A quiet rain soaked the forest.
The blazing wildfire that had engulfed the woods slowly began to subside. Though embers still smoldered in places, they no longer raged as before.
Acrid smoke surrounded them.
Yuri swung his sword and asked Yalta,
"Not calling them?"
"What?"
"Your subordinates."
Yalta rolled his eyes.
"Why?"
Yuri chuckled.
"Forget it if you don't want to."
"Are you scared of one-on-one and want a group fight instead?"
"No. You think?"
"Then what?"
"I just want to fight you, but didn't want to be interrupted."
"You've got some pride for one of Yoheim's rats."
If Yuri were Yalta, even if the fire had died down, he would have pushed the Imperial Army forward the moment the Aloy Brigade had withdrawn.
But Yalta didn't seem to have any such plans.
Yuri said to Yalta,
"Yalta."
"Just fight already. Why keep talking?"
"Thinking about it, maybe you're right."
"My what?"
"Living and swinging as I please. That's how it should be."
"It's a bit late to try flattery—"
Yuri grabbed him by the chin and violently lifted it.
Yalta's eyes widened.
"You're not trying to—"
Yuri took off his slime mask and threw it aside. A handsome young man with black hair and dark eyes was revealed.
"What, two faces? A mage?"
"Something like that."
Yuri took a deep breath.
His breathing, suppressed by the mask, opened up. His slightly narrowed vision also returned.
More than anything, he could now feel the flow of the air around him more keenly through the skin of his face.
"I am Yuri Briol, third prince of Briol."
"Huh?"
Yalta tilted his head.
"But this is Yoheim?"
"No matter how stupid you are, you must know why someone would reveal their identity, right?"
"Hmm..."
At Yuri's words, Yalta scratched his cheek. Then suddenly, he burst into a wide, twisted grin, looking menacing. His earlier awkward demeanor vanished completely.
"So you mean to kill me, brat."
Yuri also lifted the corners of his mouth.
"Yeah."
With that, they both charged at each other simultaneously.
An explosion rang out.
Yuri's sword was deflected, and his body was thrown backward.
Yalta charged in without hesitation, swinging his blade to strike Yuri's entire body.
Having lost the initiative, Yuri repeatedly dodged and blocked. In the process, wounds appeared on his thigh and shoulder.
"All that bravado and this is all you've got!"
Yalta shouted loudly, slamming down his sword.
In that instant, Yuri created a swirling vortex of sword aura and launched it at an angle. Interlocking whirlwinds bit into Yalta's sword.
A grinding metallic sound echoed.
Yalta's blade lost momentum and halted right before Yuri's forehead.
Yuri immediately knocked it away and delivered a flying kick to Yalta's abdomen.
Yalta staggered backward.
Feigning to sheath his sword, Yuri suddenly thrust into the air. The one-point thrust pierced space, aiming for Yalta's chest.
Clang.
The sword tip was blocked.
Yalta had tilted his blade horizontally to parry.
Yalta grinned.
"Tricks, huh? You're good at that."
The sword aura on Yalta's blade flared even higher. His mana blazed like fire.
"Try another trick. You'll be fun to kill."
Yalta took a step forward. Then another.
And with the next step, his body suddenly surged forward.
Yalta appeared before Yuri as if he had teleported, slashing his sword horizontally.
It was like a massive guillotine descending on Yuri's waist.
The height and timing were so precise that he couldn't duck under it — he had to leap upward.
But that would leave him exposed in mid-air.
Yuri made his decision in a split second.
As he had told Yalta before the fight, it wasn't a calculated decision.
He just acted on instinct, not thinking of the consequences.
The heart-soul slash responded.
The two swords clashed again with a resounding explosion.
Muddy water splashed with the rain, blurring the view.
Eventually, as the debris settled, the figures of the two men emerged.
The one lying on the ground was Yalta.
"Ugh…"
Yalta blinked.
He clearly had no idea what had just happened.
"What was that just now..."
