An invisible seed of information pierced through the barrier of the world.
It finally took shape in a medieval world filled with the stench of rust and dried blood.
Ian's consciousness awakened.
He stood naked on a muddy battlefield, his feet stepping on cold armor fragments and the broken bones of unknown victims.
A unique "fragrance" permeated the air.
It was the cries of despair, the struggles before death, the agony of faint hope being crushed, and the yearning of mortals praying to the gods.
If these intensely extreme emotional fluctuations were placed in the Jujutsu Kaisen world, they would be the ultimate "delicacy" for cursed spirits.
He ignored the silhouette of the magnificent castle at the end of the horizon, and had even less interest in exploring the conflicts of this land.
He grinned. Following his usual "vacation habit," he needed to replenish enough energy for himself first.
Ian lifted his foot and lightly stomped on the hard ground beneath him.
Boom!
The earth crumbled like a fragile biscuit, and a bottomless pit appeared out of thin air.
Without a shred of hesitation, he leaped into it, his figure instantly swallowed by the endless darkness.
The inexhaustible matter of the planet's core was rapidly broken down into an astronomical amount of EMC by the Transmutation Tablet.
Ian floated within the golden-red molten core, feeling unprecedented satisfaction and power.
Now, he was capable of doing whatever he wanted in this world.
On his way back to the surface, his massive divine sense spread like an invisible spider web, instantly covering the entire continent.
Countless intense emotional fluctuations, exceptionally bright like lighthouses in the dark, were clearly captured by him.
One particular emotion was especially complex.
It was a mixture of insignificant hope, burning loyalty, and an unsettling undercurrent of despair and agony.
"Oh?" Ian murmured, his interest piqued.
He precisely directed his attention to the source of that emotion.
The Kingdom of Midland, the underground water dungeon of Wyndham Castle.
There, the remnants of a group known as the Band of the Hawk were preparing to rescue their commander, whom they once worshipped like a god.
"Isn't this the famous scene right before Griffith sacrifices the Band of the Hawk?" he mused.
Ian decided to get a close-up view of this impending tragedy.
His figure silently phased through the thick rock layers and the castle's foundation, like a ghost, a behind-the-scenes spectator who had settled on the best viewing spot.
Meanwhile, a burly man carrying the massive Dragon Slayer sword was leading a few companions. With the help of Princess Charlotte, they opened the secret passage leading deep into the dungeon.
He was the Raiders Captain of the Band of the Hawk, Guts.
Beside him were the female commander Casca, Judeau, and other core members.
The deeper they went into the dungeon, the heavier the stench of rot, excrement, and despair became in the air.
The cold, damp air seemed to seep into their bones, weighing heavily on everyone's hearts as an ominous premonition loomed over them.
Finally, they reached the deepest part of the dungeon.
Flickering torchlight illuminated the huddled object in the corner, barely recognizable as human.
When the torchlight fully revealed that face, Casca almost screamed, but she clamped her hands over her mouth at the last second. Only muffled sobs leaked through her fingers.
The once imperious Griffith, as beautiful as a god and known as the White Hawk, had now been reduced to a living corpse.
His tongue had been torn out.
The tendons in his arms and legs had been completely severed.
His body was severely emaciated from prolonged torture and malnutrition, his skin covered in festering wounds and filth.
Now, the only things he could move on his entire body were his hollow eyes.
He stared numbly into the dark corner.
The members of the Band of the Hawk stood frozen in place.
They saw Griffith—the man they had fought for, sacrificed for, and revered as their faith—reduced to a state where even squirming was incredibly difficult.
At that moment, a crack formed in their indestructible faith.
Guts was the first to rush forward.
With trembling hands covered in blood and scars, he gently scooped up the practically weightless body.
He didn't say a word.
But the fury and agony burning in his eyes were enough to incinerate everything in sight.
The group carried the crippled Griffith and retraced their steps.
No one spoke along the way.
The atmosphere was suffocatingly oppressive, with only heavy breathing and footsteps echoing through the gloomy passages.
When they finally brought Griffith out of the dungeon and back to the surface...
...the eagerly waiting soldiers saw the current miserable state of their commander, their former White Guardian. Their expressions instantly shifted from anticipation to bewilderment, then to a loss for words, and finally to silent shock.
Once, the gazes directed at Griffith were filled with fanaticism and adoration.
Now, those same gazes were filled with sympathy and pity.
There was even a trace of disappointment and disgust that they themselves hadn't realized.
Griffith could neither speak nor move.
But his hollow eyes could understand it all.
He could clearly feel the shift in those gazes.
This psychological torture was far more agonizing than any physical punishment in the dungeon.
It was the sound of his dignity being utterly shattered.
Whoosh—!
Suddenly, an arrow streaked past.
Wyndham's pursuers had arrived, led by the notoriously fierce commander of the Purple Rhino Knights.
Guts knew he had to stand at the front to buy his comrades time to escape.
He carefully handed the frail Griffith over to Casca.
Then, all by himself, he hoisted the massive Dragon Slayer sword.
Wielding the greatsword, he charged into the pursuers' airtight formation like a black whirlwind of death.
At this moment, he was a pure beast.
Every swing of the massive blade sent severed limbs and a scalding rain of blood flying into the air.
Steel-forged armor, heavy shields, and highly trained flesh and blood made no difference against that terrifying greatsword.
Single-handedly, Guts forcefully tore a bloody gap through the pursuers' front line.
He bought precious time for the Band of the Hawk's retreat.
However, he was not a god after all.
Dozens of sharp arrows pierced his body, turning him into a bloody pincushion.
Countless swords and blades left bone-deep gashes across his flesh.
After confirming that all his comrades had safely retreated...
...Guts also began to fight his way back. Finally, upon seeing Casca returning to rescue him...
...the nerve he had kept taut this entire time finally relaxed.
Due to severe blood loss, Guts's vision went black, unable to hold on any longer.
His burly body collapsed heavily into the pool of blood he had created from the corpses of his enemies, completely losing consciousness.