Consciousness was dragged back by the ability of authority. The spirit that should have been dormant struggled beneath the weight of imagined thoughts.
A voice called out, crying in a strange tongue. A signal began to form through the clanging of metal—like Morse code from somewhere far away.
Something sought to establish communication, strengthening Victor's awareness and preventing it from fading. Once he managed to focus, the vision before him flared back into light.
Victor's body was lifted by a thick hand, veins bulging, squeezing tightly at his throat as the man slid his sword back into its sheath.
A vial of medicine was forced into his mouth, and his body was released, collapsing to his knees in exhaustion.
His torn flesh began stitching itself back together, reshaping into stability. Burnt-black fingers, devoured by a pale inner glow, returned to order as formless chaos reorganized itself. The fatigue and pain did not vanish, but compared to the deadly threat he had just faced, they were nothing.
No reasoning mattered here. No time could be spared for questions.
'I must kill him… or escape as quickly as possible…'
The man exhaled, arrogance flickering in his eyes.
"Are you plotting a way out, or simply thinking of surrendering to death?"
The metallic blade slid free, raised to rest at Victor's throat.
Victor's lips trembled as fear chilled his heart. His strength, once resolute, evaporated like steam.
His heart pounded wildly, as if ready to explode. His hands clutched his chest, but no release came. His mind could not respond to the needs of his failing body.
Terror had rooted itself deep, seizing even the core of authority within him. With no advantage, no superiority to wield, all that awaited him was a more torturous end.
Victor said nothing. His silence only deepened the other man's irritation.
"The one who will drench this land in blood and cause countless deaths—what exactly do you intend?"
Victor raised his head, meeting the man's dark, expressionless gaze. The pressure alone spread from crown to heel. To endure it in silence was all he could manage, clinging to composure.
Though powerless to resist, dying in fear was the most dreadful fate of all.
The blade arced high.
"Then prepare to die, foolish man."
A shadow leapt forward, binding him only briefly. The sword carved through the form of a woman born of darkness, forcing her back into human shape. The blow left her body broken, mangled beyond return.
Selith's head rolled before Victor. Her eyes, frozen wide, stared into his. Her arms and legs were severed, her bare body drenched in intestines spilling into a pool of blood.
Victor clutched her limp form in his arms, her weightless neck hanging back as he looked to the sky. His breathing grew rapid, choking his chest with unbearable weight. He could no longer steady it.
A sob escaped his throat as tears welled. His gaze refused to leave her face. His once-steadfast spirit shattered like brittle glass.
Madness crept in, consuming his reason. His vision burned red, like a hellfire engulfing his flesh.
The cold eyes of the man lingered on Selith's corpse.
"Your turn has come. Speak—what is it you and your kind truly plan?"
The faint whisper of wind swept through the darkened city, lamplight dimmed beneath falling feathers. Selith's lifeless body dissolved back into shadow, drawing the man's attention in every direction.
A pale arm appeared beneath his feet, dragging him and her down into the depths.
'Selith…'
When everything faded, Victor forced himself upright once more, spirit unyielding. He recalled his purpose.
He ran—chasing the glitter of stars above, through the biting wind that roared like crashing waves, carrying the damp scent of rain.
Raindrops lashed against his body.
The road stretched far beyond sight. The port city lay distant, several towns away, unreachable in his state. His legs buckled, forcing him to his knees. He bent forward, gasping, before inhaling sharply and propelling himself forward again, sprinting through crowded streets.
Military trucks sped in pursuit.
Headlights blazed from behind. Dozens of soldiers disembarked and began the chase. Victor darted into a narrow alley.
Rain hammered metal pipes, turning the path treacherous.
Searchlights cut through the gloom. Victor hurled himself through a tight gap between pipes, sliding down with the rushing water.
He emerged onto another street, leaping onto a wagon just as it rolled away. Gasping, he aimed his gun at the driver. The terrified man faced forward, trembling.
Victor pushed the barrel closer, voice ragged.
"Head straight to the port city!"
Through the flapping curtains of the wagon, he saw carts and resource trucks crisscrossing the road, complicating the chase.
Behind him, military headlights flashed across the rain-slick streets. The army had only one effective method left—roadblocks at the outskirts.
Sure enough, the wagon approached a checkpoint. Soldiers stomped through the wet ground, checking each vehicle thoroughly.
But as light shone into Victor's wagon, an officer gestured quickly. Soldiers sealed off the nearby lane, letting this wagon pass without inspection.
Victor stayed silent, watching as soldiers spread their search across every road. District by district, the hunt continued.
Yet thanks to the Revolution's hidden networks, his escape remained possible.
Even so, thoughts of the swordsman haunted him. His body trembled with every recollection. The vividness of that moment replayed before his eyes.
Fear beyond resistance. He did not even know which side that man belonged to.
Selith's face lingered still.
He had never expected this. It was proof that life without supernatural power in this world was fragile.
He clenched his fists, forcing himself onward. But the city's bells rang out across the night, signaling a state of emergency.
Victor knew then: war between the Republic of Ven and the Revolution had truly begun.
At last, the wagon arrived at the docks. Victor dismounted, staring at a grand wooden ship moored in dignity. Its flag was pure white, its hull painted crimson.
A massive explosion rocked a nearby building. Black smoke spread into the stormy night sky.
The great city was falling.
His resolve ended here, as the vessel of the Blood Empire awaited. Forcing his weary body forward, he stepped onto the thick wooden planks of the narrow pier.
A figure appeared behind him.
A man of refined bearing, hair neatly kept, dressed impeccably, his face ageless and calm. A metallic watch glinted in the lantern light.
"So this is your true intent, isn't it?"
Victor turned as the man continued.
"Please… create a land where my sister may live in happiness. And… my daughter as well."
'What do you mean… Oliver?'
The man smiled faintly, then raised a gun to his own head.
The sound froze the moment. His body fell, sinking into the depths below amidst the rain.
On the ship above, a knight in white armor looked down. Blood Empire troops examined Victor as a young noble approached.
"Welcome, revolutionary."
"This is the man we want. Prepare to set sail!"
Victor's limp body was dragged aboard. Silence filled his mind. Thought itself was empty, unreachable.
He stared at the wooden walls of his cabin, waves crashing against the ship as it rocked across the boundless sea—sometimes tilting, sometimes steady.
The echo of heavy metal striking resounded from an unknown source.
Once again, he caught the rhythm of Morse code.
This time, the sound came clearly—from within his own chest.
'The Sky.'
Victor could not comprehend it. He shook the thought away, staring at his own hand.
He pushed open the cabin door, stepping out onto the deck, bathed in the morning sun.
He raised his head.
Above the bright sky, beyond the violet heavens, a figure spread its wings across the thick clouds.
He glimpsed it only for a second.
'Just like… the first day I arrived in this world.'
'A dragon.'
Mist scattered as spray lashed against him.
And through the haze, a vision emerged—a faint silhouette of the mighty Blood Empire's capital city.