"What…?" Daion asked, confused. His eyes locked on Jack, but the man remained impassive, stern as ever. Haruka watched him with a troubled expression.
Two years here and I still can't get used to this, she thought in frustration. She bit her lip and looked away.
Finn's mouth hung half open, but he said nothing; his fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. Minjae, on the other hand, didn't react at all. His eyes stayed fixed on the night sky, reflecting the glow of the flames devouring the distant town.
Jack finally turned his gaze back to Daion. His hands trembled, his leg twitched, his fingers tightened into a fist… small betrayals of his supposed calm.
"Do I need to repeat myself? We're leaving."
Daion sprinted through the forest, breath ragged, dodging roots and underbrush. Not from exhaustion, but from rage. From frustration. From fear. SteelWall loomed ahead; every stride brought him closer.
What the hell am I doing? Sixty meters. What exactly am I planning? Playing the hero? Yeah, right…
His boot snagged on something and he went face-first into the mud. Groaning, he pushed himself up and glanced behind him. No one was following. For the first time since he'd arrived in this world, he was alone in the night. Until now, he'd been lucky… but now he was about to die like an idiot.
Jack's voice echoed in his head:
"It's not ideal to travel at night…" —the memory surfaced: Jack hurriedly packing up camp with uncertain hands, Minjae absentmindedly twirling his knife— "But if we move now, we can reach a town before midnight."
Daion had stepped forward, furious.
"Stop talking nonsense." He challenged him, teeth grinding together.
Jack didn't even flinch.
"If that town is still under attack even after the Hellseaker's death, then it might be a horde. We don't stand a chance."
"You don't know that. It could be something else," Daion shot back, refusing to surrender so easily. Jack scoffed.
"Oh yeah? And where'd you get that idea? From bedtime stories your mommy used to tell you? Oh, wait…" His voice dropped. "You don't remember, do you?"
Daion's fist connected with Jack's face. Jack barely budged, blinking in annoyance, but his decision didn't waver.
"How can you just let them die? It makes no sense not to even try," Daion pressed, rage fueling every word.
"It's survival."
"It's cowardice!"
Daion trembled with fury. His gem pulsed, his arm burned, but he ignored it. He only wanted to see how far Jack's cynicism would go.
"If we go, we die."
"Is that all you know how to do? Run? Is that why we're losing this war? Is that why the people of this world don't trust the summoned?" Jack exhaled sharply through his nose.
"We're not soldiers. And this isn't our war; it's the war of those who were born here." He pointed at the smoke rising in the distance. "We're just a bunch of nobodies who had the bad luck of dying in front of the wrong god."
Silence.
Daion understood what he meant. He wasn't the first to think it. They were all just a bunch of unlucky fools, thrown into a war they'd never asked for. But still… something burned inside him. The screams of the man he had left behind kept drilling into his skull.
"And tell me, why do you even care so much?" Jack pressed him, and Daion instinctively stepped back. "Why are you so obsessed with saving them?"
"I-I…" Daion faltered. He had no idea what to say. He remembered his dream, the visions… but deep down, why did he care? He just felt like something was pushing him, as if a voice were whispering that this was what he had to do. It was maddening. He only wanted to silence it. "I don't know."
Jack sighed.
"Our only objective is to survive as long as possible in this cursed world."
Daion clenched his fists.
"You're not surviving." His voice was low, restrained. "Surviving means fighting to make sure there's another day. All you're doing is running… until there's no day left to run to."
Minjae clicked his tongue, annoyed.
"And what's the difference?" Daion ignored him. His eyes searched Haruka and Finn.
"Are you seriously not going to say anything? Are you really going to accept this and run off with your tails between your legs?"
Haruka lowered her head.
"It's not like we have many options… If we're not together, we'll die."
Finn hesitated, then stepped toward Jack.
"It's an entire village, Jack. Are we really going to turn our backs on them?" His voice was low, but firm.
Jack didn't answer, and Finn didn't push. It wasn't the first time. Not even for Finn. And yet, they accepted it.
Daion turned his back on them.
"Do whatever you want. I'm going to try something." His legs shook, his body felt heavy.
Haruka reached out and took his hand.
"You don't have to… you can come with us." She turned to Jack. "He can, right? It's better to have help… it's better to fight together…"
Minjae scoffed and turned away. Jack studied her for a few seconds, then exhaled.
"Summoned have to look out for each other, don't they?" he asked again. This time, he expected a real answer from Daion. Daion laughed bitterly.
"Even if it means abandoning everyone else?"
Haruka squeezed his hand. She was trembling. Daion gently pulled away.
