The quiet tap at the door broke the silence. With permission granted, Siwoo stepped into Minjun's room. The boy, sprawled across his bed and absentmindedly fiddling with a tablet, looked up with curious eyes.
Siwoo had come with weight on his mind. Earlier, just as they had left the gate, he had been unable to share what he had witnessed—fragments of memory flowing through the blade Arondight. Now, away from prying eyes, he recounted everything. From the visions imprinted in the sword to the details he had researched on his computer, he laid it all out.
Minjun listened intently, his youthful face sharp with focus. Despite his appearance, the boy carried the brilliance of a prodigy. It didn't take him long to stitch together the truth: the death of a woman named Kim Joo-yeon might be tied to a man called Kang Myeongjun.
But while Minjun thought the matter clear—proof that Siwoo's enemy was truly as vile as he believed—Siwoo's heart remained unsettled. His doubts were not about vengeance, but about Byungseop, the craftsman who had forged Arondight itself. Had Byungseop given him the sword out of ignorance, or was there a hidden intent buried behind that generosity?
Minjun, ever perceptive, agreed that the man might harbor deeper motives. Humans, after all, often acted with layered intentions. Siwoo's desire was simple: to know Byungseop's true heart. Could the smith be trusted? Could he safeguard secrets? Could he stand as an ally, not merely a supplier of weapons?
Minjun claimed there was a way. A magic existed—one that could measure sincerity and reveal whether someone was capable of guarding another's secrets. It was not perfect for his own kind, who were born from mana itself, but for humans, whose bodies remained pure, the spell could uncover truths that words alone could never confirm.
Though skeptical, Siwoo recalled the countless miracles he had already witnessed inside gates. He had seen skills and artifacts that bent the laws of nature; perhaps this too was possible. And so, he accepted Minjun's offer. The boy promised to craft the spell, though it would take him until the next day to gather the mana required, his damaged Mana Heart limiting his pace.
True to his word, by morning Minjun handed Siwoo a small notebook. Within it lay a magic scroll—a conduit etched with the language of spells, binding dormant magic until released. With this, Siwoo could test Byungseop's sincerity.
Grateful, Siwoo set out for Byungseop Tech, the smith's workshop. He had arranged to meet the man that day, yet fate brought him there an hour early. That small twist of timing soon revealed a scene that sent tension coiling through his chest.
The factory door stood ajar, unusual for a man as meticulous as Byungseop. Inside, chaos reigned. Tools lay scattered, cabinets overturned, as if a violent struggle had torn through the once-organized space. The hum of machines masked the silence of danger, forcing Siwoo to sharpen his senses.
Then movement—someone slipped out from the office, cautious and hurried. Recognizing the work clothes, Siwoo froze. It was Hyunjeong, Byungseop's niece. Her disguise of cap and mask could not hide her trembling form or the bruise darkening beneath her eye. Tears welled as she confessed the horror: strange men had stormed in and dragged her uncle away. She had tried to resist, but their strength had been overwhelming.
Rage sparked in Siwoo's chest. Though shaken, Hyunjeong was unharmed beyond her bruise. She explained that if the kidnappers had not yet driven off, they might have taken him toward a vacant lot only a few minutes away. By her estimate, it had been mere moments since he was captured—perhaps while Siwoo was still parking his car.
Every second counted. Siwoo urged her to call the police and head somewhere safe, ideally a nearby station. After exchanging numbers, he left her behind and sprinted uphill toward the vacant lot she had described. His breath came sharp, heart pounding, mind fixed on Byungseop's safety.
Yet before reaching the lot, instinct pulled him sideways. A derelict building loomed ahead, wrapped in plastic sheets, abandoned and awaiting demolition. From deep within its shadowed frame, Siwoo felt a tug—an unexplainable resonance, as if Byungseop's presence called to him.
He didn't hesitate. Slipping under the flapping tarps, he entered. The air inside was stale, carrying the weight of danger.
Then a voice growled out from the darkness.
Someone was already there.
Siwoo's eyes narrowed, his body coiling like a drawn blade as he fixed his gaze on the source of the sound.
The hunt for answers had just begun.