“Clang!”
The black holy sword, steeped in a fierce aura of malice, cleaved through a hurtling iron pipe with a single stroke.
The threat was negligible, yet the black-haired boy wielding the blade panted heavily, his breaths ragged and uneven.
For him, the exhaustion of his body paled in comparison to the torment gnawing at his soul.
“Lyte… maybe we should stop for a bit. Let me check what’s wrong with you…”
Noi had been watching from the sidelines for some time.
Lyte refused to let her fight, taking on every metal obstacle in the racecourse single-handedly.
His methods were brutal, almost frenzied, as if he were venting the storm of frustration roiling within him.
Each swing of his sword was tempest, wild and unrestrained.
Even someone untrained in medicine could see that Lyte was far from himself.
“No need!”
His sudden roar made Noi flinch, her body tensing as a faint redness brimmed at the corners of her eyes.
Realizing his tone had been too harsh, Lyte drew a deep breath, struggling to rein in the dark emotions clawing at his heart.
“Noi, head to the finish line,” he said, his voice softer but strained.
From the moment they entered the competition zone, every metal object on the path to the finish line had targeted Lyte alone.
He didn’t believe for a second that this wasn’t deliberate.
His current state—unsteady, unraveling—was proof enough.
But whether he’d been drugged or fallen under the influence of someone’s ability, he couldn’t tell.
That faint floral scent, and that figure, Abai… they were connected to this, he was certain.
Whoever was behind it was far stronger than he was now, still far from his peak.
Otherwise, he’d have sensed some trace of their tampering.
And so, Lyte Montis stood on the precipice of collapse, his mind a mirror of the broken hero from his past life, fresh from the War of the Witches.
Duty to the world, hatred for the witches, and loathing for himself churned within him, leaving room for nothing but vengeance.
“Um… just… be careful, okay?”
Noi’s eyes flickered, her steps hesitant as she turned to leave, glancing back every few paces.
Lyte’s urgency to send her away left her heart heavy, unsettled.
His gaze was terrifying, sharp enough to make her tremble with an instinctive fear.
It was as if lingering a moment longer might provoke him to lash out, his sword piercing her heart in a sudden burst of violence.
She kept looking back, hoping he’d call out to her, offer some explanation for his sudden strangeness.
But her hopes were in vain.
Lyte turned his head away, his profile a sculpted masterpiece of cold indifference.
His high-bridged nose and thin lips, carved as if by an ice blade, radiated an unyielding distance like a god untouchable by mortals.
Not once did he glance at Noi.
The white-haired girl’s heart turned to ice.
Was it all a lie?
The warmth, the fleeting moments of tenderness—had they all been an act?
Hadn’t he promised that a guardian knight would never abandon his nun?
Why, then, was he pushing her away?
Was she the only one who had felt her heart stir?
What a pathetic fool she must be, a clown in her own tragedy.
A sour ache bloomed in Noi’s chest.
Her nose twitched, tears welling up, but she quickly wiped them away.
‘Enough of this,’ she scolded herself.
‘When did I become such a crybaby? I have to trust Lyte. He’ll explain everything. He will.’
Clinging to that fragile hope, Noi quickened her pace toward the finish line, her view of Lyte obscured by the looming buildings.
She resolved to gather whatever information she could, to find a way to bridge the chasm that had opened between them.
The obstacles along her path didn’t stir.
In fact, they seemed to part for her, as if the unseen manipulator wanted her to reach the finish line swiftly—to witness whatever “surprise” awaited her and to savor the expression it would summon.
Meanwhile, the black-haired boy, having driven the white-haired girl away, felt a pang of anguish twist in his chest.
Noi was innocent, oblivious to the darkness consuming him, yet he’d banished her with a flimsy excuse.
To say he felt no guilt, to claim he didn’t care for her, would be a lie.
But tangled with that guilt was the weight of a world’s trust, the despairing gazes of countless souls lost because of Noi, and the shattering helplessness of his own broken sword-heart.
Those emotions, long buried in the depths of his soul, had been locked away, never meant to sway his judgment.
But that floral scent had unshackled them, amplifying their intensity until they clawed at his consciousness, threatening to seize control of his body.
‘Pathetic,’ Lyte thought bitterly.
‘I am Lyte Montis, the Chosen One, the greatest hero. How could I be defeated by mere inner demons?’
As Noi departed, the obstacles in the competition zone converged on Lyte’s position, their controller making no effort to hide their intent to see him dead.
The black-haired boy stood firm, sword in hand, his amber eyes—once warm and gentle—now heavy with the weight of a thousand years.