"I'm sorry. But I hear their voices—so many that I can't even recognize them anymore, can't even remember them. I don't know if I'll be able to live with it… but if I don't do something to silence them, I know the next step will be letting a monster kill me." He said it with tired eyes, despite having only woken up a few hours ago.
Jack's eyes darkened.
"So you're going to die over guilt? Over some stupid remorse for people you didn't even know?" This time, he was genuinely angry.
Daion shrugged.
"What can I say? Being human sucks."
I was hoping at least one of those idiots would change their mind and follow me. But no. I'm still running on my own, damn it.
Thirty meters.
The city gates were already in sight. He was just about to leave the forest when an irritating voice made him frown.
"Stop right there, 'hero.'"
Daion turned. He recognized the voice instantly. But what surprised him wasn't hearing it inside his head—it was seeing its source, sitting calmly on a rock.
There he was: the god. No colossal stature. No black holes orbiting around him. Just a man of ordinary appearance, holding a glass of wine.
"You know," the god murmured, swirling his drink, "I had a meeting with my older brother…" He sighed, taking a sip. "But it seems my Representative has decided he's got a death wish. What happened? Did you suddenly remember your father abandoned you, or something?"
Daion didn't bother to answer.
"You're the younger brother? That explains why you act like such a petulant child." The god raised an eyebrow, about to explain the heavenly hierarchy, but Daion cut him off. "You know what? I don't have time for your bullshit."
"You said you wanted to survive." Daion froze. "That's what you told me when you first got here." The god watched him, calm and unreadable. "And now your survival plan is to throw yourself headfirst into a hurricane."
Daion hesitated. He hadn't actually thought of it that way. What the hell am I doing?
"Why do you care?" the summoned one asked, distrustful; the god hardly seemed like the reasonable type.
"Because finding new heroes is a damn headache." He replied flatly, eyes flickering with irritation.
"Oh, now you care? You threw me in here without explaining a single damn thing!" Daion shot back. The god clicked his tongue.
"Pff. I thought it was better that way. If I had told you what abilities you had or who I was, you'd have gotten arrogant and been dead in two days. At least this way, I know you're alive on your own merit."
"Has that happened before?"
"Of course. Why do you think I did it?" he answered firmly. Daion couldn't understand; he wasn't at all like the god who had tormented him with voices in his head. "Being cruel to mortals is just a bonus."
Daion scoffed.
"And here I thought you were just too lazy to speak to mortals."
"You're dead. Technically, you're no longer a mortal, so it still applies." He countered smoothly.
Daion laughed despite himself. The god smiled arrogantly, amused.
"Then why did you get into my head? Why did you interfere in my life? Why mock me in my dreams?" he demanded.
The god merely raised an eyebrow, puzzled.
"I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't spoken to you since the moment I sent you here."
Daion froze, stunned. It couldn't be. It had to be another lie… but when he looked at the god's expression, he knew it wasn't.
"I've been hearing your voice ever since I arrived, drilling into my head."
"I don't know who you were listening to, but do you really think I have that much free time to mess with you nonstop?" the god asked. Daion stopped in his tracks and stared at him. "Don't flatter yourself. I've got far too much to do, and I wouldn't waste what little free time I have sending you cryptic hints."
"But that doesn't make sense. I heard you—drilling into my mind. I saw you in my memories." Daion's words began to trail off. The god narrowed his eyes.
"Memories?" he said, with a faint trace of unease. "Have you already remembered who you are?"
"Not completely, but I saw you there," Daion answered.
The god lowered his head with clear irritation.
"I don't know what you saw, but I can assure you it wasn't me," he declared.
Daion turned away. None of it made sense. If it wasn't him, then what was that voice that had haunted him all this time? What were those images that kept surfacing in his memories?
A wave of hot wind washed over him, reminding him of SteelWall. He took a step forward, but the god cut him off…
"Summoned ones with a hero complex don't last long against the Corrupted." He cast a glance at the column of smoke rising beyond the trees. "I didn't expect you to be one of them."
Daion clenched his fists.
"I don't have a hero complex." He shook his head, though he wasn't entirely convinced. "I just can't let those people die."
"You let that man die to save yourself; you caused another's death by eliminating the threat, and…" the god's gaze sharpened, but he stopped short, unwilling to reveal more than he should. "And now you're willing to die for others. That's not courage—it's hypocrisy. You're still just a human, pretending to be a hero to soothe your conscience."
Daion's jaw tightened.
"There's no reason—" The god leaned forward, lowering his voice, almost curious. "Those people in the city… they're strangers. They despised you the moment they saw you." He paused, giving Daion space to face the truth. "So why do you care?"
