"My name is Troino. Before I kill you, I'd like to know yours," said the Corrupt, his voice filled with restrained anger and a cold smile on his face.
"You guys really like talking about names, don't you?" Daion replied, stepping forward with a frown. "I'm Daion—but I doubt you'll remember it in the next life."
The Corrupt nodded and turned to Loryn. Loryn frowned back; Troino sighed and lowered his gaze.
"We share our names out of respect for powerful warriors—when we acknowledge someone who might be able to kill us," the Corrupt explained, slowly advancing toward the bear.
Daion noticed the beast hadn't attacked. It was waiting for its master's command. Like the hound from SteelWall, its glowing blue markings pulsed brighter.
"Well, that'll be interesting," said Loryn, sliding his rifle onto his back. "When I recognize you as a real threat, I'll tell you my name."
Daion frowned, unsure what Loryn was planning.
"I see, then…" Troino raised his arms and leapt. Daion followed—making the mistake of ignoring the bear for just a few seconds.
The beast exhaled, unleashing a wave of icy mist that struck them head-on, freezing their bodies instantly and blanketing the chamber in frost. Troino landed gracefully as the ice cracked beneath him. Daion gritted his teeth, forcing his body to move.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Troino warned, walking toward him. Daion looked up. Loryn, meanwhile, breathed slowly and exchanged a glance with Aelith—she seemed to understand. "Your body's frozen solid. Move the wrong way, and you'll tear yourself apart."
"Oh, really? What's next—you'll tell me water's wet?" Daion shot back, scanning for a solution.
Troino smiled with false sympathy. This one's a real fighter. I'll take him out first—the other won't be a problem without his rifle, he thought, lifting his spear and preparing to drive it through the Invoked. Daion winced; even the slightest movement sent pain searing through his skin, burning like fire. Troino smiled, satisfied.
Just as he was about to strike, the temperature spiked. Troino froze in confusion and turned—Aelith was releasing her aura. The frost around them began to melt.
"What is she doing?" Troino muttered, momentarily distracted. "If she overheats her body, her wound will reopen—she'll bleed out…"
Then he heard it—a sharp clicking sound. His gaze darted to Loryn, who stood calmly, his expression a mix of focus and quiet confidence.
The Corrupt's eyes widened when a thin trail of steam rose behind the Invoked.
"Do you know what heat is?" Loryn asked, lifting his head just as the ice around them began to crack. "It's kinetic energy—when matter moves, it generates heat. And, lucky for you, I control inertia."
Troino spun his spear toward Loryn, but Daion didn't hesitate. Risking everything, he forced his arm to move and aimed—then unleashed a burst of Omega energy from his gem. The beam grazed the Corrupt's feet, startling him.
In that instant, Loryn raised his rifle. The ice melted and splintered, freeing the barrel from the pressure that had trapped it. Loryn grinned with resolve and pulled the trigger.
The bullet materialized across the chamber in a flash—Troino screamed as his side exploded in a spray of blood and ice.
He tried to shield himself, summoning frost with his hands, but suddenly a chill ran down his neck. He turned—slowly, fearfully—and saw Aelith scaling the cave wall, claws digging into the rock. Blood poured from her abdomen, yet she gritted her teeth and launched herself forward.
Her claws, fully unleashed and wreathed in aura, shattered the Corrupt's will.
With a burst of energy, Aelith crashed to the ground, rolling from the impact, pain surging through her body. Troino looked down, stunned, realizing his neck had been split in three. He lifted his gaze toward the cave ceiling and muttered a curse before collapsing in a pool of glowing blood.
Daion stared in disbelief—then exhaled in relief, a faint smile crossing his face. He quickly turned toward Aelith, who lay on the ground clutching her side. Loryn forced himself upright and tossed another healing sphere; this time, Aelith remained still as the wound sealed.
Daion tried to move but knew he had to wait until his body generated enough warmth. Hopefully my stat boosts are enough to keep me from freezing to death, he thought grimly.
For a moment, they allowed themselves to breathe—until they remembered the bear. All three turned at once. The creature was gone.
Daion frowned, unsure if that was good or bad. They stayed motionless while the frost binding Daion and Loryn slowly melted away.
"Hey," Daion muttered, grimacing. "Think you could do that same trick you did with the rifle—but on us?"
