The steady drip of water echoed softly, but the alley was bathed in the harsh glare of the afternoon sun. Heat rose in shimmering waves off the cracked stones. Darius stood firm, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his blade, his sharp gaze fixed on the man before him.
His voice, low and unwavering, carried the weight of experience.
"What business do you have here in our lord's domain?" he said, each word measured. "Choose your answer carefully. It will decide whether you leave here walking… or never leave at all."
He narrowed his eyes, the threat clear without needing to shout.
"And if you do leave with your life, it may not be with your hands… or your legs intact. But I assure you—that's far better than the alternative."
The robed figure sneered, his scarred face twisting with amusement as he summoned forth his crimson axe, the weapon blazing in the afternoon light.
"What? Are you truly threatening me, old man?"
Darius didn't so much as flinch, though his gaze flickered briefly to the weapon, recognizing the dangerous magic pulsing within.
"Black magic?" he asked, his voice still calm but edged with steel.
The figure barked a laugh, spinning the massive axe in his hand as if it weighed nothing.
"Not black magic! This is the art of sacrifice! Offer up lives—dead or alive—and you can summon artifacts beyond your wildest dreams. The greater the sacrifice, the stronger the weapon!"
He grinned wide, his eyes shining with madness.
"You should see what you get when the blood is fresh!" His laugh echoed cruelly through the alley, jarring in the bright daylight.
Darius's expression darkened, his fingers tightening slightly on his hilt. His voice, when he spoke, was like cold iron.
"I see..."
A breath of silence as the heat of the afternoon seemed to press in.
"You and your kind are fouler than even the darkest rumors claimed."
He took a step forward, the sunlight glinting off his blade as it slid partway free.
"There is no more to say. You will not leave this place alive."
And with that, Darius moved—a blur of motion, the ground splitting beneath his feet as he closed the distance, his blade singing through the air toward the man's neck.
The crimson axe rose, one-handed, to meet the strike. The clash rang out like thunder, a shockwave splitting the air, scattering dust and debris. The rune on the axe's head glowed like an open wound, pulsing red.
The figure smirked, unfazed.
"Why the rush? We have so much time ahead, old man."
And then, as if on cue, fifty robed silhouettes appeared on the rooftops above, their figures stark against the blazing sun, surrounding Darius in the afternoon's pitiless light.
The figure—his scarred face twisted in dark amusement—threw back his head and laughed, the sound harsh and grating in the afternoon heat.
"Ah, how rude of me," he said at last, his voice a venomous drawl. "I am Belicus. That's all you need to know. Let's just say... I'm not interested in remembering the name of a man who will soon be nothing more than one of our sacrifices."
He sneered, twirling the blood-red axe with ease.
"Oh—and I nearly forgot." A cruel chuckle escaped his lips, his gaze gleaming with malice. "Your precious Patriarch? He stands at death's door even now. One of our masters is paying him a little visit. Can you imagine the kind of weapon we'll forge from his life? What a prize!"
His words dripped with mockery.
And as if summoned by those dark tidings, the scene shifted—
A vast, silent forest bathed in gold from the sinking sun. There, standing alone at its heart, was the Patriarch. His figure, upright and unwavering, faced an overwhelming tide: thousands cloaked in deep red, their blades at their sides, their faces hidden beneath hoods. And at their rear, watching with cold, calculating eyes, stood a single ancient man, his presence like a shadow that stretched over all.
Belicus's voice cut back in, pulling the vision away.
"This will be easy," he hissed, "because of fools like you—too blind to protect what matters most. You've left him to die."
But then Darius… chuckled. A low, quiet sound, like the first crack of thunder before the storm.
Belicus's smirk faltered, his eyes narrowing.
"What's so funny, old man?"
Darius lifted his gaze, the steel in his eyes sharper than any sword.
"Pardon me…" he said, his voice calm, but with an edge that could cut through stone. "It's just… you truly are looking down on us."
And then—a loud, unmistakable sound:
CRACK.
A jagged fissure split down the haft of Belicus's axe, a spiderweb of damage running from its rune toward the blade's edge.
"Huh?!" Belicus recoiled, eyes wide in shock, staring at his weapon.
Darius's lips curled in the faintest of knowing smiles.
"That strike I dealt earlier? That was just a mere welcome."
The air thickened, tension crackling like lightning.
"I suspected as much—that you rats had hidden yourselves well. So I drew you out. And it seems my plan worked perfectly."
