Cling! Tang! Ding!
The sparks from their blades lit up the dim dorm room like dying stars.
Every time Ryn swung his practice sword, Alistair's daggers were there to meet it with terrifying precision.
Good thing he put up a sound barrier, Ryn thought, his lungs burning. Otherwise, the guards would have kicked the door down five minutes ago.
Suddenly, the air shifted. Ryn didn't see one Alistair—he saw three. Five. A dozen. After-images of the zealot converged on him from every corner of the room.
Swoosh!
Ryn blinked, his body reappearing at the far end of the room. He wiped a bead of sweat from his temple, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
I'm running low on mana. And for some reason, the Spatial Attribute won't let me teleport out of this room. The barrier is locking me in.
He couldn't stay on the defensive. Ryn launched himself forward, his body flickering with [Lightning].
He thrust his sword toward Alistair's throat, but the zealot simply tilted his head, the blade whistling past his ear.
Ryn pivoted, bringing the sword down in a heavy vertical slash. He felt the blade bite into flesh—but there was no resistance. The figure dissolved into mist.
Swoosh!
Before Ryn could even register the trick, a stinging pain erupted across his back. A heavy boot slammed into his spine, sending him crashing face-first into the stone wall.
Alistair didn't give him a second to breathe. He pinned Ryn to the wall, a dagger piercing through the sleeve of Ryn's shirt, inches from his throat.
"Arrgh..." Ryn groaned, the pain sharp and hot.
"This is your last chance," Alistair hissed, his eyes glowing with a terrifying, holy light.
"Answer me. Are you a demon? You cannot win. I carry the will of the Goddess."
The Church. I should have known, Ryn thought. He forced a bloody grin.
"The Church... but you don't fight like a Holy Knight. You fight like a rat in the dark."
Alistair's gaze flickered. He seemed to think Ryn was a dead man, and dead men are good listeners.
"I wasn't always a worshiper. I was raised in an Assassin's Guild... until the Church wiped them out. They saved me when I was eight. They gave me a purpose."
Wow. A 'Redeemed Assassin' cliché? Ryn thought, his inner author rolling his eyes. Who gave him that backstory? It's so unoriginal it hurts. "Anyway," Alistair's voice hardened.
"Tell me who you really are."
System... heal me. Now.
[System: Total Recovery Initiated]
Cost: 3,000 Glory Points.
Status: All wounds closed. Mana restored to 50%.
[Confirmed]
Steam hissed from Ryn's back as the gashes sealed shut instantly. Alistair recoiled, his face pale with shock. He stumbled back, his daggers trembling.
I was being too simple with the Spatial Attribute, Ryn realized, standing up and dropping his sword. No attribute is useless. It's all about the execution.
Swoosh!
Ryn didn't teleport away. He teleported into Alistair's personal space.
Before the assassin could react, Ryn's hand blurred.
[Colossus]
Ryn's fist, reinforced with the strength of a titan, slammed into Alistair's jaw in a brutal uppercut.
The force sent the zealot flying upward, his head snapping against the ceiling with a sickening crack before he crumpled to the floor, out cold.
...
"Where... where am I?" Alistair muttered as he blinked his eyes open.
The air was thick with the smell of damp stone and rot. He tried to move, but his wrists were bound by heavy iron chains bolted to the floor.
"Ah, you're awake. Welcome to my humble abode," a voice drifted from the shadows.
Alistair looked up and froze. Sitting opposite him was Ryn—but not the "nerd" from the Academy.
This Ryn was taller, his skin obsidian-pale, and his eyes glowing like embers in the dark.
This aura... Alistair's heart hammered against his ribs.
He isn't just a demon. He's royalty.
"I've figured it out," Ryn said, leaning forward in his chair.
"What... what are you talking about?"
"I wondered how the Church found me so easily," Ryn mused, his eyes narrowing. "But I have a theory. It's a mark, isn't it? A tracking mark hidden on my soul."
The sheer shock on Alistair's face was all the confirmation Ryn needed.
"I'm not sure why they sent a mid-tier tool like you," Ryn continued, his voice cold.
"You think I'm weak?!" Alistair snarled, struggling against the chains.
"Compared to what's coming? Yes." Ryn knew the Archbishop he had designed for this world—a cruel, calculating boy-god and the seven guardians. Sending Alistair was a silly move.
System, can I get rid of this mark?
[System: Tracking Mark Dispel]
Cost: 25,000 Glory Points.
Current GP: 3,600.
[Error: Insufficient Points]
25,000?! Ryn winced internally. Fine. I'll have to live with a 'bug' on my shoulder for a bit longer.
He looked back at Alistair, who was still glaring at him with a mix of fear and "holy" hatred.
"Are you going to kill me?" Alistair asked, his voice surprisingly firm.
"What kind of animal do you take me for?" Ryn stood up, his demon form casting a massive, jagged shadow on the wall.
"I'm letting you go. Go back to your 'Goddess.' Observe your Church. Judge them for yourself."
Ryn turned toward the exit, his voice echoing in the basement. "I hope you enjoy seeing the real face of evil, Hero."