Impersonation!

The 'ceremony' was upon him.

Harry stood in the dim light, his sharp eyes flickering with a mix of determination and unease. His fingers flexed at his sides, an involuntary response to the weight of his thoughts.

"If you want to ascend to the next level," he murmured, his voice barely audible in the quiet room, "ritual is the surest path."

But even as he said it, the obstacles loomed in his mind. The sacrifices required by the Ritual of Life were becoming harder to procure. The turmoil caused by his clashes with the Black Council had plunged Malian City into a state of hypervigilance. The once plentiful supply of easy targets, fighters and rogues who wandered the streets unchecked, had all but dried up. Most had fled the city, while others sought refuge in the safety of Dojo.

The Red Bird Dojo, where Harry himself resided, had taken in its share of strays. Yet even if he could find a viable target among them, the results would be meager at best. The effectiveness of the ritual waned as his power grew, and now, only elite fighters or those of greater strength would suffice to fuel his ascension.

Harry's jaw tightened as the realization sank in. Elite fighters were a rare breed, and even rarer were those foolish enough to let their guard down. A grim smile touched his lips. "It's almost time," he whispered to himself, the decision crystallizing in his mind. If the easy prey was gone, then it was time to aim higher. Targets he'd once dismissed as untouchable would now become his focus.

---

That night, the city was shrouded in an eerie stillness. The silver moon had disappeared behind a thick veil of clouds, and a ghostly mist crept along the ground. Harry moved through the streets like a shadow, his footsteps soundless against the stone.

He came to a halt outside a sprawling courtyard. The property was vast, rivaling the size of the Red Bird Dojo, and tonight, it was alive with revelry. Inside, a grand banquet was underway. Laughter and music spilled out into the night, accompanied by the faint scent of roasted meat and fine wine. Through the iron gate, Harry glimpsed strippers weaving between the revelers, their movements as fluid as the liquor they poured. The air buzzed with unrestrained energy.

Harry tilted his head, listening. "How lively," he mused softly. His lips curved into a faint smirk. "Almost a shame to spoil it."

Pulling a black robe around his shoulders, he donned a dark, expressionless mask. The transformation was immediate. His posture shifted, his aura darkened, and the ruthless energy of the Black Council seemed to emanate from him. After a moment of adjustment, he nodded, satisfied with his disguise. The Harry that now stood there was unrecognizable.

With calculated precision, he stepped through the courtyard gate, melting into the shadows of the grand festivities. Somewhere within these walls was his target. If all went according to plan, the revelry would soon give way to chaos.

---

Unbeknownst to Harry, he was not the only one with plans for the night.

A short distance away, a young man with golden hair stood before the same courtyard. His striking features were illuminated by the faint glow of lanterns, and his serene smile belied the sharp intensity in his eyes. He studied the building with a quiet confidence, hands clasped loosely behind his back.

"This is it, then?" he asked, his voice steady but laced with a hint of amusement.

Beside him stood Howard, draped in a black robe that seemed to absorb the faint light around them. His expression was calm, almost clinical, as he nodded. "Yes, my lord. This is the lair of George the Mad."

The golden-haired man chuckled softly, his gaze never leaving the courtyard. "George the Mad. Quite the reputation."

"He's no trivial opponent," Howard continued, his tone matter-of-fact. "The last heir of an old and prestigious fighting school. He's challenged Steven of the Red Bird Dojo on multiple occasions in the past."

"And lost each time," the man remarked, his tone tinged with dry humor.

"Indeed. Most recently, after Steven was injured, George attempted another challenge. He thought he had found his moment, but…" Howard hesitated, a rare flicker of hesitation in his voice. "He was defeated by the school's deputy head instead."

The golden-haired man's smile widened. "Interesting. It seems we're not the only ones here with ambitions tonight. Let's see how this plays out."

As the two figures stood in the shadows, Harry moved closer to his goal, unaware that the night would soon descend into a maelstrom of conflicting forces and deadly ambitions.

