Reunion

"The darkness is coming!"

"Your Majesty the Queen! Punish that heretical darkness!"

Inside a royal palace built upon the desert, warriors knelt in reverence before a woman seated upon the throne.

But every one of them was corrupted. Minds no longer capable of proper thought — fanatics who could do nothing but follow with blind devotion.

The Desert Queen was dead. Having lost their center, those warriors clung even more fiercely to their new queen.

The woman seated upon the Iron-Blood Throne. A merciless seat that only the pitiless could occupy.

There sat Isabella.

Her expression was endlessly cold. A face and gaze utterly devoid of emotion, as though she had become someone else entirely. With vacant eyes, Isabella looked down upon the warriors.

At the same time, a white snake revealed itself upon her hand.

"Jormungandr…!"

"Ah — the serpent that swallows the world!"

The Mystery, Jormungandr. Upon reaching Level 10, it naturally guided its bearer to the Star of Jormungandr. And now, Isabella had invoked that Mystery, found the star, and made it her own.

A Transcendent who had consumed a star. And not just any star — a Named one, elevating her above ordinary Transcendents.

Her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠original purpose had been to connect the desert. Filling the queen's vacant seat had been everything. She had consumed the star and achieved her goal, so there was no longer any reason to remain here.

I no longer need to find my origin.

She had realized it the moment she transcended by devouring the star — through the countless memories that flashed through her mind.

The Dercian family of the Empire. Memories of being born and raised there, of contracting the Divine Illness. Memories of living as a puppet, controlled while afflicted with that illness. All of it had surged up from the depths of her mind.

I was already discarded.

When she contracted the Divine Illness, the Empire's Dercian family had produced a new "clone." A world where the fake became real, and the real vanished. There was no longer any reason to seek her origin and return.

Even if she did, she would not be welcomed. They would brand her a counterfeit and try to kill her. To them, she was a shameful secret they wished to bury — a piece of flesh they longed to cut away.

And more than that.

The one who controlled me. A Player…

Awakened by consuming the star, she had reached far beyond — into the "other side." Someone who had erased her memories and moved her body at will. Someone who had used her like a chess piece. They called such people "Players."

That man's face. I saw it clearly.

And Isabella had seen the man who controlled her as well. An unforgivable man — one who must never be forgiven. The man who had stolen her entire life.

Had it not been for him, she would never have been abandoned by her family, never have opened her eyes in Faisalmer.

If only I had never known.

If only she had remained ignorant, lived without knowing — she would never have had to feel these emotions.

But it was already too late. The moment she awakened, the moment she consumed the star, the knowledge had risen of its own accord, whether she wanted it or not. A curse that could not be erased no matter how hard she tried, carved deep like a slave's brand.

She would have to carry this curse for eternity. Perhaps it would be better to simply be buried forever in this desert.

Hooo.

Isabella drew a deep breath, her gaze ice-cold as she looked out at the "darkness" approaching from afar.

The darkness that had drawn so near was about to engulf Faisalmer.

Reunion

When the warp opened within the Abyss, Gracia and every other Player saw the same window — the contribution scores and their rankings.

1.25 million points. Question marks, huh.

The one marked with question marks had scored more than ten times what Gracia himself had earned by rescuing hundreds of thousands of people — and had eliminated Baal alone.

Gracia considered the rest of the ranked Players.

Barmush. Valte.

Barmush had contributed greatly to clearing out the curse servants. Berserker Valte, a spearman, was one who had glimpsed the Pinnacle of the Unconscious. When the curse shattered his mind, his "Unconscious" activated, attacking every curse servant that entered a certain range.

The epithets attached before each name described their roles within the Abyss.

MintChocoIsDelicious… In the end, I never found him.

But the only one who had remained completely invisible was MintChocoIsDelicious.

Messenger. What did he deliver, and to whom?

Where there is a sender, there must be a receiver. Yet he could make no sense of it — what had been sent, who had received it, and where. What was certain was that MintChocoIsDelicious had been in that Abyss as well, concealing his identity even under those circumstances.

The question marks are probably Randolph. Five-Force Randolph — that utterly dreadful omen.

But that hardly mattered. The most important thing was the name in first place.

Those three question marks were almost certainly Five-Force Randolph — that monstrous, colossal omen. If anyone had eliminated Baal, it could only have been that creature. An existence like the King of Corpse Crows, the Sovereign of Ill Omen. Its head had been swallowed by Baal, yet it had clearly eroded Baal from within and killed it.

