The plaza was broken.
The ground still smoked where light and shadow had collided, its stones split open like cracked bone. Ash floated in the air, curling upward in ghostly spirals before fading into the night. Every breath carried dust, burnt iron, and the faint, bitter tang of blood.
Silence pressed down like a weight.
The disciples were gone, swallowed by the rift with their elder, but their absence did not ease the air. It was as though their swords still lingered—phantoms in the stone, edges humming faintly, threatening to strike at any misstep.
The forgotten huddled together at the far edge of the ruins. The mother clutched her son so tightly his small fingers trembled against her arm. The boy with the crutch stood stiff and pale, his lips moving without sound before finally breaking into a whisper that carried across the dead plaza.
"Anchor…" His voice cracked, small yet sharp in the silence. "He said… Anchor Beyond Time. What does that mean?"
The words rippled through the survivors like cold water.
The old man spat dust from his lips, his face set in grim lines. "It means nothing good. The sect elder knew a demon when he saw one."
The girl with the crowbar rounded on him, fury burning in her eyes despite the tears streaking her soot-stained cheeks. "He's not a demon! He fought for us! You would've been ash without him."
"Or worse," Dev muttered under his breath. His hand still clutched the hilt of his broken blade, the knuckles white. "Doesn't matter what you call it. Demon, savior, curse. If that elder thought Reed was tied to this 'Anchor,' it's trouble. Trouble that doesn't just walk away."
A soft chime echoed in my skull.
[ Trust Value Updated: Stabilized. ]
The system's words glowed faintly in the air, cold and clinical, as if they were no more than numbers being shifted in an account book.
But the voices around me blurred, fading into a muted hum. Their fear, their gratitude, their suspicion—none of it held against the sound clawing at my mind.
The Inkblade whispered.
"…anchor… fracture… time breaks… gods tremble…"
The whispers were not words alone. They were pressure, intent, hunger. Each syllable dug behind my eyes like hooks, dragging me deeper into something vast and black. My knees buckled. I staggered, clutching my head, the world swimming.
Dev caught my shoulder. "Reed! Hey, stay with me—"
But the system cut through again, sharp as glass.
[ Reward Granted: Partial Title – The One Who Breaks the Script. ][ Description: You defied the scenario's intention. You were told to survive. You chose to fight. ]
My breath caught.
The words hung in the air, heavier than the elder's blade, heavier than the smoke choking my lungs. A title. Not just an item, not just an update, but something deeper. Something carved into the fabric of the script itself.
Partial.
Not complete.
I felt the mark settle into me, a brand that wasn't on skin but in thought, in bone, in every shadow I commanded. The system's coldness bled through my veins, rooting me in a fate I didn't yet understand.
The Inkblade pulsed in my grip, its whispers curling like smoke, louder, sharper, feeding on the new mark.
"…yes… breaker… tear the script… cut the threads…"
I swallowed against the ache in my chest, forcing the blade down, though its weight was heavier now, its presence more alive.
And beneath it all, the whispers about the Anchor did not stop.
"…Anchor Beyond Time… still alive… still feared… still hunted…"
I shuddered.
Because if I was not the Anchor—
Then who was?
✦
The old man was still muttering. His hands, scraped raw, clutched his prayer beads so tightly the wood was cracking. "You've seen it, haven't you? That sword, that shadow… things no man was meant to wield. You're marked, boy. Marked by devils or gods, I can't say which. But nothing good walks with a shadow that eats the light."
The girl hissed, stepping in front of me. "You'd rather we had died? You'd rather the elder had carved us apart?"
"He's not wrong," Dev cut in quietly. His eyes met mine, unreadable, but steady. "Power like that… it doesn't just happen. That elder didn't pull words out of nowhere. 'Anchor Beyond Time'—he knew what he was looking at. And he walked away instead of finishing the fight."
The boy with the crutch shifted, his gaze darting between us. His voice was barely a whisper, but it carried. "If they left… it means they'll come back. They never leave loose ends."
The mother tightened her grip on her son, silent tears cutting clean tracks down her face.
A shadow stirred at my feet, unbidden. The Inkblade hummed.
I forced my voice through the fog pressing against my mind. "You all heard it. He called me a stain. A remnant. Something tied to this… Anchor Beyond Time."
Dev nodded grimly. "And? What do you think it means?"
I almost laughed, but it came out cracked. "That I don't know. That's the problem. The system won't explain it. The blade won't shut up. And if that elder was right…"
The whispers surged at the edge of my thoughts.
"…not you… not you… but you will bleed when it rises…"
I clenched my teeth.
"…then I'm standing in someone else's shadow."
✦
The plaza seemed smaller now, though the stones stretched wide and broken. Every survivor's gaze pressed against me, a dozen silent questions, a dozen unspoken fears.
The Inkblade's edge dripped shadow onto the stone, sizzling softly. I wanted to let it go, to hurl it away and feel the weight leave my arm—but I knew it wouldn't. The weapon had chosen.
And it did not release its prey.
The system flickered again, almost idly, as though amused.
[ Inkblade Growth Condition: Fed on Blood, Fed on Fear. ][ Evolution Progress: 12%. ]
The numbers chilled me more than the elder's chi ever had.
Twelve percent.
Only twelve. And it already felt like this.
Dev watched me too long, his jaw tight. Finally, he said, "Then we move. This place won't stay safe. The rift will spit more things out. Or the sect will return."
The old man scoffed. "And follow him? Follow the demon's shadow?"
The girl's glare could have cut steel. "Better than sitting here waiting to die."
The boy whispered, almost pleading, "Reed… if you're not the Anchor… then maybe you can stop it. Maybe that's why you're here."
His words clawed at me worse than the Inkblade's whispers. Hope was always heavier than fear.
I turned my face from them, staring into the widening rift above. The tear bled colors no human eye was meant to hold, light bending wrong, shadows stretching too long. Somewhere on the other side, Murim was still watching.
Still waiting.
And I could not shake the feeling that the elder's final words hadn't been for me at all.
"…The Anchor Beyond Time still stirs…"
If the Anchor was real—if it wasn't me—then it was still out there. Breathing. Moving. Waiting to be found.
The Inkblade hummed in my hand. The whispers curled tighter.
"…when it rises… gods fall… scripts burn…"
And for the first time, I wondered if I was meant to fight it—
—or become it.
✦
The plaza wind shifted. Smoke thinned, stars glared down through the torn rift. The world had grown wider, more dangerous, and more fragile in the span of one duel.
I tightened my grip on the Inkblade, even as its hunger pulsed through my veins.
Because no matter what the elder had called me, no matter what the Anchor truly was, one truth burned colder and sharper than any script.
If the heavens wanted me to crawl—
Then I would stand.
And if the Anchor was fated to rise—
Then I would cut it down.
Or be cut down with it.
✦
The system pulsed again, its voice like chains.
[ New Global Condition Detected. ][ Anchor Beyond Time: Status—Unknown. ][ Hidden Questline Unlocked. ]
The Inkblade's shadow twisted upward, stretching into the smoke like a hand clawing for the stars.
And in that moment, I knew this duel had not ended anything.
It had only started the war.