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The party moved across the open plains, a scattered formation of eight adventurers. At the front, Unicus led with a steady stride, followed by Savathon, Arnolt, Vaelthir, Sylva, the thief, and two others. At the back, Van walked silently, carrying an oversized bag stuffed with equipment—a load that could crush five men his size, yet he bore it effortlessly.

Savathon, the towering Dragonkin warrior, glanced over his shoulder at the quiet noble. His sharp eyes lingered on the enormous bag swaying with each of Van’s steps, carried as if it weighed nothing.

“Psche,” he clicked his tongue in irritation and turned his gaze forward.

“…What is it now?” Vaelthir, the silver-haired elf, asked in a low voice, his focus never wavering from the horizon ahead.

“Hmph. Didn’t think you cared so much about me, elf,” Savathon replied with a sneer.

“I’ve started to develop some sentiment, seeing as you’ve clicked that obnoxious tongue of yours at least twenty times in the past hour,” Vaelthir shot back, his tone calm but edged with annoyance. Sylva stifled a giggle, finding amusement in their bickering.

“Watch it, elf,” Savathon growled, baring his sharp teeth. His pupils narrowed into slits. “Talk to me like that again, and you’ll lose your tongue.”

“Is that a challenge, lizard?” Vaelthir replied coolly, his silver eyes flicking toward the Dragonkin, sharp as a drawn blade.

At the front of the group, Unicus let out a quiet sigh, a faint smile playing on his lips. It was a familiar routine. Behind him, Sylva echoed the sentiment in her thoughts.

‘Every time… You’re better than that, Vaelthir!’ she thought with a shake of her head, though a small grin betrayed her own amusement.

“Hmph. That noble trash should’ve collapsed by now,” Savathon muttered, his irritation boiling over as he glanced back at Van.

“He’s wearing enchanted armor—his family’s, as he boasted back at the guild,” Vaelthir replied dryly, his tone laced with disinterest. “Haven’t you noticed? He hasn’t removed his helmet once, even though we’re in a safe area. Likely because the enchantment breaks if any piece is removed. Sets like that are rare but not unheard of.”

“Tch, you can buy your rank these days, then,” Savathon spat, his tail swishing behind him. “Give me a break…”

“You sound rather envious…” Sylva murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

“What was that, brat!?” Savathon barked, his golden eyes blazing as he spun to face her.

Sylva darted behind Vaelthir with a mischievous grin, sticking out her tongue as she peeked out from behind the elf.

“Grr…” The Dragonkin growled, his frustration palpable, while Vaelthir let out a resigned sigh.

‘My Lady,’ the elf thought, his face calm but tired, ‘must you provoke that lowly lizard like that? You’re better than this.’

Van observed the group as they bantered and moved, their voices filling the silence of the open plains. He said nothing, yet a pang of nostalgia and longing stirred in his chest—feelings he chose to ignore as he continued walking in silence.

After several hours, the faint silhouette of a village appeared on the horizon, its rooftops barely visible against the fading light.

“Alright, let’s set camp here,” Unicus instructed, bringing the group to a halt. One by one, the adventurers began unloading their gear, letting out audible sighs of relief as they dropped their burdens onto the grass—all except Van. He stood still, the overstuffed bag strapped firmly to his back.

“Come on, brat,” Arnolt, the dwarf, called out as he approached. “I know you’ve grown attached to that bag, but it’s time to put it down.”

Van’s gaze lingered on the distant village lights for a moment. Finally, he shrugged off the equipment and set it down.

“A comfy bed calling to you, brat?” Arnolt teased, noting Van’s hesitation.

“… Every single day. What about you? Do you enjoy sleeping on rocks, being a dwarf?” Van replied flatly.

“Psche, being a dwarf doesn’t mean I can’t like soft things,” Arnolt shot back without hesitation.

Van stayed silent, caught off guard by the immediate response.

Arnolt paused, as if clarifying for himself, then added, “I don’t like soft things. But not because I’m a dwarf, brat.” He spat to the side and turned away.

“Huh. Not even a woman’s chest?” Van asked, raising an eyebrow beneath his helmet.

Arnolt froze mid-step, his grumbling growing louder as he glanced around, ensuring no one else was near.

“That’s everyone’s exception, brat,” he muttered, his tone begrudging. “And next time you make a comment like that, and a woman hears it, I’ll snap yer tongue off.” With that, he stormed off, axe in hand, muttering as he started chopping wood.

Van let his gaze drift over the campsite. ‘They did say we’d be staying here for the night and heading out in the morning. Everyone seems to be settling in…’

The Dragonkin had already started a fire, gathering two adventurers around him in a loose circle. The warriors were drinking and feasting from the group’s supply. Meanwhile, the human thief sat quietly in the corner, alone, his eyes glinting in the firelight.

Van glanced at the thief sitting quietly in the corner, his gaze lingering for just a moment before turning away. He didn’t miss the way her eyes flicked toward him when she thought no one was looking.

The two elves huddled together, carefully assembling a neatly structured campfire. Around it, comfortable sleeping bags made of wool and what appeared to be oversized leaves were laid out in tidy rows, their campsite looking almost idyllic.

Nearby, Unicus and Arnolt worked together, building their own campfire with the wood Arnolt had chopped earlier. The dwarf grumbled occasionally, but his axe-handling was efficient, and soon their fire crackled warmly.

Van glanced around the campsite before setting his bag down. ‘…Guess I’ll go hunt some food for myself. We’ve got plenty of supplies, but I’d rather avoid those sideways glances—like I didn’t earn my share. And there’s this matter of that girl I’ve been meaning to deal with since morning.’

Shrugging off the bag and leaving most of his supplies behind, Van adjusted his armor and stepped into the woods. The darkness swallowed him almost instantly, his figure fading into the shadows.

From a distance, the thief’s sharp eyes tracked him. ‘…Finally. He’s alone.’ With quiet precision, she slipped away from the group, her movements silent as she followed Van into the forest.

After a minute of walking, Van suddenly stopped, his voice cutting through the stillness. “Alright, just come out. I’m trying to hunt for food—I don’t have time for—”

He was interrupted by the faintest whistle of air. A knife, sharp and glinting, appeared out of nowhere, aiming straight for the back of his helmet.

Van moved casually, almost bored, reaching behind his head with practiced ease. His hand closed around the knife mid-air, stopping it an inch from his armor.

“You followed me all day just to try killing me out of the blue? Are you stupid?” he asked, his tone flat, almost disinterested.

Silence answered him.

Van’s eyes narrowed. ‘…I can’t sense her location. She’s at Mika and Rika’s level, huh? Annoying.’ He let out a sigh, loosening his grip on the knife. ‘I should’ve checked my status window earlier—it’s a bad habit I need to fix, since I’m forgetting important things, such as…’

With a flick of his wrist, he opened the translucent status window before him, its soft glow illuminating his expression.

Name: Van Hellix
Age: 17 (42)
Sex: Male
Race: Unknown
Level: 337

STATS:
[AVAILABLE STAT POINTS: 447]

VIG (Vigor): 999 (+54,005)

STR (Strength): 999 (+34,156)

RES (Resilience): 999 (+48,072)

DEX (Dexterity): 998

PER (Perception): 660

‘…447 stat points, just sitting there waiting to be used. Yeah, it’s about time I stopped holding back. No need to save them for a high-stakes moment—it’s not like anyone’s watching.’

Van focused his thoughts, commanding with quiet resolve, ‘Max out Dex and Perception.’

[AVAILABLE STAT POINTS: 447 >>> 107]

DEX (Dexterity): 998 >>> 999 [+1]

PER (Perception): 660 >>> 999 [+339]

[Beast Tracker passive was discarded due to immensely high Perception stat.]

Suddenly, the world shifted.

Van felt it immediately—the forest wasn’t just a collection of trees and shadows anymore. It breathed. It pulsed with life. Every leaf, every distant rustle, every heartbeat—it all resonated within him.

‘This feeling… this sensation…!’ He froze in awe, his widened eyes scanning his surroundings. His mind sharpened, his senses merging seamlessly with the forest. Every detail became vivid, clear. He could see her—perched on a tree branch, hooded, silently watching, calculating her next move.

“This… this feeling!” Van exclaimed aloud, his voice trembling with exhilaration. The thief stiffened, her sharp eyes narrowing as she focused on him. His body tensed, curling slightly as he stared at his own hands, flexing them as if they held the universe.

“What the hell is he doing?” she muttered under her breath, leaning forward to get a closer look.

Van suddenly threw his head back and shouted with unrestrained intensity in English, “THIS IS AMAZING!!! I FEEL INCREDIBLE!!!” He clenched his fists and thrust them into the air, his voice booming. “YES, YES, YES, YES!!!”

The thief jolted back, startled by the sudden outburst. ‘H-Has he lost his mind? What is this language?! Is it… some kind of chant? A spell!? Is he going to attack?!’

“I FEEL GREAT! I FEEL GOOD! I. CAN. DO. THI—” Van shouted, his words abruptly cutting off as a flame-covered knife flew toward his temple.

Without missing a beat, his body moved on pure instinct. He bent backward with impossible precision, the knife slicing harmlessly past him, the motion smooth and fluid like water.

‘He dodged it…!?’ she thought, clenching her teeth as frustration flashed across her face.

Van, still crouched from his dodge, looked up at her with a calm, knowing gaze. ‘Ah… I see how it is,’ he thought. ‘I know exactly who you are now.’

“I won’t let you finish that spell!” she snarled, unsheathing her claws with a metallic hiss; fire igniting around them. She lunged at his helmet, aiming to strike, but Van deftly flipped backward, evading her attack with effortless precision.

“Close one. You’ve improved.” Van quipped, his tone light and teasing.

Her frustration deepened as she summoned her clones, twenty identical figures surrounding him in an instant. ‘An S Rank, huh?’ Van mused, unshaken.

One of the clones charged at him from behind, but Van shifted with surreal speed, delivering a sharp palm strike to its chest, causing it to dissipate into thin air. Another clone followed, and another—each one vanishing into nothingness as Van struck them down with his black-metal-covered hands, moving like a shadow cutting through the wind.

“It took me a while,” Van said aloud as he finished off the last clone with a lightning-quick strike. “But I figured it out.”

Before she could react, a storm of knives materialized around her, raining down at Van with deadly precision. Each blade shimmered with lethal green poison, but Van dodged them all, weaving through the storm effortlessly. The knives struck the ground silently, their lethality betrayed by their ghostly impact.

‘Damn it…! He’s going to catch me…!’ Panic crept into her thoughts as Van appeared beside her in an instant, faster than her senses could register. She gasped as he pinned her to the ground in one smooth motion. Her hood slipped off with a flick of his hand, revealing her long purple hair and distinctly human face.

She fell flat on her back, Van straddling her, his grip firm on her wrists and legs, rendering her completely immobilized.

“Just… Just…” she muttered, her eyes squeezing shut as a grim memory surfaced—her mother, a knife plunging into her chest, her cries filling the air.

“Do it quick,” she pleaded, her voice trembling as she turned her face away, tears threatening to spill.

‘Yeah… It’s been too long. She wasn’t just some random Feline-Halfling. The use of paralysis poison, those claws, and that purple hair… it all adds up,’ Van thought, his gaze narrowing.

The Seed of Darkness Passive shifted his perception, altering the way he saw her. In his eyes, her form became cloaked in ethereal fur, her tail curled tightly against her body, pinned between her and the cold grass. Translucent, spectral ears flicked atop her head, as if they were trying to hide but couldn’t escape his gaze.

Van leaned down, his movements deliberate, his lips stopping just beside her ear. His voice dropped to a low, teasing whisper.

“How’s mommy, purr-bucket?”

Her breath hitched, her eyes snapping open in shock. “Wha…?” she stammered, disbelief washing over her.

Van released her wrists, pulling off his helmet with a faint metallic hiss. His face emerged, calm but playful, as he looked down at her.

“V-…” she murmured, her lips trembling as tears began to flow freely. “It’s… really you… But… but… you died!” Her voice cracked as the tears streamed down her cheeks.

“It took me a while to figure it out,” Van said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “And I bet you didn’t recognize me last night since you never thought we’d meet again. But you’re all grown up now.” His voice was playful, almost teasing, but his eyes held a hint of warmth.

“Van…” she whispered, her voice breaking completely. “It’s really you…” She couldn’t hold back anymore and pulled him downward, her arms wrapping tightly around his torso as she buried her face in his cold, metallic chest armor.

Van sighed softly, shifting to the side so he wouldn’t crush her. He patted her head gently, her purple cat ears twitching as they popped up from her hair.

“Nice seeing you again, kid,” he said, his voice calm and steady as he let her sob into him.

“What’s going on in here!!?” Marcy yelled as she burst in the storage house, after hearing her daughter cry out.

“Ah,”

Anne called as she turned around, with Michael helping her move things.

“That clutz had a crate fall on his face, mom. Got a little worried, so I let out a shout. Sorry,” She said flatly; handing Michael another crate, having him walk somewhere else to place it; while she walked casually toward the slave mark that fell to the ground, stepping right in front of it; blocking her mother’s view from it with her legs.

“Oh…?”

‘Anne let out a worried cry…? Over this kid?’ Marcy raised an eyebrow as she looked at Michael, who smiled awkwardly as he looked at Marcy; his nose bleeding.

“I-I’m sorry…” He let out reluctantly with an awkward laughter.

‘MOM..!!! MOM!!!!’ Anne cried internally, looking at her mother.

‘MY BODY WON’T LISTEN TO ME!!! HELP ME!!! HELP ME!!! I CAN’T CONTROL ANYTHING I’M DOING!!! MOM!!!!’ Anne cried, a tear shedding down her cheek; just the moment she turned around, facing away from her mother.

“Tsk… Haaah… Well, if you’re still keeping him here, it means he still isn’t a complete lost cause. Fine. Try not to fall over more things, then.” Marcy sighed as she turned around, walking away from the storage

“What’s going on in here!?” Marcy yelled, bursting into the storage house after hearing her daughter cry out.

“Ah,”
Anne turned around, a crate in her hands, Michael beside her, arranging boxes.

“That klutz had a crate fall on his face, Mom,” she said flatly, gesturing to Michael, who was wiping blood from his nose. “I got a little worried and shouted. Sorry about that.”

Her tone was mechanical, her hands moving as if by routine, passing Michael another crate. He shuffled off awkwardly, placing it elsewhere.

Marcy frowned. “Oh…?”

Anne’s explanation lingered in her mind. A worried cry? Over him? She glanced at Michael, who offered a sheepish smile, his face still red and bleeding.

“I-I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his laugh awkward, forced.

Inside, Anne was screaming. ‘MOM!!! MOM!!!’

Her heart pounded in her chest, though her body betrayed nothing.
‘HELP ME! PLEASE! MY BODY WON’T LISTEN TO ME! I CAN’T CONTROL WHAT I’M DOING! MOM!!!’

A single tear slipped down her cheek as she turned away, hiding her face.

Marcy sighed. “Tsk… Haaah. Well, if you’re still keeping him here, it means he’s not a complete lost cause. Fine. Just try not to get injured again, kid.”

She turned and walked away. Michael exhaled audibly, his relief palpable.

‘MOM!!!’ Anne’s internal cries intensified. ‘YOU ALWAYS SAID YOU’D KNOW IF SOMETHING WAS WRONG WITH ME! FEEL ME! PLEASE!’

Her body continued to move with practiced ease, lifting and shifting as though nothing was amiss.

“Anne,” Marcy called abruptly, freezing both Anne and Michael mid-motion.

Anne turned, her face calm and composed, though her heart surged with desperate hope. “Yeah, Mom?”

Marcy scratched her head, her eyes scanning her daughter’s expression.

Anne’s mind raced. ‘YES! MOM, PLEASE!’

Marcy hesitated, something stirring behind her gaze. Michael resumed his work quietly, inching away.

Finally, Marcy spoke, her tone soft but uncertain. Her eyes lingered on Anne for a moment, narrowing as if she sensed something was off.

“Nothing… Just take care of yourself, okay? Let me know if you need anything.” Anne’s lips curled into what seemed a genuine smile.

“Hah, who do you think I am? Don’t worry about me.” As Marcy turned to leave, her steps faltered for a fraction of a second before she shook her head and continued.

Inside, Anne wilted.

‘No… Mom… Feel me. Please…’

Her skin seared under the slave mark’s cruel grip as Marcy turned to leave, waving her off with a casual indifference.

The faint flicker of hope in Anne’s chest sputtered, then died.

“Aunty…” Michael’s voice broke the silence, his grip tightening around the box he held. Anne watched her mother walk away, leaving her alone with him. She remained rooted in place, a lifeless doll awaiting its next command.

Michael gently let down the wooden box that was digging into his hands; slowly placing it on the ground before straightening himself again.

Michael hesitated, his gaze shifting to Anne. “Aunty didn’t even look at me. Not even a glance at my face, bleeding like this. But she looked at you.” His voice was soft, trembling.

“And you look fine.”

He sniffed, steeling himself, then moved to stand in front of her.

“I know she’s cold. Harsh, even. But this? This is too much.”

His eyes searched hers, finding nothing but a vacant stare. He exhaled shakily, his words faltering.

“Both of you… You’ve grown so distant. It didn’t just happen out of nowhere. I know it didn’t.”

Reaching out, he gently lifted Anne’s hand, bringing her palm toward his face. His touch lingered, trembling slightly.

“This hand…” His voice softened, almost wistful.

“This was the palm that used to tap my shoulder every day. The one that used to greet me with warmth. And today…” He paused, the hurt breaking through.

“Today, you used it to hit me.”

His words hung in the air as he stared into her blank eyes, searching for the girl he thought he knew.

Anne’s lips pressed together, trembling for a brief moment. Her stomach churned as Michael leaned in closer, his presence stifling.

