For a moment all Diego felt was shock. Maru was always there—be it to gloat, mock, or even encourage—but now it felt as though something else was consuming Maru's attention, and that something was not him. It was someone else, probably that exceptional servant capable of wondrous feats. What was his name again? "Frank," yes, Frank. Yet when Diego deciphered this, he realized he had been a fool. For all his careful strategy, he had allowed his emotions to dictate his choices. He should have been thinking about Maru the same way he thought about everyone in the treacherous world of New Darkovia. Instead, he had unknowingly granted Maru special treatment, elevating him to the status of rival, hoping Maru also saw him as his equal. Reality, however, was cruel. Maru had even abandoned his usual laziness and sleepless indulgence because of one seemingly insignificant soul being.
Diego felt compelled to uncover what made this fragile creature so extraordinary, what hidden strength or secret gift Frank possessed that Diego himself did not.
With this subtle realization—that Maru would always be wherever his servant Frank was—Diego resolved to find him. Yet before he could proceed, burdened with thoughts and doubts, a new attacker emerged from the shadows. This time, Diego felt no urgency to craft elaborate strategies or anticipate hidden ploys. Every adversary he had faced so far shared one trait: weakness. None had inflicted meaningful harm. He had even battled two skeleton knights with skill and survived, so what could a single knight possibly do? With dismissive confidence, he swatted his hand, aiming to crush the foe in one blow. But the strike missed its mark. The attack aimed at his chest was a feint, and the knight revealed a second blade, striking with precision and speed.
Diego realized too late. This opponent was faster, sharper, and far more cunning than any he had encountered since entering Maru's castle. It was as if the knight could read his mind, predicting every move before he made it. And then, before Diego could react, the sword plunged deep into his head. With one decisive thrust, the attacker held his life suspended—if the blade were pulled upward, Diego would be finished instantly.
***
As Sebastian thrust his sword into the skull of Diego, he felt great joy and happiness, a triumphant surge of vindication coursing through his veins, as he believed he had finally put a stop to the intruder wreaking havoc in the castle of his master, Maru. He knew his skill, patience, and unwavering discipline had played a decisive role in taking down the enemy in one swift, calculated move. Despite hearing news of the intruder late and racing from the Qanan's household—where he had been investigating Diego—to the castle of Maru with relentless speed, Sebastian still managed to catch the intruder in action. After carefully observing his foe and crafting a plan to deliver a strike that could not be blocked, he chose precision over recklessness, resisting the urge to charge in like a hungry berserker and thereby denying Diego the chance to think or counter.
Because he chose wisely, victory seemed inevitable; his sword was buried deep in Diego's skull, and all that remained was to wrench it free, using the return force to shatter bone and confirm the enemy's destruction.
Yet before Sebastian could reclaim his blade, something incredible occurred. Despite the steel lodged in his head, Diego… moved. Sebastian watched, not as shocked as one might expect, for he had always suspected Diego would not fall so easily. Though he had hoped the strike would suffice, his instincts told him otherwise. With grim determination, Diego gripped the only sword left in his possession, clutching it with both hands as a crimson hue began to shimmer around the weapon. It was as though he was summoning a deadly aura, a manifestation of sheer willpower and defiance. Unfazed by the subtle display Diego had just done, Sebastian's resolve remained unbroken; he had sworn to fight until his dying breath, and now, with this newfound aura blazing like a beacon of wrath, he carried renewed confidence that he could cut down any adversary who dared stand against him.
***
The attack Sebastian dealt was deadly, and any other second more, Diego would have died, losing all he worked for and restarting back at the roots. Although he would be granted a second life, it wouldn't be such a great life, and it wasn't what Diego was hoping for—he would rather die again than take that as an option. So, with the precision and carefulness of an experienced surgeon, he divided his mind the instant the sword pierced into his head. Next, he removed all unnecessary feeling and thinking from his head: feelings of pain, disappointment, and lingering fear, along with distracting thoughts of where Maru was, who Frank might be, and the mystery figure who had taken him down in a single move.
Instead, he split his mind into two minds—the mind of a lich, forged by the years he had spent in his familial household learning the sacred arts of the liches. One of these arts was the ability to transfer one's consciousness to another part of the body, while using the art of proprioception to control it. It was a strange, almost alien sensation, having the hands or legs perform what the head once commanded, but with training in proprioception one could, in a sense, harness the sixth sense: the body's subconscious ability to know its own position, movement, and orientation in space without vision. While the loss of one's head in combat could be disastrous—bringing unbearable pain and collapsing countless vital processes that made the body function, akin to stripping away motor functions, cognition, autonomic control, sensory processing, and memory—the alternative was no less perilous. The transfer of consciousness, though a sacred art, was equally disastrous in its own way, for a single misstep, a single fracture in concentration, could unravel everything Diego had fought to preserve and cast him into oblivion. Any mistake or problem occurring during transfer could cost Diego his life. However, after decades of practice, Diego had mastered the act of transferring one's consciousness and using proprioception to move. He could transfer his entire consciousness to a part of his body in three minutes—a short time in training, but far too long in battle, where his life could be claimed at any moment. Now, in the chaos of combat, he had to compress that mastery into the span of a single second, a feat that demanded not only skill but unyielding willpower, razor‑sharp focus, and the courage to gamble everything on the edge of survival.