77 Chapter 77
We walked for a while. Neither of us said anything.
Liraya finally broke the silence. "You always this calm after something like that?"
"Calm?" I said. "No. Just used to it."
"Used to killing-"
"…To people forcing me to."
She frowned. "You don't have to answer like that."
"Then stop asking like that."
Her mouth tightened, but she didn't back off. "I just want to understand you."
I glanced at her, quiet for a moment. "…Why?"
"Because you haven't let me in," she said. "You walk around like nothing can touch you, but I saw it. Back there. You weren't just angry—you were… hurt."
I looked forward again. "You see too much."
"I notice what you try to hide."
That got a small exhale out of me, not quite a laugh. "You'd get along with Serenia."
She blinked. "Serenia?"
"My sister."
The words came out slower. "She used to say the same thing."
Liraya's tone softened. "Where is she now?"
I didn't answer right away. "Gone," I said finally. "At least… the version of her I remember is."
She waited, patient.
"She believed in me when I didn't deserve it. When I was nothing but rage and ruin. Said I wasn't meant to be what the world made me."
I paused. "She never understood that sometimes, you have to become the monster to stop worse ones."
Liraya shook her head. "Maybe she did. Maybe she just didn't want to lose you to it."
I didn't respond. My hand twitched, remembering the warmth that used to pull me back when everything else pushed me down.
"She sounds like someone worth remembering," Liraya said softly.
"She was."
I looked down, voice lower. "She still is."
For a while, neither of us spoke again. The quiet wasn't empty—it carried weight. Her words about Serenia hung somewhere between us, too fragile to touch.
After a minute, Liraya's voice broke through again. "You talk about her like she's still here."
"In a way-" I said. "She's the reason I still draw lines at all."
Liraya tilted her head. "Lines?"
"The kind that keep me from turning into what I hunt."
She looked at me for a long moment. "You think she'd be proud of that?"
I breathed out slowly. "No. She'd tell me I'm lying to myself. That I already crossed it."
Liraya's eyes softened. "And do you think she'd be wrong?"
I hesitated. "…Doesn't matter what I think. What's done is done."
She sighed through her nose. "You talk like someone who's already decided how the rest of his story ends."
"Maybe I have."
Her steps slowed, the space between us widening a little. "You really believe that? That people can't change once they've seen too much?"
"I think change is easy," I said, my tone quiet but sharp. "Keeping humanity after it—that's the hard part."
She watched me as I said it, her expression unreadable. There was something in her eyes—pity, maybe, or understanding. I couldn't tell which one I hated more.
"Serenia must've loved you a lot," she said finally.
I didn't look at her. "Yeah. More than I ever earned."
The silence that followed was softer this time. Not heavy. Just… still.
Then, quietly, Liraya said, "For what it's worth… she'd be glad you're still trying."
I stopped walking for a second, the words cutting through me sharper than I expected. I didn't answer her—not with words. Just nodded once and kept going.
Liraya moved ahead, her posture different now—more assertive, almost protective.
"You don't have to keep carrying it alone," she said, not turning back.
"Carrying what?"
"The guilt."
I gave her a flat look. "You think you've known me long enough to say that?"
"No," she said. "But you talk like someone who wants to be forgiven for something he'd do again."
"…Maybe I would."
Her expression flickered, but she didn't press further. The air between us felt heavier, like the quiet before thunder.
We reached a broken archway—half-buried in stone and vines. She raised a hand. "Stay here," she said. "I'll check ahead."
"Liraya—"
She was already moving. Confident. Sharp. Too sharp.
I waited. The mist rolled again.
Something was wrong.
The air changed—pressure building, like the atmosphere itself drew in a breath.
Then the faintest sound—metal sliding against air.
Shkk—
Pain flared. My cloak split cleanly across the back, fabric tearing open as I pivoted. The world narrowed into instinct. Durandal was in my hand before I realized it.
A shape stood behind me. Tall. Composed. Silver and white armor catching fragments of the dim light. No crest. No words. Just presence.
Liraya's voice broke from the fog. "Aruno—!"
The figure didn't look at her. His gaze was locked on me, steady and cold.
"Your reactions," he said, voice calm, almost analytical. "Better than expected."
I narrowed my eyes. "Who the hell are you?"
He didn't answer. Just lowered his sword in a slow, deliberate motion.
I could feel it—something divine leaking from him, restrained but suffocating. Like standing near a dying star pretending to sleep.
Liraya took a step closer, hand at her blade. "He's not human…"
"No," I said, quietly. "He's something else."
The armored man tilted his head slightly, almost curious. "Not often I'm told that by prey."
"Prey?"
He moved.
A blur of white light and weight. Durandal caught the strike just in time, the impact splitting the mist and cracking the stone beneath our feet. I felt my knees buckle slightly. He wasn't overwhelming in raw strength—but precise. Every swing aimed to kill, not waste effort.
Liraya drew her weapon, stepping forward. "Aruno!"
"Stay back!" I snapped, shoving against the next hit. Sparks scattered. The rhythm of his strikes was surgical—fast, exact, silent.
Whoever he was, he wasn't here to test me. He was here to erase me.