Dathweet returned, his clothes stained with splatters of blood — he looked no different from someone who had just killed a few infected.
No one asked. No one suspected.
…Except Lyun.
She sat near the entrance, eyes fixed on him for a long while, then whispered in a low, solemn tone:
Lyun:
"You just did something… you shouldn't have, didn't you?"
Dathweet paused briefly, then gave a dry smile — one that matched the heavy, thick air around them.
Dathweet:
"I only did what others believe is right."
Saying no more, he headed straight to the largest tent — where Lucky was observing his subordinates working on some concoction.
Dathweet:
"How's the progress?"
Lucky:
"Almost done. We'll test it on one infected first."
Dathweet glanced at a few syringes carefully placed on the table.
Dathweet:
"You're just planning to use those little shots? That won't be enough."
Lucky:
"No. The syringes are just for testing the effect. The real plan… is gas. Like smoke bombs, but instead of stunning — it carries the cure."
Dathweet:
"And you think the infected will return to normal if they inhale it?"
Lucky:
"We don't know yet. That's why we need to try."
Dathweet stayed quiet for a moment, then asked:
Dathweet:
"So… have you prepared for tomorrow's battle?"
Lucky:
"I'll brief everyone later. For now, just get some rest."
Dathweet nodded. As he stepped out of the tent, he saw Lyun sitting alone, staring blankly at the ground.
…She still seemed upset.
He quietly walked over and sat beside her. Lyun immediately shifted away, avoiding his gaze.
Dathweet (softly):
"…I'm sorry."
Lyun (looking elsewhere):
"Sorry for what? It's not like we're anything to each other for you to be sorry."
Dathweet chuckled, though a hint of bitterness laced his voice.
Dathweet:
"Then… if we were something, would you stop being mad?"
Lyun's eyes lit up. She slowly scooted back closer to him, face brightening with a smile.
Lyun:
"Really?"
Dathweet:
"Really. But… let's get off this island alive first."
They sat in silence for a moment. Then Lyun asked again, this time with a gentler tone.
Lyun:
"Is there anything you want to tell me?"
Dathweet:
"About what?"
Lyun (softly):
"You know what I'm asking…"
Dathweet fell silent. After a while, he finally spoke:
Dathweet:
"I killed people. No… children. Pure, innocent souls."
Lyun:
"And how did it make you feel?"
Dathweet (gazing off):
"I'm not sure. Something inside me says… it was the right thing to do. But another part of me screams — it was unforgivable."
Lyun (gently):
"At least… you're still asking yourself that. It means you haven't completely lost your mind. And if there's still some sanity left… then there's still a chance to find the light again."
Dathweet gave a small laugh — unclear whether mocking himself, or because her words gave him some comfort.
Dathweet:
"I don't know anymore. I'm not even sure if I'm still human."
Lyun:
"Then I'll be the one to remind you. We… we'll try together, okay?"
Dathweet didn't answer. He simply leaned his head on her shoulder.
…A rare moment. A fragile warmth.
But deep down, he still didn't know if this was real…
or just another lie his mind had created for itself.
A thing… that may have never truly existed.
A while later, Lucky stepped out of the tent, standing at the center of the refuge. He raised his head and spoke with a voice as resonant as a bronze bell echoing across a silent valley:
Lucky:
"— Gather around! Everyone!"
People spilled out from their tents, forming a loose circle around him. Some had bandages on their heads, others limped with makeshift crutches, but all of them… listened.
Lucky took a deep breath:
"Tomorrow… we live. A large ship will arrive, bringing with it the chance to leave this hell behind."
A ripple of murmurs began to spread among the crowd.
Lucky:
"But — the infected know. They'll lurk in the shadows. They'll ambush, they'll attack — and they won't let us leave so easily. Our mission: survive — hold out until the ship arrives."
He paused, eyes sweeping over every face — all thin, pale, and stained with soot.
Each person reacted in their own way.
Some glanced at each other with worry, red-eyed as if these were their final hours.
Some stood still, seemingly numb to any emotion.
Some nodded slightly, lips pressed tight in quiet acceptance.
Some gripped the hands of those next to them — a silent vow to survive together.
And some… looked up at the sky, eyes flickering with the faintest glimmer of hope.
No one spoke. No one smiled.
Only the wind rustling through the trees… and the sound of hearts pounding in ribcages.
