Chapter 325
Beautiful
IAM carefully wiped down KASSARA, making sure there was no blood or other bodily fluids staining its surface.
After all, not only was it a mech Raj had made for him, he had grown unexpectedly attached to it through constant practice. Hours spent refining his aim, adjusting his understanding of the Mech and learning about it—the more his skill improved, the closer he felt to it.
It was difficult to describe.
But it had always felt like it belonged to him. Like it had always been his. A part of him.
He couldn't shake the feeling of… and even he felt ridiculous admitting it… something almost consubstantial between them. As if they shared the same substance. The same essence.
One and the same.
Yeah, yeah… he definitely sounded like a weirdo for thinking like that.
But the feeling persisted.
It wasn't the same kind of emotion he felt toward a certain person with a red car — that was something else entirely. Something far more abstruse and difficult to put into words. This was different...
He slid KASSARA back into its holster on his right hip and refocused on his surroundings as he resumed walking.
After the last incident, he might need to be bolder. The noise from the gunfire could attract unwanted guests, and he had wasted precious ammunition that would be needed later.
He needed to take a small risk.
So far, he had avoided loud or dangerous disturbances, but perhaps now he had to move toward one instead. Maybe he'd get lucky and find one of his friends — or at least someone willing to cooperate. If he kept avoiding everything, he would accomplish nothing.
Time was also critical.
He couldn't allow more people to die. The fewer participants remained, the more difficult this trial would become.
Suddenly, his eyes caught something.
?
From a distance, near a particularly large tree, he could see a faint strip of black shifting slightly in the air.
He approached cautiously until he could confirm what he was seeing.
It was a black flag.
One of the black flags the woman had mentioned.
Even with his theory in mind, he still wasn't entirely sure what purpose they served.
Which begged the question —
Should he take it?
First of all, would he even be able to keep it? Many others would definitely want one, and they wouldn't hesitate to fight him for it — to the death if necessary. That wouldn't benefit him either way.
If he lost, he would most likely die and fail the trial. If he won, he would be forced to kill them, something he didn't want to do. Either outcome tasted bitter.It was a lose-lose situation.
There was also the simple fact that he didn't fully understand what the black flag would be used for. Was it really worth the risk? How could it help him move closer to his goals? Without clarity, taking it felt reckless.
On the other hand, it could serve as a bargaining chip. Something valuable enough to trade in exchange for cooperation. A stranger might be more inclined to help him if he offered it up.
Or perhaps its uses were extremely important, and he would regret not picking it up — only to watch someone else claim it and gain an advantage he could have had.
Reuel and the others had told him about the black flags before. They had explained the benefits, and he had even heard fragments of information from the academy staff member who had later turned out to be some sort of assistant to The Flame.
But this was a different trial.
He doubted the circumstances would be identical.
All he could do was weigh risk against reward. This could be a game-changing piece. His decision here might shape everything that followed.
A minute passed.
Then another.
Just as he reached a conclusion—
A violent whoosh of wind sliced past his right cheek.
A sword flashed by his face and embedded itself deep into a tree with a thunderous crack.
Pinned to it was a deadline creature.
It resembled a grotesque bowling ball sprouting thick, muscular legs and oversized claws nearly five times the size of its body. Its rocky brown surface was crisscrossed with thin fractures, all radiating from the point where the blade had pierced straight through its chest. The cracks widened slowly, faint dust spilling from them as the creature gave a final twitch before going still.
IAM's eyes narrowed at the sight. He quickly turned around, scanning his surroundings — but there was no one there...
He glanced back at the creature. It was unquestionably dead.
His gaze shifted to the sword.
This...?
Before the thought could fully form, the sword began to tremble.
At first it was subtle—a faint quiver running along the length of the blade, almost imperceptible unless one was staring directly at it. Then, without warning, the vibration intensified. The steel shook with a sharp metallic resonance, a high, ringing hum that cut through the quiet like glass scraping against glass. The sound wasn't loud, yet it carried an unnatural clarity that made it impossible to ignore.
The point of impact where the blade had pierced through the rocky creature and into the tree began to crack further under the strain. Fine splinters broke loose from the bark, falling in small bursts. Dust trickled from the creature's fractured shell as the embedded blade oscillated rapidly, each tremor sending tiny shockwaves through the trunk. The surrounding leaves rustled faintly, not from wind, but from the vibration traveling up the tree's spine.
It almost seemed alive.
IAM watched it for a few seconds, before he tilted his head slightly as he observed the movement. It seemed to be… stuck. The creature's rocky hide combined with the tree trunk had wedged the blade firmly in place.
He stepped closer, grabbed the hilt, and pulled. The sword vibrated harder but didn't move. He pulled again with more force. Still nothing.
Planting his right foot against the tree, he took a deep breath and yanked with all his strength. With a sharp metallic zing, the blade tore free from the creature and tree alike, the sudden release sending a jolt up IAM's arm. For a fraction of a second, it followed the natural motion of being freed — angled downward, gravity ready to reclaim it.
And then something surreal happened.
It never fell.
Instead, the blade halted mid-descent. Not gradually. Not with hesitation. It simply… stopped. Suspended in the open air as though the world itself had paused to accommodate it.
There were no strings or a man in a green suit. It simply hovered there, perfectly upright, rotating ever so slightly as if adjusting its balance. Light ran cleanly along its edge, glinting across steel while the forest around it seemed suddenly distant and muted.
For that single second, the moment stretched thin. The impossible sight pressed against reality itself. A weapon that should have clattered uselessly to the ground instead hovered in absolute defiance of nature.
Then, without warning, it tilted—hilt snapping in a direction —and shot backward at an overwhelming speed, vanishing in a blur before the sound of its departure could even catch up.
IAM stood in silence for a brief moment, assessing his options.
Then he began running after it.
Away from the black flag.
Because he recognized that sword. And it belonged to a very specific person.