The answer was simple enough. Over time, the pressure was bound to keep building, and when it did, the lid would start cracking—splintering in places, spilling wide open. In the end, the force would get to a point too great to contain and would tear it apart entirely.
If Northern had followed Koll's explanation correctly, it meant Ul's efforts to preserve Tra-el were, paradoxically, accelerating its ruin.
Worse, she was leaving her denizens defenseless. The very rifts that should be strengthening humanity, she was shielding them from. And when the moment came where she could no longer contain them, the world would erupt—rifts bursting across the land, and humanity would plunge into another era of devastation, one where only a few could still stand and fight.
'...ah.'
Northern didn't know what to say. Koll's logic held weight—too much, perhaps.
But that still didn't explain the leap to unleashing the Origin of Chaos on their world. And more than that, why in all the fragments of existence had that quiddity been sealed here?
He hesitated for a moment before finally speaking. His voice was perpetually hoarse, but now it scraped out of him—dry, coarse, almost grating.
"Fine. Let's say Ul is dragging her world toward destruction. Overprotective parents do more harm than good—I'm living proof of that. But Ul's failure is her own. What's it to you? How does that justify your asinine plan to drop your Origin into our world? And why the hell was he even sealed here—in our fragment of reality—not yours?!"
Koll was silent for a breath, then slowly began to grin. It was the kind of grin that grew wider the longer it lingered—and the more it stretched, the more it unsettled Northern.
He was getting a bad feeling.
"You don't know…"
Northern's brow furrowed.
"...don't know what?"
A thunderous shockwave rippled from somewhere behind them. It cracked through the air with a distant roar, snapping Koll's attention for a moment. His expression darkened—but Northern didn't flinch. He didn't even glance back.
Koll turned his eyes back to him.
"Well. I'm curious how you managed to get a relic of the first human civilization to serve you."
Northern shrugged, casual.
"There's a little trick to it. Maybe I'll teach you… if I'm in the mood."
Koll regarded him with a stern, unreadable look before exhaling deeply. Then he spoke again, calm and resolute.
"I have much to do. Far too much. It would be unwise to waste my time on you here. I have Dante exactly where I need him. The conquest of the Central Plains will continue. Now that destruction of this scale has happened—Burning Storm is dead—the Central Plains won't be able to ignore it any longer. The citadels will stir. The nations will rise. The Academy will fall. And the final phase of conquest will begin."
He slowly brought his hand over his face, dragging it downward. As he did, his form began to dissolve, vanishing into the air like mist unraveling under sunlight. Yet his voice lingered, drifting on the wind.
"...and we shall meet again, dear Northern. We'll finish this conversation—and end our brutal fates."
And with that, he was gone.
Northern stood in silence, eyes fixed on the empty space where Koll had vanished. Slowly, he scratched his temple, an incredulous expression sliding onto his face.
"This bastard just dodged my question, didn't he?"
A rustle of wind came with Bairan landing behind him. He paused, exhaled once, then resumed his usual calm, unhurried gait as he approached Northern.
He bowed with quiet reverence.
"You've returned… and I see you've grown even stronger."
Northern glanced back over his shoulder, a weary breath slipping from his lips.
"I have… but this time, I didn't enjoy it."
Bairan didn't reply at first. When he did, his voice carried a gentle lilt, almost like he was speaking to someone nursing a wound.
"I'm sure he would be grateful."
Northern shifted his gaze to the lone building that remained amid the desolation.
The Unification Complex.
That was where Burning Storm's wife and father were held. And it seemed the fallen warrior had left one final message for them.
Northern's chest tightened. The weight of it felt too much to carry.
'I don't have to if I don't want to…'
But they deserved the message… they needed it.
He stood there, letting the thought linger before it gently settled.
'Why am I even stressing... I have Bairan.'
A faint grin curled onto his lips as he turned to his summon.
"Bairan—"
"I refuse."
"Uhh? You don't even know what I was going to ask."
"I don't need to. It's written all over your face. You want to avoid seeing his family… because it makes you uncomfortable."
Northern looked away, as if caught in the act.
"It's not always about you, Master. I know how introverted you are, how much you like to stay in your own corner, but you can't hide there forever. Not when it matters. You cared for him—anyone could see that. So the least you can do is honor him properly. Don't run from that too."
Northern lowered his head. His voice, when it came, was quieter.
"You don't understand. All my life… not just this one—I've never faced something like this. I've lived sheltered, disconnected. I've barely been to a funeral, let alone consoled the grieving. I wouldn't even know what to say."
"Then say nothing. Just be there. Your past life is behind you. Maybe your awkwardness and cluelessness is what gave you this second chance—to learn, to grow, to make things right. You, of all people, understand what change really means. You are a Demon of Change. And change is never easy—but it's always worth it."
Northern stared at Bairan, a flicker of vexation glinting in his eyes. He let out a sharp exhale.
"Why did I have to summon a sagacious Sword King with a habit of lecturing me?"
Bairan grinned.
"Count yourself the luckiest Lord in the universe."
Northern smirked faintly and stepped past him.
'Indeed I am…'
He made his way back to Burning Storm's charred corpse. The body, though burned, was still recognizable. Maroon hair clung to the scorched flesh, and parts of his lower garments remained—torn, but intact.
Northern bent down, lifting the body gently. The weight was more than physical.
He walked toward the entrance of the Unification Complex.
Once, this place had a pristine garden in front of it, with a serene fountain that danced under the sun. Now, it was a ruin—its beauty devoured by battle. The tiled ground was gone, the basin of the fountain erased. The land bore scars—patchwork craters, fragmented stone steps, cracks like claw marks carved by fate itself.
Northern knelt and laid the fallen warrior down with quiet care. Then he slipped off the white coat he'd worn under the guise of the White Mercenary, draping it over Burning Storm's body like a shroud. Beneath it, he was left in a simple armless undergarment, the air brushing over skin chilled by ash and memory.
He turned his eyes to the building.
Faintly—almost too faint to trust—he heard something.
A soft, trembling sound, wavering through the broken air.
'...a baby?'