…Afterward, Five-Force Randolph evolved from a black egg and was reborn anew.

And when everyone in the Abyss was forcibly returned through the warp, Gracia alone had held out as long as possible, watching the black egg crack open.

But what emerged when the black egg shattered was something entirely unexpected.

Why was it in human form?

He could not have been mistaken. He was certain. What came out of the egg was a human. But if that dreadful omen was Five-Force Randolph, it could never become human. The White King's official dispatch had clearly written "King of Corpse Crows." Would a corpse crow evolving into a human make any sense? Unless it had been human from the start.

The being that awoke from the black egg was in a state purer than anything else. Its original form, unaltered.

Baal was dead. The elimination alert and the contribution scores made that certain. If what emerged from the black egg was not Baal but Five-Force Randolph — how was that appearance to be explained?

What if the question marks aren't Five-Force Randolph after all?

Seeing the omen and thinking of Five-Force had been almost instinctive. He had been certain. But he needed to consider the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠possibility that his certainty was wrong — that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠everything had been Gracia's misconception from the start, and it was an entirely different being.

…That face. I definitely—

He had not seen it clearly, but he had seen it without a doubt. The face of the one who awoke from the egg. Since leaving the Abyss, Gracia had been replaying that face endlessly. It had become something like an obsession. Yet every time, he arrived at the same conclusion.

It was definitely… the Master of Hydragon. A face similar to his.

After the "Jeju Island Disappearance" incident, a post appeared on Player Talk, and Players began leaving replies like comments.

Main Quest 8 could be completed by eliminating just a single Corruption Source. And Corruption Sources appeared periodically in every city under the heavens. Sometimes the city's master handled them personally; often they issued commissions instead. Tracking Phantom's whereabouts through that alone was impossible.

When a Corruption Source appeared, the city's master noticed immediately. No master would leave one alone — and even if a city was vacant, there was always a designated "City Heir." Even in ownerless territories, the monsters of that space instinctively eliminated Corruption Sources. Unless someone deliberately left them alone, an entire city never became corrupted.

Then it happened.

A post that carried the tone of someone who actually knew something about corruption. He followed up with another.

It happened the moment I eliminated the sixth Corruption Source. The deployed domain collapsed back into nothing, citing insufficient charged Darkness. Forty-eight hours. Two full days of unavailability.

But I didn't care.

"The pedestal. Hand it over, caw."

"…Wouldn't it be better if I handled the sword?"

As I held out my hand, Aria spoke. She meant that someone who actually knew swordsmanship — herself — would wield it better than I would.

"Hand it over, caw."

"…Understood."

But as I kept my hand extended, Aria half-gave up, squeezing her eyes shut as she passed me the Northern Sky Ice Sword.

A sensation that settled perfectly into my grip. I swung it a few times and got a response.

Kyaaak! Where do you think you're touching!

Hmm. Is this just how ego swords are? A bit noisy, but not bad. It had a different flavor from Skull Crusher.

Complete domination hasn't been established yet, it seems.

But swinging it made one thing clear. The Northern Sky Ice Sword had not yet been fully dominated by the Dreadful Omen's eye. If it had been completely dominated, the contract with Aria would have been forcibly severed.

And I had a feeling there was something more. A proper swing would give me the answer.

Whiiish!

Slash!

In that moment, a single arrow came flying. I cut it down before it could reach me — and from afar, arrows began ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pouring down in a barrage.

"Lord Five-Force. Now is the time to fall back one step."

Aria said urgently. I shook my head.

"It's fine."

Until now, it had been practically bug-level play. Just walking around had been enough to eliminate Corruption Sources. From here on was the real game.

I raised the Northern Sky Ice Sword and swung it broadly toward the incoming arrows.

And then—

CRAAACK—!

A wall of ice unfurled across the empty air, blocking every last arrow.

"H-how are you already using that technique…?"

Aria was stunned. It wasn't merely freezing whatever it touched — scattering a wall of ice across a designated space was a technique she herself had only just become able to use.

Wielding the Northern Sky Ice Sword required not only personal aptitude but also a spiritual rapport with the blade itself. But that wasn't all.

Crack! Crrrack!

The ice wall split apart, transforming into sharp icicles. Those icicles turned toward the barbarians who had loosed the arrows.

Whiiish!

Hundreds — thousands — of icicles began raining down upon them in reverse.

Thud! Thud-thud-thud-thud!

"Guh!"

"Gaaah!"