But then, he pulled back, exhaling deeply. “But I know this isn’t you, Anne.”

He turned away, pacing, his steps uneven. Anne felt her chest lighten the farther he got, a soft, unnoticed exhale of relief escaped her lips.

His voice grew firmer, tinged with bitterness.

“I know it’s him. That bastard. Van Hellix.”

Michael’s fists clenched at his sides.

“I’m sorry… I’m so, so sorry, but I need to hear it. I need you to tell me.”

He spun around, locking eyes with her as his expression hardened with resolve. “Tell me what he did to you that day.”

His voice caught, the words trembling as they escaped him. “That…”

He swallowed hard, his face pale.

“That is… a-an order.”

Michael’s eyes shut tightly, his entire body tense, as if bracing for impact. The silence felt suffocating as Anne’s lips moved to answer, her voice eerily calm.

“He helped me finish the work here early,” Anne said, her voice calm, devoid of any emotion.

Michael froze, his eyes widening. “…What…?” His voice barely rose above a whisper, the words catching in his throat. His heart plummeted, a cold weight settling in his stomach.

“I-… It can’t be… IT CAN’T BE!” He stammered, his hands trembling as he shook his head violently. He locked eyes with her, desperation flickering in his gaze. “Tell me… Tell me the truth. That’s an order!”

He stepped closer, his face mere inches from hers, his breath quick and shallow.

“He helped me with my work,” Anne repeated mechanically. “And we finished early.”

Michael staggered back, his movements frantic. He grabbed his head, clutching at his temples as if trying to squeeze the thoughts out.

“And then!?”

“I invited him to the pool, and we went together,” Anne replied, her tone unchanged.

“Were you influenced by him in any way!?”

“No.”

“What did you do before that!?”

“I never met him before that.”

“…NO! NO, NO, NO!!” Michael’s voice cracked as he thrashed his head from side to side. His breathing grew ragged, and he stumbled back, his fingers digging into his scalp. His body trembled as if on the verge of collapse.

“No… No…” His voice dropped to a murmur, barely audible as he gasped for air. “I… I didn’t… I…”

His gaze dropped, zeroing in on her lower abdomen. His eyes burned into the spot where the slave mark lay hidden.

Anne’s mind raged, her fury clawing to the surface. ‘YEAH… YEAH, YOU FUCKING IDIOT! YOU DID THIS! YOU DID THIS TO ME! IF YOU DON’T FREE ME NOW, IT’S GOING TO GET WORSE! LET ME GO!!!’ Her thoughts screamed, but her face remained blank, betraying nothing.

Michael’s hands fell to his sides, clenching into fists as his teeth ground together. “There’s… no way. He… Just after one day…? JUST…”

He glared at her, searching for an explanation, an escape from the reality forming before him. His laugh started low, awkward, and edged with hysteria. “No. No, you’re not like that.”

He shook his head, his tone shifting, desperate. “Not you. You’re strong, courageous. You wouldn’t let some scumbag get close to you after just one day of knowing them.”

His voice wavered, tinged with bitterness. “We’ve known each other for years. Years! And not once…” He faltered, looking away as the memory of his family leaving flickered in his mind. “…Not once did you think to invite me anywhere after my mom and sister left me and my dad.”

He stood still for a moment, his expression hardening. “He definitely did something to you. That’s it. You just don’t realize it yet.”

His lips curled into a forced, fragile smile, as if clinging to the lie for stability. “That’s the only explanation.”

‘Van… didn’t do anything… This fucker… This motherfucker…!!’ Anne’s thoughts screamed as rage boiled within her. ‘He just says whatever he wants…!! That fucker… That fucker…!! LET ME GO!!’

A tear slipped silently down her cheek, unnoticed by Michael, who was too caught up in his own rambling.

“I know you… And I know Lizzy too,” Michael muttered, his voice low and bitter. “Lizzy wouldn’t let that bastard into her house without him doing something to her.”

He moved behind Anne, bending to pick up the slave mark from the ground. Anne’s skin crawled, a visceral reaction to his proximity. Her back stiffened, her muscles tightening instinctively, but there was no escape.

Michael stared down at the mark in his hands, his expression conflicted. “I’ll… I hate this. I know it’s wrong… But I’ll use this seal again.”

Anne’s mind thrashed against the thought. ‘NO… NO!! THAT FUCKER… HE WANTS TO DO THIS TO LIZZY TOO!? NO!!’

Michael’s gaze lingered on her from behind, his eyes unintentionally trailing over her form. Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

He exhaled slowly, his voice trembling. “I… I won’t keep you like this forever. I’ll free you. But first…”

His tone hardened as he continued. “You can’t say anything about the mark. Or what I did to you. Or what I’m going to do next. You can’t scream. Or hit me. Or swear at me. Or talk badly about me. Or run away. Or tell anyone what happened.”

Each word carried a weight that settled over Anne like chains, tightening around her with every new restriction.

Michael gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he glanced at her. A flicker of something darker passed through his expression—a twisted excitement. Power. Whatever he said, Anne would be forced to obey.

His voice dropped as he added the final condition. “You also need to… tell Aunty I did a good job.”

He hesitated for a moment, then murmured, almost apologetically, “You are now… a-allowed to move.”

Michael looked away, as though expecting her to lash out, to defy him.

Anne’s fingers twitched as control seeped back into her limbs. Slowly, she clenched her hands into fists, her teeth grinding together. A surge of determination gripped her, and without hesitation, she spun around, her glare sharp enough to cut through steel.

Michael flinched, instinctively recoiling as she raised her fist.

For a moment, her heart pounded with hope. He was right there—her tormentor, the cause of her suffering—just an inch away.

But as quickly as it came, the hope vanished.

Her body froze mid-motion, her fist locked in the air as if invisible chains dragged it back. The slave mark flared against her skin, searing like molten iron.

Its grip coiled through her veins, forcing submission even as her mind screamed in defiance.

She was forced to meet his gaze, her tormentor slowly unflinching now, realizing her helplessness the more he opened his squeezed-shut eyes; gradually looking at her frozen form.

Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips—a twisted relief that he wouldn’t be struck.

But there was something else behind that smile. Something darker.

“…Why…?” Anne’s voice wavered, barely audible as she swallowed her tears. “Just… let me go…”

Michael’s face tensed, his jaw clenching as he averted his gaze.

“I can’t,” he muttered, his voice strained. “You know I can’t…”

He hesitated, then turned back to her, forcing a weak smile. “D-don’t worry.” His tone softened, almost as if trying to comfort her. “I won’t treat you like a slave, or something less than human. You’re Anne. And you’ll always be Anne. I won’t tell you to do something you don’t want to.”

His confidence grew as he spoke, bolstered by her obedience.

Inside, Anne’s thoughts raced, a glimmer of hope sparking to life. ‘…!! RIGHT…!! RIGHT!!! I’M MEETING VAN TODAY!!!’ Her heart pounded with anticipation. ‘HE COULD DO SOMETHING… HE COULD SEE ME FOR WHO I REALLY AM… VAN… VAN!!’

But her thoughts came to a screeching halt as Michael’s voice cut through.

“Except…”

Her breath hitched, a chill running down her spine.

Michael’s expression shifted, his discomfort evident. “You… uh… have a meeting with that guy today, right?”

Anne’s chest tightened, dread seeping into her every thought. ‘NO… NO!! PLEASE…! NO…!’

Michael’s gaze dropped, his tone taking on an air of forced authority. “You’re not allowed to meet or talk to him anymore. Push him away every time you see him.”

He turned away, his shoulders stiff as a slight blush crept over his cheeks.

“And…” He hesitated, swallowing hard. His next words came out shakily. “T-tell him… that you’re taken.”

Michael kept his eyes down, unable to meet hers. Anne’s face paled, her expression darkening as her fists trembled at her sides.

Her thoughts became a desperate plea. ‘Mom… MOM… Lizzy…’

Her inner voice broke, a final cry for salvation. ‘Van… Save me… please…’

Her fist lowered, her body sagging as the weight of Michael’s words crushed the faint light she had clung to.

“So,” Michael began, exhaling sharply. “L-let’s continue working! I… I’ve always wanted to help you out for real in here!” His voice carried an unnatural brightness as he clasped his hands together, a forced enthusiasm that only deepened the unease in the room.

“Should I move this box here?” he asked, almost cheerfully, as he bent to pick up the wooden crate he placed down earlier. His nose still bled freely, the red streaks staining his shirt and the floor beneath him. He made no effort to stop it—almost as if punishing himself for what he had done.

Or for what he might yet do.

Anne stood frozen, her gaze fixed on the dust-covered wooden planks beneath her feet. Her legs felt weak, her mind scrambling in search of an escape. Her pupils darted over the ground, desperately tracing the lines and cracks of the floor as though salvation could be found within its worn surface.

“Anne? Did you hear me?” Michael’s voice broke the silence, sending a jolt through her. “I… I asked where I should put this. I just moved things wherever when Aunty came in, but now… I really want to help. So… tell me where to put it. Please.”

Each word cut through her like a blade, his tone deceptively soft yet brimming with an underlying force.

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her eyes caught the small drops of blood splattered across the floor, each crimson stain darkening as the seconds passed.

And with each darkened drop, she saw it again. That smile. The one that stretched just a little too wide when she was about to hit him, but couldn’t. That faint curve of his lips, a relief that had hidden something far more sinister.

“Anne.” His voice sharpened, firm now. “Tell me what to do.”

Her breath hitched as his eyes bore into hers, his grip tightening on the crate.

“…That… That is an order.”

The subtle click of his tongue was almost inaudible, but the mark responded immediately. It seared against her skin, the burning pain coursing through her body as she jolted involuntarily.

Her body betrayed her once again.

She turned toward him, her movements mechanical, her gaze hollow. Her lips moved, speaking words she didn’t choose, issuing instructions in a casual tone that wasn’t her own.

And Michael smiled again, the faintest flicker of satisfaction tugging at the corners of his mouth.

——– ELSEWHERE ———

“Alright… Nice! We’re all set. Let’s go. It’s not a long march, but we’d best leave now if we want to reach by sundown,” Unicus declared, his voice bright as the group gathered on the city’s edge.

“Did we really have to take the noble with us?” Savathon, the Dragonskin warrior, spat, his contempt evident in his sneer as his scaled arms folded tightly across his chest.

“…I’d also rather not babysit someone with a rank lower than mine. Much less, an F-Ranker. Regardless of his reasons.” Vaelthir, the silver-haired elf escort, added, his tone icy as his sharp eyes flicked toward Van.

Unicus frowned, his gaze sweeping over the group, searching for a way to defuse the tension. Beside him, Van stood silently, his expression unreadable beneath his helmet as a gigantic bag filled with items was hoisted effortlessly on his back.

‘… He sure made me buy lots of stuff.’ Van thought with a glance to the backpack; treating their discontent as something normal; like the air brushing by.

“Haaah, you blabbermouths just can’t keep it down, can you?” Arnolt, the stocky dwarf, grumbled as he stomped past the group, his heavy boots echoing.

“If we leave him be, he’ll just walk there on his own,” Arnolt muttered, casting a sideways glance at Van.

“Won’t you?”

Van felt his head move, as if trying to nod in agreement. Yet, it remained frozen; simply looking at the dwarf pass him by; slightly startled by the dwarf’s reaction to him.

“Hmph. I fail to see how this is my problem,” Savathon growled, his tail swishing with irritation.

“I share the Dragonkin’s opinion.” Vaelthir added.

Unicus exhaled slowly, reclaiming his composure. “Well,” he began, his voice steady, “I’m your party leader. If you’re unhappy with the arrangement, you’re free to not join us.”

His words, though delivered with a light smile, carried an unyielding edge.

Savathon scoffed, turning away with a growl.

“Psche… Selfish human prick,” he muttered, stalking toward the Capital’s gates.

Vaelthir sighed, his silver hair catching the light as he turned slightly away.

“Well, My Lady has chosen to accompany you, so by default, I am accompanying you as well. I am merely voicing my opinion,” he said, his tone flat, his gaze then shifted to Van, his eyes momentarily narrowing as he studied his form and the big backpack on his back.

“At least you’ll be useful for something, human noble,” he sneered, a faint exhale escaping his nose as his lips curled into a mocking smile. With a deliberate turn, he strode away without another glance.

‘I wonder why Arnolt and Unicus side with Van Hellix like this…’ Sylva mused briefly, glancing at the silent Van before following after Savathon. Beside her, Vaelthir walked in silence, the hooded thief matching their pace.

Unicus turned back to Van, his smile returning. “Well, let’s get going, Van.”

Van’s voice stopped him mid-step. “Hey.”

Unicus turned, his expression curious. “What is it?”

Van hesitated, the words caught in his throat. He wanted to ask why Unicus remained so cheerful, so lighthearted, even as they embarked on what everyone believed was a suicide mission. But as Van studied Unicus’ face—his playful mask underpinned by quiet resolve—he decided now wasn’t the time.

After all, Van was with them.

And that meant they weren’t in danger anymore.

But then again…

To Unicus, Van was just an F-Ranker. A noble. A stubborn fool too insistent on proving his worth. Though Unicus and Arnolt seemed to sense there was more to Van, the rest of the party didn’t. They barely tolerated him, dismissing him outright. Yet, despite everything, Unicus had still chosen to accept him for this quest.

All Van could manage was a single word:

“Thanks.”

Unicus’ lips curled into a relieved smile. “Tell me that after we finish this.”

With that, he turned and started walking again, his steps confident.

Van felt the weight on his shoulders lighten. The oppressive pressure that had clung to him seemed to lift, freeing his mind to wander.

And in that moment of clarity, a memory struck him like a sharp jolt.

‘God… Damn it… I forgot.’

Anne’s face flashed in his mind, her hopeful eyes. ‘That girl wanted to hang out. I promised her…’

But the memory shifted, replaced by Marcy’s tear-streaked face, her words echoing faintly in his mind.

‘Oh well,’ he thought, dismissing the guilt with practiced ease as he fell into step behind Unicus. ‘Marcy must’ve told her to stay away from me.’

‘… Maybe it’s for the best.’

|I believe The Flame Revenant has gotten out of hand, My Goddess. He burned your proteges too, in that cavern.| Dauz muttered, kneeling in the vast golden chamber. The marble floor beneath him shimmered with an otherworldly sheen, its chill biting into his palms. Above him, the towering figure of the Goddess reclined on her throne, her vast golden wings arched behind her like a radiant halo. She rested her chin on her hand, her golden eyes unreadable as they bore into him.

[… And?] Her voice echoed, not through the air but directly into his mind, detached and almost bored. The sound carried an imperceptible weight that made Dauz shift involuntarily.

|And..?| he echoed uncertainly, daring to raise his head slightly. |You already have a plan in motion. An efficient one, I might add, that would break Van Hellix soon… I admit, The Seed accepting him is an oddity, but not unprecedented. There is no need to employ… that wretch.|

[… I understand your concerns,] she began with a sigh, her tone heavy with the weight of millennia. Rising from her throne, she descended the golden steps with a deliberate grace, her every movement precise and unhurried. [But I am growing impatient. I am surrounded by incompetence. Had you stopped your old ‘friend’ back at the plains—the true Wretch—I wouldn’t have had to resort to using a creature like him as my proxy.]

The word “proxy” dripped with venom.

Dauz lowered his gaze, his fists clenching. |I… did not expect Knight to grow so strong. I have been diligent in my training, and—|

[Hush,] she cut him off, her voice sharp but quiet. Standing before him, she tilted his chin up with a single finger, forcing his eyes to meet hers. [You grow uglier every time you speak. Especially when your words are excuses.]

Dauz held his breath, his gaze affixed into hers.

[Do you know what becomes tiresome after a thousand years, Dauz? Mistakes. Repeated mistakes.] Her golden eyes narrowed, her voice dropping to a frigid whisper. [Your attempts at justification bore me. Like watching the same play with different actors—none of them impressive.]

She leaned in closer, her breath brushing against his ear. [You are my right hand, Dauz. But let me remind you why you stand there—it is neither because of your strength…] Her hand trailed down his chest, cold yet searing, stopping just above his waist. [… Nor your wisdom.]

Her golden eyes glinted, [You don’t need to be reminded of what will happen if you fail to… satisfy your duty, do you?]

Dauz swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as his palms pressed harder against the marble. |I do not mean disrespect… but I am the strongest in your angel corps—|

[Were,] she corrected, her tone like the crack of a whip. [You have long been surpassed. Your strength has peaked, and you know it. The only reason you command is your familiarity with the Wretch.] Her lips curved into a faint grimace. [A familiarity that has yet to yield results. And yet I let you stay out of my infinite patience.]

He bit his lip, her words sinking into his chest like lead.

[As for my proteges in that cavern,] she continued, turning away from him. Her tone was light, dismissive, as if discussing broken tools. [They are irrelevant. There are too many to count across this continent. A few dying changes nothing.] She glanced back at him, her golden eyes narrowing. [So do your duty. That is all that matters to me.]

The Goddess ascended the steps to her throne, her hips swaying with effortless confidence. As she reached the top, she shrugged off her white and gold robes, the silken fabric slipping from her shoulders and pooling at her feet.

Her body was as seamless as white marble: plump, firm breasts, her golden hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, its length reaching gracefully to the delicate curve of her popliteal, a slim waist that gave way to the alluring curve of her hips, and long, toned legs that seemed to stretch endlessly. Her figure, shaped like a violin.

She reclined on her throne, crossing one leg over the other; her thigh artfully concealing her intimate form.

[Now.] She called; her gaze narrowing.

Dauz hesitated, his fists trembling. He forced himself to his feet, each step toward her laden with a mix of shame and anger. Stripping away his armor as he walked; revealing his toned and tanned body.

As he moved to obey, she glanced upward, her lips curling into a dark; yet tender smile. [Are you watching, my dear Hero?]

