"Burn everything."
"To forge a new world."
"A perfect world."
"From the ashes of the old, we shall raise a pillar of paradise."
"Let the sacrifice of the few birth salvation for the many."
A man cloaked in crimson stood high above the stadium, his voice echoing like thunder across the silent crowd.
Below, dozens clad in matching red hoods erupted into applause, their cheers feverish devout.
While cheers echoed above, in the dark corners beneath the stadium, a very different sound whispered through the air.
Sobbing, crying, weeping, whimpering.
Dozens of cages lined the walls like iron coffins, each one packed with trembling citizens.
Some sat alone, rocking gently with vacant eyes. Others clung to loved ones.
Mothers shielding their children, fathers wrapping arms around what little family remained.
Tears streaked dirt-stained cheeks. Muffled prayers rose among the cries. No one dared scream.
"In these three days… we will complete our preparation!" the hooded man bellowed, his voice thunderous across the stadium.
The crowd of cloaked cultists erupted into a slow, eerie applause, a chilling rhythm, each clap synchronized like a heartbeat in a ritual, unnatural and haunting.
Among them, a girl with soft pink twin-tails quietly pulled a pocket watch from her coat.
She flipped it open with trembling fingers.
Inside was a small, worn photograph, of her and her family, smiling in a time long gone.
Her gaze softened, her lips parted, and her eyes shimmered with sorrow.
She looked toward the hostages locked in the cages below, their faces pale with fear, some crying, others simply numb.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice so faint it vanished beneath the sound of clapping hands.
"…To summon the Hollow Tree. Rumina!" the man roared again, this time with fevered passion.
The cult roared back, voices rising like a tide of madness.
All but one.
Chloe did not cheer.
She stood frozen, the watch still open in her hand.
Eyes filled not with devotion but with guilt.
"This is for the… betterment of all," Chloe whispered to herself, the words barely more than breath.
A fragile lie meant to soothe the storm inside her.
To make bearable the horror she knew was coming.
While the cult cheered and howled with maddening devotion, for the citizens of Dorja, there was only sorrow. Only despair.
Far from the stadium, in the dimly lit office of the Knight's Temple of Holy Saints,
Aliza drank alone.
Each bitter sip meant to drown the ache in her chest.
the pain of sadness, the weight of regret, and most of all…
the sting of betrayal.
Betrayal by Chloe. the student she had once cherished like her own child.
But her sulking was cut short by a knock at the door.
"Come in," she said, her tone laced with frustration.
A knight stepped inside, bowing politely. His face was bruised and bloodied, wrapped in fresh bandages.
"Grandmaster, there's a suspicious girl requesting to speak with you." He said with formality, though a trace of sorrow lingered in his voice.
"Bring her in." Aliza replied, her voice shifting to an almost cheerful tone, masking the storm within.
The soldier bowed again and left. She turned to the window, using its reflection to compose herself.
Then, moving with practiced grace, she began to brighten the room, just as another knock echoed through the office.
The knight entered first, followed by a little girl.
She had short white hair, her body wrapped in bandages, and most notably the overpowering stench of alcohol, strong enough to eclipse even the liquor on Aliza's own breath.
She looked like a drunken, homeless child.
It was hard to guess her age, her body bore the signs of regeneration and survival, that was certain.
She had been fighting since childhood.
And that alone impressed Aliza.
She herself still looked like a woman in her twenties, having been knighted at that age and serving on the frontlines ever since.
Aliza stepped forward and offered a respectful bow.
"Nice to meet you. My name is Aliza Bloodcrowne."
She bowed not as a superior, but as one warrior to another.
"Haha… no need for formalities…" the white-haired girl said with a lopsided grin, slurring just slightly.
"My name is So-Wong. Nice to meet you too."
She returned the greeting with bow, left hand open, right fist pressed against the palm, and her head dipped low in solemn respect.
"So, why did you want to meet me?" Aliza asked, her voice now edged with suspicion.
"I know the location of their hideout," So-Wong replied calmly and the words caught Aliza's attention like a snapped arrow.
"I assume you want something in return?" Aliza said, arms crossed.
"I don't want anything. In fact, our goal is the same."
"The only thing I require… is you and your army."
Aliza raised an eyebrow, then smiled.
"Do you have any evidence? And more importantly…why should I trust you?"
"I have evidence," So-Wong replied softly, "but I have no way to earn your trust."
She paused for a moment, then placed a fist over her chest.
"All I can do is swear… on my family name, and my lineage."
"Sigh—Tea or coffee?" Aliza asked, exhaling heavily, an unprofessional crack in her usual composure slipping through.
"I'll have whatever you're having." So-Wong replied with a wide grin, gesturing playfully toward the half-empty bottle of alcohol sitting on the table.
