Chapter 20
Warm smile
The clash resounded in the air like metallic thunder. The blade intercepted the cryptid's strike head-on, and for a moment, Laios thought he could withstand it.
Clang…
The sound stretched, echoing in his ears as if time itself had slowed down.
Laios's eyes flew wide open. His breath caught. The sword trembled in his hands as if it were made of butter, and in the blink of an eye… the metal began to bend. It didn't chip or break; it warped as though it were a piece of cheap plastic crushed by an implacable force.
"—!"
His expression shifted sharply, from concentration to frozen terror. The veins in his arms bulged as he tried to resist, but he knew it was useless. The monster's strength wasn't just brutal, it was ridiculous.
And then, against his will, a laugh slipped through his clenched teeth.
"Ha… ha…" It was brief, nervous, almost a sigh.
Because he understood what was coming. The sword was no longer a shield, barely a bent toy, and the shadow of the cryptid advanced beyond the steel, covering him like a wave he couldn't stop.
The bent blade sank toward him, vibrating, and the monster's weight pushed him back.
BAM!
The dry crash tore through the hall like thunder.
It echoed through the chamber. The cryptid's blow smashed into Laios's chest, straight into his ribcage, caving it in.
For an instant, he thought his defense had done something—he barely caught the reddish flash of his own aura reacting across his chest, believing the sword had absorbed part of the impact.
But no… His body jolted violently.
The monster ripped through the metal, snapping it in half with a muffled crack.
It ripped through the aura as if it offered no resistance. As if it were passing through a viscous veil.
A searing pain tore through him, a burning that stole the air from his lungs in a strangled scream.
"Ghhhk—"
Laios's vision turned red in an instant. Blood burst from his mouth in a violent spray, splattering the air like a dark geyser. His body arched back, his ribs cracking like dry branches under the monster's fist. His ears rang, deafening.
His hands, unable to hold on any longer, let go of what little remained of the sword. The fragments fell to the ground, bouncing uselessly.
Everything inside him screamed not to give up, to move… but the blow pinned him down, lifting him in slow motion, trapped in a wave of paralyzing pain.
BAM!
A second crash shook the grand hall. This time it wasn't the impact to his chest, but Laios's body being hurled like a projectile.
His back arched and, with no resistance, he was flung through the air.
From the officer's and the burly man's perspective, the scene was horror in slow motion: their comrade flying across the hall, blood tracing a crimson line suspended behind him like a macabre trail.
Both men's eyes widened to the fullest. The officer barely managed a ragged gasp, while the burly man clenched his teeth in fury, powerless as Laios's body carved an arc through the air.
BAM!
The third crash shook the air violently. The red doors at the back exploded outward, torn from their frame as Laios's body slammed into them.
He burst through both panels with brutal force, his body shattering the wood as the echo roared like a cannon blast and the doors flew apart to either side.
The impact hurled him straight outside.
The rain greeted him instantly, drenching him in seconds. His body struck the ship's deck with a dull thud, bounced once, and slid several meters across the wet wood, leaving behind a trail of blood mingled with the stormwater that swirled in rivulets. Until at last his body stopped, unmoving.
The rain. Cold, relentless, soaked him as he lay on his back, chest caved in, vision blurred by water and pain, gasping through red bubbles that mixed with the rain.
Every drop striking his skin felt like a reminder that he was still conscious, though he could barely sense it.
The sky was overcast, streaked with lightning that lit the scene in white flashes. The roar of the sea rose, joining the thunder of the storm.
"Hah… ahh…" Laios barely dragged air into his lungs. Each attempt was a knife stabbing in and out of his crushed chest.
The metallic taste filled his mouth, coated his throat. Blood pooled, making it harder to breathe, as if he were drowning inside his own body.
His eyes, bloodshot and streaming with involuntary tears, could hardly focus. The sky above him was only a dark blur cut through by rain. Was it clear? Was it cloudy? He couldn't tell.
Maybe cloudy… yes, that's where the rain comes from.
"Hah… ahh…" he repeated, his chest convulsing.
The thought returned to the split second before the impact, when things might have been different.
"That thing… good thing I blocked with the sword…" He coughed violently, two wet hacks that shook his whole body.
"T-off… toff… That thing was going to stab me with its claws, but the sword bent… bent at a low angle, forcing its fingers… turning the attack into an improvised punch. But… how can a sword bend like that?"
