"What's happening over there?" a man whispered, leaning slightly toward his companion as he squinted down the crowded street. His tone carried curiosity but also a thread of nervousness.

The man beside him followed his gaze. Ahead, near the steps of the Klatonic Church, a crowd had gathered.. ten, maybe twenty knights in radiant silver and gold armor standing firmly on one side, while opposite them were dozens, no, hundreds of figures in black robes, the worshippers and believers of the Klatonic Church. The contrast was stark: light against shadow, polished steel against somber cloth.

And in the center of it all, tension brewed.

"As I said," growled the scar-faced man who seemed to lead the black-robed group, "no one except the followers and worshippers of the Klatonic Church are permitted past these gates. If you wish to enter, you must first prove your devotion." His tone was sharp, edged with hostility, his eyes locked firmly on the woman before him.

She stood tall, radiant. Her golden presence was unmistakable.. Selena, the Saintess. Even dressed modestly, the brilliance of her aura was enough to draw every gaze. Her voice, though calm, carried irritation beneath its composure.

"I only need to look inside," Selena said softly, her golden eyes narrowing. "Do not create problems for your church. I am not in the mood for this."

The scar-faced man's jaw clenched. His hand twitched at his side as though itching for his weapon. "No," he snapped. "No matter who you are, whoever you claim to be, this is your last warning. Step back.. or we will defend our church with weapons."

At once, the robed believers behind him shifted. Hands went to hilts, blades gleamed in the dim light, and the air thickened with killing intent.

That was when one of the golden-armored knights by Selena stepped forward, fury in his voice. His entire body radiated indignation.

"Give the order, your Holiness," the knight said, his voice low but burning with righteous fire. "Say the word and we will clean this path with blood. To let these wretches speak to you with such insolence.. it cannot be tolerated!" His gauntleted hand gripped the pommel of his sword, his entire body tense, ready to act.

The other knights mirrored him, shifting forward, eyes blazing, the frowns on their faces carved deep. How could these people not recognize her? The Saintess herself, standing here before them, treated like a common intruder? The insult was unbearable.

But Selena lifted her hand ever so slightly, hesitating.

"No… wait," she murmured, her voice softer but firm. "Not yet. Killing isn't always the way."

Inside her heart, though, the hesitation twisted like a knife. She wasn't here for mercy. She was here because of Razeal. Because of the pain he suffered unintentionally by her actions. She had come to this place searching for those who hurted him to focus take the Revenge, and it hadn't taken her long to learn the truth.. This church was most likely linked with that.

Her fists clenched at her sides. Rage coiled in her chest. But even so, she forced herself to breathe. If she lost control now, How could she call herself the sainteess.

The scar-faced man smirked, emboldened by her restraint. He opened his mouth to bark another threat.. but then it came.

The sound of measured steps.

Click. Click. Click.

Shoes striking stone. Calm, steady, unhurried.

The sound cut through the noise like a blade. Slowly, all eyes turned toward the source. Even the robed believers, frowning, shifted uneasily as the sound grew louder, closer.

And then they saw.

A tall woman, her violet cloak trailing behind her like the flowing shadow of royalty. Her hair shimmered with the faint glint of deep purple, her eyes cold, expressionless, unreadable. She walked with a steady, inevitable grace.. each step making the air around her heavier, as if the world itself acknowledged her presence.

Nova.

The moment she stepped into view, the crowd fell into uneasy silence. They stiffened.. frowning.

The scar-faced man blinked, his body suddenly tense. Something primal screamed at him not to stand in her way. But pride and duty shoved the fear down, forcing him forward. With hurried steps, he placed himself directly in front of her path.

"H-Hey! Lady, stop right there!" he barked, though his voice cracked slightly. He swallowed hard, staring into her eyes, the chill of them freezing his blood. "If you're not a believer of the Klatonic Church, then you cannot enter. I said stop!"

Nova's eyes shifted to him once, cold and indifferent.

"I see," she said simply. Her voice was calm. Too calm.

And she didn't stop.

Her steps continued forward.

The scar-faced man froze. Something in his instincts screamed louder now, shrieking that he should run, that he should never have spoken.

Then it happened.

Flashes of purple light erupted across the space.. swift, precise, merciless. Blades of shadow? No, lines of death itself. From unseen directions, knives gleamed with reflected light, streaking faster than the eye could follow.

And then

Shhhhkt.

A thin red line blossomed across the necks of every Klatonic believer standing there. For a heartbeat, silence. And then

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Heads slid from shoulders. Dozens at once. The severed heads hit the ground, rolling, eyes wide in shock that never had time to fade. Blood arced high, spraying across robes, walls, the gates of the church itself.

The bodies crumpled like puppets with cut strings, collapsing in heaps upon the blood-soaked stones.

Nova never paused.

Her boots splashed through the crimson puddles as she walked past the fallen. She didn't so much as glance at the corpses she had left behind. The air reeked of iron, the ground slick with gore, but her steps remained steady, unhurried.

Blood sprayed onto her cloak. Not that it mattered.