Meanwhile, on the edge of Hydrgateia Forest, a carriage drawn by an Azhinx thundered through the undergrowth.
Inside the carriage sat Grathe, Ifa, and an unconscious old man.
Up front, Gray handled the reins, with Liliya sitting quietly beside him.
It had only been four hours since their journey began, but they were already closing in on Dorja.
"How's your mana reserve?" Ifa asked for the eighth time.
"It's fine…" Gray replied instantly, not even glancing back.
"When do you think we'll get there?" she continued, it was her sixth time asking that.
"At least an hour or so," he answered with a sigh.
"Don't be so impatient," Grathe chimed in, arms crossed.
"If it weren't for him, it would've taken days." He spoke with confidence now, though he'd been doubtful at first.
Beside Gray, Liliya sat still as a statue, his voice drifting out into the void of his hollow body, spoken aloud to no one, heard by no one but himself.
"He has Protagonist privilege, after all."
The words carried a bitter hint of envy, dissolving into the silence.
Gray continued channeling mana-strengthening into the Azhinx, pushing it to eight times its natural speed.
Even high-ranking mages rarely managed sixfold boosts without strain.
"So, your master…" Ifa asked, her curiosity piqued. "Who is she, really?"
"She's… how should I put it…" Gray hesitated. "Unique, I guess."
He added after a beat. "She's the master of the Dance of the Drunken God technique."
"So… she's an alcoholic?" Ifa teased, grinning.
"Yeah…" Gray muttered, his expression a little embarrassed.
Silence settled over them once more.
No more questions, just the occasional sigh, a groan, and the soft creaking of the carriage as boredom took hold.
Forty-eight minutes crawled by...
Then, suddenly, with a burst of energy, Gray sat up straighter and grinned.
"We're here!" he announced with a joyful tone, snapping the reins as the Azhinx dashed forward, rushing the carriage toward the closed gates of Dorja.
Four guards approached the carriage cautiously, weapons at the ready. Behind them, mages stood alert, and archers lined the tower above, bows drawn, eyes sharp.
"Everyone, calm down," Ifa called out as she stepped down from the carriage, Grathe following close behind.
The moment the guards recognized them, they immediately bowed in respect.
"What's going on?" Grathe asked, his tone firm. "Why are the city gates closed?"
One of the guards stepped forward, his voice trembling slightly.
"Hundreds of our citizens… have been kidnapped." He said, a note of helplessness in his tone.
Ifa and Grathe exchanged a tense glance as Gray stepped down, having overheard the troubling news.
"This is happening too quickly… abnormally quick," Liliya thought to himself, his voice echoing in the silence of his porcelain shell.
"I need to speak with the Grandmaster. Do you know where she is?" Grathe asked, urgency sharp in his voice.
"She's currently in her office," the guard responded promptly.
"Can I come?" Gray cut in before Grathe could say anything.
"I want to help. I want to save them." His words came fast, desperate.
Grathe glanced at Ifa, then back at Gray, studying him for a beat.
"Fine." He said at last, though a trace of suspicion lingered in his voice.
"Follow me." At his command, Liliya's body leapt from the carriage, landing beside them with silent precision.
With a creaking groan, the giant gates began to open.
And what greeted them on the other side was.
Ruins.
Buildings torn apart, scorched and shattered.
And laid across the path…four piles of corpses; Knights, mages, and soldiers alike.
As they stepped inside the city, the nauseating stench of blood filled their lungs thick, metallic, and clinging to the air like smoke.
But for Liliya, it was something far more unsettling.
A massive shadow loomed over Dorja, an unseen presence draping the city in dread.
Its single, unblinking eye locked onto Liliya, watching.
"What the…" Liliya whispered, his voice tight with unease. He could feel it. Its gaze. Its weight.
Then a voice, faint, aged, and feminine, echoed in the hollow space of his mind.
"Perspective Three… the one known as Calamity will walk over the city of Dorja."
Only Liliya could hear it. Only he could see the truth.
"Perspective Three..." Liliya mummerd to himself
The group began to run toward the Knight's Temple of Holy Saints, boots slamming against bloodstained cobblestones.
As they passed citizens and soldiers, Liliya's gaze sharpened.
He saw red flags. One above each head.
Every person they passed. Except for Ifa, Grathe and Gray.
"Red flags…why only them?" Liliya muttered, slowing slightly.
His eyes flicked toward the looming shadow above. "And that thing…"
Meanwhile, in the Knight's Temple of Holy Saints, Aliza poured a drink and slid the glass across the table to So-Wong.
"Thank you…" So-Wong murmured, taking a small sip.
