The air inside the classic bar grew thicker with faint echoes, as though the laughter and clinking glasses of the past refused to fade away. Kael sat motionless on the cold wooden chair, his body leaning slightly forward, sharp eyes still fixed blankly on the round table where the five black-robed figures had gathered.
The old man with the gray beard—his voice deep yet trembling—spoke again, slower this time.
"You all know… there's a reason our plan failed in the north. It wasn't simply because Tyrak was too strong. There was one… among us who handed over the infiltration route map."
The young woman beside him—her face indistinct, but her thin lips and piercing gaze unmistakable—tapped her finger against the table.
"You're saying… someone from this circle?"
A third voice, an adult man with a cynical edge, let out a short laugh.
"Hah. It's obvious. Who else had full access? There was only one person who ever stood on equal footing with the Commanders—and you know exactly who that was."
The air grew heavy. No one dared to say the name, as if it were too filthy to be spoken aloud.
The old man exhaled deeply, his eyes dull, as though a shred of respect still lingered—unwilling to be completely crushed.
"He… we once called him our protector. Born of the Assassin bloodline itself. Someone who was meant to guard the legacy of our ancestors…"
The young woman let out a sharp breath, lowering her head, her voice bitter.
"And yet… he was the one who sold us out. Bowed to Tyrak, trading honor for absolute power."
Another adult man slammed his fist onto the table.
"Zeth! Commander Zeth! Stop wrapping it up in pretty words. He's a traitor—period!"
The name finally shattered the air, stabbing into Kael's ears like a rusted blade. His breath caught, his heart suddenly weighed down, and his entire body tensed.
A younger man tried to calm the atmosphere, but bitterness still seeped into his voice.
"Getting angry won't change anything. The fact is, without him, Tyrak wouldn't have known our patterns. Every underground route we dug, every network we nurtured… collapsed overnight."
The old man lowered his head, his voice shaking.
"The irony… he was the one who trained Kael with his own hands. Taught him every movement, every blade, every breath in a duel. And now… he's the one who wants most to see Kael brought low."
Silence followed. The creak of a chair sounded unnaturally loud, though no one had moved.
Kael—who had sat there all this time like a mute shadow—finally clenched his knees. His jaw hardened, his brows trembled, and a low sound escaped his throat—almost a whisper, yet boiling with hatred.
…Zeth…
Kael's eyes narrowed, and in that darkness, his uncle's face rose vividly—those hard eyes, the heavy hands that once restrained him in every sparring match, the thin smile he had mistaken for a mentor's pride. All of it now inverted into the face of a traitor.
Then the memories detonated: the clash of blades during duels, the shouts of 'Again, Kael! Again!' that once fueled his drive—now twisting into echoes that spewed nothing but rage.
Kael growled. "I remember everything now… I remember the way you looked at me. And I'll make sure… you'll never be able to hide your face from my blade again."
He rose at once and strode out of the bar, his cloak fluttering lightly as the cold air of the border district assaulted his skin. Because in his mind now, there was only one name, one purpose—finding Zeth.
But the moment his foot touched the main street, he stopped short.
The crowd suddenly swelled, as if the entire district had come back to life solely to block his path. Dozens of holographic figures streamed past, their steps quick, their indistinct faces filled with an oddly synchronized urgency.
A low roar of sound mingled together—hurried conversations, merchants' calls, even the rhythm of synchronized footsteps that turned the street into a rushing river.
Kael narrowed his eyes, standing straight yet tense.
What is this? The street was empty just moments ago… why is it so crowded now? Is the system trying to stop me?
He tried to push through, shoulders brushing against others, but not a single one of them looked his way. As if he were nothing more than a foreign shadow within a current of life that refused to acknowledge him.
In the end, in the middle of that crowd, Kael stopped. His breathing grew heavy, his brows knitting together.
…Where am I supposed to go? Could he… really be here?
Zeth…
As his thoughts tightened, so did his vision. Far ahead, amid the sea of people, there was a single dark point that stood apart.
That figure stood still, unmoving, staring straight at him.
A woman in a plain black robe, long enough to brush the floor. Her face was hidden beneath a dark hood, only strands of pale blond hair spilling out, faintly gleaming beneath the dim red glow of the lamps.