Hovering above her throne was the bound figure of Magus, his body wrapped in shimmering dark chains. His face was pale, his expression locked in stoic silence. Only his eyes, wide and unblinking, betrayed the fury and helplessness within.

[Watch closely,] the Goddess said, mockery dripping from her voice as Dauz kissed her slender neck, his lips trailing down her curves with reverent precision. Her fingers tangled in his blonde hair as he moved lower, his kisses growing more fervent.

[You need to learn,] she murmured, her smile widening as she glanced back at Magus. [Your quaint little experiences with women will seem so laughable once you experience me… And worry not…] Her voice turned husky, her tone darker. [I shall have you soon…]

Her faint laughter echoed through the chamber as Magus’ chains tightened with a subtle creak. His body strained against them, his lips sealed shut, his eyes locked on the scene below.

——————————————————–

Van still barely felt like moving his arms and legs. Every step was a chore, every breath like scaling a mountain.

‘The only reason I got out of bed today was to see what that spirit managed to fix in my house. Just that.’

He thought, enclosed within the safety of his dark helmet.

‘A house I have no connection to, in a place I can’t wait to leave. Funny how it spiraled from there. Now, here I am, questing with a party.’

His gaze shifted to the backs of the adventurers ahead, his thoughts wandering.

‘How long has it been since I walked like this with anyone?’ He glanced down at his arms, clenching his fists absentmindedly.

‘When that person offered to take the quest off my hands, I could move a little better. It felt like the parchment itself was too heavy—too heavy even for me.’

‘But why? Why did it seem so easy for him to take it, even after losing all his teammates? Is it experience? Or… them?’

His eyes drifted to the party, lingering on Unicus, the paladin leading the way.

And then it hit him—a flash of Amoria’s face, Marcy’s tear-streaked cheeks, Mika and Rika’s parting words in that alleyway.

He shook his head violently, pushing the memories away.

‘Stop thinking about worthless things. Focus on what you should be doing.’ Van took a deep sigh as he walked.

‘Status Window.’

A digital flash. A window full of stats, skills and the like began detailing itself.

Name: Van Hellix

Age: 17 (42)

Sex: Male

Race: Unknown

Level: 337

STATS:

[AVAILABLE STAT POINTS: 447]

VIG (Vigor): 999 (+54,005)

STR (Strength): 999 (+34,156)

RES (Resistance): 999 (+48,072)

DEX (Dexterity): 998

PER (Perception): 660

MANA: 10 (+200) [Seed of Darkness Bonus!]

INT (Intelligence): 10 (+50) [Seed of Darkness Bonus!]

HOLY: [INACCESSIBLE]

ARCANE: 0 (+25) [Seed of Darkness Bonus!]

‘Alright… Mana increased by 200, and INT went up by 50 thanks to whatever Seed of Darkness means. It even leveled up my Arcane stat.’

‘I can use magic now.’

‘… Not that I ever felt like investing in Mana or INT before, or even currently. I don’t have a single passive skill that boosts either of them. And learning a spell? That’s a whole other nightmare. You have to master an entirely different language, decipher the concept from a Skill Scroll, and then grind through endless repetition just to get it right.’

‘Magus could just understand what was written on those scrolls. He never explained how—just said, “The shapes and letters make sense to me,” as if it were natural.’

‘If I wanted to study a spell, I’d need to spend five years in the Academy just to grasp the basics.’

‘Not an option.’

Van thought as he scrolled down to the passive section.

‘I never really got another Active Skill except Hard Swing. But I got a buttload of “Normal” Passives besides my accursed Untrusted and Dark Soul.’

Passive Skills:

………….

………

……

RANK: F

Passive: Resurrection Tolerance
Description: Reduces the physical and mental toll of resurrection.

RANK: C

Passive: Beast Tracker
Description: Grants heightened ability to locate and identify animal trails.

RANK: C

Passive: Battle-Hardened
Description: Reduces the psychological impact of injuries or near-death experiences, improving focus in combat.

RANK: C

Passive: ……..

….

….

‘I used to have a lot more of these passives,’ Van thought, scrolling through his status screen. ‘Like Iron Stomach, which allowed me to chew through mild poisons safely. But it disappeared after my Resistance transcended 999, along with other passives that had similar effects.’

‘After all; Why would I need protection against mild poisons when nothing in this mortal realm can poison me to death? I could chug an entire bottle of the most toxic substance—the kind that could wipe out a village with a single drop—and all it would do is make me burp louder than usual.’

Van was then unable but to think about how he was drugged by Mika and Rika.

‘… Bet it would’ve been useful there. If only I hadn’t lowered my guard like some lovestruck teenager.’ He thought, finally scrolling down to the new passive he had obtained.

Passive: Seed of Darkness

Description:
You have been infected with an essence that permeates this world, known as the Void. This essence has manifested as the Seed of Darkness, now beginning to sprout within your heart. Not to be confused with Void Energy—a force belonging solely to the Enlightened One, who exists beyond mortal and divine perception.

The true nature of this passive, and its ultimate potential, will likely remain beyond your understanding. You have neither earned your strength nor your place. However, you are permitted access to its most basic form—diminished and refined beyond trillions of iterations to prevent it from rupturing your reality—known as Arcane, the foundational magic force of your world.

Effects:

Arcane Interaction:
You are capable of interacting with the Void’s refined essence, known as the Arcane—the fundamental energy upon which your world’s magic is based—as though it were tangible.

Aura Perception:
You can view auras and residual magic around others. When you observe colors surrounding an individual, they correspond to the God who holds sway over them. The vibrancy of these colors reflects the strength of that deity’s influence.

Vision Beyond the Veil:
You can perceive the true forms of beings, seeing beyond their material appearances.

Glimpses of the Beyond:
You can momentarily peer into realms beyond mortal comprehension.

Van’s eyes widened as he scrolled down.

‘This… This is too long for a passive skill!’

[Additional Notes]

‘ADDITIONAL NOTES? There’s MORE!?’ Van’s mouth tightened in disbelief as the text continued.

The Arcane stat cannot be directly increased. Its potency is tied solely to your mastery over yourself and the world around you. Should you falter and abandon your true self, this passive will consume you, erasing your existence as [The Being Veiled in Shadows] draws closer. Another wielder bears the Seed of Darkness—one in a far more advanced form.

“What’s got you spooked, brat? Seen a ghost?” The dwarf squinted at him with his usual half-lidded gaze.

Van blinked, momentarily confused. ‘I’m wearing a helmet. How can he even tell?’ He shook his head, brushing the thought aside.

“It’s nothing,” Van replied quickly. “Just realized I need to stock up on potions.”

‘This is too much to consider… But one thing’s certain: this blinding light I see around everyone must be that Godly aura. Gold around humans—so the Gold means the Goddess rules them. Silver for elves… Dwarves are gray as steel… Dragonkin reddish orange. By that logic, a dragon would be pure red. Then… Why I didn’t see Aura around that server when I was at my house, and instead saw her in a cat form… That must be because of the other effect? Huh… Why would she be concealing herself? Feline Haflings are allowed in the Capital…’

“Hrm… true enough. I need to resupply, too,” the dwarf grumbled, stroking his beard and snapping Van out of his thoughts.

‘Guess I’ll find out later.’

Unicus, the leader, turned to address the group. “Alright, everyone! We’re all A- to B-rank here. Miss Thief, what’s your rank?”

The human thief hesitated, glancing down nervously as she pulled out her adventurer card. “I’m… roughly A,” she answered meekly.

Unicus gave her a quick nod before turning his attention to the others. His sharp gaze lingered on Van for a moment. “Let’s stock up, then. This isn’t the kind of quest we can brute-force with numbers… I already told you what we’re going to deal with, so I trust you know what to get. I want everyone prepared. Meet back here in an hour.”

The group nodded in agreement before scattering to gather supplies. The human thief lingered in the shadows, her sharp eyes tracking Van’s movements.

‘Right… Guess I’ll play the part and buy the usual stuff. The kind of supplies I’d pick up back when I was F to C Rank,’ Van mused, turning to leave.

“Wait.” Unicus’s hand landed firmly on Van’s shoulder, stopping him mid-step.

“Where do you think you’re going, brat?!” the dwarf bellowed from the side, his voice gruff and accusing.

Van froze in place as Unicus’s hand remained on his shoulder. A beat later, Van stopped fully, his sudden halt causing Unicus’s arm to stretch awkwardly forward, his weight seemingly dragged along with it.

‘What In The Goddess’s name…? Did he just… pull me?’ Unicus thought, a flicker of confusion crossing his face as he glanced at Van. ‘An A Rank just got pulled by an F…?’

“…To buy supplies,” Van replied, his voice low, hoping Unicus wouldn’t dwell on it.

Unicus narrowed his eyes briefly but brushed it off. ‘Must’ve been my imagination. I was also holding back myself so as to not accidentally hurt him…’ He thought as he then lowered his arm, returning it to his side.

“Ah… I see. Do you even know what kind of supplies to buy?” Unicus asked, crossing his arms. His tone shifted, quieter but firm. “I didn’t want to say this in front of the others, but as an F Rank, I’m not letting you wander off alone. I’ll tell you what to get—so stick with me.”

Van raised a brow. “…Would you believe me if I said my dad told me what to buy?”

“Not a chance,” Unicus shot back without hesitation. “I’m your party leader, and what I say goes. The smallest mistakes could cost us our lives.”

‘Whether it’s some noble kid or one from the middle or lower classes, children are always impulsive,’ Unicus thought with a sigh.

“…Fine,” Van exhaled heavily.

Unicus nodded with a smile, as Arnolt then spat out; “Psche, looks like you got things covered, Unicus. I’ll go sharpen my tools.” The dwarf walked away, waving them off.

‘Again,’ Van thought as Unicus signaled him to follow.

‘My shoulders feel a little lighter, despite this being more of a hassle than a favor.’ He thought as he looked at Unicus’ back.

‘.. Huh. I expected more of a fight. Arnolt’s hunch was right. There’s more about him that meets the eye.’ Unicus thought with a sighed smile; as he then looked forward.

‘Don’t worry, Airi.’ His smile twisted into a grimace, sharp and unyielding, his gaze fixed firmly ahead. ‘I’ll get you out of there. No matter what.’

The haunting vision flashed before his eyes—the priestess’s flesh consumed by flames, her expression frozen in agony before disintegrating, leaving only a charred skeleton.

‘No MATTER WHAT IT TAKES!’ His teeth clenched, his steps deliberate, his fist tightening until the golden ring on his finger bit into his skin.

Marcilla’s guild was lively, as always. High-ranked and low-ranked adventurers bustled about, drifting in and out, sharing boisterous conversations over breakfast, or pulling quest parchments from the well-worn board by the entrance.

“Good morning…” Amoria greeted with a weary sigh as she stepped into the guild hall alongside Liz, her exhaustion clear in the slight droop of her shoulders.

“Oh, good morning. Sorry for calling you in, figured I should open the guild today when I saw Anne walk in here. It’s not like people would dare try something while I’m here.” Marcy called, her eyes darting to Amoria. She balanced a tray of saucers retrieved from the kitchen window, the Guild’s maid passing along plates laden with steaming, savory meals. The meaty aroma wafted into the air as Marcy set the dishes down near a group of hungry adventurers.

“It’s alright… I guess I needed some distraction myself,” Amoria admitted, patting her daughter on the shoulder with a tired smile. “Thank you for coming with me, Lizzy.”

‘So, Anne wanted to work today too…? I wonder if she wants to hang out afterwards?’ Liz smiled contently.

“You look awfully tired.” Marcy quipped, throwing another sideways glance; noticing Amoria’s slumped shoulders and half-lidded eyes.

Amoria raised a brow but deflected, her gaze sharpening as she noticed the dark circles under Marcy’s eyes. “… You look tired yourself.”

“A-ah, yeah,” Marcy stammered, her smirk faltering. “Demons on the upper floor. Had to stay up all night keeping things in order. If I didn’t work today, I’d fall asleep standing.”

A brief, awkward silence settled between them, their shared fatigue reflected in their expressions.

Liz glanced up, her brows knitting in thought. ‘Does it have to do with… Van? And the reason he came to our house last night?’ A shadow of worry flickered in her eyes as she recalled Van’s presence in their house last night. ‘He didn’t do something to her, did he?’

“LIZ! What are you doing? If you came to work, start working the tables and get some orders!” Marcy barked suddenly, her sharp voice startling a few nearby B and A-ranked adventurers.

“A-AH, RIGHT AWAY!” Liz yelped, snapping out of her thoughts. She darted away from her mother’s side, grabbing a cloth as she quickly tied back her smooth blonde hair and rolled up her sleeves, ready to dive into her duties.

She was slender, yet blessed with the same striking figure as her mother, her eyes a deep, piercing blue like the endless sky.

“May I take your order?” she asked lightly, her voice carrying the practiced ease of someone accustomed to the bustling guild hall. She stood by a table of five hulking adventurers, each one twice—if not three times—her size. Their broad frames dwarfed the modest space, their expressions unreadable as they sat with arms folded.

“…Sirs?” she questioned again, leaning in slightly when their silence persisted.

Not only was she popular, but undeniably beautiful—a source of admiration and envy. Most of her female friends, while encircling her with forced smiles, secretly resented her. Her male friends, unable to see her as just a friend, always harbored feelings for her, and by default, despised Michael, who seemed to hold a privileged place in her life due to their shared history.

Even some of the adults at the guild had, on occasion, spoken about her inappropriately—though never in her presence.

But only once.

Just once.

After that, no one dared to so much as glance at her for more than two seconds.

Yes.

She and Anne inspired fear whenever they served customers.

Patrons vividly remembered what happened to those caught staring too long or whispering the wrong words. They had felt it—the predatory, devil-like gaze of their mothers. Eyes that promised retribution without mercy.

And that’s exactly what those five burly men—and even the Dragonkin among them, all warriors bearing scars as proof of their battles—were thinking about. Even the muscular Dwarf among them. Dwarves, known for their blunt and often crude personalities, wield tongues as sharp as the weapons they forge.

But Marcy had made sure the Dwarves residing in the capital understood one thing: foul language was not to be used around certain people. Or else.

… A rule she has trouble following herself, however.

These hardened warriors were all carefully picking their words, each syllable weighed with caution, all to avoid invoking the fury of her all-seeing mother.

“A-ah… Brandst, w-what will you have?” The big Dragonkin, his frame almost too big for the chair stammered, his voice gruff but wavering. He shifted awkwardly, sweat trickling down the scars crisscrossing his hardened, scaly face.

“Oh, dear Bernholdt, I’ll have… a roast. And… Ah.. A beer. Yes, indeed. C-come on, Mikalson, choose something… Miss E- uh, Miss Veil has other customers to attend to. Be mindful…” The Dwarf chimed in, his tone hurried, eyes darting as if she might vanish at any moment.

They talked meekly amongst themselves, voices low and deferential, unintentionally dragging out the moment as they scrambled to decide.

‘All the adventurers… I appreciate they’re being nice, but I wish they’d just tell me what they want. This makes it harder to tend to everyone,’ she thought with a small pout, her frustration barely visible beneath her polite smile.

“Haah… I’m shorthanded today, too,” Marcy sighed as Amoria settled beside her behind the counter.

“That leech won’t be showing up today—I didn’t call him in.”

“Oh, Michael?” Amoria replied without hesitation, already busying herself with her tasks.

“Yeah… Honestly, I feel like smacking his ass straight out of the walls. Do you know anyone else who can help?” Marcy asked, her tone edged with frustration as she glanced at Amoria.

“Well… I…” Amoria hesitated, scrambling for an answer. Van’s name sat on the tip of her tongue, but she stopped herself before saying it.

Marcy noticed the pause. She had somewhat expected Amoria to mention Van, and when she didn’t, a subtle tension filled the space between them. Marcy’s gaze turned contemplative, her silence reflecting a quiet realization. Something must have happened between Amoria and Van… just as it had between her and him.

“L-look,” Marcy stuttered, “Why don’t you hold the fort for a bit, and I’ll go to his place and call hi—”

“G-GOOD MORNING, AUNT MARCY! AUNT AMORIA!” Michael’s voice rang out as he walked into the guild, startling both women and earning curious glances from nearby patrons.

“Oh… Lookie here, it’s that brave young man from yesterday,” some adventurers murmured amongst themselves, recalling how Michael had boldly stood up to the evil armored man who had kidnapped Anne.

“Tsche,” Marcy clicked her tongue sharply, while Amoria sighed deeply, a light; yet resigned smile tugging at her lips as she turned away.

Even Liz’s heart skipped a beat—not out of affection, but something closer to dread. It felt as though a 20kg weight had suddenly been dropped onto her chest. An exasperated grimace slipped across her face as she continued serving customers.

‘He doesn’t have to work here… We could just meet outside of work, or at the Academy… I get that he likes me, but why can’t he just leave me al— I mean, meet me after work?’ she thought, immediately shaking her head to clear her conflicted feelings.

Michael held both of his hands behind his back as he walked in. His fingers clutching around the seal Bernard gave him.

The adorned Slave Mark.

Michael hesitated near the reception desk, glancing nervously at Lizzy, who was bustling around the tables. Normally, he’d be helping her with orders and cleaning, but this time, his focus was elsewhere—on Anne, who he could just glimpse in the back, quietly working by herself.

Marcy leaned against the counter, flipping through a small ledger, her patience visibly thinning with every second. “Well? What are you standing there for, Leech? Get to work!” She snapped, not even lifting her gaze from a ledger she looked at.

Michael swallowed hard and shifted on his feet. Was about to do as Marcy asked, as he constantly feared her; a natural response in the guild. But this time, he held his ground. “A-Aunt Marcy, can I… uh, work in the back today? With Anne?”

‘Please be here today…!’ Michael prayed internally.

