Rod hadn't slept that well in ages.When he finally woke, he felt light, clear-headed—almost… energized.
"Alright. This time, I'm putting this thing together."
He rubbed his hands, sat at the desk, and began reassembling the strange gun.
Minutes passed. Then hours.And still no success.
The thing was far more complicated than he'd imagined. Unlike conventional firearms, it had parts he didn't recognize—some almost alive—and he didn't dare force anything.One wrong twist and the whole weapon could be ruined.
Still, engineering was universal.And boys, by nature, are born tinkerers.
Rod had spent half his childhood taking apart radios, model bots, and air rifles; this was his element.
"No, this inner bolt shouldn't go here—it should slide near the air return chamber.""Stock connects below the piston, return spring hooks behind the pressure gauge… that's the gas rod… this should be the firing lever—aha!"
He grinned. "Brilliant design. The soul energy ignites the powder directly. No spark needed. We are the spark."
Once he grasped that principle, progress exploded. His hands blurred; components clicked into place like obedient soldiers.
Moments later, a gleaming Raven-type spirit gun rested on the desk.Not a single piece left over.
"Ha! Got it!"
And then, grinning: "Again."
An hour later, Rod could strip and rebuild it blindfolded.Every spring, every valve—committed to memory.
Only one thing left.Ammunition.
Raven used true-silver rounds. The seven he'd had were long gone.Given what was coming, he'd need at least fifty.
Good news: true-silver rounds weren't restricted. Plenty of shops inside and outside the academy sold them.Bad news: they were pricey—seven silver sox each.
Rod's entire fortune? Forty-two.Enough for six bullets. Six shots. Six seconds.Faster than a one-minute man.
"No way. Not enough."
Luckily, he knew a guy—Greenhair—whose family ran a trade house.Half the merchants on campus owed them favors.
The moment Rod explained, Greenhair puffed out his chest."Say no more, brother. I got you."
A few calls later, he produced two small boxes."Fifty rounds. Don't say I never did anything for you."
Then he leaned in, whispering, "But, seriously—what do you need all this ammo for? You're not planning anything stupid, right? If campus security catches you packing heat, it's not just a fine—they'll expel you.Weapons stay in the training range, got it?"
He wasn't done."Oh, and next time I've got a chance with Professor Karaman, don't butt in again, alright? I could've had a full soul resonance session if you hadn't stolen my slot!"
He launched into a rambling lecture about his "spiritual fusion method"—which sounded suspiciously like voyeurism mixed with daydreaming.
Rod had already tuned out. He grabbed the ammo and bolted.Greenhair stomped his foot furiously."That guy's heartless! Fine! Wayne—let's hit the Fairy Bar."
Back in his dorm, Rod shuttled the gun and ammunition into the dream, one load at a time.When everything was ready, he took a final check—and entered.
The obelisk loomed, its stone slick with flowing gray mist.Blood-red text glowed faintly along its back.
The words "Two Sunsets Remaining" had changed to "One Sunset."
He'd never actually seen a sun in this world, but people still spoke in those old divisions—morning, noon, dusk, night—proof that sunlight had once existed.Before the fog swallowed it whole.
By that logic, the final sunset would end today at dusk—and the Invasion would begin.
Rod pulled out his pocket watch.Midday, Third Bell, Seven Marks.He quickly did the math.Roughly 5:40 p.m. Earth time.Twenty minutes left.
He checked his gear again:Elfgrass Extract, Spirit Tree Dew, Red Ash Powder—all secured.Raven loaded, calibrated.
He fired one test shot into the void.The bullet streaked white, pure energy, and vanished into the mist.It worked perfectly.
He reloaded, took a steadying breath.
Twenty minutes later, dusk arrived.The last sunset.
Rod snapped his watch shut. His pulse quickened.Everything stayed still.
The gray mist still flowed.The pale ground remained silent.The colorless world held its breath.
Until Rod looked up—and saw the horizon.
The distant fog was darkening—rolling, swelling—turning black.
It spread fast, staining the sky like ink in water.The calm shattered.Something terrible was moving closer.
The obelisk flared crimson on its own, no touch needed.The text pulsed rapidly, screaming a silent alarm.
Rod's throat tightened. His hand gripped the gun. Soul energy surged to his fingertips.
Then a shadow stepped out of the black.
And just like that, all fear was gone.Replaced by a cold, lethal calm.
He raised the Raven. His energy gathered faster than ever; the pressure gauge spiked.
But before he could pull the trigger—
A claw the size of a scythe punched through his chest, ripping open his skull.
Pain exploded through his soul.The world twisted, shattered—darkness swallowed him whole.
When he opened his eyes again, he was back in his dorm.Neat bookshelves. Polished wardrobe. Soft light. The faint scent of soap.
Everything looked… exactly the same.
What the hell…?
Confusion lasted half a heartbeat.Then pain struck—blinding, raw, unbearable.
Rod fell from the bed, writhing, mind blanked by agony.He crashed into the chair, flipped the desk. A small green pouch rolled onto his chest.
His scattered mind latched onto one memory—Kashan's voice:
"Hemlock juice—painkiller. I heard you guys—"
Painkiller.
He tore open the pouch with his teeth.The liquid splashed into his mouth, bitter and acidic, burning down his throat.
The sourness jolted him awake.The pain receded—slightly—enough for his thoughts to form again.
He knelt on the floor, gasping like a man returned from hell.Sweat drenched him. His body trembled.But he could think again.
Looking down at his empty hands, he realized—
"I… died?"
Killed in the dream.Returned here.
The throbbing behind his eyes pulsed in waves. Familiar.He'd felt it once before—on his first day in this world—when that black shadow, the Northern Prince, attacked the obelisk.
"Then that thing—the giant wolf—is attacking it now?"
And if the obelisk broke…Would he die for real?
A cold dread crawled up his spine.He didn't waste another second.
Despite the lingering pain, he crossed his thumbs, forming the lightning sigil.Vision blurred; his soul lifted.
He reappeared exactly where he'd fallen.The gun, the ammo, the Red Ash—all scattered at his feet.
The black monster was pounding on the obelisk, fissures webbing across its surface.The stone groaned, ready to collapse.
The pain was sharper now; even the Hemlock couldn't mask it.Rod snatched up the gun. Energy flared.
Bang!
White light burst from the muzzle.The true-silver bullet hit square in the beast's chest, exploding in a shower of starlight—
—and did absolutely nothing.
Then, suddenly—a golden blade of light pierced through the same spot, bursting from within,slicing the creature clean in half.