Kael stiffened. His gaze locked onto her.
Not an echo. Not an Assassin either. Who is she? Why is she real… like those in the bar? And why is she the only one looking at me like that?
The crowd around them remained noisy, but between Kael and the woman, time seemed to slow. There was only the long distance separating them—and a silent, piercing gaze.
Kael clenched the edge of his cloak, his jaw tightening.
Are you an enemy? An ally? Or just another shadow trying to ensnare me?
No… that wasn't an ordinary gaze.
A few seconds passed—then the woman suddenly moved. Not toward him, but sideways, slowly, until her figure was swallowed by the crowd.
Kael's eyes widened. His breath caught, his chest pounding faster.
…She vanished? No—she left. She wants me to follow her…?
Kael let out a low growl, then stepped forward without hesitation, forcing his way into the current of people that seemed to grow denser by the second.
Wait…!
Damn it. I'm not letting you disappear like that.I'll see for myself who you really are.
And just like that, Kael's purpose shifted. From the resolve to hunt his uncle, his heart was now pulled toward a new mystery—one that beckoned him away from the current of the past.
Not long after Kael began chasing her—at the very spot where she had been standing—something fell.
A small scrap of black fabric, torn at the edge, lay on the cobblestone road. It wasn't transparent like the other holograms. It didn't fade. It was real—solid—defiantly so, as if challenging this false world.
Kael froze in confusion, then knelt down, his fingers brushing against the cloth.
Instantly, a chill crawled across his palm—not an ordinary cold, but one that stirred faint memories: the metallic scent of training halls, the sound of breath behind walls, whispered strategies he had never forgotten.
His eyes narrowed.
She left this for me? I see… so you really do want me to follow you.
He stood again, fist tightening around the fabric. His gaze pierced through the still-flooding sea of people, searching for the direction the woman had gone.
"Fine," he muttered, his voice low, sharp as a freshly honed blade. "You've called me. Don't blame me when I demand answers."
With resolve no longer clouded by doubt, Kael moved quickly, shoulders colliding with the crowd without care. The market's clamor, the rhythm of footsteps, even the distant cries of holograms—all of it faded from his ears. There was only the image of a black cloak drifting through his mind, and the small token now clenched tightly in his hand.
Kael walked on, his footsteps echoing softly as the stone road narrowed. The city's earlier bustle gradually dissolved, replaced by a suffocating silence. The alley seemed to draw him in deeper—ancient stone walls closing in, streetlights flickering dimly, the air damp and tinged with iron dust.
Suddenly—
Clang!
The sound of metal colliding tore through the air, sharp and violent.
Kael stopped short, his breath hitching. His brows knit together, his ears straining.
That wasn't machinery. Nor the murmur of holograms.
It was a duel—real. The unmistakable ring of blade against blade.
Carefully, Kael advanced step by step.
At the end of the alley, a small open space awaited—dark, encircled by cracked walls, lit only by a pulsing red neon glow.
And there, Kael saw it.
Death.
His eyes flew open. His breath jammed in his throat.
Ahead of him stood a man, tall and unmoving, his body wrapped in a heavy military jacket bearing a worn insignia—yet not a trace of his commanding presence had faded. His face was hidden behind a helmet, a violet visor glowing with a cold light that left no doubt as to who he was.
That man was…
Commander Zeth.
His uncle.
His teacher.
The patriarch of his assassin lineage.
His betrayer.
And before him—another figure, one that made Kael's heart stop for a single, frozen instant.
It was himself.
Kael… from the past.
But his form was nothing more than a white hologram, faint as a lingering memory. And that hologram was now suspended in the air, its body already pierced by a massive sword—a claymore with a long hilt and a thick blade, driven straight through his chest and bursting out his back.
White light scattered like holographic blood.
Kael stood rooted in place, his hands trembling.
"My death… this… back then…?" His voice barely escaped, reduced to a whisper.
Zeth stared straight at Kael's suffering past self, his voice low, unwavering.
"Kael… you were too young to understand. This world cannot be saved with small sacrifices. I chose my own path—a path where only those strong enough get to decide what peace truly means."