"No," Loryn replied flatly. "I already risked the weapon vibrating at that speed; the internal structure could fracture from the acceleration." He tilted his head with a pained sigh. "But if you don't mind your organs cracking the same way, I'll give it a try."
"Got it," Daion said dryly. He looked back at Aelith—she was breathing heavily, clearly frustrated by her injury.
After a few minutes, the ice was gone. Daion stretched, brushing off the shards clinging to his clothes. His muscles regained their color, and warmth returned to his limbs as blood flowed freely again.
He flexed his arm; the pain from releasing Omega energy lingered, and he could almost feel the disappointed stare of the Primordial who had warned him never to use it again in battle.
Loryn sighed as he got back on his feet. Daion approached his slave; part of him was angry—she'd put all three of them in danger—but he simply watched her for a few seconds before letting out a deep breath.
"What happened?" he asked seriously.
Aelith refused to look up. She kept her gaze fixed on the ground, as if she wished it would swallow her whole. Daion held her stare, waiting for an answer, trying not to sound too threatening.
"When I looked into his eyes…" she stammered. Daion seemed to understand what she meant. "I saw a flicker of fear," Aelith went on. "And I just couldn't… even now, I still have his blood on me."
"That's an incredibly stupid reason…" Loryn started, but Daion shot him a glare that made it clear he'd handle this. The high-ranking Summoned rolled his eyes in frustration and turned away.
Daion studied Aelith. He knew exactly what that feeling was… though, for some reason, it didn't affect him the same way. He could ignore it, repress it—though part of him feared what he might find if he ever understood what it had taken to reach that state. He was sure of only one thing: the only way to overcome it was through conditioning by strength.
He raised his hand. Aelith flinched, lowering her ears and biting her lip, fully aware of what she thought would come next. How many times had she been beaten by Cadenar's slavers to react like that—so automatically, so submissively, so ashamed of herself? It was a stark contrast to the fierce image she usually showed. Daion hesitated for a long moment, but finally smiled and, instead of striking her, patted her head the way he always did.
Aelith's eyes widened in surprise. She looked up at him.
"It doesn't really matter. In the end, we're safe," Daion said with a calm, almost comforting smile. Loryn watched him with thinly veiled disgust; that serenity unsettled him. Daion ignored the reaction and helped Aelith stand.
"Never expect killing to be easy," he went on. "It's the worst thing one being can do to another of its kind—even in self-defense. But, well… we don't exactly have many choices in this world. As long as you don't forget that—as long as you remember what you're feeling right now—you won't lose yourself."
"What are you talking about?" Aelith frowned. "You shouldn't treat me like this. Why are you so… fucking weird?"
Daion rubbed his chin thoughtfully before replying.
"I guess I'm just a disappointment to my profession," he said with a faint laugh.
Loryn looked at him, puzzled. Why was he acting like this? Days ago, Daion had started sinking into the same apathy as the rest of the Summoned. But now he seemed to cling to something else—maybe the words that girl from Ken's story had told him.
"When this is over," Daion said again, "tell me your story. I'm sure it'll be worth hearing."
Aelith looked up at him, confused.
"You…" she muttered, gritting her teeth with a rage she didn't fully understand. Daion simply raised his hand and looked at Loryn; Aelith fell silent, though her frustration was still written all over her face.
"All right," Daion began. "What's our situation?"
"Ice Corrupteds," said Loryn. Smart, but fragile. If the map's this big, there must be dozens. We can't win this alone."
"Then…" Daion interjected, his voice weary.
"we should retreat and call for reinforcements."
"I was afraid you'd say that," Daion muttered under his breath, picturing for a moment his head being paraded around by a mid-rank Corrupted. "But… they're ice creatures, right?"
Loryn looked at him as if he'd just asked the dumbest question in the world.
"Yes. The name didn't give it away?"
"Yeah, yeah," Daion said, taking a breath. "What intrigues me is something else. This corrupted zone is in a hot region. So how the hell do they stay frozen underground?"
Loryn frowned as he started to piece it together.
"Ice Corrupteds rely on a low-temperature source to survive," he explained, pacing as he thought aloud. "If their bodies stay that cold in such a dry environment, they must burn through absurd amounts of energy to maintain it. They need a cold focus… maybe a generator of some kind."
