"What is Ryan saying?"
Lysia's eyes darkened in exhaustion as her energy drained away and she collapsed like a wooden puppet.
"Lysia!" I fought against the pain, catching her before her body hit the ground.
"Ryan, what happened to your sister?" The moment I held her, pain tore through me, forcing me onto my knees.
Ryan knelt, placing a hand over Lysia's head.
"This happens when someone from this world hears the name End Writer… It feels like the world itself rejects the words, and then they faint."
He rose again, crossing his arms with an odd expression.
"You're strange. Shouldn't you be asking how I knew you were an End Writer, instead of worrying about a human girl?"
"You found out by reading the heroes' thoughts?"
"Hmmm… wrong. Have you forgotten the one closest to you who knows that fact—besides Sinister?"
Ryan turned his back to me.
"After meeting Kyle, I discovered the group opposing you—and that he joined them."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a badge marked with a dagger stabbing through a book.
The emblem glowed, releasing a blinding light. When the brightness faded, both the badge and Ryan were gone.
I turned my focus to Lysia and tried waking her.
"Hero…?"
"Lysia, are you alright now?"
"Yes… but what happened to me?"
"…You were standing, and then suddenly fainted."
She held her head, trying to recall.
"Where's Ryan?"
"Ryan? I didn't see him the whole time."
It was impossible to explain his presence—or his disappearance—so denial was the only answer.
"Wasn't he just here a moment ago?"
"No. There's no one here but me… Also, didn't the king ask you to come?"
"Oh right, I almost forgot. I wanted to give you something."
She pulled a small, wrapped box from her bag.
"Here. Raphael, Ronald, and I bought it for you."
A strange feeling welled inside me. My hands trembled as I reached for a gift I didn't deserve—especially not from the victims of my sins.
"Open it already, no need for the drama. I don't have all day."
I untied the ribbon, and the box fell apart, revealing a small necklace with a glowing green gem.
"I don't know what to say… th-thank you."
"It's nothing. Just a small gift. I should go before my brother worries."
She tried standing but her body was still weak.
I steadied myself despite the pain and offered her my arm.
"Sorry for troubling you." She leaned on me, wrapping an arm around my neck for support.
"Don't worry. I already got the rest I needed."
Every step was agony; my broken bones screamed with every movement.
"Lysia, what happened?"
Hope filled my chest when I saw Ronald and Reinhard approaching.
"I just lost consciousness suddenly… but I'm fine now."
"I'll take you to the infirmary after we meet Father."
Lysia didn't reply—she knew how stubborn Ronald was.
We walked through the corridors, the air filled with a musky fragrance, until we reached the gate leading to the arena—
The same one where I had fought the End Writers. It had been fully restored, as if no battle had ever happened.
"Hero Ronald, what happened to Lysia?"
The king and Sinister were the first to notice us. I explained everything that had occurred.
"Guards, take my daughter to the infirmary immediately."
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
"As for you, hero, thank you for helping her. Please wait with Sinister while everything is prepared."
"Understood… And there's no need to thank me. I owe your family a lot."
Sinister supported me and guided me toward the heroes' platform.
"So, the day has finally come, hero."
"Yeah… Feels like I was summoned only yesterday."
Sinister chuckled.
"You don't know how many hours I spent preparing a proper speech… and now I've forgotten everything I wanted to say."
Silence lingered for a while as we both searched for words.
"I'll give you some advice—or rather, just one piece—but first I need to explain a few things."
"Like what?"
"'Calamities'—it's a title given to beings strong enough to destroy an entire land."
"By 'land,' do you mean an entire world?"
He nodded.
"There are seven ancient Calamities
1. The Sun Calamity – Solarin
2. The Storm Calamity
3. The Past Calamity
4. The Earth Calamity – Teran
5. The Sky Calamity– Sikaero
6. The Dragons Calamity – Ryoma
7. And finally, the Calamities Calamity – Oum
Most of them are either dead or defeated, but that doesn't change the fact that they ruled the ancient age ten thousand years ago."
"Are they stronger than the king?"
"Yes—far stronger. Even though King Alexander is the strongest human alive, he's not even among the top ten thousand beings in the world."
Sinister took a deep breath.
