Half a month later, a large laboratory was set up, filled with magical equipment and glowing bottles of multicolored liquid. Henry was taken to a special room, built with rare gemstones that could insulate and amplify magical energy.

In the center of the room was a pure white marble bed, carved with countless complex Runes of an energy fusion and conversion formation. Next to the bed was a transparent crystal mold. The secret laboratory of the Celestial Accord was filled with a stifling silence, broken only by the regular "tick-tock" of the magical equipment and Henry's heavy breathing.

The decision had been made, and there was no turning back. He had agreed to commit a part of his soul and precious life force to create another "Henry" that had his form and breath, to stay by Sophia's side. This was both a comfort and a deception. He was about to embark on a solitary journey to seek strength and confront the dark forces threatening Tehra. Mythris said nothing, only watching Henry. "Are you sure about your final decision?"

Henry lowered his head, trying to swallow the bitter, choking taste that rose in his throat. None of this was new to him; he had seen all the possible outcomes in the hypothetical dreams Socrost had created. He had witnessed Sophia's silent suffering and her complete self-abnegation as she dedicated her life to caring for a senseless "Henry".

That pain was a hundred times worse than any physical wound he had ever endured.

"I have decided." Henry said, his voice a mix of profound pain and an unbreakable will. Mythris nodded.

"Then let's begin." He gestured for the Alliance's greatest mages and alchemists to begin the complex and risky process.

The initial "nurturing" process began. Under the guidance of the mages, Henry lay down on the stone bed. He felt an intense pain, as if his very soul were being torn apart bit by bit. A part of his precious life force was slowly being drained, converted, and transferred into the crystal mold. He gritted his teeth, trying not to make a sound, cold sweat drenching his body.

He looked at the transparent crystal mold, where a body, his perfect duplicate, was slowly being formed, perfect in every small detail. Another "Henry", a shadow of himself, was about to be born to stay by Sophia's side in his place. In that pain and extreme exhaustion, Henry's mind once again drifted to the sweet memories, the brief moments of happiness he had had with Sophia.

When Henry woke up, he found himself on a soft bed in a strange room. He felt a bone-deep weakness and exhaustion, the kind left by a life-or-death battle that had lasted for months. The first "offering" had taken a significant part of his strength.

He could no longer feel the presence of the Sanctuary Seal on his left chest as clearly as before, and his special Mystic Sense also seemed to have diminished greatly, no longer as sharp as it used to be. As he tried to remember what had happened, the memory of the experiment and the painful, long nurturing process to come came flooding back, bringing a sharp pain to his chest.

He had started on this path. He had created the first foundation for another "Henry" to stay by Sophia's side. The real Henry, now, had become someone else, with a new identity, a new burden, and a lonely, arduous journey ahead. Mythris walked into the room.

"You're awake?" he asked, his voice still distant. "The initial experiment was a success. That body of yours is now being specially cared for in a safe place. In the coming months, you will have to continue the nurturing process until it reaches the necessary stability. Only after it is complete will I seal it, and everything will go as you planned. That girl will believe that you have suffered a terrible accident, an injury that could no longer be healed."

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Henry tried to sit up, but his body was still too weak, with no strength at all. He looked at Mythris, gratitude and sadness clear in his eyes.

"Thank you for helping me."

"Don't thank me," Mythris replied. "This is your choice, the price you must pay for the safety of the girl you love. Remember that. And remember that from this moment on, when this process is complete and you leave, you are no longer a man of Aerion. You are a member of the Sanctuary Enclave, a person with a special mission, a heavy responsibility that cannot be denied."

Every time the ordeal ended, Henry returned to a completely exhausted and depleted body. The process of extracting a part of his life force and aether to nurture the fake body made him feel completely drained, leaving a sense of emptiness and a dull pain spreading throughout his body. He became visibly weaker, his face pale, and his breathing sometimes heavy.

But Henry would not allow himself to fall. Dawn in Aerion never saw him absent from the old training grounds of Unit 18. Before the first rays of sun crept over the rooftops, while the city was still asleep, his figure was already there, drenched in sweat.

He was aware that this physical weakness was only temporary, but the enemy would never wait. Beleth was still out there, a dark ghost that could appear at any time. He couldn't let his fighting strength diminish, not even for a moment.

He started with basic physical exercises and techniques, but at a intensity that was almost self-tormenting. Only his iron will kept his exhausted body moving forward. He swung his sword hundreds of times, each strike precise and powerful, even when his arm was tired and trembling. There were times when the pain from his drained life force hit, making him stagger and almost fall. The metallic taste of blood in his mouth mixed with the saltiness of his sweat. But then he would grit his teeth.

He looked into the distance, towards the small apartment of him and Sophia, and her image would appear, the only source of motivation, the only reason for him to keep standing. He didn't just train to maintain his strength.

He trained to forget the pain, to hone his will, to make his body stronger, ready for the battle ahead. Every drop of sweat, every callus on his hands, was a reminder of the path he had chosen and of the girl he had sworn to protect with his life.

---------------------------------

A long time had passed since the attack on Aerion. But in Natsmunda, time seemed to not exist, only the relentless rhythm of battle. Three months had passed since Haziel set foot in this land, three months of living in a fierce battle for survival, where he was a warrior and also a high-paying client.

Natsmunda, the city that never sleeps, where life is traded for money. The expensive recovery "services" from Natsmunda had helped him fight continuously, prolong his life, and, most importantly, constantly push past his limits.

Though he had only reached Rank 4 three months ago, his strength had increased incredibly. His hammer strikes could now create powerful bolts of lightning, and his sword swings could tear through space.

He had killed thousands of monsters, from ferocious Rank 2s to cunning Rank 4s. Every battle was a lesson, every wound an experience. But as time went on, the battles in Natsmunda became more and more unsettling. Haziel had noticed it from the first days of the third month. The monsters had become stranger.

They were no longer just creatures with primal instincts. They had bizarre, deformed shapes, bodies that seemed to be patched together from many different creatures. Some monsters were grotesque hybrids of giant spiders and men, bearing human heads and arms. Some had the body of a wolf, but with disgusting tentacles growing out of their legs.

They were unnatural, terrifying, and completely unlike any creature he had ever learned about in the military's files. Their strength and auras were also abnormal and strange. Every time he fought them, Haziel felt a cold, rotting feeling that seemed to originate from beyond this world. He sensed that these monsters had been twisted and warped by some dark energy, turning them into insane creations.

Even just killing them made him uncomfortable. It seemed there was a slow infiltration of that vague energy through the act of destroying them.

There were times when he tried to find clues, to find answers to these questions. But there were too many monsters; they appeared and attacked constantly. He could only fight, fight, and fight. They gave him almost no time to think.

A terrifying thought suddenly came to him: Could it be that the battle in Natsmunda was no longer just a battle for survival, but a battle against dark forces trying to invade this world? Or was it something else that made Natsmunda different, causing the monsters here to be warped as well? Natsmunda had always been the most unique nation, but could it be hiding another extraordinary secret?

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