The silence inside the damp catacombs was heavy, broken only by the ragged, empty gasps of two kids who had just watched their world end.
Beixin was gone.
Truly gone this time. The loyal guard sat slumped against the wall, his dead face frozen in that infuriating, triumphant smile.
Before Rika could even open her mouth to speak, Hanjun moved.
His movements weren't frantic or panicked; they were terrifyingly deliberate.
He walked over to Beixin's cooling body, his big gray eyes wide and entirely vacant. Without a word, he knelt in the pooling blood, reached down, and pulled her into a tight, crushing embrace.
His face remained completely expressionless, resting against her shoulder.
"You always hugged me,"
Hanjun said, his voice a flat, hollow monotone that echoed chillingly against the stone.
"You said I was cold and needed warmth. But I never got to hug you back.
You are very cold now, Beixin. So why, I'm hugging you now, why are you not getting warm? Why did I get warm when you hugged me, but now when I do it, it's not working?"
Jayhon sat in the far corner, his knees pulled tightly to his chest.
He didn't cry.
He didn't scream.
The sheer, brutal trauma of seeing Beixin pierced through the chest had completely broken something inside him.
He was entirely silent, staring blankly ahead, a hollow shell of a boy.
Rika, clutching her burned shoulder, watched Hanjun hug the corpse with a mixture of pity and growing unease.
"Get away from her,"
she rasped, her voice trembling with pain and frustration. "We have to move. The King's men will—"
"We need to take her shoes,"
Hanjun interrupted flatly, releasing the body and standing up. He looked down at his own dirty, oversized boots.
"I don't want to leave her like that. I'll at least take her shoes and wear them to never forget her. It is a waste to leave them for the rats."
Rika blinked, momentarily derailed into sheer bewilderment. Is this guy serious? He was just hugging her like a grieving brother, and now he's talking about shoe logistics? She gritted her teeth.
"You... you're a freak. Let's go."
Rika led the two boys deeper into the forgotten subterranean aqueducts beneath Morvane, eventually finding a small, dry stone alcove hidden behind a collapsed archway. It was safe enough for a temporary rest.
Rika slid down against the wall, wincing as she checked her burned shoulder.
She then looked over at Hanjun, whose ribs were visible through his torn rags, his skin covered in caked grime, scrapes, and dried guard blood from his clumsy fall in the throne room.
"Come here,"
Rika commanded, her voice softening slightly but carrying a tone of authority.
"We elves are experts with healing. If we walk into the lower districts tomorrow with you looking like a walking corpse, we're dead. Let me use my Wood-Zheki to heal those internal bruises and scrapes on your back."
Jayhon didn't move.
He simply remained slid down against a stone pillar, staring blankly ahead, completely catatonic.
Hanjun walked over to her like a machine being placed in a refueling station, but his face remained a total blank.
Rika closed her eyes, channeling her energy. The intricate, glowing green marks etched permanently into her skin—tracing down her spine and curving elegantly between her chest—began to hum with a soft, vibrant light.
She raised her hands, palms glowing with a soothing emerald warmth, and reached out toward Hanjun's back to begin the treatment.
Before her hand could even graze his shoulder, Hanjun pivoted with alarming speed, slapping her hand away with a dull smack. His gray eyes locked onto hers, completely deadpan.
"Do not touch my back,"
Hanjun said flatly.
"I am perfectly capable of letting the minor scrapes heal by themselves over a standard duration of days. You touching me of all people seems uncomfortable."
Rika stumbled back a step, her hand stinging.
He deflected my approach without even looking, she thought, her heart hammering. He's keeping his guard up. He doesn't trust my healing at all, even though I'm the one who's supposed to be uncomfortable here.
As the light from her healing energy faded slightly, Hanjun's vacant eyes drifted to the glowing marks still visible through the gaps in her light armor, tracing gracefully between her chest.
"Your tattoos are glowing,"
Hanjun observed, pointing a blunt finger toward her chest.
"Is that a drawing on your body, or did you eat a glowing mushroom?"
Rika instantly threw her hand over her chest, her emerald eyes flashing with dangerous, royal authority.