His gaze swept over the rooftops, at the robed figures that surrounded him.
"All the Palehand's filth… gathered in one place. And now—cleaned up in one stroke."
His glare snapped back to Belicus, eyes hard as iron.
"Including you."
The afternoon sun gleamed off his blade as it left its sheath fully at last. The weight of his presence shifted, like a predator poised to strike.
The air grew heavy—silent—until Darius's heel shifted.
CRACK.
A thunderclap burst through the alley as the ground beneath him shattered, stone and dust billowing around his feet. The sudden shockwave rippled outward, rattling loose boards, shaking window panes, and sending litter spiraling into the air.
And then—
Nothing.
Darius was gone. Not a blur, not a streak of color—he simply ceased to exist in that space, as though the earth itself had swallowed him whole.
Belicus's grin faltered for a split second, his eyes flicking side to side, searching—too slow.
A whisper of steel.
A glint of silver in the dark alley's throat.
Darius reappeared behind him, low, his blade already cutting through the last inch of its arc. His left foot slid back for balance, his free hand steady near the hilt, his body as still as a painting of death.
Then the world caught up.
A wind followed the blade's passage, slicing through the alley like a ghost, and with it came the sound:
SHHHHRACK.
It was the sound of air split in two.
It was the sound of life ending.
The cultists didn't understand—not at first. They stood frozen, their minds struggling to grasp the sudden shift, until their bodies betrayed them.
One by one, their vision tilted, the ground lurching upward as if the world itself had turned sideways.
"Wh-what happened?!" a voice croaked, high with terror.
"How's he… over there?!" another gasped, eyes wide, watching helplessly as their heads slid from their necks, the world blurring in the final moment.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Bodies crumpled in heaps. Blood fountained up in a mist, spraying the alley walls, pooling around boots, staining the cracked stone beneath them. The spray hit both Darius and Belicus, running down their faces, their clothes, hot and reeking of iron.
And yet—Belicus did not recoil.
He stood still, the weight of what happened sinking in. But it wasn't fear that filled his eyes.
No.
His grin returned, wider now, teeth bared like an animal's. The axe in his hands pulsed, red as molten steel, its single rune burning brighter as if feeding on the slaughter. The weapon throbbed—alive, hungry—its surface shimmering, drinking deep of the death around it.
"A masterpiece," Belicus whispered, voice low, reverent. "A blade that sings to me... yes, Darius. This—this is the kind of music I've been waiting for."
He licked his lips, tasting the blood.
Darius straightened slowly, his blade dripping red, his stance unbroken. His breath came even, controlled, his gaze sharp as a hawk's locked on prey.
His voice was quiet—quiet, but it struck like a hammer on steel.
"If that axe of yours lives on blood…" he said, every word slow, deliberate, "then I will make sure it dies starving."
The wind stilled, the alley deathly silent, the tension a coiled serpent between them.
Above, the sky burned with the gold of late afternoon, the sun casting long shadows of two men poised on the edge of ruin.
---
Iria dashed forward, running straight at the charging Red Boar. The ground shook with every step of the beast. Leaves flew in the air. The heat coming from the boar felt like fire.
Adrian watched, his eyes wide.
"Iria… what is she doing?!" he said, his heart racing.
The Red Boar roared, loud like thunder. Its tusks glowed from the heat. The air around it shimmered like a flame.
Iria didn't stop. She didn't slow down. Her arms were open wide, ready to grab it with her bare hands.
"Haah!" she let out a strong grunt, her teeth gritting as she met the boar head-on.
BOOM!
The sound of their clash echoed through the forest. Dust rose around them. The ground cracked beneath Iria's feet. She was standing her ground, not moving an inch.
The Red Boar roared again, trying to push her back. But Iria just grinned.
"Is this… is this all your life is worth?" she said, her voice playful and teasing, like she was enjoying the fight.
Adrian stepped forward, panic in his voice.
"What the hell is she doing?! She's going to burn alive!"
But then, the system's calm voice spoke in his head:
「Young master, I think you're wrong. Please… look closely.」
Adrian stared harder. His breath caught. He saw it—he saw Iria's skin burning from the heat of the boar… but then healing, right away. The burns were gone in a blink.
"What… h-how??" Adrian said in shock.
The system explained:
「Young master, I think Iria has a blessing.」
"A blessing?" Adrian asked.
