His sword sliced through—sharp and clean. He dodged a wild swing, sprang, and thrust his sword directly into the mass.
Steel sliced through.
The core cracked.
Then shattered.
A shockwave burst out. The creature screamed—without lungs, but with its own body, as if it was shattering itself.
Reth was hurled back, crashed into the wall, and fell.
He gasped for breath, chest pumping. The monster was disintegrating—folding in upon itself. Its flesh slid into sludge, its bones shattered into scalding dust.
Silence descended.
Only the measured drip of sewer water and the soft hiss of ichor eating stone remained.
Reth stood unsteadily, blood running freely down his arm. His sword tip touched the floor, trembling in his grip.
Behind him, Asthia was slumped against the wall, one hand over her ribs. Her ankle was swelling fast, and her usually sharp expression was dulled by pain.
"You really are reckless," she muttered, voice hoarse. "Dumb, reckless, and bleeding."
He didn't answer.
"You leaped in front of it," she went on, narrowing her eyes. "Ate the hit for me. Do you think that gets you points?"
Nothing was said by him still.
"I didn't need saving" she continued softly. "I needed you alive."
Asthia drew in a soft breath. Her voice, when she spoke, was as arid as before.
"You're still an idiot," she told him.
A small smile found Reth's lips.
Then
An odd warmth unfolded in his chest and flowed into his arm—the one that clasped the sword. A wave of power, dark and frigid, coursed through his veins like a living entity.
Then—
[System Alert: Hostile Entity Defeated – Mana Abomination. EXP Gained: +100]
[Class Evolution Triggered – Suppressed Potential Activated]
[Absorption Event: Corrupted Mana Fragment. New Skill Unlocked – Corrupted Intent Lv. 1]
[Skill Description: — ]
[Class Evolution: Bodyguard Lv. 4 → Black Vow Lv. 1]
[EXP: 0/500]
[Loyalty Sync: +3% with Commander Asthia – 34% Total]
Reth sensed it all at once.
[Skill Description: — Corrupted Intent -
A twisted form of pure will — forged when a person's intent is strong enough to defy death, but no longer pure enough to remain unchanged. Born from loyalty, grief, or rage taken too far, it is intent that has lost its honor, but not its strength.
It does not seek justice.
It does not seek victory.
It seeks only to end what threatens, no matter the cost.
Corrupted Intent turns purpose into a weapon —
Stronger than reason, colder than hate.]
Reth skinned the words, their weight heavy in his throat like metal.
But now was not the time to unpack whatever had just landed deep in his heart.
Later.
Now—blood.
His shoulder was slippery with it, warm and wet. The slash along his bicep had ripped through muscle.
The slash across his side was worse—not deep enough to spill his insides, but deep enough that every breath was agony.
The Toxic Pulse had burned his lungs, leaving a persistent ache in his back, as if he'd breathed in smoke that refused to dissipate.
His left arm was all but useless.
His sight was clearing, but the throbbing in his head made it difficult to know whether he was thinking clearly or simply acting on reflex.
Nonetheless, he coerced a reluctant breath and swung around to Asthia. She remained seated, head thrown back, eyes half-closed but not out. Her breaths were shallow, one hand clutching at her ribs. Her ankle swelled in her boot.
"Still with me?" he asked, voice gentle.
"Not dead," she gritted. "Yet."
He didn't so much as smile, but his look relaxed enough to appear calm. Composed. In control.
As if nothing within him had just changed.
"You always this dramatic after a fight?" he teased.
"Only when stone walls become best friends with my ribs."
He knelt beside her, flinching as his arm complained, and examined her ankle.
"Don't touch it," she warned.
"I won't." His fingers hung close, examining. "You'll have to get it wrapped. Could just be a mild sprain."
"Compared to you, I look untouched."
"Don't flatter me."
She stared at him, her eyes narrowing.
"You're bleeding more than you're letting on."
Reth shrugged with his good shoulder. "Comes with the job."
She didn't press him. Not now. That was one of the things he liked about her—sharp, but never at the wrong time.
"I'll check the perimeter," he said, pushing himself up slowly. His balance faltered. His vision flickered at the edges again.
"Take your time," she murmured, leaning back with a sigh.
Only when her eyes at last closed did Reth move back, moving into the darkness beside a shattered pipe.
He turned his back to her—and opened up to the pain.
Each breath pulled fire over his ribs. His sword arm shook. His shoulder ran with blood, his side growing stickier by the second. The monster's ichor still smoldered weakly where it had spat on his boots and pants—acidic and foul.
No healer would arrive here in time, he grumbled to himself.
And yet—
That sensation.
It seared, mute but constant, in his chest.
Corrupted Intent. A second heartbeat. Black pressure that didn't alleviate the pain—made it irrelevant.
It didn't cure him.
Didn't comfort him.
But made wounds mean nothing.
Like survival wasn't negotiable. Like halting just wasn't a possibility.
He looked at his hand, slick with blood.
"Stronger than reason."
His fingers tightened into a fist.
"Colder than hate."
His breathing leveled out, though his pulse didn't. That second heartbeat lingered.
Reth glanced up, breathed once, and cleaned his blade on his shredded sleeve.
Then, limping, he walked back to Asthia.
She hadn't changed position.
"Aright," he grunted, "Let's out of this sewer before whatever that thing was returns with friends."
Asthia strained up, grunting, one hand clapped to her ribs. The other groped for Reth.
"Come on," she whispered, sliding her arm under his and pulling him across her shoulders.