A chill ran down his spine—his heart shivered—just from what he had seen.
His head spun, and his stomach twisted, bile rising to his throat as if the whole world had tilted apart.
The air was thick with the stench of blood and rusted metal, an unbearable, rotting smell of death.
Every faint sound of the cord cracked the silence.
Dozens of half-alive corpses hung suspended in the air, twitching on their cords—alive yet stripped of their skin, whispering yet almost pleading.
Their eyes were torn from their sockets, their limbs misplaced, rearranged like broken dolls.
The worst part?
Some of the bodies' chests and stomachs were ripped open.
Just a few meters away, a transparent bucket held scattered organs—hearts, lungs, kidneys, and more.
Ibaan's breath caught in his throat.
He whispered, "What the hell…?"
This was what the Iron Knuckles did—and their secret? Committing other crimes was one thing, but this… this was beyond unacceptable. How could they be so cruel, so utterly heartless?
Not even the author of the book had written them to be this monstrous. If the world ever found out, people would either flee the nation or end their lives out of despair.
But whatever it was, he had to stop it. He couldn't just stand by—how could he? He was human, after all. A real human with a pure heart. How could he let such horror continue? He never tolerated crime, not even in his previous world.
And now? His heart burned like hellfire, overflowing with rage.
Just then, before they could act, the door creaked open in the corner of the chamber.
A teenage boy, crying faintly, half-naked, his hands cuffed, stepped in. His body was filled with scars due to harsh torturing. Behind him followed two men wearing gas masks, they had chains in their hands. They looked like Lower Knuckles, but that didn't matter to Ibaan. He didn't stop to think if this was the right time or not—the right time never comes.
He clenched his fist.
Then, thrusting his hand forward toward the two men, a surge of energy burst from his chest, flowing through his arm to his hand. The mark on his skin flared, twitching violently.
*
Selpe's heart pounded the moment she realized—the enemy could regenerate.
And that was troubling. She didn't expect the enemy to have such a power. She had cut his neck completely with the Judgment Sword—yes, she had seen it. But why didn't it work?
The Judgment Sword was her mother's loyal blade, her only living memory of her, her most precious treasure. It could cut anything, at any time.
But now—why did it not work?
And the most difficult part was that she couldn't even use a few of her powers because her companion would find out about her identity. If she used the powers she never had before, she wouldn't be able to use them again while being the real Selpe.
And while using Judgment Step—the power that didn't belong to this world, she didn't really need to summon the sword—the sword became her hand, and her hands acted as the Judgment Sword.
Even so, she had no choice. She had to do it.
Anyways, she had never summoned the Judgment Sword before, but today might be the day she would use it—to deliver judgment of justice, real justice that no one ever did.
The enemy twisted his torso and brought his hand upward.
At that same moment, Selpe noticed the ground trembling beneath her feet.
She stepped back.
The ground trembled again, and a mass of spiked branches burst upward with frightening speed.
Twisting violently, they changed direction and surged toward Selpe, curling as they came.
Meanwhile, the rest of the group stood frozen in awkward silence, watching as if they were mere audience members. But they quickly realized they had to act—if something happened to the Co-Leader, the Leader would definitely get mad and make them cease to exist.
So, at the same time, all of them lunged at the enemy together, thinking that if they ended the source, the tree branch attacks on the Co-Leader would stop.
Selpe noticed the rest of the group engaging too.
They were at the same level as Selpe—she never underestimated them, always thought of them as her equals—but truth be told, she was stronger. They were under the Elite Branch, let alone being Masters. So technically, she was stronger.
'Smart.'
The movement of the branches slightly slowed, and the enemy raised his other hand toward the group, smirking. "Huh? Thanks for making it easy."
'
Suddenly, from the trees, the branches extended from all sides toward them.
But fortunately, the Saint of Compassion jumped, flipped backward, summoned a long red sword, and smirked under the mask.
Then he blurred, his figure splitting into countless afterimages in the air. The sound of steel cutting through branches echoed in the distance.
And just after a few seconds.
He landed on the ground, having cut down all the branches—but they didn't stop. They kept coming again.
The other two, noticing this, were dumbfounded. They stared at him as if recognizing something.
But then they looked ahead and engaged too. They understood teamwork—and how it would work.
The Saint of Compassion would stop the branches from reaching them, and the two would attack the enemy.
And that was exactly what the Saint of Compassion had planned.
Meanwhile, Selpe ran past a small tree, took a turn, and retraced her path toward Shen, the enemy.
She was planning to drain the enemy's energy and attack at the right moment. And the most interesting part was—even if she used her newly gained powers, her energy would be conserved. How? Because she had recently acquired [Mark Energy Conservation].
Before coming, she had already looked into the information of her new skills, and the most suitable power she could use here was [War Authority], which would help her control the surroundings—tangible objects or substances—perhaps even the branches controlled by the enemy. But it would take almost 90% of her energy..
And she didn't really prefer to waste any time.