Why is Background Character the Strongest Now?

Chapter 11

"It's really getting more and more dangerous to be out at night…"

A man muttered under his breath, staring at the bloodstained alley now cordoned off by yellow mana-tape.

"Did you hear?" a woman whispered nearby. "Even an Awakener died here."

"Yeah," another added. "I heard he was Rank 3… and the vampire tore him apart like a beast."

Around them, officers from the Awakener Police Unit were securing the scene, casting barrier sigils and mana-cleanse spells to purify any lingering demonic taint. Civilians gathered in tense clumps, their voices hushed but heavy with fear.

Among the crowd, no one noticed the silent young man cloaked in a plain gray robe.

Ezra Celestrian stood with his hands folded behind his back, his face altered by mana disguise, his aura compressed tightly into the shell of a weak Rank 1 civilian. Even his eyes looked dull and lifeless, far from the usual sharp silver gaze.

He was invisible—by design.

"Four attacks. Four bodies. Four clean escapes. Not a trace left behind," he thought, eyes scanning the alley.

"This was the last known kill. Just yesterday."

He waited patiently as the police wrapped up, talking amongst themselves before clearing out with tired shoulders and dark expressions.

When the last uniformed figure left and the alley fell into silence again, Ezra stepped forward.

With a flick of his wrist, he summoned a small orb of light and whispered:

"Revivare Trace."

A simple but rarely used non-attributed spell that allowed one to replay faint residual mana imprints from a location—like magical afterimages burnt into the air.

The spell was weak, but Ezra was meticulous.

As he moved slowly through the alley, the air shimmered faintly. Ghostly figures danced in brief flickers: a man stumbling, a blur in the shadows, and then—

A flash of claws. A burst of crimson. A shriek.

Ezra's eyes narrowed.

The aura that lingered behind was thin… but familiar.

"There you are…"

He could feel it now—a presence that wasn't human. Smooth, refined… yet savage beneath the surface.

"From the mana signature… it's around my level," Ezra muttered.

"Or stronger."

He stood in silence for a moment, weighing possibilities.

Then a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Looks like I'll have to bait him out myself."

His plan was simple.

He would be the prey.

But not here.

"This alley's burned. Too many police patrols now," he said to himself, dismissing the magic and pulling his cloak tighter.

"He won't return here. But if I find the right district… quiet enough, dark enough…"

Ezra turned and walked into the fading evening light, the wind catching the edge of his cloak.

"Let's see if I can make a vampire bleed."

————————-

The alley was silent.

Not peaceful—eerie.

A single rat scurried across the cracked concrete, then vanished into the dark. Even the air itself seemed to hold its breath.

In that silence, a figure stood atop a rusted pipe bridge, cloaked in black and shadow. He held a vial of red liquid between his fingers, swirling it with reverence.

"Awakener blood," the vampire whispered, tongue gliding across his fangs. "Still warm… still singing with mana."

He took a sip—and moaned with delight.

"Mmm… so much better than those trash commoners."

Normal humans didn't satisfy him anymore. Their blood was bland, dull, lifeless.

But Awakeners?

Their blood pulsed with mana, danced with core energy, and tasted like ambrosia.

"Once you taste power," he said to himself, "you can never go back."

He crushed the vial in his hand, scattering glass and blood to the wind.

Tonight, he hunted again.

⸻

District 18 was perfect.

A forgotten corner of Etherlight, reeking of chemicals and rust. Old weapons factories stood like ghosts, leaking toxins into the air. No sane person lived here—but the desperate did. Awakeners-in-hiding. Failed students. Outcasts.

Easy pickings.

He moved through the steel graveyard like a wraith. Mana swirled silently at his fingertips, ready to kill again.

And then—he saw him.

A lone figure. Drunk. Mumbling to himself near the shadow of a shattered forge.

The vampire's eyes gleamed.

"An Awakener," he whispered. He could smell it. Faint, but clear. "Delicious."

He descended from the rooftops without a sound.

Silent. Invisible. Deadly.

He extended a claw toward the man's neck.

But then—

Clang!

The man spun with shocking speed, deflecting the claw with something—metal?

In the same breath, he drove his elbow into the vampire's ribs and spun again, sweeping with a kick that made the vampire stumble.

The figure straightened up, sober and calm.

His eyes didn't hold fear—just focus.

"Not the welcome you were expecting?" the young man said.

The vampire hissed, stepping back. The human wasn't flaring any aura, but his movement was precise—measured. Efficient.

"You tricked me…" he muttered.

In a rage, he unleashed a barrage of fire spells, setting nearby debris ablaze. But the man danced through them, striking with rapid, clean slashes of his blade.

Each strike hit true.

A cut across the shoulder. A stab to the side.

He wasn't just defending. He was baiting.

"Who are you?" the vampire growled.

The figure said nothing.

The fight moved across the rooftops. Magic clashed with blade. Sparks flew in the night air.

The vampire launched a chain lightning spell, shattering a tower.

Still—he was followed.

Still—he couldn't land a clean hit.

He was being hunted.

"Enough!"

Mana surged around him, thick and violent. Cracks formed under his feet as he exploded with power.

Rank 5. Beginner Stage. Mage-type.

He bared his teeth.

"Weak. Fucking human. Do you even know what my realm is?!"

Silence.

Then—finally—the boy smirked.

"Yeah. You reek of desperation."

