink of wine.
"That black aura inside you… it's starving. The Hollow Maw scripture was drawn to that hunger. Whatever you are, you're not just another cultivator."
Lucien looked at the book again.
"…So be it. I'll devour everything that blocks my path."
The old man chuckled. "Well then, Hollow Maw bearer… remember this—power is fuel, but will is the fire. Don't let that scripture burn you from the inside."
Lucien turned to leave.
Before he walked away, the old man said one last thing. "If you ever reach the 5th District… find a man named Rhalos. Tell him… The Red Ghost still wanders."
Lucien glanced back. "Red Ghost, huh?"
The old man just winked, lifting the wine to his lips.