That got her attention. She lowered the ledger and gave him a sharp, questioning stare. “With Anne? Why?” she asked bluntly. “Don’t you usually stick to helping Lizzy? What’s with the sudden change?”

‘Yes! She’s here!’ He sighed in relief internally.

“I just… I think she could use some help back there,” Michael said, his voice wavering slightly but holding firm. “It looks like a lot for her to handle on her own.”

‘… Oh?’ Amoria thought as she glanced at Michael, ‘He’s not going to bother Lizzy today?’ She thought, as Liz also turned her head, noticing MIchael talking to Marcy.

‘What’s he doing now…?’ She asked internally, almost rolling her eyes as she moved between the patrons.

Marcy raised a brow, unimpressed. “Oh, save it; you twerp. Last time I let you help in the back, you cracked under the pressure in about five minutes.”

“I—” Michael started to protest but stopped when Marcy folded her arms, leaning forward with a look that could pierce steel.

“My daughter isn’t a babysitter,” she said bluntly. “If you think you’re gonna get some cozy little chat time with Anne back there, you’ve got another thing coming. She’s a hard worker, and doesn’t have time for to play around.”

“I’m serious!” Michael insisted, surprising her by not backing down. His voice, though shaky, carried a determination she hadn’t expected. “I really want to help her. Please.”

‘Aunt Marcy… You don’t see it! You don’t know when your own daughter is being swayed, manipulated, and used…!’ Michael’s thoughts churned, his teeth grinding as frustration built within him.

‘That time when that… guy took her away after just one hour… Something definitely happened. Something vile… That brute, that bastard…!!’ His fists clenched, trembling with suppressed anger. ‘And Anne… He carried Anne away too… This BASTARD…!!! JUST WHAT DID HE DO TO HER? TO AUNT that protect him so much?!’

His chest heaved, heart pounding as his mind spiraled further. ‘I won’t let you have your way with two of the most important women in my life…!!’ he resolved, shaking his head, trying to hold on to the flicker of courage in his chest.

But then his imagination betrayed him. Images of Anne and Van together flashed unbidden in his mind—intimate, close, her trusting him in ways she never trusted Michael. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the vision only morphed into something worse.

‘If I don’t stop this now… He… he might…!!’ Anxiety constricted his heart like a vice as he pictured Van’s arm draped around Lizzy’s neck, his smug grin cutting into Michael’s resolve.

‘NO…!!! NO! I REFUSE TO LET YOU TAKE THEM!!!’ His teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached, but it wasn’t enough to block out the next horrifying thought—Van and Lizzy laughing together, mocking him, their intimacy shutting him out completely.

He shook his head violently, forcing the image away, his breathing ragged. ‘No… Stop. Focus. This isn’t real… It won’t be real if I act now.’ The tremor in his hands steadied, if only slightly, as he fought to suppress the storm raging in his mind.

Lizzy glanced at the distress etched across Michael’s face. She was used to seeing him uneasy, but this time, something felt different.

‘Is something wrong with him?’ she wondered, a flicker of concern stirring within her as she noted the tension in his features—and the uncharacteristic determination with which he stood up to Marcy.

Marcy frowned, clearly skeptical, but before she could say anything, one of the nearby adventurers chimed in meekly, “Aw, come on, Marcy. Give the kid a shot. He’s not bad.”

“Yeah,” another added, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “He did, uh, stand up to that armored guy before, didn’t he?”

Marcy clicked her tongue, visibly annoyed. Her eyes flicked between Michael and the adventurers for a long, tense moment before she groaned, rubbing her temples. “Fine. Fine! But if I hear a single tweet out of you, you’re dead. Got it?”

‘She actually let him work with Anne…?’ Lizzy thought, her brows knitting together with a mix of suspicion and concern as her gaze lingered on him.

‘Did something happen to him, maybe?.’ Her expression softened slightly.

“Y-Yes, Aunt Marcy!” Michael said quickly, relief washing over him as he hurried toward the guild’s storage house.

“I swear, I just feel like beating him more and more…” Marcy muttered under her breath, watching him disappear through the door.

“Well, I do sometimes too… If I’m being honest.” Amoria admitted with a light chuckle, pausing briefly before adding, “But I think that boy’s been through enough. Him doing this… I guess he just wants to feel important in people’s eyes.” Her gaze lingered on Michael’s retreating figure, her tone softening with a somber note.

Marcy scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, I know, I know… Spare me the pity talk. So his mommy and sister walked out on him and his old man a few years ago—big deal. I had both my parents ditch me when I was four,” she said, shaking her head as she turned back to her work.

Amoria’s eyes flicked toward Marcy briefly, her expression unreadable, but she didn’t press further. The silence stretched for a moment before the bustling sounds of the guild hall filled the air again, the conversation slipping away as both women returned to their duties.

Michael stood behind Anne, the metal seal tight in his hand, the engraved symbols pressing into his palm like jagged thorns.

‘I’m doing this for you… Just for you,’ he repeated in his mind, as if the thought alone could absolve him. But the words felt hollow, growing louder and more frantic with every step. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, his clenched teeth aching under the pressure.

Yet no matter how tightly he clung to the thought, his memories betrayed him. He saw his mother’s cold, detached expression as she turned her back on him and his father. His sister’s compliance—silent, unquestioning—cut even deeper. Their words replayed endlessly in his head: “It’s better this way. You’ll be fine without us.”

Anne’s figure blurred into theirs. Michael’s grip on the seal tightened until the engravings carved into his flesh. He couldn’t stop now.

“Huh? Who—” Anne muttered, sensing his presence, turning just as he slapped the seal onto her back. She gasped, spinning around, her eyes narrowing like twin daggers.

“YOU BASTARD!” she screamed, her fist connecting with his face before he could react. Michael crumpled to the ground, blood trickling from his nose as the seal slipped from his grasp.

Anne didn’t hesitate. She leapt on him, her fists flying in blind rage. “You think you can mess with me?!” Each strike landed with a sickening thud, the crowd in the guild hall freezing in stunned silence.

Michael shielded his face, his voice breaking as he chanted, “Sifuruah, Malovus, Anne Veil Re Michael Evenbrown!”

“What did you just fucking say!!? Trying to excuse yourself!?!” She cried out in anger—until she felt the mark ignite on her back. The searing pain stole her breath as her body betrayed her will, her limbs locking in place. She collapsed onto Michael, her fists trembling in mid-air.

“W-What… did you…” she whispered, her voice weak, her scream strangled before it could form.

Far from the chaos, Bernard stood in his backyard, a ruined boulder smoldering at his feet. He flexed his hand, his eyes narrowing at the faint, glowing mark that materialized on his skin.

“Oh,” he murmured, a cruel smirk curling his lips. “That crazy bastard actually did it.”

He stared at the glowing symbol, twisting his hand to admire its beauty. “Good. Let him have his fun for now; as reward. Soon, I’ll take her for myself.”

He glanced at the boulder, fragments smoldering from the spell he’d just cast. His sneer deepened. “I’m getting stronger. Soon, even Amu-Rah will kneel. You hear that, fire spirit? I’m going to own you…”

“… And then kill that armored bastard…”

The other gave her a reassuring tap on the shoulder. “It’s fine. He’s just some F-Rank spoiled brat. No way he’d pick an A-Rank mission… though, honestly, that one should be classified as S+ by now.” Despite her words, both receptionists couldn’t help but glance nervously at Van, exchanging worried looks with the other adventurers nearby.

Van studied the board intently.

‘I don’t want to take anything too conspicuous. There are several S-Rank missions and beyond posted here. But as an F-Rank, picking one would draw too much attention…’

His hand hovered over a C-Rank mission, and a collective sigh of relief spread among the receptionists and adventurers.

Then his gaze shifted, catching sight of the A-Rank parchment.

‘Hmm…?’

[Quest Title: Burning Dungeon!]

Description: A villager from a small settlement just outside the capital has reported that his daughter and son were kidnapped and taken into a nearby cavern. The villagers dare not enter the cave, as a flame-like light is seen emanating from it at night, and blood-curdling roars echo from within. It is rumored that a dragon resides there. The father pleads for his children to be rescued at all costs—or, failing that, for their bodies to be recovered.

Reward: 1,000 copper coins.

Van’s gaze lingered on the parchment.

‘That can’t be a dragon. Dragons prefer high places—mountains, peaks. Even dragonkin stick to colder, elevated areas. I learned that the hard way during my ‘wife-hunting crusade.’ Thought I could charm the Dragon King’s daughter… until the guards roasted me off their mountain. Guess I wasn’t cut out for scalies.’

‘Heh, could’ve been Donkey from Shrek or something.’

He smirked faintly at the thought, then shook it off.

‘Then, a rogue mage, maybe?’

Van pulled the parchment from the board and studied it closer, holding it up to the visor of his helmet.

“Hey..!! He’s looking at it..!” One of the adventurers said with a murmur; Van not paying them any mind.

‘And the reward… 1,000 copper coins. That’s just 1 silver. If I had to guess, that’s everything the villagers could scrape together—probably their entire savings. A-Rank quests usually pay out in hundreds of gold coins. This parchment’s worn, too. It’s been here a while. Nobody wants to take it. They’re too focused on the payment to care, then.’

He clenched the parchment tightly, lowering his head for a moment.

‘They’ve got no one to help them. No one on their side… And I bet this quest’s been out here for a week, probably more. The villager’s children could be long dead.’

Van stood in silence, his grip tightening further on the parchment.

‘I don’t want to die of boredom; and this seems fun enough. Money’s not going to be an issue once I collect the payment Nickelson probably delivered to Marcilla’s guild. Screw it, I’m taking it. If anyone asks, I’ll just flaunt my noble status—tell them mommy and daddy decked me out with gear fit for an A-Rank mission. That’ll shut them up.’

With that thought, Van turned to face the receptionist, parchment in hand. His voice carried an edge of indifference.

“I heard you walking up behind me. Whatever you want from me—I couldn’t care less.”

“So, move out of the way. I don’t have the time to deal with you.” His tone was flat, his casualness hidden beneath the helmet. As he spoke, his gaze swept over the group standing in his way—ten adventurers, including the weeping paladin, Sylva, and the grumbling dwarf—all of them blocking the path to the receptionist. Their faces bore serious, determined expressions.

“Noble bastard. Don’t take that quest,” the dwarf barked, glaring at Van.

“Or what? I’ll die?” Van retorted.

‘Haah… I wish they didn’t stand so close. It hurts to look at them. Each one has a different color around them—and they all sting my eyes. This has to be related to the arcane stat. Seed of Darkness. That new passive I got… I’ll have to read about it later.’ Van thought, squinting beneath his helmet.

“Worse. Much, much worse. Please.” The paladin stepped forward, placing a hand firmly on Van’s shoulder. A somber, urgent expression on his eyes.

Van paused, his reflexes tensing, almost ready to deflect what he expected to be a threat. But as he looked into the paladin’s weary eyes, noticeable even through the blinding colors that surrounded him, he faltered. There was no malice—only earnestness… Vulnerability.

He doesn’t want me to die…? Van thought. Was he really such a good person?

Van’s gaze shifted to the paladin’s relaxed hand on his shoulder, then back to his face. He let out a long sigh.

“I’ve made my choice. I’m going on this quest,” Van said, brushing Unicus’s hand off his shoulder with a firm yet measured gesture.

‘That fool… Just what does he hope to gain by going there? Is he as maniacal as his father was?’ Sylva wondered, her narrowed eyes fixed on Van before drifting to Unicus.

‘Even when Unicus is begging him not to go… He’s such a good person.’ Her gaze softened, a faint blush rising to her cheeks as admiration and awe overtook her thoughts.

Vaelthir silently glanced at Sylva; taking in her awestruck expression as she looked at Unicus.

‘My lady is at that age, I suppose… I can understand the necessity of working with humans, but… really, my Lady? To fall for a human? Inconceivable. In a mere forty years, he’ll look older than your grandfather.’ He sighed, his thoughts a quiet lament.

‘While you and I will still appear the same, even after a century passes.’ Vaelthir closed his eyes, looking away in a mix of exasperation and slight envy. ‘Oh well. I suppose such is a lesson you will have to experience the hard way.’

‘I am patient, after all. And unlike a human, I have nothing but time on my hands,’ Vaelthir concluded silently, his thoughts as steady as his composure.

‘…He’s not using his force to resist me,’ Van noted, his sharp eyes catching the slight parting of the paladin’s lips—a crack in his resolve, filled with despair and somber resignation; as Van removed his hand.

“Leave him, UNICUS. That noble wants to die, LET HIM DIE!” A deep, guttural growl erupted from behind. The voice belonged to a towering dragonkin, his imposing figure commanding attention as he stepped forward.

“H-Hey!” hissed a human woman in a hooded cloak, her voice sharp with warning. “Don’t provoke him… he’s a noble!”

“Psche, who are you to tell me what to do? I don’t even remember you walking in here!” the dragonkin snarled, his voice rising in challenge, drawing everyone’s attention to the thief.

“I… I knew someone from the expedition,” she stammered, her tone faltering. “The receptionist let me in b-because of that, so—”

“PSCHE,” the dragonkin clicked his tongue, cutting her off. His gaze darted toward the receptionist, who gave a subtle nod confirming her words. With a dismissive snort, his scaly lips curled back as his eyes returned to Van. “If I feared the likes of him, I wouldn’t have become an adventurer.”

“Hmph.” The dwarf interjected with a grunt, his tone gruff. “The scaly has a point, runt.” He jabbed a stubby finger toward Van. “Leave the quest and scram; you’ll die a horrible death. Not that anyone here cares.”

He ended his remark with one eye squeezed shut in derision, his words oozing disdain. Around the room, the adventurers nodded in unison. Not a single face bore a shred of concern. Instead, their expressions were taut with caution,

But only one of them wore despair etched deeply on his features.

It was Unicus—the blonde-haired paladin with his short, spiky hair. His composure faltered as he stepped closer, desperation leaking into his voice.

“Don’t do this! That quest… it’s a death sentence! I’ve seen what happens to those who try. Please, listen to reason—don’t throw your life away!” he nearly begged, both hands gripping Van’s sides once more in a futile attempt to stop him.

“…Unicus, right?” Van muttered, his voice low as his gaze met the paladin’s.

‘Did he happen to be there, or something? A villager from the area?’ Van wondered momentarily.

“…?” Unicus swallowed hard, his grip tightening slightly as he searched Van’s tone for meaning. The softness in Van’s voice felt at odds with his menacing armor and cold demeanor.

Even Sylva’s ears twitched slightly, her sharp eyes narrowing with curiosity as she caught the unexpected shift in his tone.

Van exhaled slowly, his Untrusted passive flashing through his mind stubbornly.

“The reason I’m doing this…” Van began, his voice measured, before letting out a deep sigh.

‘If I respond aggressively, they might… No, WILL escalate. I need to deflect… I know what to do.’ Resolving himself, he straightened and spoke clearly.

“For the glory of my house.”

The room’s collective expectancy crumbled into disappointment. Gazes turned away, frowns replaced the momentary intrigue, and a few adventurers rolled their eyes outright.

‘I’m not sure what I expected… It was his son, after all,’ Sylva thought, releasing a silent sigh.

‘As expected of a human noble. So shortsighted…’ Vaelthir’s thoughts were no kinder, his disdain reflected in the slight narrowing of his eyes.

“What…?” Unicus whispered, his voice barely audible, trembling as he searched for meaning in Van’s words. His gaze locked on the dark void of Van’s helmet, as if hoping for something—anything—to pierce through the lackluster answer he’d just been given.

“…If you must know, I also wanted to… prove my sovereignty to my girlfriend—by showing off how I beat an A-ranked quest,” Van said, his tone dripping with feigned confidence as he pushed Unicus’s now-relaxed arms aside. “Don’t worry. This baby you see on me? The armor, the sword? All magically enhanced to A-rank, sponsored by my loaded dad. Nothing could kill me.”

Van smirked, tapping his shoulder as he strutted past the paladin, flaunting his armor with exaggerated swagger. The adventurers around him watched in stunned disbelief.

“All… for some girl…!? This bastard,” the dragonkin growled, his scaly visage twisting into a glare as he watched Van walk by.

‘It turns out he really is nothing more than a womanizer, just like his father,’ Sylva thought with a grimace, her sharp features reflecting her growing disdain. ‘I know his upbringing likely shaped him into this, but… this is insufferable.’

“Lady Sylva,” Vaelthir, her ever-watchful guardian, interjected with a sharp tone. “Be sure to steer clear of scum like this.”

“You don’t have to tell me, Vaelthir,” she replied firmly, her gaze following Van as he continued toward the exit.

“What a dumbass. Ain’t that right, Arnolt?” a human adventurer hissed, his words laced with derision. He nudged the dwarf beside him, who stood silently with his arms folded, his sharp eyes fixed on Van.

Arnolt’s gaze lingered on Van’s tight grip on the parchment, the way his hand clenched it as if it were his lifeline. The dwarf said nothing, his silence prompting the human adventurer to raise an eyebrow, clearly expecting a snarky remark.

Van reached the exit, the whispers of the room following him like shadows.

“Good. One less noble in the world is a good outcome, anyway,” someone muttered from the crowd.

Unicus clenched his teeth, his frustration boiling over until, unable to contain himself, he burst forward, shoving others aside as he made his way to Van.

“I’M TELLING YOU, YOU’LL DIE—” he yelled, his voice filled with raw desperation.

“Hush now!” Van interrupted, suddenly spinning on his heel with an over-the-top flourish. His arms spread wide in an exaggerated motion as his voice rose with mock grandeur.

“Or I’ll invoke my noble rights to have you thrown in jail for daring to lay your hands on someone like me, the son of the Duchess Bariumoxidia Calciumsulfat… from the illustrious Periodictable family.”

‘…Not sure why I went that far… but it feels liberating somehow,’ Van thought, his expression hidden behind his armor as he processed the words he’d so brazenly spoken.

