Harian thought back to that day and felt a faint smile tug at his lips. Back then, the way he saw George had been completely different from how the world saw him. They were both beaten badly, their bodies thrown aside like trash, lying on the cold ground with pain tearing through every inch of them. And yet, the one who truly broke that day wasn't either of them.
It was Saffron.
The smug confidence that had been plastered across the noble brat's face earlier vanished the moment George looked at him. George didn't shout. He didn't move. He simply stared dead in the eyes, unblinking. Something about that gaze shattered Saffron's courage. His face went pale, his breath hitched, and then he ran. He fled with his remaining goons, stumbling through the alleyways, piss soaking through his trousers as panic overtook him.
Harian and George were left behind.
They lay slumped on the ground, staring up at the open sky, breathing heavily. Every breath hurt. Their muscles screamed, their bones ached, and blood still dripped from their wounds. But despite all that, Harian turned his head toward George and grinned wide and shameless, even with a split lip and bruised face.
"My name's Harian," he said casually.
George turned his head slightly, surprised. Before he could even ask why Harian had stepped in, Harian continued, his grin widening.
"And if you're wondering why I did that, it's because I wanted to. I can't stand smug assholes like him."
George stared at him for a moment, then let out a weak chuckle. He understood. He really did.
"I'm George, just George."
"Just George, huh?" Harian repeated, amused.
He lifted his hand slightly and tapped his knuckles against George's. George smiled and returned the gesture.
Harian laughed. "We really showed those arrogant punks, didn't we?"
George laughed too, the sound rough but genuine. "Yeah. I can still smell his piss from here."
Their laughter echoed softly through the alley as they lay there, broken and bruised, the pain still very real but for that moment, it didn't matter.
Harian stood in the middle of the forest, facing a stunned Sparrow and a shaken Muliad. The air around him hummed softly as essence gathered toward his body, pulling at the world itself. Leaves drifted down in slow, quiet spirals, brushing the ground as if the forest was holding its breath and despite everything happening in front of him, Harian's thoughts drifted elsewhere.
To George.
This was the place. In his previous life, this was where George had died. This was where his journey had truly begun standing over his best friend's broken body, too late to change anything.
George had never changed. Unlike Harian, George's heart had always been simple and unwavering. He knew exactly what he was and what he stood for. He could not tolerate injustice, no matter the cost. From the day in the alley, when they were both beaten and broken, George had stayed the same. He had always stood beside Harian, never once turning away.
Harian wanted to become a villain because he believed that was what the world deserved.
But George was nothing like him.
George was a true warrior, bound by his ideals rather than ambition. Strong in a way Harian never was. In another world, in another story, people would have called George a hero.
Harian's grin finally faded. He lifted his fav slightly forward and spoke, his voice low and cold as it reached Sparrow.
"I don't have time for your petty games."
The words carried weight. His eyes were no longer playful or mocking they were sharp, murderous. The change was immediate and suffocating. Even Muliad felt it.
He had seen Harian laugh in the face of death, grin while bleeding, joke while standing against monsters. But this was different. The manic boy who smiled through chaos was gone. In his place stood something else entirely. A cold, silent predator.
Sparrow snapped out of his trance of fear and awe, gritting his teeth as his eyes burned red. His already ugly face twisted into something even more hideous as he thrust out his palm, instinctively trying to summon Vel once more.
"You can't," Harian said calmly as he stepped closer.
The half-formed spear of wind shattered mid-creation, bursting apart like mist scattered by a sudden gale. It vanished completely.
Sparrow panicked. He cursed under his breath, his heart hammering as he stared at his empty hand. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Harian continued walking toward him, unhurried. The essence around his body hummed and condensed, distorting the air itself. "A fake legendary weapon can only last for so long," he said slowly, almost casually, as if explaining something obvious.
"That's impossible," Sparrow snapped, his voice cracking despite himself. His eyes widened in disbelief. How could this boy possibly know that? No one was supposed to know. The realization sent a chill down his spine.
Harian drew closer, and the pressure grew heavier with every step. Sparrow's breath turned shallow. The fear clawing at his chest was unfamiliar no, that wasn't true. He had felt this once before.
From Wyre.
From the storm essence user. His master. The wandering grand knight. The same suffocating presence. The same feeling of standing before something far beyond his reach.
Sparrow swallowed hard, sweat rolling down his temple, but he clenched his jaw and refused to back down. Even without Vel, he still had options. If he couldn't summon the spear, he would rely on pure wind normal wind spears, formed faster, sharper, lethal enough to kill. His hand tightened as he gathered essence again He would attack with speed.
And so he did exactly that. Sparrow gathered whatever essence he could muster and manifested it into sharp wind spears, forming them almost instantly before hurling them forward in rapid succession. The force behind them was terrifying, the speed brutal, more than a dozen spears screaming through the air straight toward Harian. As they closed the distance, Sparrow's lips curled into a victorious grin. He was a divine knight, a wielder of wind essence. Attacks like these had slaughtered countless enemies before. No matter who stood in their path, this should have been enough to kill them.
Yet something outrageous unfolded before his eyes.
Harian did not dodge. He did not block. He simply raised his hand.
The wind spears vanished.
Not deflected. Not shattered. They disappeared as if they had never existed, the essence dissipating into nothingness. The air fell unnaturally still, and everyone present felt it at the same time the pressure, the pull, the way the surrounding essence was being drawn inward. What made it even worse was that Harian's presence didn't weaken from this exchange. It grew heavier, denser, stronger, as if consuming what had just been thrown at him.
Sparrow's grin died on his face. His breath hitched, and cold fear crawled up his spine.
He had not expected this.
He had not expected to encounter a monster like this in the forest.