— Igris's Point of View —
— Inside Igris's Mind —
Darkness… that was the only thing I saw when I opened my eyes. Endless, formless, suffocating darkness.
The last thing I remembered was the moment I'd been poisoned and lost consciousness. Then… I found myself in the modern world. I talked with old friends, raided a few places, beat up some gangsters, rescued kidnapped people. We even abducted and threatened a prosecutor. I was doing what any ordinary young man would do. I laughed, I fought, I had fun. But deep down, something always felt wrong. My instincts kept warning me—my very soul whispered that it didn't belong in that world. At first, I thought it was just my imagination. Stress, insomnia, maybe paranoia… but then that feeling sharpened.
I realized someone was watching me. He wore a black armor—like a relic from the Middle Ages—moving with the silence of death itself. At first, I thought he was just a vision, a trick of my mind. But my unease didn't fade—on the contrary, it grew stronger with each passing day. I kept asking myself:
"Why does everything feel wrong?
Why do I feel like I don't belong here… but why?
Isn't this supposed to be my home?"
I went for a walk through the night streets to clear my head. Yet with every step, everything felt strangely familiar. I knew what the baker would say before he said it, could predict the laughter from people in the café, even the cars that would pass by. Time itself seemed to obey me. And then… I froze at the corner of a street.
A gunshot.
A sharp pain in my chest.
I felt the warmth of my own blood.
My eyes lifted—and I saw the silhouette of the one who shot me. Then everything went black.
When I woke up, I was in my own bed. "A nightmare," I told myself, but when I looked into the mirror… I realized everything was fake. The face staring back at me wasn't my modern self. No… it was me in the black armor. The defiant, insane version of me—the one who walked straight into death without fear. In that moment, I understood. I was reliving my memories—my past—but I was no longer who I used to be. I was someone who had fought and gained fame in the Middle World, who had forged bonds and earned loyalty.
I was the one people called the Dark Knight.
I was Igris.
And it was time to wake up from this dream.
Even if it was only a dream, I was glad to have seen my old friends again. But I still had to say goodbye. Once you've crossed beyond death, you learn to let go.
Now I was reborn—into a new adventure forged of sorrow, madness, laughter, and blood. And the moment I accepted it… the world shattered. Like a mirror breaking apart, it split into a thousand shards of light. All that remained was darkness. Endless, soundless, consuming darkness.
My footsteps echoed.
How long have I been unconscious?
Biffur… Nori… are you still alive?
The questions ringing in my head went unanswered. The only thing I knew was that I had to wake up. As I stepped deeper into the void, I felt movement. The darkness beside me shifted—then took form. A massive black serpent, five meters long and two meters wide, appeared before me. Sharp, blade-like feathers jutted from its head, its tongue slicing through the darkness as it flickered. Its eyes… cold, deadly, patient.
Hsssss~
My hands reflexively reached for my waist—but my weapon was gone.
"Just my damn luck," I muttered.
The creature before me was a young Imoogi. The adults could grow up to forty meters long. Their scales were so hard that ordinary blades couldn't even scratch them, and it was said the venom of the eldest could kill dragons themselves. In other words, what stood before me was the offspring of a predator near the top of the food chain—kin to dragons themselves. And here I was, staring at it with my bare hands. From what I could tell, my subconscious wouldn't let me wake until I defeated this thing.
I took a deep breath. The Imoogi coiled, its gaze locked on me. When it struck, my eyes couldn't follow its speed. A flash of light, then a crushing impact—dodging was impossible. I braced for the ground to smash against me… but then a shadow fell over us.
The earth shook. The serpent was crushed beneath a black pillar. Stunned, I wondered if I had gotten lucky—or if my body was tougher than I thought—but then the pillar moved. When it lifted, my blood ran cold. The pillar had fingers.
It wasn't a pillar. It was a hand.
I turned my head—and saw a pair of massive eyes staring down at me. Eyes glowing violet, their pupils vertical slits. Just that gaze alone paralyzed every nerve in my body. Since childhood, I had never known fear. I had never feared battle, war, killing—or death. But at that moment, I felt something I had never experienced before.
Pure terror.
My whole body trembled. I couldn't breathe. I didn't even try to run—I knew it would be useless. Fighting was meaningless. For the first time… I was afraid. Truly afraid.
The shadowy figure rose higher, watching me from above. My mind spun with frantic thoughts:
"This is my inner world, isn't it? Then what the hell is that thing?! It can't be my hybrid side… I'm not that strong!"
My unease grew until I heard a chorus of voices echoing in my head.
'We do not know fear!'
Suddenly, calm washed over me. My trembling stopped. When I looked behind me, I saw a crowd—dressed in garments from countless eras, from modern military uniforms to ancient battle attire. Yet I recognized them from the emblems they bore on their chests and flags.
They were the ancestors of my people… my ancestors.
Each one stared at me with unyielding eyes. Thoughts rang through my mind like thunder.
'The day we die is the day we wed.'
'The battlefield is our playground.'
'We fear nothing!'
'We do not know fear!'
The same words echoed again and again within me.
