Something was coming.
The moment Melvin sensed it, the ominous energy that had been swelling in the distance swept over the camp, climbed up the ridge, and passed swiftly over their bodies at the summit.
His spine went cold. His fingertips trembled. Cold sweat broke out across his skin.
Melvin looked down at the crater with a face gone pale.
The invisible wave that had brushed across the mountaintop now poured downward like an avalanche.
Those in the crusade, still basking in the euphoria of victory, fell silent almost at once, without realizing it.
The cheering, the laughter—all the joy that had filled the air—was suddenly replaced by an eerie silence that spread like a plague.
It was uncanny, almost unnatural, as if every living being had rehearsed it together.
As the presence rolled through the ranks, people shuddered. Even the devout paladins and hardened priests were no exception.
“Hm?”
A man in his late thirties with crimson hair turned his head, intrigued.
Alon Pavlo—the Red Mage.
“Something else has come.”
Unlike the others, his reaction was calm.
People often said that as a Red Mage who controlled fire, Alon must have a temper as hot as his flames.
But in truth, he was the opposite—calm, logical, cold.
Which was why he could so quickly analyze the strange phenomenon unfolding before them.
“That’s something dangerous. We thought we caught the monster... but it seems the real monster was still out there.”
“Hahaha! I was just thinking how anticlimactic this all was—perfect timing!”
The one who replied was a man with half his head shaved, pink hair, and piercings along his ear.
Despite his flashy, almost vulgar appearance, no one dared criticize him.
He was Coilwat—the Purple Mage.
He licked his long lips, excitement glittering in his eyes. He had come hoping to fight an eighth-circle monster, only for the battle to end with that disappointing thing called the Divine Stake. His frustration had been building.
Now, with this unexpected event, how could he not be thrilled?
“Something’s coming! Knights, prepare yourselves!”
“Stay focused!”
“Blessing of Light!”
Everywhere, priests and paladins filled the surroundings with warm divine light.
Only then did the trembling subside, and people began to breathe properly again.
Watching from above, Bentham, commander of the Order of Light’s Shield, narrowed his sharp eyes and scanned the area.
‘Where is it? Where are you hiding?’
The others only felt fear. Bentham felt something else—someone had slipped among them.
‘Whoever it is, that presence... it’s no ordinary thing. In fact, it might be even more dangerous than the Progenitor Vampire we were supposed to be worrying about.’
More dangerous than an eighth-circle monster?
The thought sounded absurd, but Bentham did not ignore his instincts.
“Do you see anything?”
It was his longtime friend, Valrut of the Lumos family, who asked quietly beside him.
“No. Not yet. But he’s here. I can feel it.”
“To think «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» he’d just walk in here, with this many soldiers around...”
Most people would find such words absurd.
An uninvited guest had infiltrated their midst—yet not by stealth, but openly, without hiding.
But Bentham and Valrut understood.
Their enemy had entered through the front gate, boldly, without disguise.
And yet no one had seen him—why?
Because sometimes the unseen is not what’s too small to notice, but what’s too vast.
If a presence is so immense that it fills the entire field of vision, there’s no room left to perceive it.
That was what they were facing now.
The strong sensed it. They all felt that dissonance—and began frantically searching for the intruder among them.
“The hunters are moving too.”
“They’re unmatched when it comes to tracking.”
Then, in the distance, a pillar of violet lightning shot into the sky.
It branched into countless thin threads—fine as silk—that spread like a net, scanning the surroundings for life.
“That lunatic’s at it again.”
“At least with that, he should find something.”
But as time passed, Coilwat showed no sign of discovery.
Meaning—his magic had found nothing.
Even with a tracking spell of that scale, he couldn’t detect a single presence.
“What the hell? Why isn’t anything showing up?!”
As Coilwat snarled in frustration, Alon’s expression grew grim.
That spell should have worked.
Coilwat’s thin currents of lightning traced the bioelectric flows inside every living body—no creature that breathed could escape it.
And yet—nothing.
No reaction.
‘Is it even human?’
The monster wasn’t free—it was sealed by the Divine Stake.
As that thought crossed his mind, Alon turned toward the direction of the seal—and his eyes widened in disbelief.
“W-what...?”
Someone was there.
A lone figure stood before the white cocoon, silently gazing at it.
Long black hair. A striking frock coat of black and white. Tall, elegant posture.
Even from behind, the man exuded an air of nobility and beauty.
But in this battlefield, his presence was utterly out of place.
More astonishing—no one around the crater had noticed his arrival.
Not a single person.
Fwoosh.
Heat shimmered around Alon as sparks danced from his skin.
It was him.
The one who had thrown the entire crusade into that unnatural stupor.
‘Cardinal Patricio... I knew you were hiding something.’
Whatever this was, an uninvited guest was an enemy.
Alon didn’t need to ask who he was.
He felt instinctively that if he didn’t strike now, it would be too late.