He looked down at the hand holding his sword.
His entire arm trembled uncontrollably.
As if he couldn't muster any strength, he kept clenching and unclenching his hand.
Yuri didn't give him any more time. He stepped forward and swung Guilty.
Every raindrop that struck the blade was sliced cleanly in half.
A spray of blood-tainted water burst into the air.
"Graaaah!"
Yalta rolled across the ground. Blood flowed from his forearm. Though he narrowly avoided a fatal wound, the injury was deep.
"You bastard!"
Yalta screamed at the top of his lungs.
"Pulling some freakish trick!"
Yuri didn't reply. The world before his eyes was blurry.
He hadn't intentionally entered the heart-soul domain, but the image of Yalta yelling in fury appeared only as a hazy shadow.
It wasn't just his sight.
Sounds echoed like tinnitus, dissected into fragments. Even smells were perceived with sharp detail, detecting subtle shifts in the smoky air.
He could feel the wind far in the distance on his skin.
Moreover, something he couldn't quite define stirred within him.
Yuri could clearly sense the malice rushing toward him.
It was imbued with a dark energy, connected to somewhere far beyond this place.
Though Yalta had already reached him, Yuri felt no worry.
He looked at Guilty in his hand.
Its form was unstable.
He didn't know exactly what the heart-soul domain was, but in this moment, Yuri could feel something. He was beginning to understand.
Chaos.
It was the same unknown realm he had touched during his duel with Moyong Chan.
Here, nothing was fixed.
Even form was undefined.
Until it was observed.
Thus, what he held now was utter disorder — and at the same time, infinite possibility.
How he would wield it depended solely on him.
He raised Guilty.
A wedge-shaped blade of light was in his grasp.
A raw gem takes shape under the hands of a craftsman. The final product may vary with skill, but ultimately, the blueprint is determined solely by the artisan's will.
Yuri held up Guilty again.
Infusing the sword, steeped in the lingering resentment of the Death Knight, with a heart-soul slash, he carefully overlaid it with the chaos he had drawn up from within.
The blade of light gradually took on a clearer, defined shape.
Now, even within the heart-soul domain, Guilty maintained its complete form without distortion.
Yuri raised his gaze.
As he tested his newfound senses, Yalta had closed in and was attacking.
But he felt no urgency.
In the realm of chaos and possibility, a single moment was no different from eternity.
Yuri swung his sword in return.
As the two wills collided, Yuri's mind returned to reality.
"Urgh!"
Once more, Yalta was sent flying backward.
Yuri gripped the reverberating Guilty tightly in his hand, then stepped in and lowered his stance, thrusting his sword at his opponent's knee.
Yalta barely evaded it by pulling his leg back.
Then, putting all his weight into it, he slammed his sword down toward Yuri's head.
Yuri countered with an upward slash from below.
As their swords clashed, Yalta's upper body reeled back. He staggered, unable to keep his balance, and took a few steps back, eyes wide.
"No way, impossible!"
Yuri thrust Guilty at Yalta's now wide-open chest.
Yalta twisted his body, but his right chest was pierced.
"Ugh…"
Yalta's eyes rolled downward.
As Guilty was pulled out, blood burst forth.
"Graaagh!"
Yalta clutched at his chest with the hand still holding his sword. The hilt was soaked in blood.
"Damn it, damn it…"
Gritting his teeth, Yalta activated his mana method. His chest muscles contracted, and the bleeding gradually began to stop.
It was a ridiculous physical feat, but Yuri watched it with complete composure.
Yalta glared at Yuri.
"You… What happened to you?! How the hell did you suddenly gain that kind of power…?!"
Yuri didn't answer. Instead, he took a step forward.
Yalta flinched and took two steps back.
Unable to accept that he was afraid, he twisted his face in defiance.
"You bastard, you rat, you little brat…"
But his voice lacked strength.
Even the rage he had tried to muster seemed to be crushed under another emotion.