We do not know fear…
We do not know fear…
With every echo, every breath, every heartbeat, the words roared louder—until a million voices merged into one single roar:
WE DO NOT KNOW FEAR!
I looked down quietly, ashamed of myself. They were right… Fear was not in our blood. I raised my hand and began striking myself hard across the face.
BANG!
I humiliated myself…
BANG!
I shamed my ancestors…
BANG!
At last, my mind cleared. When I looked around again, no one was there. The crowd had vanished as suddenly as it appeared. I muttered to myself,
"Thank you… I'll never let myself fall into such a state again…"
I turned around and faced the figure still watching me. My body was still trembling, but this time, I managed to look at him with a cold, defiant smile. I raised my hand and gestured.
"COME ON!"
The figure kept staring at me, as if evaluating me, studying my very soul. Then, its mouth opened. Black mist poured from the corners of its lips, and a roar erupted—one that shook the heavens, the earth, and even the darkness itself.
ROOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAARRRRRR!
The pressure on my body surged; it felt as if an entire ocean had crashed down on me. My knees trembled. It was trying to make me bow—but I didn't. I would rather die than submit. After several seconds of struggle, my vision went black…
—The Outer World—
Ugh… My head hurts like hell. It feels as though someone smashed a hammer into my skull. When my eyelids cracked open, a dim light struck my face. The pale glow from the ceiling shimmered across the cold marble surface like a soft echo. The room was spacious but silent—I could hear my own heartbeat reverberating through the still air. Elegant hand-carved designs adorned the walls, their silver inlays glinting faintly. A clean, sharp scent of lavender lingered in the air. Everything felt… too peaceful.
I tried to recall the last thing I remembered—escaping from Katarina. We were rescued by werewolves, but Elise's interference got me poisoned. I passed out while we were tending our wounds in the forest… So where am I now?
I opened my eyes fully and lifted my head. My gaze froze in disbelief—hovering just inches above my chest was a dagger, held by a beautiful elven woman with black hair, staring at me with surprise. My thoughts raced in an instant.
Who is she?
Where am I?
Where's my team?
When did I manage to piss off an elf?
But one thing was certain—someone was trying to assassinate me!
Those thoughts flashed through my mind in less than a second. I grabbed the woman's wrist; her eyes widened in shock. I moved fast, throwing a quick kick. She raised her arm and blocked, sliding backward from the force. I leapt from the bed, putting distance between us. From the way she'd countered, I could tell instantly—she was trained. Taking a boxing stance, ready to fight, I barked out,
"Who the hell are you? Where are my comrades!?"
The woman rubbed the arm I'd struck, then spoke in a calm, velvety voice. Elven women always had that kind of voice—soft, rich, not one harsh or ugly among them.
"I think there's been a misunderstanding. I was trying to help you."
I chuckled dryly.
"Oh really? By stabbing my chest? Were you trying to liberate my soul?"
As I spoke, I noticed something strange… Why was my arm turning black? Why were there scales? WAIT—NO WAY! While I was still processing that, the woman tried to speak again.
"As I said, it's a misunderstanding—"
Before she could finish, I lunged. In an instant, I closed the distance and threw a punch. She blocked swiftly and snapped, her tone rising with restrained anger,
"What are you doing?!"
I threw a left hook. She retreated. A straight right followed—she ducked under it. I drove my knee toward her head; she caught it with her hand and kicked back. I raised my forearm to block.
THUD!
After the impact, I grabbed for her leg, trying to pull her off balance, but she twisted midair, kicking with her other foot. I jumped back quickly.
The opponent before me was an elf—ten, maybe twenty times faster and stronger than a human. My body was still wounded; I couldn't afford a single heavy blow. I had to disable her quickly and find my team. She stepped back and shouted,
"What are you trying to do!? Is this how you treat someone who's helping you!?"
My eyebrow twitched. I snapped back angrily,
"HELP!? HELP!? You think you can fool me, witch!?"
She froze, her lips trembling as if I had deeply insulted her.
"W-w-witch!? What are you talking about?"
I laughed bitterly, raising my scaled, obsidian-colored right arm.
"HOW DO YOU EXPLAIN THIS!? Were you experimenting on me!? WHERE IS MY TEAM!? If you've done anything to them, I'll turn you into mince meat!"
This woman was definitely a witch! One moment I was unconscious, and when I woke, my arm was no longer human! On top of that, she had a dagger over my chest! Was she planning to rip my heart out? Or had she already replaced it!? I quickly checked my chest—no surgical marks. I let out a sigh of relief. She looked at me, clearly startled, opening her mouth to speak—but I didn't give her the chance. What if she cast a spell!?
I kicked the jug on the nearby table—it flew straight at her. She caught it midair with ease, then raised her hand, gesturing for me to stop.
"Wait! You really misunderstood! Please, let me explain!"
Just then, footsteps echoed from beyond the door. It burst open, and two figures in heavy silver armor stormed in. I was about to attack when the markings on their shields caught my attention… I froze.
"Hiril nîn, mae g'ovannen?"
(My Lady, are you alright?)