As Howard mentioned the deputy headmaster of the Red Bird Dojo, a flicker of unease crossed his face. His lips twitched slightly, a reflex born from a bitter memory he'd rather forget. After all, he too had once faced Harry and the defeat still stung. The way Harry dismantled him had been anything but glorious.

"Still nursing old wounds, Howard?" the blond young man teased, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. His tone was light, almost casual, but the glint in his eyes suggested a sharp edge of amusement.

Howard cleared his throat, regaining his composure. "Not at all," he said curtly.

The young man let the moment hang in the air before turning back toward the courtyard. "According to our intelligence," he said, "the deputy headmaster is still seriously injured. Between the two of us, capturing him should be trivial."

"For a Dojo Master fighter," Howard added, his tone steady, "such a capture would indeed be an accomplishment."

"Exactly," the young man replied with a nod, though his expression darkened as a different topic crossed his mind. His voice hardened as he spoke. "But first, let's deal with that bastard who's been operating in our name."

Howard's eyes narrowed at the mention of their impostor. "A thorn in our side," he muttered. "Whoever it is, they're not only stealing our targets but doing so in broad daylight. Thanks to them, the entire city of Malian is in uproar."

"They've practically cleaned the place out!" the young man hissed, his frustration bubbling over. "Otherwise, we wouldn't have to resort to chasing down someone like George." His fists clenched at his sides. "And to make it worse, they're dragging our name through the mud, parading as if they're part of the Black Council."

Howard gave a humorless chuckle. "To be fair, it's not exactly a 'frame-up.' We're hardly saints."

"That's beside the point," the young man shot back. "Who gave him the right to wreck our operation? We could've captured all those weaker fighters quietly. But thanks to this mess, we're stuck targeting someone as troublesome as George."

They both knew George's reputation. A Dojo Master fighter, he wasn't just strong, he was clever, too. Someone like him would be difficult to corner, let alone capture. To ensure success, they'd come together tonight, pooling their skills to prevent any chance of his escape.

Now, standing outside the courtyard, their confidence grew. The loud, careless banquet inside suggested George wasn't expecting trouble. Laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses echoed into the night. The sight of the unguarded revelry made Howard's lips curl into a smile.

"No vigilance at all," he remarked. "He's practically handing himself to us."

The young man grinned. "Let's not keep him waiting."

The two approached cautiously, their movements slow and deliberate as they searched for an opportunity to slip inside. But just as they were about to make their move, something changed.

The courtyard, alive with noise just moments ago, suddenly fell silent. The cheerful clamor vanished, replaced by a tense, eerie stillness. Then came the screams; high-pitched and panicked. Roars of fear followed, punctuated by frantic shouts. Whatever was happening inside, it wasn't part of the celebration.

Howard and the young man froze, their gazes snapping toward the courtyard gates. The chaos inside escalated rapidly, confusion etched on both their faces.

"What the hell is going on?" the young man muttered, his voice low but sharp.

Before Howard could respond, a powerful voice bellowed from within the courtyard, cutting through the din like a blade. "The Black Council is arresting people! If you're not involved, get out of here now!"

The proclamation was followed by more screaming, the sounds of furniture crashing, and frantic footsteps. The voice continued, its tone commanding and cold. "I'm only here for George. The rest of you, leave if you value your lives!"

The words sent a jolt of alarm through Howard and the young man. They exchanged a bewildered glance, the same thought flashing through both their minds.

"Did you send someone else?" Howard asked, suspicion lacing his voice.

The young man shook his head, his confusion evident. "No. I assumed you might've called for backup."

Howard scowled. "Who else would I send?"

For a moment, they stood in stunned silence, but their unease quickly turned into urgency. Whatever was happening inside, it was spiraling out of control, and they weren't about to let someone else steal their prize.

"Let's go!" the young man barked.

Without another word, the two darted toward the gates, their footsteps swift and silent as they plunged into the chaos within.