"How did you suddenly…"
Yuri closed his eyes, then opened them again. At his will, his vision entered and exited the heart-soul domain.
He no longer paid attention to Yalta.
This awakened state was temporary. So he was adjusting his senses, trying to grasp this power more completely.
Yalta suddenly stepped forward and swung his sword.
"Raaahhh!"
His body swelled as if it would explode.
Still, he was one of the ten strongest. Even with a sword embedded in his chest, his strikes were strong enough to topple trees with wind pressure.
But Yuri wasn't getting hit.
"Graaaah!"
Like a beast.
As Yuri watched Yalta, he thought of Graham.
In many ways, they were polar opposites.
Yalta lived by impulse, while Graham always exercised restraint.
Because of that difference, the two had become entirely different beings.
Then what about Yuri, himself?
He looked at the chaos writhing on his sword.
It wasn't a welcome sight.
Looking at the disorder within it made his mind feel as if it were unraveling.
As if his very existence could disperse at any moment like meaningless smoke.
But he had to do it.
Only then could he gain power, stop his enemies, and protect what he wanted to protect.
Yuri said,
"You killed Sir Graham, so I'll kill you."
"What was Graham to you?"
"He saved my life."
"What?"
What would've happened if he had died by Graham's hand that day?
Would he have returned to the past?
Maybe. Maybe not.
But one thing was certain — if Yuri had died by Graham's hand and returned to the past, he never would've become who he was now.
The mercy Graham had shown that day, and those sorrowful eyes, had shaped the Yuri Briol of today.
"A favor must be repaid, and so must a grudge."
Bloodshot eyes filled Yalta's gaze.
He opened and closed his mouth like a fish.
"Go on."
"What?"
"Beg for your life."
Yuri raised the corner of his mouth.
"You don't want to, right?"
"Y-you…"
"Die."
Guilty flew toward Yalta's neck.
Yalta instinctively raised his hand to block it.
As he grabbed the blade, four of his fingers were sliced off.
"Aaaagh!"
"Just die quietly."
"P-please! Please spare me!"
"Oh…"
Yuri stomped on Yalta's back as he tried to crawl away.
"Spare me!"
"Now you've grown up. Yeah, sometimes you have to do things you don't want to. Like begging for your life in disgrace."
"Please, please spare me. I'll give you everything. I'm one of the ten strongest. I'll give you money. I'll talk to His Majesty and make anything happen, so just please… let me live…"
As Yuri looked down at the pleading Yalta, he thought of his past self.
He too had begged for his life.
What had Graham thought in that moment?
Did he find him pathetic, pitiful?
Yuri let out a sigh and laughed.
"Really, he was a remarkable person."
"What?"
"Not you."
Yuri drove Guilty down.
The chaos imbued in his sword was finally observed through Yalta's death.
"How did he hold back and spare me?"
Yuri looked up at the sky. Rain was still falling.
He closed his eyes, Guilty drooping at his side.
The fire that had raged inside him also began to die down.
"Haah…"
He let out a long breath.
"Congratulations."
Suddenly, a voice came from behind. Even without turning, he knew who it was.
"Lady Inariel."
"Yes, kid."
The elf with salmon-colored hair stood beside Yuri, looking down at Yalta's corpse.
"You killed one of the ten strongest."
"It just happened."
"Does that make you one of them now?"
"Who knows."
"A brat like you killing one of the ten strongest… this must be unprecedented."
Yuri didn't seem pleased.
Inariel, nudging Yalta's corpse with the tip of her foot, spoke.
"I don't know what your connection to Graham is, but…"
"Yes?"
"Consider this my gift to you."
Inariel waved her staff.
Then, with a faint glow, someone's figure appeared.
"Before that bastard bashed his head in, I swapped him out. Tried to save him, but he was already beyond the brink. He won't last long."
Within the glowing mist stood Graham, frozen in time, a gaping hole in his chest.
Inariel said,
"You'll be able to say goodbye."
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