Chapter 18
Special Tournament 6
Shiro stared at Myrrh, who was patting the wall, searching for a light switch.
With a puzzled look, Myrrh asked, "Um, Shiro, where are your light switches?"
Shiro scratched the back of his head, a little embarrassed. "Yeah, the room didn't come with one. Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure it's just a storage room. But it came with a white room, so... I took it."
Myrrh burst out laughing. "No problem. Here, let me help with that."
He closed the door behind him, then raised his palm. A black aura twisted around it like a tornado, spiraling faster and faster, catching invisible wind. Then, boom, the energy burst outward, coating the small room in shadows.
Shiro blinked. Even in complete darkness, everything was visible, clear as day.
The floor was a warm coffee brown. The walls, crisp white. To Shiro's side was a beat-up bed; to his left, a small desk with a metallic sphere resting on top. There wasn't enough room to stand comfortably. At the end of a short hallway stood a broken door, dark red, lying flat on the ground. To the right was another door, cracked wide open with a massive hole running through it, revealing a rundown bathroom inside.
Everything was quiet.
Too quiet.
Shiro could feel his heartbeat, but couldn't hear it. The silence was... unnatural.
Wait… this domain feels odd. Too familiar.
No... it can't be.
His chest tightened. He bit his lip.
But he brushed the feeling off. Myrrh was too strong to fight. Too dangerous to provoke.
Myrrh strolled into the room, passing Shiro and sitting on the bed. His usual grin faded, replaced by something colder. Serious.
"Sit down, Shiro. I have a request."
Shiro pulled out the chair by the desk and dropped into it without a word.
Myrrh continued, "That paper you found? It's a cult. A dangerous one. They've been stirring trouble for decades, trouble for us, too. It all started eighty-seven years ago. Back then, they were called The Lost Ones, until another group stole that name. This cult? They're one of the main reasons Legacies are hated."
Shiro blinked. "Wait... hated? Because of them?"
Myrrh nodded. "Fifty years ago, they fought the Legacies and lost. After that, they changed their name to Broken Oaths."
Shiro sat up straighter, eyes wide. "Broken Oaths? They're why we're hated?! C-Can you tell me more? About what they did?"
Myrrh smiled faintly and shook his head. "Sorry, Shiro. I can't."
Then, with a subtle shift in tone, he added, "But... if you follow my request, you might learn more."
Shiro leaned forward, curious. "What is it?"
"The cult is growing," Myrrh said, voice low. "They're getting stronger, too strong. Disasters are happening. Here. In the other worlds too. From what I can guess, they picked you because you're a commoner."
Myrrh's smile darkened. He extended his hand.
"Join this cult. But under my supervision. Find out their plans, every move they make. In return, I'll reward you with money you couldn't even count on your fingers. So, Shiro... do you accept? I'll take you under my wing."
Shiro's jaw dropped. He just stared at him. Then, swipe, he slapped Myrrh's hand away.
"Myrrh! Why would I join a cult?! For what?! To fight my friends? To betray the other Legacies?! Why the hell would you think I'd ever accept something like that?! Only a MORON would agree! Get out of my face!"
His face flushed red with fury, veins popping along his neck.
Myrrh looked down, sighed, then muttered, "You'll join soon."
Without another word, he stood, walked to the door, glanced back once, and closed it behind him.
The domain vanished.
Darkness swallowed the room. Sweat clung to Shiro's face. He dropped back onto the beat-up bed, eyes staring at nothing.
A buzz cut through the silence.
The metal sphere jolted upright, floated toward him, and projected a glowing screen.
Group One has determined their pair
New text flickered in:
Group One pair will be Aurelia and Ash.
Shiro groaned, half-laughing, half-panicking. "I'm so screwed."
The sphere floated back to its spot.
Twack!
A steel humanoid dummy slammed against the floor. In a sterile white room, a girl stood panting—worn down and drenched in sweat.
She had soft pink hair like cherry blossoms and haunting black-gray eyes that looked utterly hollow. She wore a gray blazer and skirt, roughened by battle. Two small black wings with a faint purple glow peeked through holes in the blazer. In her hand was a steel dagger. On her hip: a lantern housing a swirling purple void.
Kaela gasped for breath, eyes locked on the training board.
She tapped a button.
Clank! Clank! Clank!
More steel dummies shot up from the floor.
Kaela took a stance. Pressure loaded into her legs—then she launched forward.
Her dagger sliced clean through the first dummy's neck. Mid-air, she twisted, landed on another, and drove the blade down with relentless stabs. Bloodless—but savage.
She leapt again. The last dummy's head nearly came off as she slashed across its neck.
Panting hard, Kaela dropped to the floor and sighed.
Hours later, Shiro opened his door. The bright hallway light made him squint. He wandered out, walking toward the lunch area, still unsettled by Myrrh's visit.
The hallway was clean, red floors, brown walls. Voices echoed from nearby rooms.
The lunch room was nearly identical to the one at the Academy, but this one had a breathtaking view: all of Korea, spread out below them like a map from the clouds.
Lunch was still absurdly overpriced. Shiro ordered a sandwich anyway.
Where is Luis?
It hit him that he hadn't seen any of his friends in a long time.
Group Two is starting soon…
Sighing, he headed toward the elevator.
"The commoner?"
"Do you think he'll be in Group Three?"
The voices followed him. Whispered mockery. Insults.
Why do they keep going?
He clenched his fists, holding back the anger. If he lashed out now, he'd be disqualified.
He stepped into the elevator.
A blink later, he was teleported to his seat from before. The arena was still mostly empty—he'd arrived early. The color of the environment shifted from a soft pink to a deeper orange.
In the center, a screen flashed repeatedly:
Kaela Raelith vs. Mei Morrin