"I AM SOPHIA," said the pink-haired assassin, gripping his arm tightly. "I know how to defeat Chronus."
The moment her voice landed, the air in the clearing seemed to tighten.
Jhonathan didn't react immediately. His fingers rested loosely near Dexcalibur's hilt, not because he was preparing to draw it, but because his body had already stopped treating sudden danger as something worth panic.
He studied her instead.
Pink hair. Steady breath. No visible hesitation in her stance, even while standing this close to someone who refused to stay dead. Most people broke eye contact when they realized what he was. She didn't.
That alone made her different.
His blade moved.
Not in attack—but in motion, responding to instinct. Dexcalibur flew a short distance, spun once in the air, and returned to his hand like it had never left him. A soft metallic hum echoed as he caught it.
Sophia's grip on his arm didn't loosen.
She wasn't afraid of the weapon either.
A long silence stretched between them.
Not peaceful. Not calm.
Just loaded, like both of them were waiting for the other to prove something.
Then Jhonathan smiled.
It wasn't a normal smile.
It looked like something that had been forced through pain too many times to feel natural anymore. A cracked expression—half relief, half exhaustion.
"…Let's not lose ever again," he said quietly.
The words came out heavier than expected.
Because he didn't just mean this fight.
He meant every death.
Every reset.
Every moment where someone disappeared in front of him and didn't come back the same way.
His eyes lowered slightly.
He knew the truth now.
Only he had the chance to defeat Chronus.
Only he could survive long enough to walk through everything that was coming.
The others—Sylviana, Leerooey, even Sophia—could fight beside him, but they couldn't endure what he could endure.
That was the curse.
The endless revival.
The body that refused permanent death.
The soul that got dragged back no matter how many times reality tried to erase it.
Forever alive.
A blessing that felt more like punishment every time he remembered the people he failed to protect.
But now…
something inside him shifted.
For the first time, he didn't look at it only as suffering.
He looked at it as responsibility.
Not chosen.
Forced.
But still his.
"I will save this world," he muttered.
His voice was low enough that it almost got lost in the wind.
Not a declaration meant for others.
Not something spoken to inspire anyone.
Just something he needed to confirm for himself.
"For the wellbeing of others."
Sophia finally loosened her grip slightly, but she didn't step away. She was still watching him carefully, like she was trying to figure out whether those words were stability—or the beginning of obsession.
Without warning, Jhonathan stepped away from her.
Mana gathered into his arms slowly at first, like breathing.
Then faster.
Denser.
He didn't chant. He didn't prepare.
His body simply responded to intent.
Dexcalibur trembled faintly in his hand, reacting to the pressure building around him. The ground beneath his feet cracked slightly, not from weight—but from force being compressed into motion.
In front of him stood an indestructible cottage.
It had survived storms, monsters, and previous destruction attempts without a single mark.
Jhonathan looked at it for a moment.
Then raised his arm.
And swung.
There was no dramatic explosion at first.
Just silence.
Then reality gave way.
The cottage didn't break.
It didn't collapse.
It simply turned into dust, as if existence itself had decided it was no longer needed.
Wood disintegrated into nothing. Stone dissolved like ash caught in wind. Even the space it occupied seemed lighter afterward, like something important had been removed from the world.
The shockwave rolled outward, shaking trees and flattening grass in a wide circle.
Sophia didn't flinch.
She only narrowed her eyes slightly.
Not at the destruction itself—but at how effortless it was.
Like she was reassessing him again.
Not as a fighter.
But as something closer to a disaster that had learned how to walk.
Jhonathan lowered his arm slowly.
The mana around him faded, but not completely. It always lingered now, like his body didn't fully know how to turn it off anymore.
He exhaled.
Long.
Tired.
But steady.
And for a brief moment, something in his expression changed again.
The gloom that had defined him for so long didn't vanish.
But it cracked open slightly.
Not enough to disappear.
Enough for something else to exist beside it.
Light didn't replace it.
It just entered the same space.
Because despite everything—despite death, resets, monsters, gods, and sins—
he was still meeting people.
Still being forced forward.
Still being pulled into connections he couldn't fully understand but couldn't fully reject either.
And that, more than anything…
was what made him keep moving.