"Was it bad quality…? Or is that thing just too strong?"
He lay still for a few seconds, the rain striking his face, until another thought slipped in, bitter.
"Would it have been better to dodge?"
The cold sensation of the water sliding over his skin pulled him out of the tangle of thoughts. It was icy, but comforting.
"The rain feels… so good…" he murmured, and a broken smile traced his bloodied face. A brief, cracked laugh escaped him.
"Ha… ha…"
The storm bathed him, as if everything else—the blood, the pain, the beast behind—were far away.
Whispers…
—
Whispers…
—
Whispers…
The sound was faint, almost soothing, like a murmur carried by the wind and blended with the rain.
"Whispers…?" Laios barely moved his lips, his voice more breath than sound.
His weary mind searched for a source. Where were they coming from?… Were there more survivors?
"Hah… ahh…"
"Ha… ha…"
A spark of relief flickered in his thoughts, drowned by the blood in his throat.
"Good… that more… remain…"
His reddened eyes stayed fixed on the sky. All he could see were shades of red—the blood blurring his sight, the storm distorted in crimson shadows. Lightning streaked across the heavens like open wounds on a dark canvas.
And then, the red was interrupted.
A silhouette leaned over him, blocking the sky. A figure outlined by the rain, diffuse, its features unclear at first.
Laios's barely functioning heart pounded violently, confused. Afraid of the sudden appearance.
He couldn't tell if it was an ally who had reached him… or the shadow of the monster itself.
The figure leaned closer and closer.
Lightning.
The sky split with a white flash, illuminating the entire deck for an instant. In that blink of clarity, Laios caught a glimpse of the face before him.
"…Jenna?" he whispered. Barely a thread of air, voiceless, but his lips formed the name. His chest, sunken and broken, rose and fell in a spasm as he spoke it.
The brown-haired girl smiled. It was a warm smile, the same one he remembered, and she leaned further, reaching out a delicate hand to touch his face.
Relief flooded him at once. The pain, the cold, the blood: all of it seemed to fade in a second.
But…
Something was off.
Even with clouded, bloodshot eyes—even through scarlet-tinged vision—he noticed. The rain still fell without pause, drenching the deck, soaking his body and the world around him. But she… she wasn't wet. Not a single drop touched her. Her brown hair remained intact, her clothes dry, as if the storm ignored her completely.
A shiver, different from the cold, ran down Laios's body.
But… he didn't care.
"If I can see you one last time… I don't care even if you're a Demon King."
Lightning.
Another flash split the sky, and now the figure was standing.
With breath growing weaker, Laios held the figure's gaze. And with a faint smile on his bloodied lips, he thought:
"Well… nice… last… hallucination."
The figure rose with an imposing calm.
Laios could barely follow with his eyes. Heavy, glassy, they dragged downward, trying to focus. He wanted to know what he was really looking at.
The silhouette that once seemed familiar had shifted. Now it was a woman draped in dark cloth, covered from head to toe. No visible face, no discernible age. Only a human outline, feminine, suggested by the faintest curves escaping the shrouding fabric.
She stood beside him, still, her hands resting one over the other before her abdomen. Her posture was rigid but not threatening, and yet there was something solemn in the way she inclined her torso slightly toward him, as if watching his final moments.
The distant roar of the cryptid, the crash of the sea, the storm itself… all seemed to fade away then.
And soft, yet firm, words came from the figure.
The voice was neither young nor old. It was timeless, resonating more in Laios's chest than in his ears, as if seeping directly into his bones.
"That is all, Marked of the Chariot."
The voice struck like an inescapable verdict, gentle yet heavy.
"Our Emperor expected more of you."
Laios could hardly react; his breath was ragged, his body trembling under the rain, and yet those words pierced him like another wound.
The woman slowly parted her hands, each movement measured, almost ritualistic. She raised them with solemn grace to her veiled face. For a moment she stayed still, as if savoring it, then pulled back the dark fabric.
"I expected more from you."
The veil slipped, and lightning revealed her true face.
A fine-boned visage emerged beneath the storm, pale skin lit by the flash. Her eyes were crystalline blue, so intense they seemed to pierce the darkness itself. Stray strands of grayish, almost white hair slipped free of the cloth, gleaming like silver in the rain.
The sight was so clear, so vivid, it stole his breath away.
Laios, half-sunken in his own pool of blood, could barely focus—but that revelation marked him deeper than the pain in his chest.