Tomorrow — everything would be decided.
⸻
As people began to disperse, each returning to their tasks to prepare for the final battle, Dathweet quietly slipped into a shadowy corner of the cave. He sat down, crossed his legs, and slowly closed his eyes. His breathing slowed with each passing second, until all the outside noise faded away.
He sank into that chaotic space that had always called to him from somewhere deep within — a hidden gate that opened only when the mind was still… and deep enough.
The space around him shifted into a swirling gray-black void. Then, details began to form as if drawn from memory: a maze of alleyways, dim lights, peeling walls, and locked steel doors.
Ken was already standing beside him, silently watching.
Ken:
"Do you know where this is?"
Dathweet (shaking his head slightly):
"This place… I know I didn't create it. But it feels… familiar."
Ken (exhaling):
"This… is one of the Mind Regions — a 'zone' within the collective consciousness network. What people generally call the Mind Realm."
Dathweet:
"A network of consciousness… like a shared dream?"
Ken:
"Not just a dream. It's not man-made. The Mind Realm is a parallel space that exists alongside reality — discovered by the first few who ventured deep enough into the subconscious. Over time, fragments of consciousness were mapped into specific regions across the world. Each region serves different purposes: research, manipulation, or simply… connection between like-minded souls."
Dathweet (narrowing his eyes):
"So, it's like a central hub that stores and connects mental data?"
Ken:
"Exactly. The Mind Realm is the general name, but within it are hundreds of subzones — each one created by an individual or group for a specific purpose. Some zones are for memory research. Others are havens for the deranged, the deformed… or just the lonely."
Dathweet:
"Then why did I… end up in this zone?"
Ken:
"Because you carry traits that this region responds to. Violence, instability, self-doubt… These things act like a beacon. Anyone who knows how to connect — they can enter. It's like choosing the right door into someone's mind."
Dathweet:
"What happens if you die in here?"
Ken (gazing distantly):
"You fall deeper — into the lower layers of the system. Some call it Deepvoll — a place where consciousness becomes trapped. Once you fall in… it's nearly impossible to return."
Dathweet:
"So… this could also be used to extract information from someone, right?"
Ken:
"Exactly. If you force someone into the Mind Realm by rendering them unconscious — the creator of the zone can build a space that tricks them into believing it's reality. During that time… they can be 'mined' for information."
Dathweet (dry chuckle):
"A script — playing out inside a person's mind."
Ken:
"If someone controls the mental zone — they almost completely control the victim. This… is the most dangerous weapon no one talks about."
They continued walking through the alleys — blurred figures began appearing like drifting memories.
They murmured, behaved erratically, twisted and grotesque. Some cackled wildly. Some whispered obscenities to invisible silhouettes. Others slammed their heads against walls, tortured by thoughts they couldn't silence.
Dathweet (clenching his fists):
"Just an artificial world… and it's just as disgusting as the real one."
Suddenly — a voice called out from the real world.
He immediately severed the link.
His eyes snapped open, sweat beading down his forehead.
Dathweet awoke, seeing Sun standing before him, holding a familiar sword — one he had almost forgotten.
Dathweet:
"You called for me?"
Sun:
"Just… returning the sword you left behind. You and Jimmer disappeared in such a weird way. When I woke up, you two were gone. I had to figure out how to survive on my own."
Dathweet (softly):
"It's a long story… To keep it short — I couldn't make it back to you."
Sun handed him the sword, stared at him for a brief moment, then nodded and turned to walk away.
Ken (in his mind, chuckling):
(Would've forgotten about it myself if she hadn't brought it up.)
Dathweet:
"Well then… guess I'll keep it. It's a relic, after all."
He returned to the tent. Lyun was already lying there, as if waiting for him all along. When he stepped in, she smiled.
Dathweet:
"This is… awkward."
Lyun (teasing):
"What's awkward? Come lie down with me."
Before he could respond, she pulled him down beside her. He looked surprised but didn't resist. Though he didn't say anything, a subtle ease passed over his expression — like a weight temporarily lifted.
Lyun (resting her head on his shoulder):
"Your face says you're shy, but your body's already relaxed. Adorable."
He didn't answer. Just closed his eyes. That night, they slept beside each other. Not quite a peaceful sleep — but for Dathweet, it was the first time in a long while that the emptiness in his heart lessened.