“W-who…?” one of the adventurers stammered, breaking the silence.

“I’ve never heard of her…” another muttered.

“Either way… to use his power to threaten someone who just tried to help them? Psche, can’t say I’m surprised by these nobles…” the dragonkin growled, his scaled tail swishing in irritation.

‘…Terrible,’ Sylva thought, her sharp features twisting into another grimace. Vaelthir, standing stoically beside her, echoed her sentiment with a cold remark. “To think scum like him actually exists…”

Van’s voice cut through the murmurs, quieter now but resolute. “So…”

The single word caught Unicus’s attention, his tense posture softening slightly as he turned to look at Van.

“Just leave me alone. You’ll get nothing from associating yourself with me,” Van said, his tone bold yet subdued. His gaze met Unicus’s squarely, despite the blinding glow that surrounded the paladin in Van’s perception. He held the gaze for a few lingering seconds, letting the weight of his words settle before turning away.

‘No fight broke out. I’d call that a win,’ Van thought, exhaling an unseen sigh of relief as he exited the large guild.

“Hmph, good riddance!” one adventurer muttered, while others voiced similar sentiments, their words blending into a low murmur.

Meanwhile, Arnolt and Unicus remained still, their eyes meeting in shared silence.

“U-Unicus!” Sylva exclaimed, rushing to the paladin’s side. Her voice quivered with concern as she hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright…? You should sit!”

Unicus looked down at her, his tired eyes softening at her concern. “I’m… I’m fine, Sylva,” he replied with a weak, reassuring smile.

“It’s just… the way he spoke… felt off,” Unicus murmured, his voice low, almost as if speaking to himself.

“Off? What do yo—” Sylva began, but her words were interrupted.

“…I’m going with the kid, Unicus.” Arnolt’s gruff voice cut through the conversation as he strode past the paladin and the elf, heading toward the exit.

“Arnolt!? Why…?” Unicus called out, his brows furrowed in confusion as he turned to the dwarf.

“Like you said, something about what he spat out bothers the living shit out of me. Like my ass itches and I can’t reach it,” Arnolt replied, his tone blunt as ever, not bothering to slow his stride.

“And noble or not, he’s just some snotty brat. Probably can’t even wipe his own ass,” the dwarf added with a grumble, pushing the heavy doors open and stepping into the sunlight.

“…!” Unicus’s eyes narrowed as his thoughts churned, his gaze fixed on the exit where the dwarf had disappeared.

“Unicus…?” Sylva said softly, her voice tinged with concern as she noticed the growing resolve in his expression.

Meanwhile, Van was already some distance away from the guild when a sharp cry cut through the bustling street.

“HEY!!! NOBLE BRAT!!!” The booming voice of Arnolt carried over the noise, drawing the attention of onlookers as the dwarf stomped toward him, his every step deliberate and heavy.

“DON’T THINK YOU’RE GOING THERE BY YOURSELF!! I MAY HAVE A HEART OF STEEL, BUT I AIN’T ONE TO WATCH SOME YOUNG’UN DIE—NO MATTER HOW ROTTEN THEY ARE!” Arnolt bellowed, his voice echoing like thunder.

Van turned around abruptly, startled by the sudden outburst. His gaze locked onto the dwarf, battle axe and pickaxe crossed on his back, glinting in the sunlight. Behind him, Unicus marched with equal determination, his armor gleaming as it caught the sun’s rays.

“What are you doing?” Van blurted out, his voice tinged with a mix of irritation and disbelief. His gaze darted between the gruff dwarf and the steadfast paladin. “I told you to scram. I wanted to bring glory to my—”

“Yeah, yeah, save that bullshit for those other airheads in there,” Arnolt interrupted, his rough voice cutting Van off mid-sentence. His one eye squeezed shut as usual, he waved a dismissive hand toward him, silencing him with his sheer presence.

“No ordinary noble looking to ‘bring glory to his house’ is gonna admit their daddy did something for him willingly like you did,” Arnolt said, his voice gruff.

“They’re all proud scumbags with egos the size of the moon and no grit to back it up. Ain’t no way they’re crediting anyone but themselves. And…”

His gaze fell on the now-crumpled parchment in Van’s hand, his lips tightening. “No one clutches a piece o’ paper like their life depends on it for no reason. Sure as hell ain’t to impress no one,” Arnolt added, signaling toward the parchment with a slight tilt of his head.

“I ain’t gonna ask,” The dwarf continued, “But I ain’t gonna sit quietly, either. I was curious about that quest, either way.”

Van remained silent, his grip on the paper faltering instinctively. ‘…’ His fingers loosened slightly before he forced himself to respond, though his own words sounded distant, almost hollow. “I was just… excited,” he murmured.

Arnolt huffed, crossing his arms but saying nothing further.

“Arnolt’s right,” Unicus interjected, stepping forward. His voice carried a note of quiet determination. “I don’t buy this cold mask you wear. And…” He paused, drawing in a deep breath. “I am an A-Rank Paladin. I went on that quest. More than fifteen of us went… and I was the only one who made it back.”

Van’s gaze shifted to Unicus, his eyes lingering on the paladin’s weary form. The dark circles under his eyes.

“That’s why,” Unicus continued, his tone steady as he straightened his posture, “if you’re hellbent on going, then I’m coming too.” He sniffed sharply, hardening his expression. “I’ll be your party leader.”

“OUR party leader,” a mature yet smooth voice echoed from behind. All heads turned toward the source—Vaelthir.

“Vaelthir…? Everyone?” Unicus said, startled, as he looked past the elf to see the others approaching. The towering dragonkin Savathon, Sylva, Vaelthir himself, and the hooded female thief all strode toward them with purpose.

“Do not look at me. Lady Sylva insisted on going. I merely followed,” Vaelthir said coolly, casting a sideways glance toward the group.

“I’d prefer the noble died… but if he does, it’ll reflect badly on the guild,” the dragonkin muttered, his scaly arms crossed as he avoided looking directly at Van. “I’m going too.”

“I… I trust Unicus’s judgment!” Sylva chimed in enthusiastically, her cheeks tinged with a soft blush.

‘Unicus seemed like himself again when Arnolt went after Van Hellix. If helping Van means helping Unicus… then of course I’m going to be there for Unicus..! I mean, close to him—ah, I mean, to HELP him!’ Sylva’s cheeks flushed as she furiously shook her head.

‘And… I should tell Van Hellix how his father died. He might be a bad person like his father, but he deserves to know. Maybe… maybe it’ll fix him somehow?’ Her resolve hardened as her gaze landed firmly on Van.

Van remained silent, the crumpled parchment still in his hand as his eyes swept over the group. He seemed unsure of what to make of the scene before him.

“So, give me the parchment and follow my lead. Please,” Unicus said earnestly, his hand extended. His weary yet determined eyes sought Van’s gaze through the shadowy openings of his helmet, as if trying to pierce the darkness and connect.

“…”

‘Oh well… Since the villagers know him, it might be easier to find out what happened if they trust him,’ Van reasoned silently. He extended his hand slowly, placing the parchment into Unicus’s waiting palm.

‘And it’s not like I’m entrusting my life to him. If anything, their presence will just make things more complicated later on…’

‘…So why does it feel like my shoulders are lighter now?’ The thought lingered as Van’s eyes softened, briefly flickering downward, while the weight he’d been carrying felt, inexplicably, less oppressive.

Unicus let out a faint, weary smile, his fingers closing gently around the parchment. Van lowered his hand to his side, silent but resigned.

“Thank you,” Unicus said softly. His voice carried a quiet sincerity as he looked directly at Van, then to the rest of the party. “I’ll keep you safe. No matter what.”

With that, the group began to march, their footsteps steady with purpose. Van followed a few paces behind, his armored figure blending into the movement of the party.

‘Van Hellix Jr., huh…?’ The thought lingered in the human thief’s mind, a flicker of suspicion burning in her chest as she walked behind the group.

———–

“Hey, Ilfri. When did you let that hooded girl in? I don’t remember seeing her walk in,” one of the guild receptionists asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.

“Oh… her…” Ilfri muttered, her expression clouding as she blinked rapidly. “I… don’t remember letting her in…” She faltered, clutching the reception table for balance. Her voice dropped to a faint whisper, barely audible. “But… I had to… didn’t I? Someone told me to…”

“Ilfri!!” her coworker exclaimed, rushing to her side to catch her before she collapsed.

———–

‘I’m going to find out… just how you recognized me,’ she thought, a low growl rumbling in her throat as her sharp, cat-like eyes narrowed, locking on Van’s back. She fell in line with the others, her movements tense, deliberate. ‘And if necessary… I’ll kill you. If you know who I am… then you must be connected to those who killed my mother.’

Her claws twitched involuntarily as her mind hissed the name that burned in her heart:
‘The Queen of the Feline-Halfling Tribe…!’

[“There’s something I wanted to ask,”] the guardian said as the two neared the guild hall—a much larger and more imposing building than Marcy’s guild.

“Okay?” Van replied, squinting slightly as his gaze shifted away from a group of adventurers approaching them.

[“Why were you asking that server if she was a Feline halfing?”]

“…It’s nothing,” Van said after a brief pause. “I’ve traveled around the world, and for a moment, she resembled someone I used to know.”

‘Though if that person ever saw me alive, she’d probably try to kill me on the spot…’ Van sighed internally.

[“Oh…?”] the spirit murmured, a trace of curiosity in her voice. [“You seem rather young, though.”]

“…I’m 42 years old,” Van replied flatly, his tone dismissive as he squinted away from the adventurers passing nearby, their presence grating like sunlight cutting through a darkened room.

‘Tsk. Damn it… Why does it hurt my eyes to look at adventurers, especially the human ones? It’s like they’re constantly emitting sunlight… I thought my eyes couldn’t hurt anymore, anyway.’

[“I-Impossible… Are you using a certain kind of magic to maintain a youthful appearance?”] she stammered, disbelief laced in her tone.

Van’s patience snapped. “Alright, that’s enough,” he said sharply as he squinted his eyes. “I figured you already knew who I was, considering you were with that scumbag knight.”

[“…I do not. If he did something to you prior to last night, it was probably without my knowledge.”]

“Oh?” Van raised an eyebrow, a cynical smirk tugging at his lips. “With the way he forced himself on you, I’m surprised he’d bother to keep that of all things to himself.”

[…]

The guardian looked away, a faint grimace flickering across her face at Van’s remark. It was the kind of reaction Van had grown numb to, his heart steeled against the discomfort of others.

[“…I believe you can take it from here, Master?”] she said, her gaze fixed on the towering guild hall. Her tone was colder now, yet still gentle, as though carefully measured to avoid provoking him.

“…Yeah,” Van sighed. “Go back to the spirit world,” he said, watching as she dissipated without another word.

‘Now then…’ Van exhaled, turning his attention to the grand doors before him. His gaze traced the structure, taking in its imposing size and intricate design.

‘It’s much bigger than Marcy’s… Marcilla’s guild hall. I guess this is the go-to spot in the Capital,’ he thought, his eyes following the steady influx of adventurers coming and going.

The crowd paid him little mind, though their murmurs and glances carried a subtle edge of suspicion.

“Who’s this guy…?”

“I don’t know, but he reeks of trouble. Let’s go…”

“Stay on your guard. I don’t like him… There’s a scent of blood coming off him…”

“A mercenary?”

“No way. They wouldn’t let him in if he were just some wandering nomad.”

“Maybe he slipped by the guards…”

“And that helmet—still wearing it here? Only one reason to hide your face in the capital…”

“He’s a felon, isn’t he?”

The whispers floated past Van, brushing against his ears like a faint breeze. He didn’t falter, his steps steady as he approached the heavy doors.

‘But nobody’s entering the guild hall. What’s up with that…?’ he wondered, his sharp gaze sweeping the surroundings before landing on a piece of paper pinned to the doors.

[CLOSED FOR TODAY]

‘Goddamn it… I am not going back to Marcy’s guild,’ Van thought, exhaling sharply. ‘Good thing I took this with me.’

He reached into his waistbag and pulled out the nobility approval document Nickelson had delivered earlier.

‘If I just flaunt this, they’ll at least excuse me without too much drama. I’m just here to grab a quest and leave.’ He slid the parchment back into his waistbag with a quiet sigh, bracing himself as he pushed the massive doors open.

The moment the doors creaked wide, sunlight poured into the dim interior, catching the attention of everyone inside. Van’s gaze swept the room, landing on a group of adventurers—dwarves, elves, dragonkin—huddled around a single table. At the center sat a weeping knight, his head bowed low as the others murmured words of comfort; while placing some of their hands on his shoulder as he hid his face away.

Then Van’s presence shattered the fragile atmosphere.

“H-HEY!” The receptionist, who had been leaning on her elbow behind the counter, shot upright. Her startled voice cut through the murmurs, turning every head in the room toward him. The sudden flood of sunlight from the open door illuminated their tense faces, drawing all eyes to the intruder.

“THE GUILD IS CLOSED FOR TODAY!” she barked, her voice laced with frustration and a tinge of disbelief at Van’s bold entrance.

Van hurriedly pulled out the parchment, thrusting it in front of the receptionist’s face.

“A… a noble?” she murmured, her eyes scanning the document carefully. Her expression shifted as she examined the contents more closely.

“Van Hellix Jr…” she muttered aloud, her voice tinged with hesitation as her gaze lingered on the name.

‘WHAT?!’ A certain elf in the group jolted upright, her eyes snapping to the armored figure.

‘That… that name… That armor… IT… It can’t be him…!!’ Her thoughts raced as she stared at Van in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Van replied flatly, his tone curt. He pulled out his F-RANK adventurer badge and flashed it before the receptionist’s face. “Just here to take a quest and leave.” he said as he brushed past her without waiting for permission.

“H-Hey…!” she stammered, almost pushed aside as Van headed toward the quest board.

“It’s alright. Let him take it,” another receptionist interjected, placing a calming hand on her colleague’s shoulder. “Nothing good ever comes from provoking nobles,” she added, her voice low and her eyes fixed on Van’s retreating back with a grimace.

“… Besides, he’s just an F Rank. Sounds young, too. Let him choose something that’ll get him seriously hurt. Bet he’d come crawling back here in tears. Probably never even stepped out of mommy and daddy’s house.” She sneered, her lips curling with disdain.

The room fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the sound of Van’s footsteps—the creak of metal against the wooden-planked floor echoing in the hall. Ten pairs of eyes tracked him, their gazes sharp with suspicion, irritation, or unease.

“Tsche, shitty nobles,” a red-haired, bearded dwarf spat under his breath to the group, his tone laced with disdain. “All of them are the fucking same, I’m tellin’ ya. Don’t have the slightest sensibility to anything. I should teach that guy a—”

“Forget it… Arnolt,” the human paladin interrupted weakly. He sat hunched at the table, exhaustion etched into his face, dark circles heavy under his eyes. He placed a weary hand on the dwarf’s shoulder, stopping him mid-motion as he prepared to storm toward Van.

“Let’s not fight… just for today,” the paladin said, his voice weary but firm.

“…Fine, Unicus. I didn’t want to dirty my hands tearing that noble apart anyway. Getting a nasty feeling from him,” the dwarf muttered with a sigh, retreating to the group, though his grumbling didn’t fully subside.

‘What do I do…!?’ the elven girl thought, her silver hair cascading down her back, her sharp ears twitching as her gaze locked onto the armored figure. ‘Van Hellix… that’s the name of the man who hit on my mother all those years ago… and she had him executed!’

Her mind raced as she pieced together the implications. ‘And… Junior? Did Van Hellix have a child before he died at my mother’s hands!?’ Confusion swirled within her as her sharp eyes tracked Van, who steadily approached the quest board.

‘Poor thing…!’ She thought, her brows furrowing slightly at Van, ‘Being the child of that scumbag, I bet he is also raised the same way. And he probably grew even more disdainful after his father left him to chase women without restraint…!’

“Lady Sylva,” a soft but cautious voice interrupted her frantic thoughts, pulling her attention to the towering figure beside her.

“Is everything alright?” the voice asked.

“A-AH… Yes, Vaelthir. I was just startled,” she replied hastily, her words quick and clipped.

“I see,” Vaelthir said, his tone calm yet laced with disdain as he followed her line of sight to Van. “Indeed, I cannot get over how rude some humans can be.”

Vaelthir straightened his already impeccable posture, his long, vibrant silver hair catching the light as he stood with practiced poise. His palms rested behind his back, the longbow slung over his shoulder gleaming with a seamless, polished finish. A quiver hung neatly at his side, along with a holstered knife adorned with intricate carvings.

‘A son should never carry the sins of his father…’ Sylva thought, her mind churning as she glanced nervously between Vaelthir and Van. ‘It’s a good thing Vaelthir only became my guardian recently… If he knew what Van Hellix did, who knows what he might do to his child!’

Her gaze fixated on Van as he neared the board, her thoughts filled with a storm of apprehension and uncertainty.

‘But to think he’s a noble…? How is that possible? Could his mother be one? Either way, he must have questions about his father’s death. Who wouldn’t? But… this aura he carries… Maybe it’s better not to approach him…’

Sylva pondered, her fingers fidgeting nervously as she mulled over her next move; as Van finally stood before the quest board, looking over it.

“Ah, I just realized… I never took that quest down!” one of the receptionists murmured under her breath, a shiver running down her spine.

“The one Unicus went on… where all his expedition died…!!”

“All done…!” the server exclaimed, watching as the broken wood dissolved into ash and drifted neatly into the trash can.

‘…To think I’d feel fulfilled doing something so trivial,’ the guardian mused, her gaze lingering on the dumpster.

“You were such a great help! Thank you so much…!” the server added, clasping the Spirit’s hands tightly, gratitude radiating from her expression.

‘…I suppose it feels different when it’s done for the right person,’ the guardian thought, her stoic expression softening slightly as she regarded the earnest servant: Recalling the knight’s father – her first contractor, and how he treated her as an equal.