「Yes. A blessing… or you can say, a protection. It is a gift from the gods, given when a person is born. Usually, a person can have one or two blessings. A few may have three. Long ago, only heroes could have many blessings. But one hero turned wild, and the gods lost their trust. So now, the gods agreed: each person gets only a small number of blessings.」
「Each blessing is different. Some give great power. Some heal. Some protect. Iria's blessing… it seems to let her heal. There are many kinds, young master.」
"Huh? I… I don't understand…" Adrian said, his eyes still locked on Iria. His voice trembled a little.
The system spoke gently, as if trying to calm him down.
「Let me explain again, young master. Blessings are special gifts from the gods. When a person is born, sometimes the gods choose to give them a blessing. It's like a mark of protection or power. Usually, a person may get one blessing. If they are lucky, two. Three is very rare. Long ago, only heroes had many blessings… but one hero turned wild, hurting both friend and foe. After that, the gods decided to give blessings carefully.」
「Each blessing is different. Some give strength. Some give speed. Some can protect the heart or mind. And some… like Iria's… can heal the body.」
Adrian's eyes widened. "So she can heal herself… like that?"
「Yes, young master. Allow me to analyze it more clearly.」
The system's voice paused for a moment, as if scanning.
「Analyzing Iria's blessing… analyzing complete. Blessing: Body Regeneration.」
「This blessing lets her body heal very fast from burns, cuts, bruises, and even broken bones. That's why, when the boar's heat burned her skin, it healed right away. It looks like magic… but it's not. It is her blessing at work.」
Adrian stared at Iria as she pushed against the Red Boar, her skin shining as it healed again and again.
"But… is there no danger?" Adrian asked, his voice worried.
The system replied:
「There is danger, young master. Even a blessing like Body Regeneration has risks. Let me explain. When the body heals so fast, it uses a lot of energy. If Iria fights for too long or gets hurt too much, her strength will run out. She might faint… or worse, her heart might stop if her body can't keep up with the healing.」
「And one more thing. When the healing is working, she still feels the pain of the burns and wounds. The blessing heals the body, but not the pain. So every burn, every cut — she feels it, over and over.」
Adrian felt his chest tighten. He looked at Iria, still smiling, still holding her ground against the Red Boar.
"Iria…" he whispered, his respect for her growing even stronger.
Iria grinned as the Red Boar roared in rage, its hot breath washing over her face. The heat from its burning fur made the air shimmer, but she didn't care.
With a strong grunt — "Hah!" — she grabbed the Red Boar's fur tightly, her fingers sinking into its thick, burning coat. The flames licked at her arms, but her blessing kept healing her skin again and again.
"Time to sleep, porky," Iria said in a playful, teasing tone.
She bent her knees, her muscles tightening, and with a burst of strength, she lifted the giant beast up. The Red Boar let out a confused, angry snort, its legs kicking at the air.
Adrian gasped. "W-what?! She's lifting it!?"
Before the boar could react, Iria let out another sharp breath — "Hah!" — and jumped, pushing off the ground with all her might. She rose into the air, still holding the beast.
And then, with all her power, she slammed the Red Boar down.
BOOM!
The ground shook as the heavy body of the boar hit the earth. Dust shot up like a cloud, and the trees around them swayed from the force.
Adrian covered his face with his arm from the blast of wind. His eyes wide, he peeked through the dust.
"Unbelievable…" he whispered.
The Red Boar lay still, the ground cracked beneath it, groaning softly before its eyes slowly closed.
The dust slowly settled. The Red Boar lay silent on the cracked ground, defeated.
Iria stood there, her back to Adrian. She let out a long, soft sigh — almost like a song — "Haaaah…" Her arms stretched high above her head as she looked up at the bright sky. The sunlight touched her skin, and her figure looked so graceful from behind.
Adrian stood frozen, his heart beating fast.
Then Iria turned around, her face cheerful. "Young master! It's doneee~!" she said brightly.
But as soon as she faced him, Adrian's eyes went wide — his face turning completely red.
The cloth that had covered Iria's chest… was burnt. The fire from the boar must have melted it away. And now, without anything to hide it, her bare chest was right there, clear as day, in front of him.
Adrian felt his mind go blank.
The system's voice suddenly chimed in his head, sounding like it was holding back laughter.
「Ahhh… young master… congratulations. You have just witnessed one of the rarest sights in this world — the legendary scene of the bare, mighty protector! Truly, the gods are kind today. Don't forget to thank them later!」
Adrian's hands shot up to cover his eyes. "W-wahhh! I-I didn't mean to look!"