"Hlastam rauth!"
(We heard a noise!)
I swallowed hard. My Elvish wasn't great, but I knew Hiril nîn meant My Lady. Looking at the shape of their armor, its color, and the sigil on their shields, I realized where I was. Rivendell…
And the woman I'd just attacked… might have been none other than Arwen, Lord Elrond's beloved daughter—future wife of Aragorn, rightful king of Gondor… granddaughter of Galadriel and Celeborn.
Oh no.
Oh no no no no no—
Did I just attack one of the most important figures in all of Middle-earth!?
While my mind spiraled, praying desperately that it wasn't Arwen, the woman spoke in a calm, melodic Elvish voice.
"Mae, im mae. Aníron thand edregol i nestad hen. Aníron ú-díhen, bruiannen naeg ned rauth. Goheno nin an i dîn rauth. Le no hain gwaith lín. A boe anim, pedil Thorin Oaken-shield a gwannas lín i chervad hain echuiad."
(I'm fine. I merely wished to check on our patient's recovery. We caused some noise by accident. I apologize for the disturbance. You may return to your posts. Also, could one of you please inform Thorin Oakenshield and his company that their companion has awakened?)
The guards nodded and exited. I understood some of it, but not enough to feel certain.
"Have you calmed down now?"
Her voice snapped me out of my thoughts. Swallowing hard, I spoke awkwardly,
"…by any chance, your name wouldn't happen to be Arwen, right?"
She laughed lightly before answering,
"Unfortunately for you, yes. My name is Arwen."
… I'm doomed. My adventures are over. My fate: execution—or lifelong imprisonment.
"…"
"Are you alright?"
For the first time in a long while, I felt the urge to cry. My eyes burned, but no tears came. With a bitter sigh, I muttered,
"I was just… thinking about my will. I mean, I attacked the Elven Princess of Middle-earth. I've just earned myself quite the enemy list—starting with your father, Elrond… and ending with your grandmother, Lady Galadriel."
Arwen blinked in surprise, then burst into laughter.
"Hahahahahaha…"
I sighed. Even when she laughed, she was graceful. Her voice had that calm, soothing warmth—but it didn't change my situation.
I. AM. DONE.
After a moment, Arwen composed herself and looked back at me. I returned her gaze, still completely deflated. I had to admit—Aragorn was a lucky man. She was beautiful, elegant, and wise. Personally, though, Arwen wasn't my type—too emotional. Skilled in combat, sure, but not really my match… not to mention she's an elf! Who knows how many thousands of years old she is… Wonderful. Now I'll never stop thinking about her age. Even after eleven years in this world, the thought of Elven lifespans still makes me uneasy.
While I was lost in thought, Arwen spoke again.
"Don't worry. This will remain a little secret between us. In return, I only ask for one small favor."
At first, I was relieved—but the last part killed that feeling instantly. It wasn't about Arwen in particular; I just hated being indebted to anyone. I only hoped her request wouldn't be something extravagant
."As long as it's something I can do… fine."
She smiled warmly and gestured toward the bed.
"Sit. Your wounds are beginning to reopen—I'll treat them."
Sighing, I walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. Arwen carefully examined my injuries while I stared at my right hand.
How did this thing even form? At first, I had thought Arwen was a witch or a dark sorceress, experimenting on me—but I'd been wrong. What had happened while I was unconscious? After a moment's thought, I decided it would be best to wait until Halt and Gilan arrived before asking anything. I looked up at Arwen as she tended to my wounds.
"Well then, my Lady… what is it that you want from me?"
"Please, just call me Arwen. There's no need for formality."
"…Alright, Arwen. What do you want from me?"
"Tell me a story."
I blinked, staring blankly at Arwen.
"What do you mean?"
Arwen smiled a little—shy, almost embarrassed.
"You know… I rarely leave Rivendell. And even when I do, it's only to visit another elven city. Because of my position, it isn't safe for me to wander outside alone. After all, my grandmother and father still have enemies out there…"
I nodded in understanding.
"That makes perfect sense. Those who serve Sauron: Red Scorpions, Black Orcs, and wizards of the Black Ring are still active. They'll do anything to gain leverage against Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel. Besides, Black Elves have begun to appear across the continent, and there are even rumors of a succubus haunting Gondor… The world isn't as safe as it once was."
Arwen nodded, agreeing with everything I said. I asked again,
"So… what exactly do you want?"
"That's precisely why I want you to tell me about your adventures. Even if I can't travel alone, I still hear things—rumors, stories from wandering merchants. Some are amusing, others quite dull. But there's one hero I've been hearing about constantly over the past six years… and I've grown very curious about him."
At that last sentence, a chill ran down my spine.Please, no… don't say what I think you're about to say. She couldn't possibly believe those ridiculous rumors… right?
Arwen continued speaking.
"Lately, I've been hearing tales of a Dark Knight—a man who hunts slavers, who destroyed the largest slave market in the lands, who defies nobles and armies in the name of his own justice. And, by sheer luck, it seems that very knight is currently staying… in my home."
…Oh, great. Just perfect. That's exactly what I needed.