‘I… Really do miss him.’

[Think nothing of it. Thank my master for allowing me to draw from his mana pool to accomplish this,] she replied, her voice steady and even.

‘Speaking of which… Van. I’ve been using his mana pool nonstop since last night, as he didn’t send me back to the spirit world. Granted, I haven’t drawn excessively since he formed the contract with me… But even with my… previous contractor… I was never allowed to remain outside this long.’ Her thoughts briefly darkened, but she shook them away.

‘Just how vast is Van’s mana pool?’ the guardian wondered, her eyes drifting momentarily to the server.

“Speaking of him,” the server began hesitantly, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. “Is he… treating you well? I… I’m not saying he’s a bad person, it’s just that I have a bad… feeling about him, that’s all…” Her voice softened as she looked away, releasing the Spirit’s arm reluctantly.

‘…Concerned? For me?’ The Spirit blinked, momentarily surprised. ‘And from a mortal stranger, no less. While we Spirits are clearly superior to the residents of this world, most treat us as tools… disposable and unworthy of care. This is unexpected.’

[I have only recently made a contract with him. I suppose time will tell,] she replied in a flat tone, masking any hint of emotion.

“I… I see,” the server said, a nervous smile playing on her lips before she forced herself to sound more optimistic. “He seems young, so… maybe he’ll only get better from here!” she added, her fists clenched in a gesture of forced enthusiasm.

But then.

An ominous noise broke the stillness of the morning air.

The creak of wooden steps echoed sharply from the apartment’s exposed stairwell. The distinct clatter of metal rang out—chainmail shifting, heavy boots pressing against the wooden planks, and the scrape of metal leggings and cuisses brushing with each deliberate step.

The server froze, her breath catching as goosebumps rippled over her skin. Her wide eyes locked on the figure descending the open stairwell, clearly visible in the golden morning light. She clenched her fists instinctively, her gaze darting to the Spirit standing calmly in front of her.

The Spirit turned, her expression unflinching, as though this sight was nothing unusual.

‘Although I admit… Van has an unusual aura about him,’ she mused, her eyes narrowing on the descending figure. ‘It’s as if… I’m compelled to view him unfavorably, no matter my own judgment.’

Van continued his steady descent, fully visible now. He was clad in his old black armor, accented with brass and bronze. Each piece gleamed faintly in the morning sun, polished and clean; as if it was never used once – thanks to his passive. His helmet obscured his face entirely. A massive greatsword rested on his back, its hilt and blade spanning nearly the length of his whole frame.

The server’s hand crept toward the knife at her waist as she trembled, her fear overtaking her.

[Rest easy,] the Spirit instructed, her calm tone breaking through the tension.

The server flinched and turned to look at her, her trembling hand still hovering near the weapon.

[That is my master in his armor,] the Spirit clarified, stepping forward toward Van, who had now reached the base of the stairwell. His attention was fixed on a worn parchment he held in one armored hand, seemingly oblivious to the tension he’d caused.

‘The nobility approval…’ Van thought, scanning the contents of the parchment. ‘…So Nickelson kept his word. Was it Alicia who delivered it?’ His expression remained stoic. Without hesitation, he began making his way toward the Spirit and the server, who stood near the dumpster across the street.

‘Van Hellix Jr.,’ he noted, his eyes narrowing slightly at the name printed on the document. ‘And a new badge, too. Same rank as my old one, but this one’s fresh—polished. I suppose it’ll come in handy.’ He folded the parchment neatly and slipped it into one of the pouches at his waist.

The Spirit’s voice broke through his thoughts.

[…I was under the impression you were resting,] she said.

“Me too,” Van replied, his tone flat, his head tilting slightly upward to meet her gaze. “But I changed my mind. Let’s go. I want to do a quest,”

Van’s gaze lingered on the server for a moment, his eyes narrowing behind the helmet as, briefly, her form shifted in his perception—cat-like ears framing her head; a tail attached to her behind; skin covered in fur. The image flickered and vanished as quickly as it came; same as from when he observed her from inside his house.

“Say,” Van began, his voice breaking the silence as he addressed the server. She stiffened, visibly on edge.

“Y-yes…?” she stammered, nodding quickly.

“Uh… Hm. Never mind,” Van said after a pause. “You just reminded me of the halflings. The feline tribe.”

The server let out a forced chuckle, her initial gasp barely concealed. “A-Aha… Feline people have ears and tails. And also, last I checked, I don’t have any fur…” she said, scratching her head awkwardly.

Van blinked rapidly. For a split second, he saw her scratching… her cat ears. But when he refocused, they were gone.

The Spirit, standing silently nearby, raised a brow in suspicion, her expression briefly flickering with curiosity.

“Right. Sorry,” Van said, brushing it off. “Let’s go, Guardian of Wind,” he added, turning abruptly and walking away.

The Guardian nodded politely toward the purple-haired server before following him.

“Aha…” the server chuckled to herself, watching them leave. Her expression quickly darkened, her features tightening.

“…Have those bastards found me already…?” she muttered under her breath, her face now cold and emotionless. Her eyes, sharp and feline, narrowed as she fixed a glare on Van’s retreating figure.

‘No one could see my true form. Not even Magus Veil himself could have done that—I’m certain of it. This isn’t just some simple transformation spell…! That bastard knows me. He knows, and he’s pretending to be clueless…!’

Her fists clenched, and her teeth bared as a low growl escaped her lips. “…I will not let you destroy my life here… whoever you think you are,” she hissed under her breath.

“AMI! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Galdo’s voice boomed from inside the tavern. “If you’re done out there, get your ass back—”

“Sorry, Galdo.” Her voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding, silencing his tirade instantly.

“I’m taking my first day off,” she declared, vanishing into thin air before he could even process her words.

“WAIT, YOU BRAT!” he yelled, lunging forward, but she was already gone, the faint shimmer of her disappearance dissipating before his eyes.

“Haaah… Tsk, what a bother!” Galdo spat to the side, muttering as he adjusted his dirty apron and turned back toward the tavern. “What will I do with these youngsters…”

He stopped briefly at the doorway, scratching his beard in frustration. “…Hopefully, she doesn’t hurt herself,” he murmured with a mix of irritation and concern. “Good workers are hard to come by these days, psche.”

With a shake of his head, he disappeared back inside, muttering under his breath as the tavern door slammed shut behind him.

============== LATER =========

‘…I am walking beside him. Does he not notice? Does he not care that I’m still not in the spirit world and am reliant on his mana pool? Is his mana pool really that vast?’ she wondered, her gaze flicking toward him.

[Say,—]

“Guar—”

The two spoke at the same time, their words overlapping. They both fell silent.

“…”

[…]

[…What is it, Master?] she asked at last, noting his lack of response.

“Nothing. Forget it. Speak your mind.”

[I have nothing to say… unless you command me to speak,] she replied, her tone neutral.

“I don’t care. Keep your mouth shut, then,” Van dismissed curtly, his focus unwavering as they continued walking side by side.

The Guardian of Wind glanced at him, a mixture of curiosity and contempt brewing within her. A faint irritation stirred in her stomach, but she bit back any retort.

And so, they walked.

And walked.

And walked.

And walked.

And walked.

Two hours passed in heavy silence.

‘He acts as if I’m not even here anymore. Does he truly not care, or is he so lost in his own mind that he doesn’t notice? Hmph… Fine. If he doesn’t care, neither should I. But this walk is getting tiresome. We’ve already circled the same path more than once.’

[What is the quest you were speaking of, Master?] she asked finally, her voice tinged with mild exasperation.

“…I’ll pick one when we get to the guild,” Van replied flatly after a brief pause, his pace unrelenting.

[I see. Which guild?] she asked, her tone measured.

“…A guild. Doesn’t have to be a specific one,” Van answered, his reluctance evident in his tone.

[…I see,] she repeated with a nod, and they continued walking in silence.

A few minutes later, she broke the quiet again.
[The turn to the guild is here. Are you going to a different one, perhaps?] she asked, pointing toward an alleyway.

“…No. That will do,” he said after a longer pause. She noticed the brief hesitation in his step, the slight tilt of his head as though to avoid meeting her gaze. Without another word, he stepped aside to follow her lead.

‘…No way,’ she thought, her brow arching slightly as they walked. ‘He didn’t know where the nearest guild was? He didn’t think to stop and ask someone? Is that… what he wanted to ask me earlier?’

Her lips pressed together as she studied his composed, if slightly oblivious, demeanor. She led him down the alley, her thoughts circling.

‘If he wasn’t so violent and vile…’ she mused, casting him a sidelong glance.

‘I might’ve found his behavior… almost adorable. Hmph.’ She dismissed the thought with a flick of her gaze as they approached the guild building.

==== ABOUT A DAY EARLIER, IN A CERTAIN CAVERN NEAR THE CAPITAL =========

“AHHHHHHHH!!!! HELP ME!!!!!!!” a dragonkin adventurer screamed, his voice echoing through the dark, suffocating cavern beneath the surface. His scaled body, impervious to molten lava, was now engulfed in violent, searing flames, burning him alive.

“HURRY UP!! Melika, USE YOUR WATER SPELL ON HIM! AIRI, TRY TO DISPEL IT!! IT COULD BE A CURSE!!” bellowed the leader, a paladin, his voice strained with desperation.

“R-RIGHT!!” the priestess and the spellcaster scrambled into action, their hands shaking as they focused their energy on the dragonkin. The priestess chanted fervently, while the spellcaster unleashed torrents of water at the flames.

‘How…? How could a being that could swim in lava… burn alive like this?!’ the paladin thought, his mind racing even as he swung his blade to fend off an incoming attack.

A skeletal arm lunged toward him—rotten, smeared with decaying tissue, the remnants of what was once human.

“FUCK…!!” he roared, raising his sword to block the strike, the clang of metal reverberating through the cave.

‘One by one… all our party members, spontaneously combusting, turning into this! JUST WHAT IS—’

A shrill, blood-curdling scream cut through the chaos.

The paladin turned to see the priestess—Airi, blessed by the goddess herself, immune to most curses, a profession achieved only by the divine’s chosen—consumed by flames. Her robes burned away as the fire ravaged her body, her screams choking out as the inferno devoured her lungs.

“AIRI!!!!!!!!!” he screamed, his voice cracking as he stumbled back, his focus slipping.

‘HOW…!? HOW!? SHE WASN’T EVEN HIT!!!’ His thoughts spiraled into despair as another skeletal arm slashed across his face, the bone’s edge cutting deep into his cheek.

“ARRGH!!” he cried out, shoving the skeletal attackers back with a wild swing of his sword.

Now only he and the spellcaster remained. She had collapsed to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably, frantically casting water spells over Airi’s burning corpse.

“AIRI…! TELL ME WHAT TO DO…!! THE WATER DOESN’T WORK…!! AIRI!!!” she wailed, tears streaming down her face as the priestess’s flesh melted away, leaving only a skeletal figure that still screamed silently through the unrelenting flames.

The paladin’s breathing quickened as dozens of skeletons emerged from the shadows, their hollow eyes gleaming in the dim light. They surrounded the two survivors, their bony hands reaching, their steps deliberate and unyielding.

‘JUST…’

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!?” the paladin roared, his voice breaking as he looked to the cavern’s ceiling, his sword trembling in his grip, the skeletal horde closing in.

Morning light poured over Marcilla’s guild building, filling it with a soft glow.

“Someone seems to be in good spirits today,” Marcy observed, raising an eyebrow as she scrubbed the wooden reception counter, clearing away the dust and grime. She looked up, welcoming her daughter, who entered the guild with a distinct bounce in her step.

“A-ah, you think so? I guess I just woke up in a good mood,” Anne replied, glancing away with a shy smile and scratching the back of her head.

“Hm… And, when you have no work to boot… The guild is closed for today, you know.” Marcy commented.

“Ah… Guess I wanted to help out!” Anne said cheerfully, her eyes beaming.

“Oho…?” Marcy hummed with curiosity, pausing her cleaning to lean on her elbow and watch Anne brush past her toward the guild’s storage area.

“Is it a boy?” she asked, a sly smile playing on her lips.

“W-WHAT!? NO!” Anne’s eyes widened, her face flushing with embarrassment.

“So, it is a boy,” Marcy teased, clearly amused.

“F-FORGET ABOUT THAT…!” Anne stammered, shaking her head. “Anyway… so… um… do you know if Van is coming by? I kinda agreed to meet him, like, nothing serious or anything, just… Show him around.”

She looked away, her voice quiet and laced with shyness.

But at the mention of his name, Marcy’s face tightened. Her hands stilled, and her expression turned unreadable.

“H-He’s just been a lot of help, so—”

“He won’t come here again,” Marcy interrupted, her tone suddenly firm.

“Ah… h-he… he won’t?” Anne’s face fell, confusion and a hint of disappointment flickering in her eyes as she looked back at her mother.

Marcy lightly shook her head, her gaze settling on her daughter’s confused expression. She sighed, loosening the tension in her shoulders.

“No. He has a home with his father in the capital now, so he doesn’t have any reason to come here anymore,” she said coolly, resuming her scrubbing.

“… Ah… okay.” Anne replied softly, turning to continue her path toward the storage area. “Guess I’ll… Just go to him or something later…”

“Anne,” Marcy called, hesitating as if her words were caught at the edge of her throat, uncertain whether to cross the boundary.

“Yeah?” Anne glanced back.

“… The boy you’re so excited about… is it him?” Marcy asked cautiously.

Anne looked away, her cheeks flushing like a ripe tomato.

Marcy sighed, a faint frown crossing her face as Van’s words echoed in her mind. “I’d rather you stayed away from him,” she said quietly.

“What..?” Anne whipped around, the color draining from her face.

“I misjudged him,” Marcy went on, gripping the cloth tightly as Van’s scornful words replayed in her thoughts. “That boy cares about little beyond his own desires. If he seems charming, it’s only because he’s hiding his true self. Don’t fall for it.”

Anne’s eyes narrowed, disbelief flickering in her gaze as her fists clenched.

“You’re a beautiful girl, Anne—a girl most boys would line up to be with. You don’t need to settle for someone like him—”

“Van…” Anne interrupted, her voice barely a whisper.

“He’s not like that!” she said defiantly, surprising Marcy with her rare outburst.

“I’ve been around boys enough to know when they’re putting on an act,” Anne continued, her tone firm. “And he’s not like that. He’s got his issues, sure… but he’s not the villain you think he is.”

Marcy’s hand stilled, her eyes widening slightly as she took in Anne’s words.

“… I’m sorry. I’ll get to work,” Anne murmured, bowing her head before heading toward the storage room. She paused at the doorway, glancing back. “… And I’ll think about what you said, Mom.”

Marcy watched the door close, her gaze drifting across the empty guild hall. ‘”He’s got his issues,” huh?’ she thought, eyes loosening.

“Yeah… guess we all do.” Marcy paused, her hand resting on the scrubbing cloth as her mind slipped back to last night. She tried, just for a moment, to see things from his perspective. She wasn’t usually one to overthink, but she respected her daughter’s judgment—Anne was perceptive, careful about who she spent time with. And the fact that she liked Van, despite his Untrusted passive, made Marcy second-guess herself.

‘Am I a dumbass?’ she thought, the sting of self-reproach settling in. ‘Did I just forget he’s been gone all these years and why he left in the first place?’ Her words from last night echoed in her head.

‘And yesterday… I basically told him I’d straddle him just because he reminds me of Magus, not because I actually give a damn about him. Talk about ripping open old wounds and rubbing salt in them… especially with him, of all people; Telling him he’ll never amount to Magus. What the fuck was I thinking?’ She scoffed to herself.

‘… I miss Magus, but that helmet-head didn’t deserve that. Hell, forget the way he cussed me out; if I were in his shoes, I’d kill anyone who did that to me—treating me like a second-rate consolation prize.’

She let out a bitter chuckle.

‘I really screwed this up, didn’t I?’ She sighed, a faint frown shadowing her gaze as she looked loosely at the worn wood in front of her.

‘I’ll pay him a visit later.’ She resolved quietly as she continued her duties.

==== VAN’S HOUSE ===========

Van’s eyes flickered open slowly, his mouth slightly agape, a thin trail of drool pooling on the torn mattress beneath him. Feathers from the shredded fabric clung to his face, soft but mocking in their fragility.

For what felt like an eternity—though it was only a few minutes—he remained motionless, a statue entombed in his own body. His chest rose and fell, the only sign of life, while his gaze remained unfocused, fixed on the tattered bed beneath him.

His eyes shifted, the only part of him that could summon the strength to move. He closed them again, concentrating on his arm. He could feel it—his fingers, his hand. He was sure they were there, capable of movement. And yet, they felt frozen. Stuck. Despite all the strength in his body, it was as though the muscles themselves refused to obey.

His feet, bare and light, were exposed to the room’s cool air. He could sense the blood coursing through them, the faint brush of the mattress’s torn fabric against his skin, even the delicate touch of individual feathers grazing his toes. But today, they felt impossibly heavy, like the weight of the world pressed against his skin, bones, and sinew, anchoring him in place.

His half-lidded gaze roamed lazily across the mattress.

Why move? What was the point?

The days were counting down until Varlog recovered, until the scholars from the demonic realm arrived to examine the summoning circle. They’d figure out how to extract whatever power it held without destroying it—or so they claimed.

Until then, his role was simple: hold off any dragon attacks. Or any other attacks, really.

And then, it would be over. He’d be free. Free to leave this place. Free to return.

To her.

To Alicia.

And he could go months without eating or drinking before dying. Even then… he’d come back in peak shape.

What reason was there to move? To lift his fingers, his arms, to rise from this torn and ruined bed in his trashed apartment?

A deep sigh escaped him, his breath scattering the feathers clinging to the mattress.