⸻
The next morning, Dathweet woke up still holding Lyun close to his chest. The scent of her hair filled him with something unfamiliar — warmth. He quietly slid out of bed, stretched a bit, then stepped outside the tent.
Outside, the air buzzed with unusual energy. Everyone had woken early, preparing gear, sharpening weapons, checking armor. Beams of light from the canyon above shone down on gaunt but determined faces.
At the center stood Lucky — looking more exhausted than the day before. He raised his arm for attention.
Lucky (shouting):
"Everyone, gather around!"
People dropped what they were doing and gathered in a circle around him. No one spoke. No one asked questions. They all knew — this was the moment that mattered.
Lucky (firm voice, deep and steady):
"Today… we might finally leave this hell. The ships are coming. If we can hold out until then, we live. But remember — the infected know we're pulling out. They won't sit still. They'll ambush. They'll strike when we least expect it."
Each word landed heavily. Some swallowed hard. Others clenched their fists. Some stared at the ground, expressionless. Everyone… had their own reaction.
Lucky (softer now, looking around):
"It's alright. Whether you're scared, hopeless… or too numb to feel anything… remember this — we're only a few steps away from heaven."
⸻
Hundreds of survivors quietly advanced through the forest. Weak moonlight filtered through the trees, glinting off bloodstained armor and eyes hardened by death.
A circular formation — the outer layer held those with mana shields or steel armor, moving cautiously to protect those within: mages, civilians, unarmed fighters. Lucky led the front with a scout group, his eyes sharp as blades.
Dathweet walked along the left flank. In his right hand: the ancestral sword, coated in Nifow. In his left: no weapon — just pure, red aura of condensed energy formed into a blade. Every step echoed with restrained fury.
No one spoke. Only footsteps crunching dead leaves and quiet breaths.
Suddenly — "Skkrt!"
A javelin flew from the brush, piercing the throat of a man ahead — blood sprayed like a fountain.
A chilling howl followed — from all directions.
"Ambush!"
The infected burst out from bushes, trees, even from underground.
They roared like beasts, crawling on all fours, some rolling across the ground before lunging, others leaping from branches above.
They didn't use weapons.
They bit, clawed, slammed their heads against shields — a chaotic frenzy beyond reason.
The forest ignited into war.
A section of the formation broke — those who couldn't hold on were dragged down. Bones cracked like twigs. Screams rang out, then fell silent.
Lucky blinked to the center of the chaos, blade swinging with lightning speed — each slash sent crimson arcs flying into the treetops.
"Team C! Guard the left! Team B — reinforce the rear!" he shouted.
Dathweet surged forward like a tempest.
His sword cleaved through one infected — its head flew, spraying the face of another. His left hand slashed wide — the red energy blade sliced three enemies in one sweep, his spine arched like a dancer in death's ballet.
A few survivors, blood-crazed or defiant, broke formation and charged out, roaring like they had something left to prove.
One was knocked down by a serpent-like crawler. Another bashed an infected's skull in with a rock and screamed in rage. The line between human and beast blurred.
Dathweet took a bite to the shoulder, then punched the attacker with his Nifow-covered fist — its lower jaw shattered. He yanked its head forward and drove his blade through the base of its skull, then kicked the corpse aside like trash.
The air reeked of burning hair. Defensive magic lit small fires all around.
Lucky appeared behind Dathweet, his blade flashing so fast the eye could barely track it. He blinked between targets like a ghost — deflecting attacks for the wounded, slashing down anything that got close from either side.
A scream tore through the forest.
Someone cried out — only to be yanked into the shadows. Arms flailed, feet kicked — and then only the sound of flesh being torn remained.
A spray of blood burst from the canopy like a severed firehose.
Dathweet turned — and all he saw was part of a leg, still twitching near the roots.
Boom!
A towering figure stepped out from the deeper woods — built like a war machine, muscles bulging, eyes blank yet brimming with killing intent.
Coss.
He said nothing. Just walked forward, lifted a survivor off the ground with a kick, and smashed them into a tree — the crack of their neck echoed loudly.
Lucky immediately blinked in, blocking Coss's path, but the brute swung his massive axe with a fury like a hurricane, forcing Lucky back three steps. The axe cleaved through a mana shield like it was paper.
Dathweet stepped forward, blocking Coss's path.
