Siran had the same thought running through his head, over and over, ever since the world had turned upside down in the span of a few minutes.

  The thought always threatened to drag a dark chuckle out of him, one he forcibly swallowed every time.

  He was just so tired. His body had already given out, yet he kept moving, kept fighting, because what other choice was there? Even his resolve was beginning to fray at the edges, stretched thin by one obstacle after another. And now there was one final hurdle, the most harrowing of them all. A powerful mana beast had caught their scent, and to make matters worse, a sheer drop awaited them if they failed to climb down properly.

  What a day.

  He turned and caught sight of Master Ester, the black sheep of House Flamebearer.

  If Siran was honest with himself, he had carried more than a few reservations about the man. Mages and nobles tended to be a pompous lot, often hostile toward commoners and the working class. Worse still were nobles with something to prove after being cast aside by their own society. Siran had expected Ester to overcompensate, to throw his status around to soothe wounded pride.

  He had even heard, through Knight Merva, that Ester had discovered some alternative path to magic. A way to reclaim his honor, to claw back what he had lost.

  Siran had assumed it would make him insufferable.

  But that was not what he saw.

  Master Ester deferred to his instructions without question. He made an effort to be cordial, even suggesting they drop titles to speak more casually. Siran still was not entirely comfortable with that, but the intent mattered. And more than that, Ester had put himself in harm’s way again and again to ensure Siran made it out alive.

  The encounter with the bear in the woods was burned into Siran’s memory.

  He had known Ester was strong from watching him train in the courtyard, but that fight revealed just how much the man had been holding back. The bear had moved with vicious brutality and surprising speed, yet Ester had matched it step for step. Always knowing when to move, how to move, reacting with reflexes that bordered on inhuman.

  For a moment, the idea of Master Ester losing had not even crossed Siran’s mind.

  Seeing him take a direct hit shattered that illusion. But in those brief moments before, Ester had displayed something Siran had never seen before.

  Siran realized.

  Warriors defeating mages through pure strength and skill alone belonged in fairy tales. Usually.

  he thought bleakly.

  Master Ester had ordered him to start climbing down while he held off the serpent-like beast. There was no denying Ester’s strength, but anyone with eyes could see he was at his limit.

  For a brief moment, Siran considered disobeying. Convincing Ester to climb down with him. Maybe they could descend far enough before the serpent could extend its body and swallow them both.

  In the end, he chose his own life.

  He hid behind the excuse of following orders from a superior.

  Siran thought, guilt gnawing at him.

  He forced his thoughts away from the lord of the territory and focused on the climb. Even as he did, part of his mind was already working through how to survive the aftermath. Letting a mage scion die under his watch would bring unbearable scrutiny, but at least Knight Merva might stand by him.

  He was about to crouch when something shifted in the air.

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

  It felt wrong. Sinister. Deep and dark. The same feeling he had sensed moments before the beasts in the forest had gone mad.

  Slowly, dread creeping into his chest, Siran turned his head.

  And saw the source.

  It was Master Ester.

  Or rather, something like him.

  He stood unnaturally still, a deep black aura wafting off his body in slow, lazy plumes of smoke.

  It felt like something that should not exist in this world. Siran knew it instinctively, deep in his bones, and the serpent seemed to share that realization.

  The massive creature froze mid-motion, its body locking up before it began to quake violently, torn between fear and rage. If it had intended to eat Ester before, now it simply wanted him .

  A sickly green light pulsed through the serpent’s body, racing up toward its gullet. A ranged attack—some kind of breath or projectile.

  Ester’s head snapped upward with unnatural speed, breaking his eerie stillness. In that instant, it was as if he had been restored to full strength.

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  Siran did not dare move.

  Ester shot forward before the serpent could finish charging its attack. Yet the creature twisted its long body away, recoiling from him as though he were a plague incarnate. The dark energy gathered around Ester’s hand, barely grazing a single scale.

  That was enough.

  The contact point blackened instantly, like a spreading disease eating into the mana beast’s flesh. The serpent hissed in agony and thrashed violently. Ester was struck multiple times in the chaos, but he endured, forcing himself forward until he wrapped his body around the creature’s neck.

  With every new point of contact, the blackened corruption spread faster.

  It crawled across the serpent’s scales, engulfed its head entirely, and then—just like that—the mana beast went limp, collapsing to the ground. The corruption continued to creep down its body, consuming it piece by piece.

  Siran thought he was done being shocked.

  He was wrong.

  The serpent’s corpse began to toward Ester’s hand, as if drawn by an invisible vacuum. Its massive body compressed inward, vanishing bit by bit, like an object being absorbed into a spatial pouch.

  Siran thought, dread pooling in his gut.

  He caught a glimpse of Ester’s face.

  His eyes were pitch black pools, empty of emotion. His expression was a lifeless mask.

  Siran’s mind scrambled for answers, but none fit. Nothing about this made sense.

  And Ester didn’t stop.

  He turned to the corpses of the fallen direboars and began consuming them as well.

  A cold thought crept into Siran’s mind.

  But then, Ester stopped.

  His body went completely still once more. The black haze that had surrounded him began to dissipate, thinning until it vanished entirely. The moment it was gone, Ester collapsed to the ground, utterly limp.

  Siran waited. One minute. Two. Five.