The system chuckled softly.
「Well… you sure looked long enough to remember forever, young master.」
Iria noticed Adrian's face — his eyes wide, his cheeks red as an apple. She glanced down and saw what had happened. The cloth that wrapped her chest was burned, showing more than she meant to.
"Oh dear…" she said softly, her tone playful, not embarrassed at all. She grabbed what was left of the cloth and started fixing it, wrapping it around herself again.
Then, as she walked toward Adrian, her steps light and cute, she covered herself with one hand and wagged a finger with the other.
"If you're gonna look, young master, at least enjoy it~" she teased, her voice gentle but with a small chuckle. "You're a man, aren't you?"
There was a little hint of disappointment in her smile — as if she expected him to be bolder.
Adrian let out a soft, awkward sound. "G-geh…"
His heart raced, and in his mind, he thought:
D-do I… do I have a blessing too?
The system answered right away, its tone kind but with a hint of pride:
「Of course not, young master. You don't need one.」
Adrian blinked. "Huh?"
The system continued, explaining clearly:
「Listen well. A blessing is just a small gift from the gods — a little power, a little help. But you… you are very rare. Why? Because you have me. With me, you don't need to rely on those mere gods. You don't need their scraps. I can help you learn, grow, summon any skill, any power you need. Your path is your own. That is what makes you special, young master.」
Adrian felt his heart calm a little as he listened, but his face was still red.
Before Adrian could even say anything, Iria was already close. In one smooth motion, she hugged him tightly.
Adrian's face was pressed right into her chest — soft, warm, and smelling faintly of sweat and the forest. His whole body froze.
"Wha—?!" Adrian tried to say something, but all that came out was a flustered, broken sound:
"G-geh… nnn… ah—!"
His hands waved around as he tried to escape, his face burning bright red. But Iria just held him closer, laughing gently.
"What are you thinking, young master?" she asked, her tone playful and sweet.
Adrian's muffled sounds continued:
"M-mmm—ngh—! I-I—!"
Iria giggled as she felt him struggle, her arms still around him.
"You're tickling me, young master," she said, her voice full of amusement. "Stop squirming~"
Her laugh was soft, light, like the wind through the trees. She seemed to enjoy seeing Adrian so flustered.
Far from where Adrian and Iria were, deep in the quiet forest, the Patriarch stood alone. The light of the setting sun broke through the trees, casting long shadows. Around him, the red-robed figures of the Palehands began to appear one after another. They stood on branches, behind trees, and along the edges of the clearing — surrounding him like wolves ready to strike.
The Patriarch, calm and unmoving, looked around with sharp eyes. His white cloak gently swayed in the breeze.
"I see…" he spoke softly, but his voice carried a weight that filled the forest. "So this was your plan all along. The meeting… it was a lie, only to draw me out here."
A loud laugh came from deep within the crowd of red robes. From the back stepped an old man, his face twisted with a mad grin. His eyes shone with a wild light, and the lines on his face showed both age and wickedness.
"That's right!" the old man said, his voice both wise and crazed, like a scholar who had long lost his mind. "You stepped right into our trap! And soon, we will kill you here, old fool! But rejoice—!" His grin widened, his eyes gleamed with sick joy. "Your body will not go to waste. No, no, no… we will use it as a sacrifice! A fine offering to our masters!"
The forest seemed to grow darker, the air heavy with malice.
The Patriarch stood still for a moment, his eyes half-closed. Then, he coughed lightly, covering his mouth with a gloved hand. A faint smile touched his lips.
"As a sacrifice… ah…" he repeated, as if tasting the word. His voice was noble, steady, carrying the grace of a man above such evil schemes.
Then he straightened his back, his eyes clear and sharp as a blade.
"Well, I suppose it's a good chance for me too," he said, almost to himself.
The old man's grin faltered for a second. "How so?" he asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.
The Patriarch chuckled softly, his tone warm yet strong — like a father who knows the game better than his enemies.
"Because," he said, stretching his arms slightly as if shaking off years of sitting behind a desk, "it's been a long time since I've done anything but sign papers, write orders, and listen to reports. My body has grown stiff. My sword hand, restless."
He rolled his shoulders, his white cloak rippling.
"This… this is a fine chance to warm up. To stretch a little. And perhaps… remind the world why I once stood on the front lines."
His voice echoed through the trees, noble and sure. The red-robed figures hesitated for a moment, sensing the strength behind those words.