He gathered the surrounding flames into his palm, forging a massive spear of fire.
A blazing crimson lance—nearly thirty meters long—formed in an instant and shot toward the intruder’s back.
The sudden flare of power drew startled cries from the crusaders, but what followed stunned them even more.
Faaash!
The fiery spear vanished.
It wasn’t dispelled—it was erased.
This wasn’t some second- or third-circle spell.
Alon’s flames could not be extinguished; once they touched something, they burned eternally.
And yet now, they were simply gone.
Not even a spark remained.
Ironically, Alon’s attack only served as a signal flare—to announce the intruder’s presence.
“Who is that?”
“When did he get here?”
The crusaders murmured, confused and frightened.
Then the man standing before the white cocoon—Ludger—spoke.
“Quiet.”
At that single word, every mouth closed.
Then they all looked around, bewildered.
What’s going on? Why did you stop talking?
No, why did you stop talking?
They glared at one another in silent accusation, each failing to realize they were just as affected.
It was an absurd, eerie scene.
No one could laugh. No one could get angry.
And in that uncanny silence, Ludger alone moved.
He extended his hand toward the white sphere sealed by the Divine Stake.
Bentham, watching from afar, let out a gasp.
He’d known the man was reckless, but this—this was madness.
To reach bare-handed for the Divine Stake’s seal?
That relic didn’t merely imprison—it shattered souls, leaving behind only a living shell.
For a human, even touching it would mean instant disintegration.
But then—
Crack! Crackle!
The surface of the white cocoon began to fracture beneath Ludger’s palm.
“The Divine Stake’s power... is being pushed back? How is that possible?”
Bentham muttered in disbelief.
Black cracks spread rapidly across the cocoon, until the entire surface shattered like glass from the point of Ludger’s touch.
He stepped forward into the darkness within.
Everyone watching swallowed hard.
No one tried to stop him, or follow him inside.
The darkness itself radiated dread.
Inside the seal, Ludger found Grander lying still in the shadows.
Her posture was peaceful, as though asleep in her coffin.
Her body was unscathed, her clothes intact.
She was breathing softly, her complexion warm.
And yet she didn’t stir, even as Ludger approached.
“Master.”
He knelt beside her.
“Is this the end you wished for? A wretched death unworthy even of the name—where even your soul finds no salvation?”
He brushed his hand gently along her cheek.
Slowly, tenderly—as one might touch a beloved family member.
“Did you break our promise just to end up like this?”
His voice trembled.
Emotion—a thing Ludger rarely showed—now poured out of him.
Anger. Guilt. Regret. Sorrow.
All of it converged into a single choice.
“I can’t... just watch you fade away.”
The Divine Stake had dealt Grander’s soul a grievous wound.
But it wasn’t too late.
She was no mere human—her essence was far beyond that.
Even sealed, her soul had not yet been fully erased.
A little later, and it would have been lost forever.
Ludger summoned his energy.
A white radiance rose around him, washing away the black space formed by the Stake.
Then—
Crash!
The enormous cocoon shattered completely, scattering white fragments across the ground.
Above them, the night sky returned.
Ludger cut his palm, letting his blood drip gently onto Grander’s lips.
One drop. Then another.
The crimson beads soaked between her parted lips.
And then—
Grander’s eyelids slowly fluttered open.
Her hazy crimson eyes met Ludger’s.
“Ah... Heathcliff.”
She smiled at him faintly, almost childishly.
It was the first time she had ever looked at him with such tenderness—with something like maternal warmth.
And that made Ludger’s heart ache even more.
Because it meant her mind was no longer whole.
“I told you not to come,” she murmured softly. “And yet... you came anyway.”
In that moment, Grander understood.
She had failed to die once more.
And Ludger had come—again—to save her.
“Why? I thought I could finally rest.”
“Because this is not the death I promised you.”
“Death is just an excuse. I only wanted to rest... like this.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
“I just wanted to rest.”
“I know.”
“You know? What do you know?” she cried, her voice breaking. “You—who made me care again. Who made me too weak to stain your hands with blood. I broke my promise and ran away, and you—you say you know?!”
She shouted at him like a child throwing a tantrum.
The Divine Stake had scarred her soul; her mind was half-fractured.
Ludger listened in silence.
When she fell quiet, he spoke softly.
“Mother.”
“......”
Not “Master.”
He had called her that sometimes, teasingly, to ease her anger. But this time, it was different.
He spoke from the heart—to the woman who had been both his teacher and the mother who raised him in this life.
“I just want you to live.”
“To live is to suffer.”
“I know. Even as time erases everyone else, you’ll remain unchanged.”
“You know that, and still...!”
“Even so,” he said, voice trembling, “children still wish for their parents to live.”
“......”
“No matter how hard it is, no matter how hopeless the path ahead may seem...”
He reached out and gently wiped away her tears.
“...I still want you to live, Mother.”