[You forgot to send me back to the spirit world after our contract.]

The voice echoed gently in his mind, breaking the silence. Van blinked, his mouth too heavy to form a reply. His head dragged across the mattress as he turned it, slowly tilting to the side.

There, perched on a chair, was a womanly figure bathed in sunlight. Her white hair gleamed, almost blinding against the rays filtering through the broken window above the bed—the same window the last knight had escaped through.

Van stared at her impassively. She met his gaze for a moment, then turned her attention to the room’s exit.

Her posture was perfectly straight, her expression calm, blank—reflecting his own.

Another minute passed in stillness. His tongue felt like lead, weighed down by something deeper than fatigue, as if his heart forbade him from speaking.

[My previous… Master… ruined your residence, it seems. I allowed myself to arrange it while you slept. Your mana reserves were sufficient—it didn’t harm me to remain outside.]

Van’s gaze dropped briefly, his thoughts flickering. ‘I’ll be leaving this place soon. She did it for nothing.’

[There are still cracks and broken furniture. You should order repairs. It wouldn’t hurt you financially—]

“Return to the spirit world,” Van rasped, cutting her off. His voice was rough, scraping against the stillness of the room.

The Guardian’s expression shifted, her impassive demeanor giving way to faint surprise. She locked eyes with him, searching for something behind his blank stare.

Then, without a word, she obeyed. Her form faded, dissolving into the ether, leaving the room quiet once more.

And Van was alone again.

The bed pulled at him like a magnet, and he sank back onto it, his body heavy and unwilling. His eyes drifted shut, the darkness behind his lids offering a strange kind of solace.

Yet, a small spark flickered inside him.

She cleaned the house, she said?
It had been a wreck yesterday—even after Alicia burned away the bile, corpses, and blood.

He’d barely been here a day, but it was his place now.

Is that worth getting out of bed for? he wondered.

Well, if nothing else, it piqued his curiosity. She was a Guardian of Wind, after all. What else could she do?

With another deep sigh, he pushed himself up, the movement slow and deliberate. He sat on the edge of the mattress, staring down at his feet as they rested against the wooden floor. His toes curled, testing the surface. He swallowed hard, his fists pressing into the bed for support.

Minutes ticked by, and Van didn’t move.

Finally, with another sigh—one more attempt at summoning strength he barely had—he stood. His legs wobbled, but they held. He took a step. Then another. Slow, deliberate strides carried him to the exit of the bedroom.

Van stopped in the doorway, his gaze sweeping across the apartment.

After Alicia had burned away the blood and bile, the place had been left in shambles—furniture scattered, splintered wood and shattered glass littering the floor, everything in disarray.

Now, the broken furniture was gone. The misplaced wood and jagged shards of glass had vanished. The room was still damaged—the holes in the ceiling, walls, and floor remained—but the chaos had been tamed.

The space, though imperfect, was… cleaner.

“Holy shit, who put it out here!?” A voice bellowed from outside the apartment.

Van’s curiosity flickered, faint but enough to pull him toward the window near the entrance. He moved slowly, his gaze heavy-lidded as he peered out.

Below, near the dumpster, a large pile of broken wood sat stacked neatly. He recognized it instantly. It had been scattered across his apartment just yesterday.

“Tsk… I don’t know why, but I’ve got a feeling it’s the new tenant above the tavern,” grumbled a burly dwarf with a braided beard. He stood on the street, glaring toward Van’s window. His eyes narrowed further when he caught sight of Van’s face looking down at him.

“HEY! Did you put this shit here!?” the dwarf barked, his voice rough and accusatory. Van met his gaze blankly, his body unmoving, his expression unreadable.

Next to the dwarf stood a young woman, her fur-covered body purple and white, with distinct cat-like ears twitching atop her head—one of the tavern’s servers. Van recognized her from last night, when she’d looked up at him through the hole he’d made in the floor. He knew instinctively it was her…

But she had appeared more human yesterday.

Now, she looked like an overgrown, humanoid cat, her body covered in purple-and-white fur. A long tail extended from her backbone, wobbling slightly as she shifted her weight.

Van’s brow furrowed, and he squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing them briefly. When he opened them again, her form blurred at the edges, shifting unnaturally. He blinked several times, focusing on the image of her from last night.

And just like that, she was human again. The fur, the ears—every trace of the cat-like features—were gone.

… Sleeping haze? he wondered, his thoughts unsettled. But something about it felt… off. Too vivid.

Too real.

“I-it’s okay, Galdo! I’ll burn it,” she said timidly, extending a hand as a small flame flickered to life in her palm.

“HEY! Ami! If you keep doing favors like that, people are gonna step all over you!” Galdo snapped, his tone firm and scolding.

“I-it’s just wood, Galdo…” she murmured, her flame catching on the pile and beginning to consume it, the fire slow but steady.

“Haaah… whatever,” Galdo muttered, rubbing his temples. Then, with a growl, he turned his attention back to Van. “You! If you’re gonna live here, take responsibility for the mess you cause—”

“Guardian of Wind, come out,” Van interrupted, his tone calm but heavy with weariness.

The air shifted as the Guardian materialized beside him, her form ethereal yet solid, her presence commanding attention.

[Yes..?] she asked, her gaze settling on him as she stood by the window.

Van’s eyes flickered to the dwarf’s face—the contorted scowl, the angry tone, the dismissive glare.

His first thought was simple: I wasn’t even the one who put it there.

But arguing wouldn’t work. It never worked.

No matter what he said to that dwarf, Untrusted would poison it.

He’d seen it firsthand at the gate when he hurled Cerile’s sword past that arrogant Guard, Garry.

Fear, hurt.

If you inflicted those things, people left you alone. A passive like Untrusted didn’t matter when terror took hold.

Even the knights who tortured him had begged for mercy yesterday once they realized what he could do.

Van exhaled heavily, the memory tightening his chest. “I’m too tired to move. You do everything I want, right?” he said, his voice flat, almost detached. “Teach that fucker a lesson. Cut his tongue o—”

His words trailed off as his gaze flicked to the server, Ami, her hands delicately tending the flame as it worked through the wood. Her movements were careful, almost diligent.

The Guardian tilted her head slightly, watching the tension ease from Van’s shoulders. She waited, patient.

“Forget it. Once she’s done burning the wood to ash, carry it away with your wind,” Van said finally, his voice gentler.

“I don’t know squat about your abilities,” he added with a tired sigh, “but you can do something like that, can’t you?”

[… Indeed.] She nodded, her voice soft but resolute.

“Good,” Van sighed, turning away from the window. Galdo’s face twisted as he watched Van retreat into the apartment, his casual dismissal igniting a fresh wave of irritation.

“Why that little—!” Galdo growled, his fists clenching as he stomped toward the stairs. “Why, I oughtta—”

“G-GALDO, IT’S FINE, REALLY!” the servant called out, her voice shaky but insistent as she continued burning the wood. The flames danced slowly, consuming the pile piece by piece.

Inside, Van glanced back at the now-cleaned apartment. “And… thanks,” he murmured, his tone softer, almost reluctant.

[… I merely needed to occupy myself while you were asleep. Think nothing of it.]

The Guardian’s voice was calm as her form began to fade, slipping through the window and reappearing outside—blocking Galdo’s path just as he reached the stairs.

“Oh..?” Galdo muttered, his stomping halted as he looked up at her, his irritation briefly replaced by curiosity.

[My master sent me to help you,] she stated, her ethereal presence unyielding as she addressed him.

“Psche,” Galdo spat to the side, his expression hardening again. “That bastard sends his spirits to do his dirty work for him, eh? Whatever. Ain’t no concern of mine. Just make sure you take care of it,” he grumbled, turning on his heel and stomping back toward the tavern.

“Woah…” the servant whispered, her gaze following the Guardian as she approached. Her eyes widened with admiration.

‘She’s so pretty…’ she thought, momentarily awestruck.

[I shall fan your fire. And take away the ash to the trash.]

“Right! Thank you very much!” the servant replied cheerfully, her voice bright as she smiled.

Inside, Van returned to the torn mattress, sitting heavily on its edge. His eyes drifted across the room, lingering on the faint traces of the chaos from the day before.

‘Remain steadfast, huh?’ The memory of the presence in the so-called void resurfaced in his mind.

“Man,” he muttered, letting out a dry scoff, “I fucking hate this place.” His words hung in the still air as he pushed himself up again, shaking his head.

“How about I take a quest and do something for now?” he muttered to no one in particular, his tone resigned yet carrying a faint spark of determination. His gaze settled on the old, adorned sword and armor that Mika and Rika had returned to him yesterday. Reaching out, he picked up his helmet, its weight familiar in his hands.

‘No one will be able to catch it’s me under this helmet,’ He thought as he began dressing, putting on his old armor.

=========================

“So, Anne is meeting that guy… Van, today, Mikey?” Bernard asked, leaning back in his chair with a sly grin.

“Yes…” Michael replied, his voice hesitant.

“Good. Then, when the time comes, place the seal on her. That’ll ensure Anne will be yours.” The blonde youth instructed as he handed out the metal seal.

“I—” Michael faltered, his fists clenching. “I don’t want her to be mine! She belongs to no one, Bernard!”

Bernard raised an eyebrow, his smirk unchanging. Michael’s voice trembled as he continued, his defiance giving way to resolve. “But… if it keeps her safe… if it keeps her away from him…” Michael snatched the seal from Bernard’s hand, his grip tight around the object. “I’ll do it.”

The slave mark.

Without another word, Michael bowed his head, then turned and walked away, his steps heavy with hesitation.

“Heh.” Bernard von Brayle chuckled, watching him retreat. “He just doesn’t get it, does he? That lowly shit.” His voice dripped with condescension. “You don’t get what you want by being nice all the time.”

‘That slave mark is actually infected with elaborate magic my father showed me. It will bind her loyalty to me, not that dunce.’

He sighed, rising from his chair and strolling toward the window. His sneering friends stepped aside, making room for him as he gazed out. The grin on his face darkened into something crueler.

“Anne Veil will be mine. And after her, all the Hero’s women and their girls will follow with the slave mark…” He tightened his grip on the windowsill, his voice growing into a low snarl.

“And then…” His expression twisted into something maniacal, his teeth bared. “That bitch Melanie will pay for humiliating me… and she’ll tell me who that armored fucker was!” His growl deepened as the memory of Van tearing through Amu-Rah, his fire spirit, surfaced.

His laughter echoed in the room, a sound brimming with malice and ambition.

ARCANE stat.

“You must have that maxed out by now,” Van asked as they walked; nearing toward Alicia’s castle.

“Nah, I haven’t the slightest idea how to level it up, or exactly what it does. It’s written as [INACCESSIBLE] to me.” Magus replied casually.

I haven’t thought about it that much when I looked at my status window, and saw a 0 instead of [INACCESSIBLE], since I couldn’t allot stat points to it and it wouldn’t increase with my level at all.

It was an enigma to the two of us. Even when asked about the ancient powers of this world, no one exactly could give us a good answer, except that it’s somewhat related to Spirits and the Gods; as Magus could sense them the more it leveled up… And that everyone shared the same sentiment.

No one had any idea how it worked, what it did, or how to raise it.

[Guardian of Wind]: [You cur…! How…] She asked, her chest heaving.

‘Hm…’ Van hummed to himself as he opened his status window:

Name: Van Hellix

Age: 17 (42)

Sex: Male

Race: Unknown

Level: 337

STATS:

[AVAILABLE STAT POINTS: 447]

VIG (Vigor): 999 (+54,005)

STR (Strength): 999 (+34,156)

RES (Resilience): 999 (+48,072)

DEX (Dexterity): 998

PER (Perception): 660

MANA: 10 (+200) [Seed of Darkness Bonus!]

INT (Intelligence): 10 (+50) [Seed of Darkness Bonus!]

HOLY: [INACCESSIBLE]

ARCANE: 0 (+25) [Seed of Darkness Bonus!]

‘901… Magus had told the girls his main stat, Intelligence, was at 901… Well, it made sense. Intelligence was his primary focus, but being an all-rounder, he’d put effort into other magic-related stats whenever he could, making him a versatile mage. As for me, I only had to concentrate on Dexterity to control my Strength, which kept rising with each death… My stats have climbed quite a bit since fighting the boy… But that’s not what I wanted to check.’

Van focused on the lower section of his stats: Mana, INT, and Arcane.

The first two dictated anything magic-related, with Dexterity and Perception somewhat complementing them. Mana represented the size of your mana pool, or in simple terms, how much magic you could cast before burning out. Summoners, for instance, needed massive Mana reserves to sustain spirits, while spellcasters needed high INT to increase the power of their spells.

Intelligence determined the strength and efficiency of your magic. If two spellcasters cast the same spell, the one with higher INT would produce a stronger result without using more Mana.

Dexterity, as it did for physical fighters, governed spellcasting speed, accuracy, and reaction time—critical for spellcasters and runemasters who needed to write runes mid-battle.

Perception sharpened one’s senses, crucial for intercepting spells or detecting runes. With high Perception, Dexterity, and INT, you could create a powerful anti-magic intercept system—at least, that was the basic concept.

Only summoned heroes could view this stat window and allocate stat points. Regular people in this world could only access this window with significant risk and magic consumption, making it rarely worth the effort; as stated.

Then there was ARCANE.

The ‘useless’ stat.

Both Van and Magus could allocate points across stats in addition to the natural increases they experienced as they leveled up.

Van’s natural increases came in Vigor, Resistance, Strength, Dexterity, and Perception—reflecting his use of physical attributes. Magus, by contrast, leveled up in Dexterity, Perception, Mana, and Intelligence.

Additionally, they received free stat points to allocate as they chose. Van, without magical affinity, avoided Mana and INT, while Magus, an all-rounder, distributed points across all stats, including HOLY, which enhanced skills and spells related to the Goddess.

Van scrolled through his stats.

‘Seed of Darkness bonus, huh…? Where’d that come from?’ He thought. ‘And… my race is now marked as unknown? Just what the hell is—’

A voice, harsh and grating, broke into his mind.

[YOU CUR! I ASKED, HOW CAN YOU SEE ME!?]

He tore his gaze from the status window and looked down flatly at the dying spirit.

“I’m not in the mood. Can you be silent for a—”

[NO! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO DIE! HOW ARE YOU STILL BREATHING!? AND ON TOP OF THAT, YOU CAN SEE ME… And dare to tell me, a Spirit, as a mere human, to be silen—]

His fist crashed into the floor beside her, splintering wood with a resounding crack. A shard shot through the floor, plunging down into the tavern below, missing a server’s head by inches.

The spirit froze, her words dying in her throat as she stared at him, wide-eyed.

“I said,” he repeated, voice low and lethal, “shut the fuck up. I’m not in the mood for you howling like some whore.”

“Ah… W-what…?” The server below, shaken, looked up through the hole. Her eyes met Van’s cold, detached glare.

Van broke his stare, glancing away from the spirit to the server. “Ah,” he muttered, forcing a nod. “Sorry. There was a bug, and I, uh, curse at them when I kill them.”

“O-oh… Right…” She murmured, still looking up at him in confusion. “You’re the new tenant, right…? W-welcome…”

He barely acknowledged her, turning back to the spirit and gripping her by the throat as she lay next to the shattered floorboards. With a casual nod to the server below, he moved away from the hole.

‘Gah… Wh-what…? This cur can grab me, too! ME, AN A-RANKED SPIRIT, and without using magic?!’ Her thoughts scrambled as she clawed at his hand, panic clawing through her.

“I’ve had a bad evening,” he muttered, voice ice-cold, tightening his grip as he lifted her from the ground.

[Gah… Agh…] She strained against his hand, her breath a strangled rasp.

“So don’t shout, don’t complain. And as for your whole ‘mere human, how dare you’ routine—let’s get one thing straight.” His gaze narrowed. “There’s only one woman who gets away with that attitude, and you’re not her. So cut it. Understood?”

Her lip trembled as she looked down, biting it in frustration. She shut her eyes, gasping for air, then nodded.

“Good.” He released her grip, letting her fall back to the ground, leaving her to choke on her own silence.

[Haa… Haa…] She coughed, propping herself up with trembling arms.

“Now. Who are you, exactly? I’m guessing you’re tied to this whirlwind around me,” Van demanded, towering over her.

[I… Haa…] She took a moment to gather her thoughts, steadying her breath before looking up at him. Van remained silent, letting her compose herself.

[… I am the Guardian of Wind. A celestial spirit. A human knight summoned me and sustained my presence in this world. Until you killed him.] Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

Van sighed, walking over to a nearby chair. He sat, crossing his legs, watching her with an almost bored expression.

“So, then… why are you still here? Just go back to the spirit world.”

She narrowed her eyes, settling herself on the floor. [… Do you truly not understand how spirits work? Are you seriously asking me to explain something so—]

“Didn’t I fucking tell you to drop the superiority complex?” Van growled, his voice cutting through her words like a blade. “I’ve heard enough bitches talk like they’re some know-it-all around me. Get to the point.”

He gripped the arm of the chair, the wood splintering under his tightening fist.

The crack startled her, and she softened her gaze, looking down, biting her lip in frustration.

A heavy silence lingered between them before Van let out a quiet sigh.

“…I’ve never been with a spirit summoner. I know jack about how spirits work, besides the fact that you have to form a contract and that it has to be mutually agreed upon.” His voice softened, the edge from before fading.

The spirit’s gaze snapped to Van, startled by his unexpectedly calm tone, before she looked away, unsettled by the shift.

[I’m a boundless spirit. I cannot go back,] she began, her tone losing its sharpness.

[If you had killed that human while I was still in the spirit realm, I would’ve been fine. If you had somehow killed me instead, I’d have returned to the spirit world to recover. But you killed him while I was out. My link to him is severed. Only he could summon me, in or out of this world.] Her eyes dropped to the floor.