The claymore twisted slightly, pressing deeper into the white holographic wound of Kael's past self, making the light-blood spill even more violently.
"That fragment… the Core Command Node. You never even understood its true worth, did you? You carried it like a foolish child guarding a meaningless stone. When in truth, that shard is a key. A path to a new world. And I… I am the one who deserves to possess it."
The hologram of Kael stretched out his hand, roaring—his voice hoarse, like an echo torn straight from Kael's own memories.
"G-gi…ve it… back. Un…cle… Zeth… why…?"
Zeth's purple visor flickered, its glow cruel. His left hand slowly lifted, then opened—and the fragment of the Core Command Node emerged, floating above his palm. Small. Gleaming. Irregular in shape, reflecting a pulsing red light, slow and rhythmic, like a beating heart.
"This… is power I can control. Because only I can change everything. But you? You're nothing more than a brilliant child who was far too naïve. Even Lira… that little girl… she was nothing but a distraction. Sacrificing her was the right choice."
Kael's present-day heart felt as though it stopped. His eyes flew wide open, his body swaying.
"So… it was you…" His voice caught, barely forcing its way out of his throat.
Zeth drove the claymore even deeper. The sound of metal tearing through flesh mixed with shattering light.
"I was the one who ordered them to get rid of her. I was the one who sealed her path… and I will be the one to seal yours as well."
A moment of silence followed—so complete it felt as though the world itself was holding its breath. Then, with a heavier tone, as if crushing every last trace of doubt, Zeth spoke words that struck deeper than any blade.
"I killed you… for the sake of this world."
"Nnngghhh… Zeth…!" the scream finally tore free, his voice breaking, devoured equally by rage and pain.
The claymore pierced all the way through—then, with a brutal swing, Zeth hurled it sideways. The hologram of Kael's past self was flung away, flying violently before slamming into the stone wall with a thunderous crash.
Cracks spread instantly, collapsing half the structure, as if the weight of that body carried a curse of ruin with it.
Dust and stone exploded outward. From within the shattered rubble, Kael's past body was still visible—intact, yet horrifying. His chest was torn wide open, white light-blood pouring out endlessly, like a substance that refused to stop seeping. The body lay limp, half-buried in debris, as if the world itself were trying to bury him alive.
Kael of the present collapsed to his knees. His eyes trembled violently, unable to endure the truth—unable to hear, once more and with such clarity, the sound of that betrayal.
At the far end of the dust-choked alley, Kael's past body did not dissolve into fragments of light. It remained sprawled among the ruins, drenched in glowing fluid that bled like real blood.
His breath was gone, but his trace remained—the trace of a genius child who had once lived, now forcibly brought to an end by the betrayal of his own blood.
Zeth still stood tall in the darkness, his massive claymore embedded in the ground with a heavy, grinding sound. His breathing was calm. The eyes hidden behind the purple visor glinted coldly.
He lowered his head for a brief moment, as if offering respect… then raised his hand high, until the shard's light illuminated his concealed face, casting a terrifying silhouette behind the glowing violet visor. His voice deepened, filled with reverence.
"Behold… this tiny fragment. A small stone deemed insignificant, yet it holds the core of the world itself."
He chuckled softly, gazing at the object as though he were holding the key to heaven.
"With this… the body grows stronger beyond human logic. With this… the mind sharpens beyond a thousand blades. With this… the world will bow—not to outdated laws, not to a fragile council, not to the lies of idealism…"
He clenched his other hand, his voice rising, trembling with fanatical conviction.
"…but to me. To me alone. Zeth, the true successor—the hand that will carve this world anew."
The shard's red light pulsed harder, as if responding to his words. Zeth raised it even higher, his voice shifting, almost like a prayer.
"Hear me, world! I am not a traitor… I am a savior. And this fragment… is proof! The blood of my nephew, the blood of that little girl, the blood of all those I burned and butchered—it is all nothing but a foundation. Sacrifice. A path that must be walked for true peace!"
He paused—then laughed. A long, harsh laugh that echoed through the narrow alley, shaking air already chilled by hatred.
Zeth pressed the fragment to his chest, right over his heart.
"With the Core Command Node… I will tear down the old world, and build a new one that knows only a single ruler. And that… is me. Zeth."
***