"As for the current Calamities, they are
1. The Swamps Calamity
2. The Fangs Calamity
3. The Ocean Calamity – Ocaireth
4. The Frost Calamity – Siram
5. The Sky Calamity – Sikaero
6. The Dragons Calamity – Ryoma
7. The Calamities Calamity – Oum
"Wait, aren't Sikaero, Ryoma, and Oum ancient Calamities?"
"Yes, but they've survived for ten thousand years and kept their titles. They're the strongest—especially Oum, the absolute Calamity."
"So you're telling me to avoid them?"
"On the contrary—you should recruit one of them, no matter what it takes."
"Which one?"
"Ryoma, the Dragon Calamity."
"Why him?"
"Under his command are two Calamities—Siram, the Frost Calamity, and the former Storm Calamity—along with the most powerful army. With them on your side, no one would dare oppose you."
"…You don't understand. I don't want allies just because they're strong."
I locked eyes with Sinister.
"Today, I'm the weak one. But tomorrow… the universe will recalculate itself when I move, just as it always has—and always will."
"Why are you so certain about that?"
"It's not certainty—it's a truth that will happen, no matter how long it takes."
…I was about to ask Sinister something when a voice echoed through the arena:
"Priests, gather for the summoning of the Hero's Sword."
"It seems my turn has come." Sinister walked toward the stage, then stopped abruptly.
"I don't think you know this… but the summoning of the Hero's Sword will kill me."
My eyes widened. My heart pounded like it was trying to escape my chest.
"What—are you serious?"
"…"
"Sinister, will it really kill you?"
"Yes. But I must do it. In the end, I'm just a puppet of the Writer. I may have flesh and blood—but I'm still just a machine that learned to mimic emotion."
"You're not that. You're my friend—and my mentor."
"Thank you, but… words won't change what I am. These feelings I have—they're not real. Just imitations of what humans feel."
He glanced toward Alexander, standing afar, and his feet moved toward him on their own.
Alexander noticed and approached as well.
"Is something wrong, Sinis—" Before he could finish, Sinister embraced him, pressing his head against the king's shoulder.
"Goodbye, my friend. Tell the young ones… that I always loved them."
He stepped back, tears streaming down his face.
"And tell Ryan… I never saw him as a failure. Not once."
Memories rushed through Sinister's mind—scenes from long ago.
*******
Forty Years Earlier
Eight children fell from the sky, scattered across the kingdoms.
One of them was given the name Sinister.
They were puppets created by the Great Writer to help the End Writers overcome this particular world.
Sinister fell into a public square filled with stray dogs. The smell of water from the fountain mixed with the night's cold air.
"Child, what are you doing here alone?"
A bright light flared from the hand of a fifteen-year-old boy with golden hair, radiant aura, and a gentle smile—his name was Alexander.
Sinister stayed silent, his face blank.
"Where are your parents?"
"…"
Alexander sighed. "Guess I have no choice but to take you with me."
He wrapped his warm scarf around the boy's neck. "Can you at least tell me your name?"
Sinister's lips trembled as he spoke for the first time in his life.
"My name… is Sinister."
Two years passed. He grew up under the palace roof with Alexander, though the coldness of machinery still lingered in his soul.
"Alexander, careful—that statue's expensive."
"No need to remind me."
They stood side by side, carrying a glass statue.
"Why did you even buy this thing?"
"It wasn't me—Father did. He liked it."
Suddenly, a huge sheep broke loose and crashed between them, shattering the statue.
"What?! Sinister, did you see tha—huh?"
For the first time, Sinister laughed.
"Hahaha!"
"You're laughing, Sinister!"
Later, during training, their strict instructor shouted,
"Anyone who falls behind will repeat the entire session five times!"
A water bottle hit his face. "Shut up already, you're annoying."
The culprit—Sinister—glared at him with cold fury.
That day, both he and Alexander were punished.
Years later, when Sinister became High Priest, another emotion bloomed.
"Sinister, have you seen my son?"
Alexander approached, holding a newborn baby.
"Would you like to hold him?"
Sinister carefully took the child, feeling something warm for the first time.
"What's his name?"
"I named him after my father—Ronald."
Then came the day Sinister foresaw a great danger—one that would destroy their world.