"Destroy that source, and by reflex, they all die," Daion said with a smirk. "So, where do you bet that energy source is?"
"Most likely in the final zone I showed you before," Loryn replied, pointing ahead. "It's several dozen meters away. We'll need days to reach it. The problem is, I have no idea what kind of device it is."
"Then we'll just have to guess," Daion said simply.
"You really have that much confidence?" Loryn asked, eyeing him skeptically. Daion only shrugged.
"I realized something," Daion said, lifting his gaze. "If we fail, I'll die one way or another—and you two will probably follow soon after." A faint smile curved his lips; it was a strange sort of comfort, but one that carried a quiet conviction. "So I guess all that's left is to smile, huh, Loryn? We can't all be bitter assholes like you."
Loryn frowned as Daion walked toward the corpses of the Ice Corrupteds. The Summoned swallowed hard and, forcing down his disgust, knelt to absorb the Omega energy from the swordsman and the ax-wielder. Both he and Aelith felt nauseous as the bodies dissolved into dust.
Among the fallen belongings, Daion noticed a small notebook. He picked it up and flipped through it: inside were incredibly detailed sketches of animals—drawn by someone with decades of practice, no doubt. For a moment, he felt a pang of pity that such talent had been lost… unless it had belonged to another Summoned, one the Corrupteds had killed and robbed.
Searching further, he found a small block of wood with a dark stain in the center—an improvised pencil—and a tiny vial of ink beside it.
Daion stood up. His body felt stronger, tougher, ready for whatever came next.
Guess I don't have much choice but to trust you, he thought. Right, meddling god?
He looked up. Above him floated the translucent figure of the Primordial, sitting cross-legged, watching him calmly. The entity seemed surprised to be noticed, but Daion could already feel its gaze. The god shrugged and smiled.
Good luck, its voice echoed in his mind. I can't believe the next thousand years of my existence depend on a brat like you.
Daion sighed. He glanced at Loryn, weary, and Loryn nodded as he finished absorbing the leader's energy.
"We'll camp here," Loryn said firmly. "We'll rest for a couple of hours, then move toward the center of the dungeon."
He pulled a few chunks of wood from his pack and started a small fire. Daion sat on the ground, Aelith taking a seat beside him. That surprised him a little, but he decided not to comment and went along with it. Loryn set a piece of meat to cook over the flames, seasoning it lightly with a few spices.
Daion opened the notebook and, almost instinctively, began to draw. The strokes came naturally, guided by what he saw. Without realizing it, he recreated the scene before him—Loryn cooking beside the fire. The result, however, was awful: the flames were crude scribbles and Loryn looked like a stick figure. Frustrated, Daion tore out the page and took a deep breath before trying again.
This time, he went slower, tracing each line carefully, shaping the forms first, then layering the details with growing focus. It was… relaxing. He remembered what Brut had told him: he could stimulate lost memories by doing something he once enjoyed. He wasn't sure this had been a passion of his past life, but it came naturally enough.
When he finally finished, the sketch was surprisingly close to reality—though the space was so small he could only hint at Loryn's perpetual frown with a few sharp lines.
"What an honor, being your first art piece in this world, idiot," Loryn muttered, handing Daion his portion of meat.
Daion smirked sarcastically and started chewing without much enthusiasm, though he couldn't deny that drawing had left him with an unexpected sense of calm.
Loryn kept watching him, trying to figure out what kind of person he was—or why he'd changed so suddenly overnight. Daion, meanwhile, felt more like himself than ever. Despite knowing the world teetered on the brink of collapse and that everything rested on his unsteady hands, the absurdity of it all was almost… funny.
He sighed and lowered his gaze as his thoughts began to fade. Loryn took first watch, and Aelith lay down to rest, letting her wounds finish healing.
Then, a memory struck him—fleeting, vivid, yet unmistakably real.
He was sitting in a classroom. He wore what looked like a student's military uniform—muted colors, formal cut. In front of him, a weary-looking man lectured: a short goatee, thinning hair desperately clinging to its hippie glory days instead of surrendering to baldness.
He only managed to hold onto one image and half a sentence—just enough to know it mattered deeply.
"When you're certain of something—when no doubt remains about what you believe—at that moment, you must…"
The memory faded to black, dragging him into the next day.
End of Chapter 35.