His right hand clutched the ancestral sword, Nifow glowing along the blade's spine. His left hand formed a new sword of condensed red aura, sharper and darker than before.
Dathweet (through gritted teeth):
"I remember you now, bastard."
No count.
They both charged at once.
Coss slashed downward — his axe shattered a tree behind Dathweet. Dathweet ducked and countered with a sideways punch — Nifow's burst knocked the brute back several steps.
An infected charged from the side. Dathweet didn't even look. He hurled a blade of pure aura backward — slicing the enemy in half from crotch to jaw. Blood sprayed like mist.
Coss charged again.
This time like a raging bull, both hands gripping his axe, sweeping it wide like a hurricane. Dathweet was forced back — left hand braced to the ground, summoning a short energy blade and hurling it.
"Skkrt!" — it pierced Coss's shoulder, drawing blood.
But Coss didn't flinch. He roared, bringing the axe down — Dathweet raised his sword to block, but the sheer force drove him to one knee, his boots sinking into the mud.
A survivor rushed to help — Coss swung an arm and knocked their head clean off. It spun three times before thudding to the ground.
Blood poured.
The smell of iron soaked the air.
Lucky reappeared, sword crackling, slashing three quick strikes and blinking to dodge — forcing Coss to stagger backward.
He howled like a beast, and the infected swarmed forward in sync.
Dathweet was now fully consumed by killing intent.
He spun around and kicked one infected so hard its chest caved in.
Another one lunged — Dathweet punched through its face, bones shattered like bricks.
He slashed through a larger one's arm, then chopped its head clean off — it exploded like a melon.
One charged from behind — he grabbed its neck with his bare hand and crushed it like a rotten orange.
Losses mounted.
A mage was dragged into a ditch — screams turned to gurgles, then nothing but a fountain of blood.
A warrior broke his sword trying to block Coss's blow — and had his skull stomped into the dirt.
More than ten had fallen — some dead on the spot, others grievously wounded.
Yet the formation held.
Lucky shouted:
"They're weakening! Hold the circle! Protect the healers!"
Coss began to slow down.
He took a deep stab through his ribs from Dathweet — the wound dug deep into bone.
Dathweet, blood-soaked and mud-splattered, didn't stop.
He slammed his shoulder into Coss, grabbed his throat with one hand, and punched again and again — each strike like thunder.
Coss dropped to one knee, blood pouring from his mouth, nose, and the gash in his side.
Dathweet kicked him backward — the axe slipped from Coss's hand, thudding into the mud.
He staggered, eyes wide — then collapsed, wheezing… and finally, went still.
Silence.
A breeze whispered through the forest, carrying the stench of blood and burning spells.
No one dared believe it was truly over.
Dathweet stood there, breath ragged, sword arm lowered. The aura-blade dissolved, leaving only the ancestral weapon, dripping red.
Lucky ran over, joined by several others. He stared at Coss's corpse, then at Dathweet:
Lucky (quietly):
"You actually killed him…?"
Dathweet (eyes locked on the body):
"…Seems like it."
No one moved closer to the body.
Then, cries spread through the survivors — still alive, still standing.
Bloodied faces… now flickered with hope.
Lucky shouted:
"Don't stop! Keep moving! East shore — the ships wait only two hours!"
⸻
The survivors marched toward the coast.
Hundreds formed a crescent formation, shields on the outer ring, healers and mages in the center.
Dathweet led from the front, beside Lucky and the core warriors.
His ancestral sword was still firm in his right hand — his left occasionally flickering with crimson light.
They crossed forests, broke through thick bushes, and passed over low ground…
Until the sea emerged in the distance.
Waves. Salted wind. Moonlight reflecting on water.
And — three massive ships appeared, like salvation in the dark.
Lights twinkled from the decks, and a soft foghorn echoed across the cliffs.
Someone burst into tears.
Another dropped to their knees.
Sun ran to Dathweet:
Sun:
"They're here… We actually… made it…"
Lucky smiled — for the first time since the camp fell.
But then —
Ssskkk…
A soft sound from behind.
No one noticed.
Rustle. Rustle…
A figure stepped out from the shadows of the trees.
Tall. Still holding an axe. Blood on its shoulder.
But… no one recognized it wasn't real.
And… he smiled.
Coss. The real one.
He stood there, in the dark, staring directly at Dathweet.
No words.
Just that smile.
— End of Chapter —