"They aren't tattoos, you ignorant peasant. They are Royal Crest Marks. They regulate the flow of high-tier Wood-Zheki."
She narrowed her eyes, leaning in close, trying to intimidate him.
"And if you tell anyone you saw them, I will personally ensure your tongue is rooted to the roof of your mouth."
Hanjun didn't say anything, breaking eye contact and turning to stare at Jayhon, who was still sitting in total shock.
He's mocking me, Rika thought, a shiver running down her spine. He knows exactly who I am, and he isn't even remotely intimidated by a high elf.
Trying to regain her composure, Rika sat back against the stone wall, binding her own burned shoulder manually with a clean strip of cloth.
"Alright,"
Hanjun said, trying to figure out how to fold a square rag he found on the floor into a perfect triangle.
"Why did you drop through the ceiling? Saving two starving thieves. Why are you helping us?"
Rika let out a long, bitter sigh.
"I wasn't trying to save you,"
Rika said coldly.
"I've been tracking King Morvane's treasury movements for months. You guys were three, not two. I was trying to infiltrate the palace vaults to steal back a stolen artifact belonging to my people. You idiots just happened to trigger the alarm and get dragged into the throne room, completely throwing off my timing. I only intervened because the chaos gave me a window to escape."
"Ah,"
Hanjun said, abandoning the rag.
"So we were accidental shields. That makes more sense. And also, by three, you mean Beixin? If you do, I think you better watch your steps wherever you go, because I'm not tolerating anyone who speaks bad of Beixin."
"Sure. But anyways,"
Rika continued, her eyes narrowing as she looked at Hanjun.
"I am curious about one thing. In the throne room, you summoned a green light.
Everyone thought it was a pathetic attempt at Wood-Zheki. But when you plunged your hand into that guard, I felt the air grow incredibly cold for a split second before the wood erupted."
She leaned forward.
"Green light isn't always wood, Hanjun. There is a rare, hyper-compressed form of Fire-Zheki—so chemically dense and starved of oxygen that it burns green. Your Zheki isn't weak. It's just so fundamentally broken, unrefined, and starved that it manifested as a solid spike instead of a flame. You literally don't even know how to light your own spark."
Hanjun stared at his palm.
"So I am not a tree. I am a broken stove. Good to know."
Rika stood up, turning her back to them.
"Either way, I have a contact in the lower elf territory,it'll take only an hour if we keep running, but I travel alone. I'm leaving by morning.
You can come with me if you want to survive, Hanjun.
But the crybaby stays behind.
He's a liability. His water-Zheki is diluted, and he's entirely broken. Leave him here."
THUD.
A sudden, blurring fist connected violently with Rika's cheek, sending her stumbling backward against the stone archway. She gasped, clutching her face, looking up in absolute shock.
Hanjun stood there, his arm still extended, his face completely blank and his voice entirely devoid of emotion.
"Do not speak of leaving Jayhon,"
Hanjun said coldly.
"He is currently the only person who knows how to properly untie the knots on my boots.
Furthermore, if I leave him, he will die, which means our friendship over the past three months will net a total loss. I do not like bad trades. If you suggest abandoning him again, I will be forced to beat you up.
Even if I'm not winning, I have nothing to lose.
I'll hunt you down even if I'm going to die."
Rika stared at him, her jaw dropping, the iron taste of blood in her mouth.
He... he just blitzed me, she thought, her mind racing in absolute terror.
He didn't even hesitate to strike a female elf.
He's keeping the weakling around as a psychological anchor or a decoy, and he's analyzing everything through pure tactical profit. This boy is a monster.
"Fine,"
Rika growled, wiping her lip and turning away, genuinely afraid of what he would do next.
"We leave together at dawn. But if he slows us down, it's on your head."
"That is acceptable,"
Hanjun noted. "My head hurts a little."
As the night grew deeper, the three children lay on the cold stone floor.
Jayhon eventually drifted into a silent, haunting sleep, while Rika kept her eyes glued to the ceiling, utterly convinced she was traveling with a terrifying, blank-faced tactical mastermind.
And Hanjun? Hanjun just stared at his palm, trying to figure out how to make the green stove-light appear again, completely unaware that his sheer, literal-minded stupidity had just terrified the female elf.