But…
He was already dead. He remembered nothing, and he wasn't even sure he wanted to. All he had was a vague sensation of something. Nothing tied him to life—not even death. He had nothing in this world. The people of these lands… their families… their lives… Could he really save himself knowing others would die just so he could live one more day?
And he was tired of being told to abandon them just because of how they had treated him.
He felt he couldn't bear it, couldn't go on. As if his very body already knew the answer.
"I'll do it anyway."
The god tilted his head, watching him calmly.
"I don't care if it makes sense. I don't care what happens to me. I only know that if I have to live again, I'll do what I want. And what I want is this."
"And still you deny having a hero complex."
"Call it whatever you want." Daion turned his back on him, but before leaving, he glanced over his shoulder. "Thanks for the pep talk, I guess."
The god shrugged.
"If you die, I'll be proven right." Daion didn't stop. "But if you live…" the god's tone turned almost playful, "…well, maybe you really are a hero. And maybe you've even outplayed a god."
Daion didn't respond. The god sighed and took another sip of wine.
"Fine. I'll give you some advice." The air crackled with energy. Daion felt his body grow heavy, but when he looked at the god, he caught a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, as though he was genuinely curious to see what he'd do. "The Corrupted underestimate rookies. Win with the first strike. And don't fight honorably… survive at all costs."
"That's not very good advice."
"Of course it's not. Because if I showed my winning hand, the bet against my opponent would lose its fun—even if I wanted you to win." The god smirked. "See you later… or never, hero. Good luck—I mean that. Oh, and if you die, make sure to leave your sword in my dimension before you reincarnate."
Daion let out a short laugh. Maybe the last of his life.
"Deal."
He walked forward with slow, deliberate steps. Sweat drenched his palms. His legs trembled. But he didn't stop. He crossed through the gates.
The screams hit him instantly—a symphony of agony. Stone buildings crumbled into fragments; the ravenous roar of fire devoured everything in its path. The air was thick with the stench of blood, burnt flesh, and death itself.
Corpses littered the streets like broken dolls: some frozen in twisted masks of terror, others reduced to unrecognizable remains. The smoke burned his eyes. He climbed the ruins of a collapsing building… just in time to hear it.
The clash of steel. A scream of pain.
He turned his head. The upper half of a soldier fell to the ground, his torso split open, spilling entrails across the stone like discarded meat. The corpse's eyes still twitched, locked in an agonized reflection. The Corrupteds.
The first resembled a nightmarish, deformed wolf. It stood upright on two legs, its unnaturally long limbs stabbing into the pavement with every step, claws sharp as razors carving through stone. Its body was covered in filthy, matted fur, but its head… its head was an indescribable horror.
A canine muzzle split in a grotesque cross, lined with jagged, gleaming teeth. Dozens of tiny, glowing eyes spread across its face like a spider's, darting in all directions, restless, relentless. In one hand it gripped a notched axe, dripping with blood; in the other, it clutched a severed head whose lifeless eyes still seemed to plead in eternal terror.
The second was just as—or perhaps even more—grotesque. Its thick, purplish skin had the coarse texture of a pig, stretched over grotesquely overdeveloped muscles. Its twisted, goatlike legs ended in split hooves, cracked and tipped with blackened claws. Two pairs of boar tusks jutted from its shoulders, curving around its neck toward a piglike snout. It was larger than a trailer, a massive, greasy bulk crowned by a swollen gut. Running through that belly was a dark seam that split open into a second maw, its yellow teeth grinding constantly—alive, ravenous.
And it had four arms. Two of them, massive and corded with muscle, swung a rusted greatsword still dripping with fresh blood. The other two, smaller, sprouted from the sides of its abdomen. With them, it held a soldier still alive, thrashing desperately.
Daion saw the terror in his eyes. Saw his legs kicking, his body twisting in futile resistance. Saw the creature's hands push him toward that deformed mouth. And saw the instant the teeth snapped shut. The man's scream was silenced in a wet, nauseating crunch.
Bile rose in Daion's throat. His stomach churned. Fear crushed down on him like unbearable weight, demanding he stay frozen. But he clenched his teeth. Forced himself forward. He leapt from the rooftop, landing behind the line of soldiers, and walked toward the Corrupteds as he drew his sword.
The soldiers said nothing. No shout, no gesture of relief. But they didn't stop him either. As if thinking: better than nothing.
The Corrupteds turned their heads. When they realized the one standing before them was an Invoked, they smiled.
End of Chapter 9.