The black flames spread endlessly, devouring the mansion piece by piece with every passing second. The unbearable heat made their healed wounds throb again—worse than when they were fresh. It felt as if red-hot metal was pressed against their skin—no, even worse than that, whatever pain lies beyond words, that was what they felt.
Selpe stood and moved to a safer distance, where the heat was slightly more bearable. Her heart pounded as her eyes stayed fixed on the burning mansion. A single tear slid down her cheek beneath the mask.
Her eyes widened. She stumbled as she walked, recognizing something—something achingly familiar.
And in that moment, a thought crossed her mind—
'Utopia?'
Utopia, the most ancient organization and the first to ever be founded, and their uniqueness—the legacy they carried—was Xorra's Inferna Noctis.
And after analyzing it, she concluded it was surely Xorra's Inferna Noctis—the Black Flame that burned even the fire itself, that devoured everything it came in contact with. Of course, there was an exception, as there is in everything—the wielder of the Flame had no effect. But if not used cautiously, the wielder could face horrible consequences.
She came to a realization—Ibaan, no, the man who lived inside Ibaan's body acting as him, was actually a Utopian? From more than a thousand years ago? From the Mythic Age too?
The realization hit her deeply. It felt like a lost puppy finally finding its family again..
And genuinely speaking, it all made sense—the dots connected one by one. He already felt familiar to her, reminded her of her long-gone partner, her companion, her loyal blade, her loyal world. It felt as if blossoms had bloomed in her heart and their fragrance spread everywhere. But at the same time, she felt hopeless.
It was truly ironic—she couldn't do what she desired, yet she still wanted to. She buried her feelings deep in her heart, convincing herself to just wait—wait until the right time came, until she met her parents again, until he confronted Qu once more, and until this final cycle ended. She would endure it.
She only had to wait, just wait. But no matter how much she tried to convince herself, the feeling of excitement refused to fade—it only grew stronger. Slowly, she smiled.
Just as the flames roared, devouring every last trace of the mansion, even the Nitrox lid gas was gone—it was clear that the Black Flame would never extinguish itself until it had fully devoured its target.
Then, a figure rose from the burning wreckage and descended onto the ground—a cold greyish mask, a red glove on one hand, and a long sword gripped firmly, its blade wrapped in black fire that flickered like mist, like smoke. The flame blurred the white blade, tracing its edges with a roguish black outline.
It was none other than Ibaan, the Saint of Dusk, the leader of the Servants of Will.
Selpe's eyes lit up, and a smile formed beneath her mask. When she saw the black flame, her hope grew even brighter. Yet, tears of euphoria slipped silently down her face beneath the mask.
All the other Servants of Will felt the weight lift off their shoulders, though none of them truly knew why. They hadn't known their leader long enough, yet they still felt a deep care for him—perhaps it was human nature, or maybe it was what made them different… more humane, more genuine than those filthy bastards who had made the world cruel.
The Saint of Dreams smiled softly and sighed, gently running her hand through the hair of a little boy clinging to her leg, his eyes fixed on the returning leader.
Saint of Dusk, no mere plague, walked forward like a calamity incarnate. He swung the divine sword behind him, and it vanished into the thick air of reality.
*
He looked around at the others and raised an eyebrow.
'They really had a tough battle, I see.'
Even after everything that had happened to him, he smirked beneath his mask. He had been fighting for his life against the leader, while the rest of them were locked in a brutal battle of their own. Yet somehow, they had managed to win. They had wiped out the Iron Knuckles—one of the most dangerous organizations after Sin of Sincerity.
Still, it felt more like a miracle than their own doing. The Iron Knuckles weren't weak enough to be defeated so easily, and yet, they had done it in just a few hours—something that should've been impossible. Ibaan couldn't help but think that maybe it was the Exalted's miracle that kept them out of the gaze of the hidden evil existence. Otherwise, they wouldn't even be standing there.
But still, defeat is defeat, and a win is a win—no matter how it happens.
Ibaan cleared his throat and spoke, "Congratulations on completing our first mission. You all will receive your rewards."
He stepped forward, his eyes landing on the small child. "We'll hand the kid over to an orphanage," he said firmly.
He had already decided this beforehand. For a moment, he had thought about adopting the boy himself, but quickly dismissed the idea—no one outside the Servants of Will knew about the child, and taking him in would risk exposing their identities. He couldn't allow that.
The others nodded in agreement. Yet the Saint of Dreams looked at the boy with a soft gaze, a strange pull in her heart. After a moment of hesitation, she said, "Can I adopt this boy?"
"…" Ibaan and the others froze, lost for words.
'Is she serious? Doesn't she realize adopting him could expose her identity?'
But before anyone could respond, Saint of Dreams continued, "I mean, most of us already know each other's identities, so I don't really care about that. But this child… he needs someone to raise him properly. And after what we saw in there, it's likely his parents are already dead."
They had already shared the cruel truths of the Iron Knuckles among themselves. During the battle, everyone had intentionally revealed their identities—except for Saint of Dawn. To their surprise, they discovered that all of them came from the School of Thoughts and Perseverance, even from the same class. Some had even been close friends, though none dared to speak about it openly now.
'Huh?' Ibaan thought, his expression hidden but his mind uneasy. He felt a faint disappointment—and a sliver of fear. If their identities were tied together, it could eventually raise suspicions about Selpe's true self, and that might bring them unwanted trouble.
Still, he couldn't reject Saint of Dreams' request. So, after a short silence, he simply nodded.
Then, turning to face the group again, he said with a faint smile beneath his mask, "Be prepared for the Sin of Sincerity, it'd be a pitched-battle?"
Ibaan had first thought about carving Servants of Will, but he dropped the idea right away. They were going after the Sin of Sincerity next, and he knew how deadly that group was. They wouldn't ignore the fall of the Iron Knuckles. They would prepare early—and if they sensed a trace of their enemy, they might strike first. And with The Attainers backing them, things could turn lethal fast.
He walked ahead and said, "Anyway, we'll plan things through discussion. Everyone can share their abilities so our teamwork gets better."
The group nodded, but Saint of Compassion raised a hand.
"Sir, since we know each other's identity now, can we act friendly? And… are we going to have a secret base or something?"
Ibaan answered in a calm tone, "No, we won't."
He already had things he needed to do on his own—investigations, tasks, and paths he couldn't share. And more than that, having a base would be too risky. Except for Girinil Forest, there were barely any forests in Sri City. Once people noticed the Iron Knuckles had gone silent—no crimes, no contacts with other parties—the world would start asking questions. And all that had happened within one month. A shared hideout would only expose them faster.
…
Soon, they all separated and went their own ways.
As Ibaan and Selpe walked off, a strange feeling rose in his chest—an excitement building and building.