Zain snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of faint, deliberate footsteps. The woman had returned, standing in the doorway once more.
This time, however, she looked entirely different.
Clad in a silver suit of armor, she exuded an air of authority and elegance. The armor covered her from neck to toe, leaving only her face and long, flowing brown hair exposed. A crimson rose emblem adorned the center of her chest plate, standing in stark contrast to the polished steel. The way the armor hugged her form, combined with her mature, striking features and sharp black eyes, made her seem almost mythical, like a Valkyrie stepping out of legend.
Zain found himself staring.
She smirked. "It's rude to stare at a lady for too long."
Snapping back to his senses, he scoffed. "Don't worry, I'm not into old wom...."
His words died in his throat as a sudden, almost suffocating chill crept down his spine. The hair on his arms stood on end.
The woman raised an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly. "Oh? An old woman, am I?" Her tone was light, teasing, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath it.
Zain swallowed hard. "I, I didn't mean to offend you, ma'am."
"Ma'am?" she repeated, her lips curving into a deep smirk.
Zain stiffened, realizing too late that he had blundered into dangerous territory. There was something distinctly predatory about the way she regarded him, as if weighing whether he was worth the effort of teaching proper manners.
She sighed, shaking her head. This boy… does he not understand anything about women?
Desperate to shift the conversation away from whatever invisible line he had crossed, Zain cleared his throat. "Miss, who are you? And why am I here?"
The woman regarded him for a moment before chuckling softly. "Trying to be clever, are we?" She didn't seem offended, if anything, she looked entertained. "You're an interesting one."
She stepped forward, arms crossed over her armored chest. "My name is Martha Nabirose. I am a soldier in the Defender's Army, Captain of the Seventh Legion. And you," she continued, watching his expression carefully, "are on the war front, at the border of Valdrith, the Land of Warriors."
Zain stiffened, his mind racing.
A captain.
She was a captain in the Defenders.
That single fact made him even more wary. He remembered well the state of the world, how humanity had fractured into three major factions after discovering the Idols a thousand years ago:
The Holy Kingdom.
The Defenders.
The Heavenly Sect.
The Defenders were renowned for their militaristic rule, built upon a strict meritocracy rather than kings or aristocracy. Their leader, the President, was also the Apostle of Ragnar, the God of War. Unlike the other factions, they valued strength above all else, and for a captain to personally intervene in saving a mere soldier was unheard of.
His gaze darkened with suspicion. "Why did you save me?"
Martha smirked. "Ah. There it is." She leaned against the desk behind her, eyes gleaming with amusement. "You don't believe a Legion Captain would bother saving a nobody, do you?"
"No," Zain answered bluntly.
She chuckled. "Fair enough."
Her gaze drifted slightly above his head, her expression unreadable, as if she were seeing something he could not. For the first time since she entered the room, a trace of hesitation flickered across her features. "You're… different."
Zain frowned. "Different?"
"A Tier-0 Non-Awakened who managed to kill a Tier-1 Mutated Crawler in a life-or-death battle… and then awakened afterward." She studied him carefully. "That's hardly normal."
Zain clenched his fists. That fight had been pure survival. There had been nothing remarkable about it, at least, that was what he had believed. But then, Martha's gaze dropped to the axe lying at his side, and the amusement in her eyes faded, replaced by something far more serious.
His grip instinctively tightened around the weapon.
Martha sighed, her voice quieter this time. "And that axe…"
She hesitated for the briefest moment before shaking her head. "Do you even know what you're holding?"
Zain glanced at the weapon in his lap, running his fingers along its handle. "This?" He shrugged. "I found it in the hands of a dead soldier on the battlefield. It saved my life."
A cold shiver ran down Martha's spine.
He's touching it so casually… as if it's nothing.
She exhaled slowly, pushing aside the unease curling in her stomach. The axe in his hands was no ordinary weapon. It was a relic of death, infamous in its history. The Tyrant Axe—forged from the blood and bones of a Tier-9 Mutant and once wielded by Chase Barson, the First Patriarch of the Barson family. A weapon steeped in blood, known for driving its wielders mad, devouring their minds until nothing remained.
And yet, in Zain's hands, it appeared… dormant.
Martha narrowed her eyes. Why is he still sane?
Pushing off the desk, she stepped closer. "Where exactly did you find that axe?"
Zain blinked. "Like I said, in the hands of a dead soldier. What's with the questions?" He absentmindedly ran his fingers along the axe's edge, almost as if he enjoyed the feel of it.
Martha clenched her jaw. He has no idea what he's dealing with.
For now, she set the axe aside in her thoughts and instead asked the one thing she had yet to inquire about. "What's your name?"
Zain hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering, "Zain Miller."
Martha frowned. "Miller?"
She knew the noble families of this region well. There was no such family.
Her gaze hardened. "Which Legion are you from? And why were you still fighting when the rest of the army had already withdrawn after the victory?"
Zain opened his mouth, but no answer came.
Because he didn't have one.
Not for these questions.
Martha's expression darkened. Her demeanor shifted, the air around her growing heavy. Without warning, an invisible force crashed down upon Zain's shoulders, forcing him to his knees.
His bones groaned under the pressure.
"I will ask one more time," Martha said, her voice losing all warmth. "Who are you?"
Zain gritted his teeth, his breathing ragged. "I already told you… my name is Zain Miller. My parents were from the Heavenly Sect. They settled here and died in a war against the Undead."
A lie.
A well-crafted one, drawn from whatever scraps of information he had.
Martha studied him, her ability allowing her to sense deception but to her frustration, Zain remained a blank slate. No tells. No fear. Nothing she could read.
"You could be a spy," she said coldly, increasing the weight of her ability.
Zain coughed violently, tasting blood in his mouth. His body screamed in protest, but his pride refused to let him break.
"My parents died for this kingdom," he ground out, glaring up at her with defiant eyes. "I joined the army to fight. And now, after surviving a battle, you're accusing me of treason?"
His voice was laced with bitterness, not just for her, but for himself. How pathetic. Weakness was all that mattered here. In this world, the weak were crushed without mercy.
Martha continued watching him in silence.
A long, heavy pause.
Then, at last, she sighed and released the pressure.
Zain slumped forward, gasping for air, his vision swimming.
She smirked. "Interesting."