Jurgen didn't move. The light faded from his eyes and his expression sank beneath shadow. His teeth ground together, fists tightening at his sides as something cold and sharp settled in his chest. "Tch…" The sound escaped low, restrained. "…As expected of an Emperor." It came barely above a whisper.
Hana felt it immediately, a subtle chill crawling over her skin, though she couldn't tell whether it was hatred or something deeper, something closer to resentment, aimed at a force beyond them rather than the people standing before them.
"Let's get out of here…"
He turned, already preparing to leave, and Hana followed without protest, falling into step just behind him.
In an instant, two figures appeared ahead of them, tall and unmoving, their presence pressing down like weight rather than motion. They wore high-command uniforms of deep charcoal gray, dark enough to command authority, yet softer than absolute black, the tone shifting faintly with light without ever losing its disciplined severity.
Their coats were long and structured, extending past the waist, cut cleanly through the shoulders and torso to form sharp, controlled silhouettes. One side of each coat hung slightly lower, draped rather than properly settled, giving them an asymmetry that felt deliberate rather than careless.
The shoulders were reinforced just enough to maintain form, while the collars stood firm against the neck, precise and unyielding. Beneath, a darker inner layer, nearly black, added depth without disrupting restraint. Sleeves ran smooth to the wrists, uncreased, while the waist tapered subtly before falling straight again, reinforcing a commanding, militarized presence without unnecessary decoration.
"I hope they don't go too harsh on them," Nemesio muttered distantly, still facing the ridge as voices of praise continued to swell around him.
The two towering figures loomed closer, their presence suffocating in its stillness.
"And you are?" The voice was calm, yet hollowed with something cruel beneath it, eyes lingering without warmth or hesitation.
A thin line of sweat traced down Jurgen's face. Fear tightened his chest, sharpening his breathing as his pupils contracted. Without a word, he pushed Hana slightly behind him, not violently, but decisively, creating space, placing himself between her and the threat.
She stumbled half a step, clutching her sleeve, eyes wide with concern, though she remained focused on the figures ahead.
The distance was small, but intentional. A silent warning.
"I asked you a question… didn't I?" the voice repeated, colder now, laced with venom.
Silence collapsed over them. The air itself felt compressed. Jurgen didn't dare blink, didn't dare shift his attention, as fear steadily crept through him.
For a brief moment, they simply stared at each other, one grounded in terror, the other in quiet malice.
Then, in an instant, the figure vanished.
A crack tore through the ground where he had stood.
He reappeared in front of Jurgen with inhuman speed, as fast as light, closing the distance as though space itself had never existed. One hand, previously hidden beneath the draped coat, adjusted the fabric backward in a smooth, absent motion to free his movement, while the other was already in motion, striking with lethal intent.
Fingers sliced through the air, aimed directly at Jurgen's chest.
Something inside Jurgen ignited at the last possible moment. His pupils tightened, instinct flaring as his body moved without permission or thought. He twisted sharply, every muscle coiling into motion as his arm came up in a precise redirection, meeting the strike at an angle rather than head-on.
Steel-like pressure met resistance.
Dust and sparks burst where contact occurred.
The attack was deflected by inches, grazing past his chest and tearing through fabric as it passed. Pain flared across him in a sharp line, but the strike did not land cleanly. Instead, it drove forward into the ground behind him, unleashing a compressed wave of force that carved a deep wide line into the soil.
Jurgen staggered back, one hand clutching his chest as his heartbeat surged violently against his ribs.
What… what was that just now?
Dread crawled through him, unfamiliar and invasive, the kind that made instinct scream at him to retreat. It had been a long time since he had felt anything like it.
There was no visible attack, no clear technique… just— just a simple punch.
And yet I felt like I was going to die.
His gaze snapped to the carved earth, then back to the figure, pupils trembling slightly as sweat ran down his face. His focus locked entirely onto the opponent.
What did he do? What kind of attack was that?That force… just a thrust of two fingers did that?
Think… Jurgen! Think.
His throat felt dry. His body ached in places that hadn't even been struck directly, as though the pressure alone had reached him. A sudden wave of nausea rolled through him, and his hand shot up instinctively to cover his mouth.
A cough tore free from his chest.
Blood spilled between his fingers.
He staggered, clutching himself tighter as the metallic taste filled his mouth, warmth spreading uncontrollably while his knees threatened to give way beneath him.
His knees threatened to give way, yet he forced them to remain locked, standing firm against the trembling urge in his body.
What… the attack never even touched me, yet I suffered this much damage from a graze… this guy… this guy is bad news.
Every instinct he had screamed at him to run, to abandon the moment entirely and put distance between himself and that presence.
The attacker stepped forward again, unhurried, almost casual, as though the exchange had already been decided. His fists lowered and lifted slightly, a subtle motion as if shaking something off his hands, as though the previous strike had been nothing more than an inconvenience.
"What's wrong?" His gaze glinted with cold amusement, voice carrying an effortless contempt that made the air feel thinner. "Can't stand properly?"