The vampire froze.

That calm tone. The eyes that never blinked.

The smirk that said: I've already won.

"Let's see how long you can keep running."

———————-

A storm of fire lit up the dead district.

Explosions tore through the air as mana surged like a tide—twisting into forms too fast to see.

BOOM!

A fiery comet slammed into a derelict factory, reducing steel and stone into molten slag. A shockwave followed, tearing through walls, uprooting chimneys, and hurling debris like cannonballs.

The Rank 5 vampire hovered in the smoke—his eyes glowing red, arms outstretched.

"Infernal Spiral!"

Flaming rings formed around him, orbiting at high speed before launching forward like saw blades, melting everything in their path.

Ezra darted between them, a blur of violet and steel.

Each spiral sliced past him by inches, but never touched him. His body moved with impossible precision—not dodging randomly, but with a swordsman's rhythm.

Every pivot. Every step. Every shift of weight—it was deliberate.

"He's moving through the gaps… he's reading my casting pattern?" the vampire thought, eyes widening.

And then—

Ezra vanished.

A second later—he was behind him.

CLANG!

The vampire twisted mid-air, parrying just in time with a mana barrier that cracked on impact. Ezra's blade, covered in dark violet aura, had nearly pierced his heart.

The vampire backflipped away, breathing hard.

"You're… insane. A Rank 4? No—your aura's evolved."

Ezra exhaled slowly, eyes glowing with faint silver. His blade hummed in his hand.

"Keep talking. It's helping me warm up."

The vampire snarled and slammed both palms together.

"Crimson Stasis."

A wave of blood-red mana swept over the battlefield. Time slowed. Air thickened. Debris froze mid-air.

Ezra felt the pressure clamp down on his muscles, on his lungs. The world turned sluggish. His knees nearly buckled.

"Rank 5 space-time field…" he muttered.

The vampire raised one finger.

"Now burn—Voidfire Lance!"

A massive spear of black flame twisted into existence—crackling with gravity and death. It tore through the stilled air, aimed straight at Ezra's chest.

Ezra's violet aura flared wildly. The ground beneath his feet shattered, and in that same breath, he disappeared—again.

BOOOOM!!

The lance struck the earth like a meteor, leaving behind a crater dozens of meters wide. Smoke and glowing cracks spread in every direction.

"No one below Rank 5 can escape that—"

A voice whispered behind him:

"Wrong again."

A slash tore across the vampire's back.

"GAH—!!"

Ezra's eyes were focused. Cold. Determined.

He didn't stop.

He struck again. And again. Like falling stars, his slashes came from every angle.

Slash.

Crack.

Slash.

Mana barriers broke. Blood spilled.

"Damn you!" the vampire roared.

He raised both hands, chanting in an ancient tongue.

"Spell: Tenebris Surge!"

Dark tendrils erupted from the ground—dozens of them—each coiling with lightning and frost, writhing like snakes through the air, aiming to bind, crush, electrocute.

Ezra took a breath.

He stepped forward.

And then—he disappeared again, not through teleportation, but pure speed. The tendrils missed.

He shot like a bullet through the magic storm, slicing apart anything that touched him.

"Fool—you're charging into a mid-Rank 5's spellstorm!"

"I don't care," Ezra whispered, his aura erupting like wildfire.

In a blink, he closed the distance again. This time his sword moved differently—not a slash, but a thrust that shattered sound itself.

CRACKKK!!

His sword pierced through the vampire's right shoulder, destroying the casting hand.

"Aghhh—!!"

Ezra didn't stop. He twisted the blade, and with a roar, kicked the vampire into the air.

The vampire soared, spinning, blood trailing behind.

Ezra leapt after him—and their final clash painted the sky in violet and crimson.

⸻

As the dust settled, the vampire crashed into a collapsed tower, struggling to rise.

His robe was torn. Mana was leaking out of every wound. His breath came ragged.

He glared at Ezra, who stood across the rubble—calm, sword in hand, aura still glowing.

"You… you're no normal Rank 4."

Ezra didn't reply.

He simply raised his blade again.

I told you.

I don't stop once I start.

The vampire was bleeding from half a dozen wounds—his arm twisted at an unnatural angle, his mana fraying like tattered threads.

He tried to rise.

Ezra was already in front of him.

"Tch… damn human," the vampire growled, trying to form a magic seal.

Ezra's sword flashed.

SLASH!

The seal shattered mid-air.

"You're finished," Ezra said calmly, not out of arrogance—but certainty.

The vampire snarled. "You… you think you've won? I am a noble! A mage of the Night Court! You can't even imagine who I serve!"

Ezra didn't flinch. "And yet here you are. Crawling."

He raised his hand—and for the first time, cast a spell of his own through scroll

"Binding Art: Arcane Shackles."

A set of glowing violet chains burst from the ground, wrapping around the vampire's limbs. The mana in the air pulsed and thickened—completely suppressing movement.

The vampire tried to struggle, but each motion only caused the shackles to glow brighter.

"W-What is this…?" he rasped, mana failing to circulate.

Ezra replied, voice low. "A suppression spell designed for magic-class criminals. Courtesy of the Sword Emperor himself."

"R-Ren… Kurogane…?" the vampire's voice trembled.

So he knows, Ezra thought.

Without another word, Ezra stepped behind the vampire, delivering a precise blow to the back of his neck.

The vampire slumped over, unconscious.