  Only when he was absolutely certain Ester was unconscious did he approach.

  The young master lay there with his eyes still open, but Siran immediately noticed they had returned to normal—human.

  Whatever had overtaken him… it was gone.

  As Siran slowly walked back toward the cave entrance, another detail sank in. The forest was silent. No beasts roamed nearby anymore.

  It was as if something had scared them all away.

  “Ha… ha… we… we somehow made it,” Siran muttered, a hysterical edge creeping into his voice.

  “It must have been the serpent,” he added weakly. “It probably drove the others off.”

  Turning back toward the cave, he stared at Ester’s unconscious body.

  “What exactly are you?” he whispered.

  Footsteps rustled in the distance—human ones.

  From the brush emerged several familiar guards, with Knight Merva leading them at the front. The moment Siran recognized them, his legs finally gave out and he collapsed in relief.

  Merva’s gaze snapped to him immediately.

  “We saw the emergency flare and came as fast as we could,” she said sharply, her head constantly swiveling as she scanned the area.

  Then she fixed her eyes on Siran.

  “Where is Master Ester?”

  ***

  “And that concludes my report, Master Ester.”

  Siran finished speaking and let out a slow breath. His voice was steady, but there was a clear weariness behind it. By the time Kene had summoned him and Knight Merva to his room, he had recovered enough to sit upright and listen, though the dull ache behind his temples still hadn’t faded. There were holes in his memory, entire stretches that felt blurred or missing, and this meeting was meant to piece them together.

  Knight Merva had been firm about one thing from the start: this conversation was not to be shared beyond the three of them. She had insisted on it strongly enough that even Mikkel, despite his visible displeasure, had eventually backed down. He hadn’t liked being excluded, not one bit, but in the end he’d relented.

  Now, after hearing everything, Kene understood why.

  He would still need to visit the cave himself to be certain, but based on Siran’s account alone, the state he had entered fit corruption far too well to ignore. The details lined up in uncomfortable ways—the black aura, the necrotic touch, the way living beings had been consumed as if reduced to fuel rather than flesh.

  It all sounded disturbingly familiar.

  And yet, there was a problem.

  Kene was not corrupted. Not now. Not even slightly.

  That, more than anything else, gnawed at him. Corruption did not simply vanish. There was no known cure for it—only methods to suppress or slow it, to delay the inevitable. Once it took hold, it stayed. It lingered, worming its way deeper over time.

  As Siran had spoken, Kene had checked himself repeatedly. He had examined his mana veins, his core, even his physical body, searching for anything that felt wrong or unfamiliar. He’d done it reflexively, almost obsessively.

  There was nothing.

  No taint. No residue. No lingering aftereffect.

  If anything, everything felt… normal.

  That made no sense.

  He searched his memories from the previous timeline, sifting through old knowledge, half-forgotten events, and obscure cases that might resemble his own. He strained to find even a single example that matched what had happened to him.

  The closest comparison he could think of was Hyperion the Lightslayer, one of the few Tier 10 Enforcers humanity had ever produced. A traitor. A man who had willingly joined the forces of corruption in exchange for power.

  Even he hadn’t been immune. He had simply managed to retain his mental faculties, something most believed was only possible because of his supreme physique and absolute control over his own body.

  No.

  What Kene was experiencing was something else entirely.

  Something new.

  Turning his attention back to the two people standing in front of him, Kene spoke calmly, though the weight behind his words was unmistakable.

  “I want both of you to swear an oath of secrecy,” he said evenly. “Not a word of what you saw. Not a word of what you know about my condition.”

  Both Siran and Merva visibly tensed.

  They swore the oath a moment later.

  Kene let out a quiet sigh of relief, some of the tension finally draining from his shoulders. He shifted his gaze to Siran, studying the man for a moment before speaking.

  “Guard Siran, thank you for informing me today,” Kene said sincerely. “And… It was an honor fighting beside you. My territory could use more capable guards like you.”

  “T-Thank you, Young Master,” Siran replied, clearly caught off guard. “If only I—”

  Kene raised a hand, cutting him off gently.

  “Think nothing of it,” he said. “I’ll personally see to it that you and your family are properly compensated for having to endure that whole ordeal.”

  Siran’s exhaustion was momentarily replaced by shock. His eyes widened, and for the first time since entering the room, he looked genuinely lost for words.

  “In light of recent events,” Kene continued, “you’ve earned the chance to rest. You may spend the remainder of the week with your family in the town proper.”

  A faint pang of guilt tugged at him as he said it. Kene strongly suspected the frenzy in the forest had something to do with his presence, even if he didn’t yet understand how. Endangering Siran because of that sat poorly with him, and this was the only apology he could offer for now.

  “You are dismissed,” Kene said.

  Siran hesitated for half a second, then bowed deeply before turning and leaving the room.

  Knight Merva remained.

  Once the door closed, Kene leaned back against his bed, letting the silence settle. After a moment, he spoke again.

  “I take it you have questions, Knight Merva.”

  “Yes, Young Master,” she replied immediately, without hesitation.

  Kene exhaled slowly. He would need to tread carefully here. The truth was, he didn’t fully understand what had happened himself, and that uncertainty worked in his favor. Feigning ignorance wouldn’t be difficult when it wasn’t entirely an act.

  “You may ask them,” he said.

  Chapter 15 - Respite