A message appeared: the Saintess’s prophecy had been triggered. It was a message I had never seen before—not even once.
Why now, of all times…?
My mind swirled with relentless confusion. I fixed my gaze on Ansol. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, yet her lips were bitten so hard they looked raw. There was an unspoken, resolute determination not to use any miracles. I took a deep breath.
“Ansol.”
“…”
“I’ll be honest. I don’t know the full situation yet. But I do know it’s extremely urgent—so urgent that even talking about it feels like a waste of time. So, just one question.”
“…”
“No matter how this ends—”
“…”
“Will you be able to accept the outcome?”
“…”
What I meant was this: I knew she was aware miracles existed.
But Ansol said she wouldn’t use one—or that she didn’t have one.
So, no matter how things turn out, could she bear the consequences?
That was the heart of my question.
Ansol remained silent, eyes tightly shut. A single tear traced down her cheek, and the lips she’d bitten so fiercely slowly parted.
“Yes.”
And with that, she spoke.
…Good.
I stood up immediately and turned my back.
“What do you mean by that? We were in the same squad, and you don’t know what happened?”
“No, no! That’s not it…!”
From the direction where Hansoyoung stood, I saw a man and a woman arguing. The man, visibly angry, was Yoojitae. The woman, shaking her head in confusion, was a user I hadn’t seen before. She carried a bow, so probably an archer. I decided to approach.
“What’s going on here?”
Cutting in, both fell silent as if on cue, unsure how to respond.
“Mercenary Lord.”
A moment later, Hansoyoung called me over, her voice tinged with unease. I nodded to show I was listening.
She quickly summarized the situation: about thirty users had been chasing Juhyunho; they split into four squads; and now, Shin Jaeryong, Anhyun, and Helena hadn’t returned.
“I… I’m the only one who came back.”
The lone returnee was the stammering archer woman.
Unlike the others, she had come back alone. She kept saying she didn’t know what happened, but it was obvious.
Shin Jaeryong’s squad must have encountered Juhyunho and fought, and she fled alone. Lying was pointless—Hansoyoung’s heightened senses would detect it immediately.
“…”
I closed my eyes gently. I wasn’t shocked. I had suspected something when familiar clan members were missing. But the unease inside me deepened, growing more urgent.
‘Shin Sangyong (deceased).’
A flash of memory crossed my mind.
The moment I confirmed his death with my third eye—the peaceful face of Shin Sangyong, eyes closed as if asleep.
‘Anhyun (deceased).’
‘Shin Jaeryong (deceased).’
‘Helena (deceased).’
And the future that would surely follow—or rather, the most likely future.
I even recalled the bitter memory of having to leave my brother’s body behind and run.
“No…”
I opened my eyes immediately.
The ceiling cracked, chunks of rock and earth falling around us. Everyone watched me silently.
Time was precious.
Even standing here was a waste.
With that thought, I spoke quietly.
“Istantel Lord.”
“Yes.”
“First, it’s best to evacuate the users. Even though Helena isn’t here…”
“If you mean the users outside, we’ve already contacted them.”
So it was.
My mind was still tangled. I wanted to rush out and find them now.
But I couldn’t. I mustn’t. An inexplicable dread still gripped me tightly.
Here, the objective had to be clear. It wasn’t just about finding and saving them.
Right. It wasn’t just about saving them—it was about bringing them out alive.
To do that, we needed another tool.
“Very well. Then I will leave my clan member Ansol here as backup.”
Leaving Ansol behind as backup. Hansoyoung would understand what that meant.
“…Ah.”
At that moment, Hansoyoung’s face changed in a way words couldn’t describe. I didn’t know what it meant, but I didn’t hesitate and turned away.
It was time to go.
“Wait—”
“Hold on.”
Just as I was about to step forward, someone grabbed me firmly. I glanced over to see Yoojitae, his expression serious.
“I’ve heard everything. But, Mercenary Lord, now is the time to think rationally.”
Annoying.
I twisted my arm free and spoke.
“Mercenary Lord! It’s not just me—”
“I’m not asking for help.”
Trying to stay calm, I looked back at Yoojitae.
“They’re my clan members. I’m the one who will save them. Don’t you understand?”
“Uh, uh… um…”
Then, for some reason, Yoojitae suddenly stammered when our eyes met. He even took a step back. Not just him—everyone nearby was acting the same. Reflexively, I rubbed my face.
At that moment—
‘User Hansoyoung’s power, Destruction • Charge, has been granted.’
“Go. Mercenary Lord.”
Hansoyoung’s voice sounded faintly wistful as a refreshing breeze swept over me.
Finally, I had her permission.
“Then.”
With those words, I launched myself forward as fast as I could.