"You're welcome…" Aliza replied, then leaned forward slightly.
"Now, let's get to the information." Her tone shifted to firmer, more serious. "Tell me about your evidence."
Without hesitation, So-Wong downed the rest of her drink in one gulp.
She reached into her small bag and pulled out a folded slip of paper, it was a teleportation ticket.
"I have eight of these." She said, her voice calm.
Aliza narrowed her eyes.
"Where did you get them?" She asked, arms crossing as she sat back.
"From the cultists," So-Wong replied smoothly, already pouring herself another drink.
"And where are these cultists now?" Aliza continued, tapping her leg, clearly intrigued.
So-Wong knocked back the second glass and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"I killed them." She said, bold and matter-of-fact, already reaching for a refill.
Aliza sighed quietly as So-Wong gulped her drink.
"Don't worry about it…" So-Wong said with a wide, cocky grin.
"I was able to extract the information."
She leaned back with a smug glint in her eye.
"They're hiding like rats in the abandoned sewers of Dorja." Her voice dripped with disdain.
Aliza narrowed her gaze.
"There are three old sewer systems I know aren't in use anymore," she admitted.
"But words alone won't convince me."
So-Wong swirled the drink in her cup.
"Then let's use a familiar and teleport it in," she suggested, nonchalantly.
"We can see through it, like a living surveillance spell." She added, before downing her drink.
She tilted the bottle to pour herself more, but only a few drops splashed out.
"Empty?" She frowned at the bottle like it had betrayed her.
Aliza shook her head.
"That distance is too far. No familiar can function that deep underground—not without anchoring."
Then she muttered under her breath, almost to herself. "Unless… Grathe was here..."
Knock. Knock.
The knock at the door snapped both their heads toward it.
Aliza stood, voice cautious. "Who's there?"
A familiar voice answered.
"It's me…" came Ifa's voice, then another followed, deeper and calmer"...and me." Said Grathe.
"Come in," Aliza said, her voice laced with a rare mix of hope and disbelief.
Ifa entered first, followed by Grathe, then Liliya… and finally Gray.
As soon as the door opened, the sharp scent of alcohol rushed to greet them, a pungent contrast to the grim battlefield outside.
Ifa's eyes immediately locked onto the unfamiliar girl sitting casually in the room.
Her clothes were nothing but torn rags, and her body was wrapped in dirty, blood-stained bandages.
"Who is that… homeless chi—"
Before Ifa could finish, a stunned voice interrupted her.
"M—Master…?" Gray muttered, wide-eyed.
Without hesitation, he rushed forward to embrace So-Wong.
WHAM!
She kicked him square in the chest, sending him flying backwards out the open door like a ragdoll.
"Grathe." Aliza said firmly, snapping the room back to focus.
"What is it?" he asked, turning to her.
"I need you to teleport Liliya, now." Her tone was urgent, no room for delay.
Grathe didn't ask questions. He gave a nod of understanding.
Aliza grabbed Liliya by the shoulder and yanked him upright, pulling a teleportation ticket from her coat and pressing it against his chest.
"How long can you control her from this far away?" She asked quickly.
"One or two minutes at max," Liliya answered without hesitation.
"Good." Aliza pressed her hand against the ticket and began channeling her mana into it.
Grathe stepped beside her and placed his palm on Liliya's back, pouring his own mana into the body.
A soft blue glow wrapped around the doll, its form starting to fade.
Then, in a flash, Liliya disappeared.
Grathe sat down cross-legged on the floor, closing his eyes as he focused. His mana began to surge, flowing toward his eyes like a stream pulled by instinct.
Meanwhile, Aliza moved to a nearby drawer and pulled out a detailed map of Dorja.
"Help me pinpoint Grathe's mana signature on Liliya." She said, tossing the map toward Ifa.
Ifa nodded silently and spread it out across the floor, kneeling beside Grathe. She closed her eyes, her own mana reaching out to sync with his.
Aliza kneeled beside them, connecting their frequencies, threading their mana like strands in a web.
"What do you see?" Aliza asked, her voice calm but tight with urgency.
Grathe's brow furrowed. "I see cages… rows of them." His voice was low, heavy.
"And inside… the kidnapped citizens. Dozens of them."
But what Grathe couldn't see, Liliya could.
To him, the scene wasn't just cages and prisoners.
Floating above every head… were red flags. Crimson and ghostly.
A silent warning.
"Is this… all because of that shadow?" Liliya murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
In the back of his mind, the image of the one-eyed shadow began to stir again, slithering, watching.
Pugnacious thoughts began to spiral through Grathe's mind, each one more urgent than the last.
"We have to help them…quickly." He said, his voice sharp with fury, eyes burning with unwavering resolve.