[My fate now is to wither and die. Completely. I won’t go back to the spirit world, either.] She clenched her fists, her fingers digging into the wood beneath her.

[And so, the least I could do in my dying moments… with the mana I have left to sustain myself…] Her gaze burned as she looked up at him, fierce and defiant. [Is kill you. The one who gave me this fate.] Her voice seethed with bitterness, but Van met her eyes, expression unreadable, silently absorbing her words.

[…Or so I thought.] She exhaled, releasing her hold on him. The air around Van relaxed as her hostility faded. [But now that I am calm… I realize it’s futile.] She glanced away, resigned. [I’d rather use my remaining strength to experience this world as much as I can.]

“How come you’re surprised I can see you?” Van asked, eyebrow raised.

[A spirit has to actively use mana to make themselves seen… I’m not doing it at all right now.] Her voice was laced with confusion. [You seeing me is… irregular. An anomaly.]

‘Due to the ARCANE stat, maybe?’ Van mused silently.

He tapped his fingers lightly on the arm of the chair. “One last thing.” Van said.

“All those knights I killed were sleazebag scum who’d done nothing worthwhile in their lives.” She looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly as he continued, “And to top it all off, they were human. Exactly what you say you despise.”

He leaned forward, his gaze piercing. “So why did you form a contract with him?”

[… I formed a contract with him when he was just a child; I had been in a contract with his father before him. When his father retired, he asked me to look after his son, and I agreed. As a child, he was kind, a little mischievous… he made me believe in humans again.] Her voice softened, her gaze drifting somberly away.

[But as he grew older… the uglier he became.] She pressed her lips together, the memories twisting her expression.

[But I was bound by the contract…] Her voice dropped as she pulled her white gown around her, hiding her chest. [I had to do what he asked… even when he turned ugly.]

Van’s eyes narrowed slightly. “… And what was that?”

She flinched, her eyes widening with a flicker of anger as she met his gaze. The way he looked at her—was he really that dense? Or was he just mocking her? Taking a steady breath, she looked away, her voice a barely audible murmur. [… He used my body.]

The words hung in the air between them for a moment before Van replied, his tone flat.

“Sorry to hear.”

She looked up, confused. His words felt hollow, empty of any real empathy. Did he truly not grasp the weight of what she’d just said? Could he not read the pain in her expression, the stiffness in her posture?

Then again… he didn’t have to say he was sorry at all. She realized that, and the thought stirred something deep within her.

A long, tense silence passed between them. Finally, something broke within her.

[… Form a contract with me.] The words slipped out impulsively, part challenge, part plea—she wasn’t even sure which.

Van raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”

[Form a contract with me. Please. I wish to live.] Her voice softened, the desperation barely masked.

Van looked at the spirit, intrigued, though too mentally worn out to process much beyond that.

“Fine. But only if I can tear it down the moment I’ve had enough of you,” he replied with a weary sigh.

[… That is acceptable.] She nodded, slightly begrudgingly, and extended her arm to him.

[I shall lend you my strength in battle for as long as you wish me to.]

Van stood, approaching her outstretched arm, his hand closing around her forearm.

“Thanks.” The word was barely more than a murmur as she then dissolved into thin air, leaving only a faint glimmer of light in her wake.

Without a second thought, Van turned to his ruined, torn bed and collapsed onto it, the interaction already fading from his mind as he closed his eyes, surrendering to sleep.

He walked across the reddened, open field, dragging his world sword along the ground, stepping between fallen angels and crushing their wings beneath his boots. The field was awash in crimson, stained with angelic blood. Each step he took splattered more of it across the already-drenched earth.

His path led him to one particular body.

Dauz’s.

|I won’t… ever give up… I’ll stop you…| Dauz’s voice echoed through the blood-soaked air, loud enough for Evelyn to hear from the heavens above. Knight approached, looking down at his carved and punctured form.

Evelyn clasped her hand over her mouth, gasping, her eyes turning away from the scene.

|I’ll do whatever it takes to bring you back to your senses… We’re friends! And I’ll make you remember it, one day for sure!| Dauz called, his voice resolute, defiance still burning in his eyes.

Knight stared back silently, meeting his gaze.

“Dauz…”

Evelyn’s voice trembled in a mixture of awe and sorrow, drawing Knight’s attention upward. For a fleeting moment, he caught the expression in her glowing eyes—sorrowful, yet full of admiration for the fallen angel. Something dark stirred within him, and he turned back to Dauz, gripping his sword tighter.

[It matters not how many times I end your life,] Knight began, his voice hollow as he raised the world sword, its edge aimed at Dauz’s mouth.

[…I relish each moment I pierce your flesh, seeing the light leave your eyes every single time.] His voice reverberated inside Dauz’s mind, a red spark faintly flaring within the depths of Knight’s helmet.

[I will find that boy,] he continued, slowly driving the blade into Dauz’s open mouth.

Dauz’s eyes widened, a choked gasp escaping him as the sword inched further, deeper.

[And I will end your souls. Permanently.] Knight finished, his words hanging coldly in the air as the world sword pierced through flesh, the sickening sound echoing through the crimson field. Dauz’s life drained away in agony, swallowed by the darkness.

Evelyn turned her face away, tears shimmering in her eyes.

[You… Bastard…!!] The goddess cursed as she looked at the scene; as Knight vanished into dark flames. … Making his way toward the capital.

[No… If he reaches that boy… My plan…!]

“My Goddess…” Evelyn murmured, sensing her distress. “Why must Knight be kept from Van Hellix? He’s unprotected, isn’t he?”

[Evelyn,] the Goddess replied with a sigh, her golden eyes glinting coldly. [What affects a skill’s potency?]

“…The user’s mental state,” Evelyn responded.

[Correct. A stable mind wields greater power. Magus Veil’s passive works just as strongly on children as it does on adults.]

Evelyn’s eyes widened. “So… even as children, his offspring would have developed feelings for him?”

[Precisely. For years, Magus Veil’s brokenness weakened his influence. But as he raised his daughters, his strength returned, and only then his passives took effect—until he foolishly tried to end his life.]

The Goddess clicked her tongue in irritation.

[Hellix is no different; thus I plan to break him utterly. His strength has become a threat to me and all of Arataxia. He is immortal only because of his passive, Dark Soul. If his mind, his… Soul, shatters beyond repair and he dies in that state, he will not revive.]

Evelyn murmured, understanding. “The Demon Lord is the only thing holding him together… So that’s why you made that deal with the Archdevil…”

[Yes… She—his one anchor—must be taken, not killed. Inner strength feeds on belief. If she dies loving him, he will endure. She must be taken, and he must witness it. Only then will he shatter completely, leaving him exposed… His passive weakened enough to slay him permanently.] She growled, her gaze fixed on the horizon.

[I even offered the Priestess visions of health, wealth, and joy if she betrayed Hellix and turned to my champion, yet she resisted. Fortunately, my champion took it upon himself to wear down her resolve… but it only weakened Hellix; it didn’t break him. One more blow with the Demon Lord will bring him to his knees. Then he can be eliminated, permanently. But if that wretch reaches the capital, everything unravels. His escape alone… I know it will stir Hellix in ways beyond my control.]

“But why grant Van Hellix immortality in the first place, My Goddess?”

The Goddess cast a fleeting glance at Evelyn, noting her unwavering devotion before responding.

[Immortality was never mine to grant. Hellix was never meant to be summoned, and I cannot alter powers without sacrificing my own. I can only empower those who serve me, fueled by their belief and prayers.]

“Then… how?”

[There is a force within the void that assigns powers to summoned heroes. I can interpret and shape it, but its essence is beyond my control. Van Hellix is not mine—he simply crossed paths with Magus Veil during his summoning. His passive, Untrusted, was so potent it tainted even my perception, filling me with a childlike spite, twisting my own hatred into his abilities.]

“But… why does Knight’s approach affect Hellix?”

[The Seed of Darkness. I confirmed it today, watching this bloodbath unfold. The wretch’s power stems from the same origin in the void: Darkness. Hellix, summoned without grace to shield him, should have been annihilated by the void. Instead, it embedded him with darkness.]

[As the wretch draws near, Hellix’s seed will stir and grow, unlocking powers that must remain dormant.]

“But… Knight isn’t a summoned hero! He is a resident of this world! H-he couldn’t have gained this power, could he?”

[… Even us gods tire of monotony, Evelyn. Who’s to say there isn’t another force beyond our perception, a being that amuses itself by toying with our struggles?]

————————–

‘Panic attack. Give me a fucking break,’ he thought, scanning the blood-soaked, wrecked apartment.

Ten corpses lay scattered around him, his body drenched head to toe in their blood.

‘I feel completely calm,’ he told himself, though his heart felt as if a scalpel were slicing it open—a small, precise cut, exposing… something hidden beneath his shattered armor, slowly seeping out.

It didn’t feel red.

This time, he let it happen. It was almost routine, disturbingly familiar. He remembered that he could go without breath for 37 hours—he’d tested it, training in the mermaid’s ocean to prepare for escape.

‘This is nothing.’

The last man looked up at Van, trembling as he soiled himself, surrounded by the bodies of his fallen comrades. Van’s gaze was cold, detached. Casual.

“A-ah… I… I c-can’t ask you t-to spare me, can I…?” he stammered, his voice weak and quivering.

Van remained silent, taking slow, deliberate steps toward the cowering ex-knight—the last of the group that had trashed his apartment.

‘Shit…!! SHIT…!! He’s not letting me walk out of here after killing everyone… How the hell did he get this strong?! We messed up… Meaty or not, he’s still a summoned hero…’ The man’s thoughts raced as he frantically crawled backward, matching each of Van’s advancing steps.

He glanced back toward the open window, the darkness outside beckoning as his only escape. But he knew it was hopeless. If he tried, Van would throw something, just like he did to the other knight who attempted to flee through that very window—one clean shot to the head, and it was over.

He’d seen it firsthand in this battle.

Every non-physical and binding spell simply bounced off Van. And the few that landed didn’t leave a scratch.

All the rune-masters had fallen, their spells too slow to connect with Van.

Even an A-ranked summoned spirit—the Guardian of Wind—remained here, though invisible to those without attunement to the ARCANE realm; a realm where all spirits reside, said to be the Gateway to Arataxia itself. It was fading slowly, lying helpless and dying in the ruined apartment after its caster’s death. It had tried to trap Van in a vacuum, sealing off all air, but Van’s chest continued to rise and fall effortlessly.

‘This crazy bastard’s lungs are stronger than an A-ranked spirit’s magic… he’s breathing through a vacuum?! Give me a fucking break…! First that WHORE-Magnet friend of his, and now him! Why… why does everything go right for these summoned freaks?! Just because they got summoned?! FUCK OFF!’ the man’s mind snarled as he clenched his teeth, his fist pressing hard against the bloodstained floor.

“Any last words?” Van asked, his tone indifferent.

‘Might as well let him say his piece. I’m going to kill him, either way. He’s survived longer than anyone. He’s earned it,’ Van thought, feeling a lump forming in his chest—as if sprouting from the incision, from the cut in his heart.

“…Yeah,” the man spat, flinching before forcing a twisted grin. “Go FUCK yourself, Meaty.”

Van sighed, standing over him, then raised his foot above the man’s head, ready to crush his skull.

The man squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the end…

… until a voice gently cut through the silence.

“Hey, Van,” she called from the doorway, her figure framed against the closed door, standing just beyond Henry’s lifeless, groinless body.

Van halted, recognizing the voice, and slowly turned his head.

‘Now…!’ he thought, bolting toward the window. He rocketed through it, using muscle-strengthening magic to propel himself into the night.

Van glanced back, watching his target escape.

“What a shame,” she murmured, stepping casually through the pools of blood on the floor toward him.

“He’s going to be a problem for you, isn’t he? Why did you hesitate?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his abdomen, leaning into his back.

Van kept silent, lowering his gaze.

“Were you, perhaps, being considerate of me?” she teased with a soft, sly smile. “How… cute.”

Silence lingered between them as she pressed against him.

“Varlog used his last two stones to plead with me to come. I thought you were in real trouble,” she murmured, her hand tracing the stains on his bloodied clothes. “But you seem just fine.”

Her arms roamed around him, her touch possessive.

“Or… is there something you want to tell me?” she whispered, tightening her hold.

Van’s mind flashed to the events of the night—his former party members, their words, his own. And Varlog’s warning echoed in his mind.

The affection Alicia showed him was fleeting, Varlog had said. Nothing real. If he wanted to keep her, he’d have to constantly seduce her, constantly strategize.

‘Right… I was honest with them, and they left.’

‘I can’t burden her with any of that… I mustn’t. She’s the only one I absolutely can’t lose,’ he thought, swallowing hard as his chest tightened with each deep breath.

“They were just a nuisance, so I killed them. And if there’s something I want to say…” He turned to face her, still in her embrace, his gaze steady as it met hers.

“… it’s that I can’t wait to be done with this place.”

The thing growing in his chest spread its roots—insidious and invasive, carving deeper into his flesh, entwining itself around him as if to anchor the foreign presence taking shape within.

She looked up at him, repeating his words softly. “They were just a nuisance, so you killed them.”

Her crimson eyes softened, strands of red hair falling across her forehead, partially concealing the glint in her gaze.

“That’s… very like you. Direct,” she murmured, holding his hands in hers. “And yet… it feels strange. Like it’s not even you speaking.” She leaned closer, searching his eyes. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to share?”

“… No. Nothing,” he replied, though his chest tightened, the ache burrowing deeper.

“I see.” She released his hands, stepping back.

“… Under any other circumstances, I would’ve called you back,” she continued, her tone firm once more. “But Varlog is weakening. And he promised to help Varolon… Demons keep their promises, no matter what. You understand that, don’t you?” She watched him, and he nodded.

“So… keep him safe, and finish this quickly, please. I have a feeling… it must be done soon.” She looked at him intently, a glint of worry in her gaze.

“I didn’t know he was unwell. How sad,” Van said flatly, barely recalling the wound on Varlog’s shoulder.

Alicia flinched at his indifferent tone.

“He’s not sick—just old. He’s lived far longer than most demons. His days are numbered,” she replied softly, a sigh escaping her as her gaze drifted.

“Make sure he’s safe until this farce is over,” she added, casting a grim look out the window toward the capital. “So he can spend his final days in the Demon Realm… not here. And so…”

She turned back to him, her eyes softening, “… that you will also return to me.”

“… I’m here now. You could stay tonight, if you want,” he offered.

“No, Van. You’re not with me. Not truly. You’re somewhere else.”

“… Is it because I don’t shout at you to marry me anymore? Is that what you want?” he asked, a faint twitch betraying his frustration.

“…No,” she replied softly, then, more firmly, “but I’m not blind. I can see there’s a side of you you refuse to share with me. Whatever you’re carrying now has grown so vast, so grotesque, there’s barely any of you left.”

He looked down, the lump in his chest swelling, his heart feeling as though it might burst at any moment…

“But I’ll wait for you.”

At her words, it stopped—just for a moment—as if somehow listening, pausing within him.

“As I told Varlog,” she continued, “I will never be in the arms of another, neither in jest nor in truth. Because… I want to see that hidden side of yours, even if it started with you screaming at me.” She chuckled, flicking her fingers as crimson flames swept through the apartment, reducing the blood, bodies, and every trace of carnage to ashes.

Van glanced around, his shoulders easing slightly as he took in the now-cleaned apartment—though the broken furniture still lay scattered, untouched.

“I can’t repair furniture,” she said lightly, heading for the door and placing a white parchment on the table beside it.

“That’s something you’ll have to do on your own,” she murmured, her gaze lingering on him for a moment before she slipped out, the door clicking shut behind her.

‘I don’t want to fix anything. This is all just… temporary,’ he thought, feeling the familiar numbness settle in. ‘It can stay broken. I don’t care about anyone here anyway.’

As if in defiance, the foreign presence within him finally settled. The ache in his chest faded, replaced by a strange, pulsing calm.

For the first time in this world, a message prompt appeared before Van’s eyes.

[The Seed of Darkness Bears Its First Leaf]
[ARCANE Stat Unlocked!]

‘…?’ Van’s expression remained stoic as he stared at the dark message, though a faint flicker of confusion crossed his gaze.

‘Arcane…! ‘He inhaled sharply, a slight tremor passing through him as he absorbed the word’s meaning. ‘Not even Magus… had this stat figured out…!’

Another message appeared.

[You are now slightly more in tune with the Void surrounding you.]

Van gulped as the entire apartment plunged into darkness. Shadows thickened, swallowing every corner, and whispers stirred, circling him like a low, sinister chant.

“What…!?” he murmured, his voice barely a breath as he looked around, uncertain whether to move or speak.

Everywhere he looked was shrouded in darkness.

For the first time in over seventeen years, he froze in fear, his body rooted in place. He could feel it—a towering presence of unimaginable power looming above him, as if it were studying him, assessing his very soul.

[…Remain steadfast.]

The words reverberated through him, calm yet deafening as they echoed violently in his skull.

“Wha…!?” he gasped, clutching his ears as he dropped to his knees. The voice felt disturbingly familiar, rattling his mind even as it remained steady and unhurried.

He clenched his eyes shut, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation, and when he reopened them, he found himself back in the apartment. The darkness was gone.

“What…?” he breathed, his voice shaky. “What just happened…!?” His eyes drifted around the room, his senses heightened, as if still attuned to the strange presence of the Void.

Then, he saw her—a woman with white hair in a flowing gown, lying on the floor beneath him, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. Beads of sweat glistened on her seamless, smooth face. A faint breeze circled around her, swirling in delicate patterns, as if shielding her.

“…Who are you?” Van asked, his voice wavering yet firm, still shaken from his brush with the Void as he took in her otherworldly presence.

The woman’s eyes widened, a flicker of disbelief flashing across her face.

[Guardian of Wind]: “You… can see me!?”