As the explosion’s dust settled, Shin Jaeryong struggled to lift his head and find Anhyun. Anhyun lay nearby.
“Anhyun!”
I shouted at the top of my lungs. Thankfully, Anhyun stirred. Though grimacing, he slowly pushed himself up—still alive. His protective gear had absorbed much of the blast.
“Ugh!”
But not completely. As he rose, Anhyun swayed slightly. His body leaned to the right, indicating his right leg was injured. Shin Jaeryong swallowed hard. It was a relief he wasn’t dead, but the situation was dire.
Finally steadying himself, Anhyun staggered forward.
“Jaeryong hyung, sorry, but can you treat me…?”
But when Shin Jaeryong saw Anhyun’s condition, he fell silent and widened his eyes. His own injuries looked twice as bad. Blood pooled around him, forming a small, sticky puddle.
Seeing Anhyun’s face, Shin Jaeryong gave a bitter smile.
“Sorry. My circuits are empty—I can’t cast spells.”
“No, no, hyung. It’s the wounds…”
“It’s nothing. Anyway, let’s hurry.”
“Ah.”
Anhyun seemed to snap back to reality and quickly scanned the area. A helpless look flickered in his eyes.
The king’s lair still held dozens of women. Some had been captured long ago, others more recently. All were swollen with pregnancy, nursing larvae-like monsters.
Of course, saving them all was impossible.
“Ugh.”
Struggling to stand, Shin Jaeryong suddenly felt clarity return. His blurred vision sharpened, pain in his side lessened, and his body seemed to surge with renewed strength—like a candle flaring brightly before going out.
…He didn’t fully understand it himself.
Taking a breath, Shin Jaeryong’s eyes darted sharply. He gripped Anhyun’s shoulder.
“Hyun-ah. It’s unavoidable.”
“…”
“It’s unfortunate, but we can only do what we can. So go bring Helena back.”
“Understood.”
Though hesitant, Anhyun knew the situation left no choice and moved quickly.
“Helena! Helena!”
Anhyun called out desperately, but Helena didn’t respond. Fear gripped him, but he lifted her cold, lifeless body. Despite the chill, he shook his head and stared toward the exit—only to be shocked again.
“Ready? Then let’s go.”
Standing near the exit was Shin Jaeryong, supporting a man on his shoulder. The man coughed violently, half-conscious—it was none other than the warrior Lord Go Ohwan.
Yes. Go Ohwan was badly injured but still alive.
“Hyung?”
“Come on, come on. We’ll talk later. If the clan lord knows the situation, he’s surely left a chance for rescue. We have to trust that.”
“No! But why that user—”
“…”
For the first time, Anhyun’s voice rose sharply. His chest felt like it was about to burst. He couldn’t understand what was happening.
Of course, he couldn’t say he was completely fine himself, but the situation was different. Helena was a user who absolutely had to be saved. But Shin Jae-ryong? Just by looking at him, it was clear he was on the verge of collapse—and there was no loyalty strong enough to risk his life to save a clan lord.
A brief silence fell between the two men as they looked at each other.
“Because I want to be able to face myself without shame.”
But before long, Shin Jae-ryong spoke again.
“Huh?”
An Hyun shuffled toward the entrance, his face puzzled as he asked back.
Shin Jae-ryong glanced briefly at Go Oh-hwan, who was letting out faint groans, then quietly spoke.
“Hyun-ah. Right now, in this situation, I don’t want to do anything I’ll regret later.”
“Hyung, why are you like this? Please, please. Common sense says you can’t possibly—”
“I can.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Didn’t I say earlier? Let’s only do what we can. I’m doing this because I can.”
“I can’t.”
“And when I explain this to the clan lord later, I want to be able to hold my head high. I want to be able to say I truly did my best. That no matter what, I never abandoned my comrades in battle, and I saved as many as I could with the strength I had left.”
“…”
So that’s what it meant. When he said ‘only do what you can,’ that’s what he meant.
In the end, An Hyun fell silent. There were still so many things he wanted to say, but when he looked at Shin Jae-ryong’s face, he couldn’t bring himself to speak any further. Behind that steady gaze was an emotion he couldn’t quite understand.
As the conversation paused, An Hyun reached the entrance.
“I am a priest.”
With those final words, Shin Jae-ryong calmly turned away. An Hyun stared at his back, stained with fatigue, still unable to shake his worry.
---------------------------= Author’s Note ---------------------------=
Reading through the comments… it seems the death of Shin Sang-yong really shocked a lot of readers. (Honestly, I never expected so many of you to mourn him so deeply.)
Actually, I’ve made a slight change in the story’s direction. Many readers shared their thoughts on the situation I was portraying, which made me think deeply about it.
Well, that’s all I’ll say for now. Haha.