The knights, even those clad in golden armor, stood frozen in silence. Selena herself could only stare, lips pressed tightly together.

After a moment, they parted slightly, as if she meant to speak yet no words came.

A severed head rolled across the stone and stopped at her feet. She looked down. Lifeless eyes gazed up at her, wide with the terror of their final breath. Still, she said nothing.

The street was drowned in silence, heavy and suffocating.

At last, Selena lifted her gaze. Her eyes followed Nova's retreating figure, then rose higher to the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. There, dozens of assassins stood, their purple uniforms unmistakable, blades glistening with fresh blood that dripped steadily onto the tiles below.

She's here for him too, Selena thought, her expression unreadable.

A soft sigh escaped her. "Let's go," she murmured at last, turning to her guards. Without another glance at the fallen, she followed in Nova's footsteps.

----

Inside Eternal Hold

"Fuckkk… I hate this," Razeal hissed through clenched teeth, both hands gripping the sides of his skull as though trying to stop it from splitting open.

Blood streamed down his face in thin crimson lines, dripping from his ears, his nose, and even the corners of his eyes. Veins bulged angrily across his forehead and temples, swelling until some of them burst with sharp stings, feeding the red that stained his pale skin. His head felt like it was boiling under pressure, and still.. still.. he forced himself to continue.

The concentration demanded by his Shadow Gaze was unbearable. The exhaustion clawing at his mind was real. His head spun, stomach churning, and a low, constant buzzing filled his skull like a swarm of hornets chewing through his sanity.

But he couldn't stop.

Not now.

He had spent the entire night pushing himself, refusing even a moment's pause. Hours upon hours had bled together, his body unmoving in this empty white chamber while his consciousness scattered outward into the abyss of shadows.

Razeal panted, voice hoarse as he cursed again. "Where the fuck is this fucking old man…"

His eyelids pressed tighter shut, as if the darkness might ease the strain, but it didn't. Behind them, shapes and faces continued flashing one after another.

Thousands of them.

For a fraction of a second at a time, every face etched itself into his mind before vanishing, replaced by another.. men, women, elderly.. each one imprisoned within the sterile hell of Eternal Hold.

And with every glimpse came the unspoken stories written into their eyes.

Hopelessness. Madness. Broken will. Silent screams.

At first, the weight of those gazes tore at him. He had caught himself wondering.. who were they before they were dragged here? What crimes, what mistakes, what bad luck had led them to this inescapable tomb?

He even thought he might see corpses.. those who had taken their own lives to escape the endless emptiness. But strangely, unnervingly, not a single one was dead. All were alive. Maybe forced to remain alive, their suffering stretched into eternity. He doesn't know.

Though it disturbed him, gnawed at him, made his gut twist with something he couldn't name. But as the hours dragged on, instinct.. or maybe sheer survival had taught him to shut it all out.

Ignore them.

Ignore the hollow eyes.

Ignore the screams that lived only in silence.

If he let himself dwell on even one face, he would waste time. And he had no time to waste. And not that he cared for now.

He leaned back against the cold, sterile wall, his breathing ragged, crimson streaks staining his chin as more blood trickled free. He was irritated, exhausted beyond measure, yet his will remained sharp.

Morning had already come.

He could feel it.

And that made him more anxious than the splitting in his skull.

He had to be out of Eternal Hold before his mother or sister returned to the Empire. He somehow guesses them too well. Their false obsessive protectiveness or whatever would never have allowed him to be thrown into this cursed prison. They would have showed fake care fight or whatever just so to prove that they care.. Do something maybe to keep him from stepping foot here, even if it meant threatening the Empire.

And once they returned, if he hadn't already escaped, they might interfere in his plans. That couldn't happen. He had to finish this before they dragged him out themselves. If did happen he be trapped with no escape.

"Faster… I need to be faster," he growled under his breath.

Another shadow. Another face. Another glimpse into a chamber identical to his own.

One after another.

Each time, his focus was razor sharp, his memory working like steel. matching the descriptions he remembered from the novel, from the fragments he had seen in the Virelan household's library. Yeah ofcourse the old man he sought wasn't just anyone. He had been an important figure once, famous enough that even a half forgotten portrait still put in Virelan household library.

More faces. More empty chambers. His mental energy burned away like oil in a fire. His mental stat, once mighty, was only at B-rank now crippled by the price of abandoning his Virelan bloodline. And with every connection, with every shadow sight, he felt the strain grind his mind raw.

He remembered when he could have handled hundreds of views at once, his perception branching out endlessly, his thoughts processing like a storm of lightning. Back then, he might have swept through this place in minutes.

Now?

Now he was crawling, one shadow at a time.

And it was killing him.

Every flash of vision dug deeper into his sanity. His hands trembled, nails scratching against his skull as though to dig out the pressure. The cold white chamber around him seemed to close in tighter with every breath.

Time was bleeding away.

He clenched his teeth, forced another surge of focus, and opened his connection to the next shadow.

And froze.

His breath caught.

This chamber was different.

Empty. White. But not like the rest.

In the center, suspended in midair, was an old man.

Not just suspended.. impaled.

----

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