How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game Chapter 660: Light

Beon had pursued the way of the sword since his earliest childhood.

It was never a mere pastime.

It was not a game to be played.

It was his entire existence.

His days were consumed by training—perfecting every cut, footstep, and breath in a repetitive cycle—stretching his capabilities until physical agony became a familiar companion and fatigue lost its meaning.

By his peak, he had already surpassed the limits of what most could ever hope to achieve.

The label of "prodigy" no longer suited him in the eyes of the public.

They gave him a different title.

A being who had ascended.

His blade moved with such velocity that reality itself remained unaware it had been severed.

The outcome was sealed long before the sound of the strike could catch up to the movement.

Speed was more than a mere attribute; it defined who he was.

As the creator of the Hidden Blade Technique, he stood as the swiftest swordsman in existence—a true sword supreme whose reputation commanded respect even among the most elite masters.

Such power naturally brought with it a sense of pride.

Beon was not a malicious man. His quiet confidence was a product of iron discipline rather than vanity.

He held respect for those who earned it—the ones who bled, improved, and confronted their own inadequacies with honesty.

However, there was one thing he loathed above all else.

Mediocrity masked as diligence.

Potential squandered by indecision.

Strength that was imitated but never truly grasped.

To put it simply—he hated frauds.

"Tsk..."

A sharp click of his tongue escaped him as violet eyes flickered with subtle sparks of lightning.

In the distance, a young lady persisted in her drills.

She had been at it for several days.

With a stubborn grit, she repeated her motions over and over, though her technique was unpolished and her breathing lacked rhythm.

Through Beon’s perception, the necessary elements were visible—the raw power, the natural instincts, and a physique capable of execution.

And yet...

Something was fundamentally off.

She appeared miserable.

Yet, simultaneously... she was brimming with potential.

Force accompanied every swing.

Purpose drove every stride.

There was no emptiness in her actions.

But regardless of how intently he scrutinized her, a certain element felt absent.

It was as if she stood before a threshold she lacked the key to cross.

She was unfinished.

Why?

Beon squinted, lightning dancing within his pupils.

"The strength is present," he whispered to himself.

"The motion is there... even the stance is correct."

Why did it still feel hollow?

Why did every blow seem to stop just before reaching its true potential?

He found his hand tightening instinctively.

"...What is it that you lack?"

Swoosh—!

Without warning, a plume of dark mist swirled at his side.

Beon didn't even flinch. He merely adjusted his sight, recognizing the presence before the figure had even materialized.

"Bom..."

The mist dissipated to reveal a young woman wearing a casual grin, her hands tucked behind her back as if her sudden appearance was perfectly normal.

"I see you've resumed your habit of lurking," she remarked playfully.

"I am not lurking."

"Fufu. If you say so." Bom inclined her head, her expression full of doubt. "First, it was me during my youth. Then came Seo. Then Riley. And now..." Her gaze shifted toward the far-off training area. "...you've decided to watch a princess. Sigh. What am I to do with my own great-grandfather?"

"You are exaggerating the situation," Beon answered tonelessly.

"I’m describing it exactly as it is," Bom grumbled, though her voice betrayed her amusement. "Still... I figured she would catch your eye eventually. Just not in this manner. Observing her day in and day out, dissecting every move." She looked back at him. "If it bothers you this much, why not just instruct her yourself?"

"You are aware that is not possible," Beon countered instantly. "Furthermore... I have my own motives."

Bom let out a sigh. This stubborn streak of his remained untouched by the passage of time.

"...In any case," she said after a brief pause, folding her arms, "your presence here implies that Mother has tasked you with following me again, doesn't it?"

Beon let out a short snort. "So you caught on."

"Haha, indeed. Even if it feels intrusive, don't be too hard on her." Bom offered a small smile. "You are quite a handful, even for someone like her."

"I am aware," Beon said softly. "Your mother’s every action is for the sake of the family."

He cast a sidelong look at Bom.

"And it isn't as if you are actually being discreet. I can only imagine her reaction if she found out you were openly conversing with the target of your surveillance."

Bom gave a soft chuckle at the thought.

"She would likely act as if she didn't notice," Bom said. "Simply to maintain the facade."

Beon fell silent, his focus returning to the front as Bom continued to speak beside him.

A light breeze tugged at his cloak, bringing with it the metallic tang of swords and the chill of frost from the training grounds.

As the patriarch of both the Sect and the family, he carried burdens heavier than any physical weapon—obligations to his lineage, his legacy, and the preservation of balance.

Ironically, the very complexities of those bonds were what held him back now.

He lacked the freedom to act as he once did.

However, he had his limits.

Should anyone dare to cross them, he would not hesitate to cut down whatever was necessary—kin or otherwise.

He had fully intended to eliminate Aera the moment her plots began to surface.

He had long ago seen through her ambitions, her schemes, and the cold calculations she masked behind her smiles.

At least, that is what he had assumed. But reality rarely mirrors one's expectations.

Her intricate plans had crumbled one by one, dismantled by unpredictable factors, random meetings, and individuals who should have been insignificant—but weren't.

Recently, her behavior had become erratic.

Unusually so.

Her actions no longer adhered to the sharp, cold logic he associated with her. Instead, they seemed... skewed. As though some outside force was exerting influence over her.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

Is this because of Riley?

The question persisted in his mind longer than he cared to admit.

Ever since that youth appeared, occurrences that Beon once considered impossible had begun to manifest as if pulled by an invisible tide.

The foundations of power were shifting.

Destiny itself seemed to warp—not through violence, but through a persistent pull—around the boy's existence.

His mere presence altered the course of events.

A nuisance.