He claimed they must summon a hero to save them… but it was all a lie to bring an End Writer instead.
His plan was strengthened when other kingdoms' priests reported the same prophecy.
And so, on the day of summoning, the End Writer without a name—the one now called the Hero—was brought to this world.
*******
Present Time
Sinister's sorrow overflowed as tears streamed down his smiling face.
"Thank you, my friend… for taking care of me. And sorry if I was ever a burden."
Alexander's eyes grew heavy; the image of the mighty king faltered.
"You never were… not once."
"You're a king, Alexander. Don't cry. I don't want to see your tears."
With those words—his final farewell—Sinister turned toward his fate.
He and the seven other priests stood in a circle, beginning the ritual.
A power beyond the world—known as the Outer Force—manifested.
Only the End Writers knew of it… yet another unfamiliar power mixed with it.
It was the mark of the Great Writer's authority.
That fusion of energies surrounded the arena, tearing away the darkness as light filled the sky.
The Hero's Sword was being forged.
Sinister's body tore apart—his bones shattered, his legs vanished. His pieces were drawn into the sword, as if used as raw material for its creation.
He turned to me one last time.
"I… felt something for this world… and wished you wouldn't succeed in your mission. I still do…"
His head vanished into the forming blade, followed by the rest of him.
What I heard next were cheers and applause—people celebrating, as if no one had just died before their eyes.
It made me sick.
The Hero's Sword stood planted in the ground. I stepped forward.
"So you're the Hero's Sword? The result of eight priests' sacrifice…"
Its blade gleamed—brilliant, mesmerizing—but not even sharp.
"My friend died for you… Tell me, what makes you worth that?"
No answer. What was I expecting—the sword to talk back?
After the ceremony, we rode in silence—Lysia, Ronald, Raphael, Reinhard, the king, and I.
Only Reinhard tried to lighten the mood, but no one responded. Before long, we reached the castle gates.
"Boys, go to your rooms. You must be tired."
"Of course, thank you, Father."
"Ronald, do you know where your brother is? I need to speak with him."
"I haven't seen Ryan in days."
"Go rest, hero. I'll talk to my sons alone."
"As you wish."
I hurried to my room, too exhausted to even change clothes. I lay on my bed, the Hero's Sword in hand.
[ Boy. ]
That voice—one I'd heard before. It shook me to the core.
I looked toward the sword. "The Great Writer?"
[ Yes, it's me. ]
"Can I communicate with you through the sword?"
[ Not just that. This sword's true purpose is to lend you one-fourth of my power—once. ]
"One-fourth? Isn't that… too much?"
[ Trust me, you'll need it. But I didn't contact you only for that. I wanted to ask—how are you? ]
I smiled faintly. "Thank you… but I'm fine—"
[ Kyle doesn't hate you. He still sees you as a brother. It's just… your paths have diverged. ]
"…" A gentle warmth brushed my head.
[ Life always wavers between joy and sorrow… but neither lasts forever. ]
My vision dimmed. My eyelids grew heavy.
[ Sadly, I wish I could tell you… sweet dreams. ]
*******
Hours later, a knock on the door woke me.
"Hero, are you inside?" It was Mary, the deputy commander of the knights.
I opened the door. "Hello."
"Sorry to bother you, but the king requests your presence."
"Alright, lead the way."
I took the Hero's Sword and followed her.
She kept glancing at me—she couldn't stand me since the training ground incident—but she tried to hide it.
As we walked, I noticed the sword trembling in my hand. Strange, but I had no time to think; we'd reached the throne room.
"Your Majesty, I've brought the hero."
I bowed. "Your Majesty, you called for me?"
The king's eyes were red—grief still lingering for his lost friend.
"Yes. There's something we must discuss."
He looked at the Hero's Sword.
"Now that you've become the hero, you must seek out the Chosen Ones."
I tilted my head. "Chosen Ones?"
"Individuals selected by the Hero's Sword itself to aid you on your journey."
"I see… and how will I recognize them?"
"The sword will tell you—in its own way."
I glanced at Mary and extended the sword toward her. It trembled again—this time clearly.
The king looked surprised, then composed himself.
"So, Deputy Commander Mary… you are the first Chosen."
"W-what?"