Nyx and Zyrith stepped out of the bookstore, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the cobbled streets of Fujihama. The air between them felt heavier now, as if their shared silence carried the weight of an inevitable parting. With weapons in hand and a destination in mind, there was only one task left—gathering supplies.

  They walked back to the inn, their footsteps echoing in the quiet streets. Once inside, Nyx turned to Zyrith, his expression as unreadable as ever. He began explaining his plan for the trip, detailing the supplies he would need for the journey. His tone was cold, as it always was, but Zyrith barely registered his words.

  Her smile faded as his voice droned on. This was it. The end of their brief time together. She wasn’t listening anymore, lost in the cascade of memories that replayed in her mind. She remembered the first time she met Nyx, how cold and distant he seemed, an impenetrable wall of indifference. She thought about guiding him to Fujihama, the long stretches of silence that seemed endless. But then, there had been moments—glimpses of something more.

  She remembered the day he defended her, when she first saw him get angry. The fury he unleashed on those adventurers, the dark power he had barely managed to keep in check—it terrified her, but it also showed her that there was something deeper beneath the surface. She had seen it again in the quiet moments, like when he paid for her daggers without a word. That simple act had meant more to her than she could ever express.

  In the span of days, she had gone from being a wanderer with no home, no purpose, to finding an anchor in Nyx. Even though he was cold, distant, and harsh, she had seen something behind his eyes—a vulnerability, a flicker of humanity. She had hoped, perhaps naively, that there might be a place for her at his side.

  But now it was ending. Her village was gone, her people were gone, and Nyx… Nyx was going to leave her behind, too. The realization hit her harder than she expected, and she felt the hot sting of tears welling up in her eyes.

  Tears began to blur her vision as she struggled to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She looked at Nyx, her heart aching. “Thank you for everything, Nyx,” she whispered, her voice trembling as tears streamed down her cheeks. Without waiting for a response, she turned and ran out of the inn, unable to face him any longer.

  Nyx watched her go, his mind struggling to make sense of her sudden outburst. Zyrith had been fine moments ago—why was she crying now? He stood there, frozen, his thoughts racing but finding no answers. He followed her with his eyes as she disappeared out of the inn, her figure growing smaller until she was gone.

  For a moment, something flickered inside him. A brief flash of… concern? No, it was something else, something he couldn’t quite name. But before he could explore the feeling, it vanished, swallowed by the cold detachment that had shielded him for so long.

  Nyx blinked and shook his head, brushing the feeling aside. It wasn’t his problem.

  Turning back to the innkeeper, he placed a handful of coins on the counter. “Keep the room for one more night,” he said flatly. “And where’s the general store?”

  The innkeeper, clearly startled by the sudden shift in Nyx’s mood, nodded and pointed him in the right direction. Without another word, Nyx walked out of the inn and into the street. As he reached the village square, he paused, glancing briefly toward the village gate. He could almost picture Zyrith running through it, tears streaming down her face.

  A strange weight settled in his chest. Why had she thanked him? Why had she cried?

  With a frustrated sigh, he pushed the thought aside and turned in the opposite direction, heading for the general store. Emotions were distractions, and he had no time for them. He had a journey to prepare for, and that was all that mattered now.

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  Nyx stepped into the general store, scanning the shelves for the supplies he needed. It didn’t take long to gather a sturdy backpack, some rations, a waterskin, a few potions, and other essentials. He paid the shopkeeper quickly, not bothering with pleasantries.

  As he turned to leave, something caught his attention. A sound—metal clanking, rhythmic and deliberate, like armor. Nyx’s body tensed instinctively. He moved toward the door, pushing it open just in time to see a group of twenty knights marching into the village.

  His breath caught in his throat. The insignia on their armor—he recognized it. It was the same as the knights who had been there when he was first summoned to this world, the same as the ones who had dismissed him as weak and worthless before casting him into the dungeon to die.

  A slow, simmering rage began to build within him. His fists clenched, and before he realized it, purple mana began to leak from his body, swirling around him like a dark mist. The memories flooded back: the laughter, the taunts, the feeling of helplessness as they cast him aside.

  His heartbeat quickened, the pulse of his mana growing more erratic, more volatile. His vision tunneled, focusing solely on the knights as they continued their march, oblivious to the storm they were walking toward.

  For a brief moment, the world around him seemed to fade, replaced by the image of that dungeon—cold, dark, suffocating. And these knights, with their mocking sneers, had been the ones who had thrown him into it. His rage surged, the purple mana flaring violently as it responded to the tempest inside him.

  But then, something shifted. A flicker of clarity broke through the haze of anger. Nyx closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath, forcing himself to regain control. Now wasn’t the time to lose it. He couldn’t afford to draw attention to himself, not like this.

  Slowly, deliberately, he reined in his mana, pulling it back into himself. The world around him sharpened once more, and he could feel the weight of Whispering Edge on his back, its presence pulsating.

  The knights drew closer, their faces blank and unaware of the danger they were walking into. Nyx turned his back to them, his cloak swaying slightly in the wind as he began walking in the opposite direction. He needed to leave Fujihama—now.

  As he blended into the crowd, pulling his hood up, the knights reached the village square. The one in the most ornate armor stepped forward, addressing the crowd. “I am Sir Thalion, captain of the holy knights from the Lunaris Kingdom,” he announced, his voice carrying an air of authority. “We are searching for a dangerous man.”

  Nyx’s eyes narrowed as Sir Thalion raised a picture. The warrior depicted was familiar. Nyx knew him instantly—the warrior he had killed in the dungeon. The man who had mocked him moments before his death, a member of the Crimson Claw.

  Sir Thalion continued, his voice calm and steady. “This man was last seen near this region. He’s part of the adventuring group known as the Crimson Claw. If anyone has any information regarding his whereabouts, report it to us immediately.”

  Nyx remained silent, his hood concealing his face as he continued to blend into the crowd. The air felt heavier, thick with the tension of the knights’ presence. But then Sir Thalion made a subtle motion, and one of the knights stepped forward, dragging something behind him.

  When the knight reached the front, he threw something onto the ground. Nyx’s heart stopped.

  It was a body—bruised, bloodied, and barely recognizable. But Nyx knew who it was.

  Zyrith.

  In that instant, the world around Nyx shattered.

  A violent surge of purple mana exploded from his body, waves of energy crashing outward and scattering the crowd like leaves in a storm. The air crackled with raw, untamed power, and the very ground beneath him seemed to tremble under the weight of his fury. Whispering Edge pulsed wildly on his back, feeding on the storm of rage coursing through Nyx.

  His breath came in short, ragged bursts as his eyes locked onto Zyrith’s lifeless body. The fury within him had reached a breaking point, and it consumed him entirely. The knights, the villagers, the entire world blurred around him.

  Nyx’s hand moved on its own, reaching for Whispering Edge. The sword seemed to hum louder, its power resonating with his own, growing stronger with each pulse of mana. He unsheathed the blade, its edge gleaming with a dangerous light.

  Without a second thought, Nyx whispered through gritted teeth, “Flash Step.”

  In an instant, he vanished, his form blurring as he appeared in front of the knight who had thrown Zyrith’s body like discarded trash. The knight didn’t even have time to react before Whispering Edge was already in motion, its deadly arc aimed directly at the knight’s throat.