And yet... someone to be relied upon.

Beon let out a quiet breath. Regardless of what Aera planned, the future remained—ironically—stable as long as Riley was involved.

It was hazardous, yes, but contained.

No matter what turbulence trailed the boy, it never breached a specific, unseen limit.

Beon placed more faith in that limit than in any formal vow. As long as Aera didn't cross that line, a true disaster would be avoided.

"By the way, Family Head."

Bom’s voice sliced through his contemplation.

Beon didn't turn his head, but he gave her his attention.

"Didn't you claim you came here to watch over your disciple and see how Seo was doing?" she asked, her voice light yet probing. "You were the first to arrive... but you haven't shown your face to Riley or Seo even once."

A silence followed, broken only by the echo of steel hitting steel and the shouts of instructors in the distance.

Bom tilted her head, observing him closely.

"For a man who supposedly came to 'monitor and guide his disciples onto the proper path,' you've been remarkably good at staying hidden."

Beon’s violet eyes shimmered, sparks of contained lightning swirling in the depths.

"There was no requirement for my involvement," Beon stated. "Riley and Seo are developing—no, they are evolving—in ways I never foresaw."

His gaze grew sharp as he thought of Riley.

"Particularly Riley. His very being has already entered a territory I once thought was out of reach. Previously, his strength was concealed—crushed and held back. Now, it radiates from him effortlessly... like a master who wears a heavy mantle without even noticing its weight. As for why I haven't greeted them... that is for my own reasons."

He paused for a second before continuing.

"I find I prefer to observe."

Watching had always been Beon’s greatest luxury.

There was something pure about seeing talent flourish on its own—unburdened by coaching, stress, or the weight of expectations. Furthermore...

He suspected that his presence would only ruin the delicate, fleeting moments those two shared.

After all—

Even he struggled with his composure when facing his cherished granddaughter, Seo.

Bom looked unconvinced and frowned, but she eventually shook her head.

She was well aware that her grandfather's actions were governed by his own whims.

"Hm... I see," she sighed. "Well, as long as you don't cause a scene, I don't care. I won't stop you from playing spy."

She paused momentarily before adding,

"However... you really ought to fulfill your obligations as the Sect leader this time. Mother has been acting oddly lately. She's still managing most of your duties from afar, but you are still the head of the clan."

Bom crossed her arms over her chest.

"Even Father is starting to lose his patience with you back home."

Beon gave a soft laugh.

"Haha. My son and daughter-in-law are welcome to my title whenever they please. I decided on my retirement a long time ago."

"Then why haven't you stepped down?" Bom challenged.

"Because," Beon answered without a second thought, "it is far more entertaining this way."

Bom let out a deep sigh, wishing she hadn't asked.

"Anyway... are you just going to keep stalking that princess?"

"Certainly not," Beon said, adjusting his stance.

Then, a sharp light of intent flashed in his purple eyes.

"You know I cannot simply ignore such potential."

The moment he spoke, Beon disappeared—his body turning into a bolt of crackling violet lightning that sliced through the air, leaving only a low hum and Bom’s weary sigh behind.

...

—Slam!

A massive figure slid across the stone flooring before coming to a messy halt.

"Ugh—!"

A strained, painful groan followed as Kagami, his large frame shaking, coughed violently while clutching his stomach.

The force had completely knocked the air out of his lungs, and his vision blurred for a moment.

"Are you alright?!"

Lucas bolted forward, his face full of genuine worry as he reached out to assist him.

Kagami immediately held up a massive hand to stop him. "Nah—cough—I'm fine, pal." He wheezed again before forcing a smirk. "I'm the one who told you to strike me, remember?"

"Haha... yeah, I know, but maybe I should have restrained myself a bit more—"

Lucas rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

The truth was, he had held back. Quite a lot.

But there was no point in mentioning that.

"Don't worry about it," Kagami cut in, finally taking Lucas's hand. With a heavy grunt and a surge of muscle, he pulled himself up. "I knew you had power, but damn... I didn't expect it to land that hard."

Lucas smiled softly. "People are usually caught off guard. I don't exactly look like a powerhouse."

Kagami snorted. "Your build is perfectly fine. Sure, you aren't as absurdly built as Riley, but your skeletal structure is nearly the same." He stopped, his eyes narrowing with a playful seriousness. "And between the two of you? Your faces alone are enough to make half the men in the academy grit their teeth in jealousy."

"Jealousy?" Lucas blinked in confusion.

"Just ignore that," Kagami dismissed the thought. "Between your fans and the fact that one of you has four literal goddesses following him around, it all evens out. Though seriously—" he whispered, his voice dropping, "if you could actually see the goddess who is always by your side, maybe you wouldn't be such a frustratingly oblivious guy."

"...Huh?"

Lucas tilted his head. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing." Kagami cleared his throat loudly. "Forget I said anything."

A short silence passed before Kagami’s demeanor changed, his typical easygoing smile replaced by a more focused expression.

"So," he said, rotating his shoulders, "you're absolutely certain you want me to do the same to you?"

Lucas met his eyes and gave a firm nod.

"Please," he said steadily. "Show me your best."

Kagami hesitated for a heartbeat.

"...Fine," he finally agreed, letting out a slow breath. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

He braced his feet firmly against the ground. Mana erupted, swirling around his balled fist like concentrated starlight—thick, chaotic, and incredibly heavy.

The atmosphere itself seemed to warp as the energy condensed toward a single point.

It was Kagami’s ultimate move.

[Meteor Fist]

"Don't blame me if this leaves a mark, pal," he muttered, his muscles bulging as veins throbbed along his arm.

Standing across from him, Lucas simply offered a smile.