He let out a deep sigh, his trembling body steadied by the sheer force of his sword’s will.
“Shing!”
Golden hero’s power surged along the blade, its radiant arc splitting the sky as it obliterated the incoming metal objects.
The power of the Chosen, capable of suppressing all elements and abilities, belonged to him alone.
Lost in his battle with the obstacles, Lyte didn’t notice the figure in the corner—a black-robed man wearing a half-mask, watching him silently, his presence carefully concealed.
This was the Second Captain of the Sin Domain, the same man Lyte had clashed with outside the goblin stronghold.
He’d come to Wagner Town for a plate of seafood-flavored fries, casually wiping out a flock of greedy seagulls along the way.
He wasn’t here to kill Lyte.
Nightmare had given him a script to follow, but the captain had barely memorized a fraction of it.
‘Ugh, I forgot some of it again. Let me check…’
[Sow discord…]
He skimmed the first four words and gave up.
‘Reading’s not for me. I’m better at fighting.’
Among the Sin Domain’s captains, his mind was the least sharp.
He’d earned his rank through sheer experience and strength, nothing more.
“Ding-dong~”
A chime sounded from beneath his robe.
He fumbled with a newly bought phone, clumsily navigating to a message from someone labeled “Nightmare.”
[Noi’s almost at the destination. Hurry up and lure Lyte away as planned.]
The captain poked at the Star Alliance’s custom alphabet input system, replying with a laborious: [Got it.]
Something felt off, but he shrugged it away.
‘Whatever. Time to get to work.’
Tucking the phone away, the captain adjusted his robe and stepped out from the shadows.
The moment his alien aura emerged, Lyte sensed it.
He halted his sword mid-swing, turning to face the captain with a look of surprise.
“Long time no see, Chosen One.”
***
“Is this the surveillance data?”
Noi turned the small cubic device over in her hands.
It bore no distinct markings, eerily resembling a router from her past life.
The finish line had been unnaturally cleared.
The floor bore faint impressions where obstacles had once stood, but all that remained was a large television, an arrow thoughtfully pointing to a slot designed to hold something.
Noi aligned the cube with the slot.
It fit perfectly, almost as if they were made for each other.
“This feels like a trap…”
She hesitated, weighing her options, but no alternative came to mind.
The weight of suspicion was too heavy.
‘Might as well go with it.’
“Click, clack, thud.”
The moment the cube slid into the slot, the television flickered to life, static dancing briefly before the signal stabilized.
In a dimly lit warehouse, a slender figure in a black robe adjusted a camera.
Crimson lips and the curve of her chest betrayed her as a woman.
“Can you see me, Noi Vellrich?”
Her voice, altered by some device, was unnervingly neutral.
“Who are you?”
Noi’s words slipped out before she realized the woman likely couldn’t hear her.
She was about to rethink her approach when the woman laughed.
“I’m here to recruit you. Who I am doesn’t matter.”
‘She can hear me?’
Noi scanned her surroundings, spotting a small wall-mounted microphone by the television.
Clearing her throat, she said, “I don’t know what nonsense you’re spouting. I just want to know where Andy is. Why did Abai’s ‘surveillance data’ turn into a video call?”
“Andy? Oh, he’s right here.”
The black-robed woman stepped aside, revealing a scene she’d been blocking.
An elderly elf woman and the children Noi had met the previous day were bound tightly with ropes.
A corrupted Andy, his face twisted into a grotesque snarl, advanced toward them with a gleaming knife.
The camera shifted as the woman grabbed it, her laughter wild and unrestrained.
“Exciting, isn’t it? Does my little performance stir your heart?”
“Where are you?”
Noi’s lips twitched, barely suppressing a curse.
She didn’t know why Grandma Corinne and the children had been taken, but it was clear the woman intended to use them as leverage.
“Heh, see that clock behind me?”
The camera swung to a battered clock on the warehouse wall, ticking away the seconds.
“When you inserted the Star Alliance signal connector, I started the timer. You have ten minutes to reach the abandoned warehouse by Central Park. If you don’t…”
The camera panned to the sobbing children and Corinne, shielding them with her frail body.
“…they all die.”
The woman’s smile grew manic.
“Oh, and you must come alone. Tell no one. If you break the rules, I can’t guarantee these fragile souls will leave here alive.”
With that, the woman cut the connection, and the screen went black.
Noi’s fists clenched, her chest heaving.
‘Go?’
‘Or stay?’
She stood at the crossroads of her choice.