Then, a shift in the darkness caught his attention. A subtle movement, faint but deliberate, at the Spire's doorway. Sunny's head snapped in that direction, and Nephis followed instinctively. Soon, everyone's attention snapped toward the figure hunched in the doorway.
They moved slowly, almost painfully, bearing another figure in a bridal carry. Sunny's eyes raced, trying to read the limp form in their arms—alive or dead, he could not tell.
The figure stumbled, knees giving out. The burden fell, rolling across the stone floor. Sunny recognized the face immediately: Gemma.
Kido's gasp cut through the room. He dropped to his knees, clutching Gemma's face with both hands, shaking him desperately. Others surged forward, moving instinctively toward Sasrir, Adam and Nephis at the lead.
The man who carried Gemma—a shadowed figure—looked like death incarnate. His skin was pale as ash, streaked with blood from eyes, nose, and mouth. His spine bent unnaturally, twisted as if his bones had been reshaped. The most disturbing detail was his shadow. Where it should have extended behind him, it was only a stub, a tiny charred remnant like a candle burned to its base. If shadows represented the soul, then…
Sasrir's soul was nearly spent.
Nephis knelt, studying him closely. "He was leaning over Gemma," she observed, voice calm but tense. "He must have shielded him from the White Sun's rays."
Sunny watched silently. Adam, kneeling beside his friend, drummed a finger nervously against his knee, assessing. Nephis raised silver flames in her hands, intent on healing—but the instant her flames touched Sasrir, his stub of a shadow writhed violently, as if in agony. His flesh sizzled and then began peeling away, rather than rejuvenating like everyone elses did.
Sunny's eyes widened. Everyone recoiled. The very healing magic—intended to restore—was instead scorching Sasrir alive.
Adam reacted faster than anyone. His hand shot out, grasping Nephis' wrist.
"Lady Nephis, stop!" he barked.
The flames vanished instantly. Nephis withdrew her hand, looking at him strangely, rubbing the faint fingermarks his grasp had left on her fair skin.
Adam did not hesitate. Carefully, he administered three green drops into Sasrir's mouth, spacing them ten seconds apart. On the third drop, Sasrir trembled violently. Slowly, agonizingly, his eyes opened.
Even now, a veil of shadow partially obscured his face. His shoulder and neck were visible, yet the mask of darkness over his features had not lifted.
While everyone else hovered around, catching their breath and reeling from the horrors they had just endured, Nephis had moved away to tend to Gemma. Her silver flames licked gently at his injuries, leaving trails of warmth where blood and exhaustion had once burned. Everyone had long since dropped the fact that Sasrir himself had almost been incinerated by her healing flames—the memory of that flash of agony hung heavy in the air, unspoken but palpable.
Adam broke the tense silence first. His voice was calm but cutting, drawing the attention of everyone nearby.
"Why did you save him?"
He gestured with a tilt of his chin toward Gemma. The bluntness of the question snapped Kido upright, his expression turning sharp, eyes narrowing into a glare of both indignation and disbelief. Around them, the other Sleepers looked uncomfortable, some averting their gaze, unsure whether to intervene or let the tension play out.
Sasrir exhaled slowly, shoulders sagging as though carrying the weight of the world even in this brief respite. His eyes flicked toward Adam, expression calm, almost tired, but with the faintest trace of a resigned smile.
"The love-sick came to me asking for advice," he said, voice low and measured. Kido's ears flamed crimson, and her jaw tightened. She looked away, embarrassed beyond words, her fists clenching at her sides. Sasrir continued without pause, entirely unbothered by the blush creeping up Kido's neck.
"I promised to protect Kido during the battle, so I sent her away with Caster when she fainted," he explained, each word deliberate. "However, Gemma refused to abandon his Hunters and went back to rescue a few of them who were trapped or stuck under debris. Since I had already committed to protecting Kido, I figured I had to save the other half of that relationship."
The room went quiet again. Even the clatter of healing flames and Gemma's soft groans seemed muted, as if everyone were holding their breath, absorbing the weight of Sasrir's words.
Adam's expression didn't change, but his mind worked through the implications, connecting the dots with clinical precision. "So… you went back with Gemma, and then carried him here by blocking the White Sun with your own body?" he asked, voice measured, almost rhetorical, but his eyes betrayed the disbelief he was holding back.
Sasrir nodded once, a short, almost imperceptible motion. "Yes," he said simply, as if recounting something obvious. There was no hint of pride in his tone, only a quiet acceptance of what had to be done.
The room exhaled collectively, a tense silence settling over the survivors. They had won a fragile victory, but the weight of the battle—and what they had lost—still hung heavily in the air.
The procession moved deeper into the Spire, Nephis leading, Cassie by her side. Sunny found himself beside them, silent.
Nephis glanced at him and hesitated. Then:
"Thank you. For sealing away the Dark Sea. I know it couldn't have been easy."
Sunny met her eyes and shrugged.
"No need. We are allies. Aren't we?"
She gave a faint, quiet smile and said no more.
They reached the heart of the Spire. There lay the dark sea, imprisoned beneath an unbreakable seal. A vast pool of black water stretched before them, still and opaque, its depth unfathomable. It reflected no light; it seemed to swallow even the thought of brightness. A ripple quivered across its surface, as though the boundless horror beneath strained against its bonds—but the seal held, unyielding.
Sunny turned, uneasy.
In the shadows, far from the lanterns and human eyes, countless figures stood silently, motionless, watching.
At first, Sunny wanted to shout a warning to the rest of the Dreamer Army, but as he lingered in the shadows and observed the silent figures, he reconsidered.
Hidden in the darkness, countless coral golems stood like statues, their pale forms staring mindlessly into the void. They were similar to the monsters he had fought to reach the Star Sigil, yet subtly different—these were not the twisted echoes of ancient heroes but the hollow shapes of ordinary people, warped and reshaped by the Crimson Terror.
Because of that, they didn't seem immediately dangerous. A single Sleeper could likely take down dozens, let alone the strongest, most experienced warriors of the Dreamer Army. More than that, these golems did not appear hostile. Some lingered motionless, some drifted aimlessly, their movements lacking purpose, their very presence more mournful than threatening. These were not true creatures—they were fragments of madness, physical manifestations of the Crimson Terror's fractured psyche.
Sunny's stomach churned. Each golem represented a soul sacrificed to the artificial sun, consumed and absorbed, their essence trapped within the Terror's monstrous creation. Thousands of them were visible here, and he had no doubt countless more were lurking out of sight.
He glanced at Nephis, quietly relaying what he had seen. She studied the golems for a moment, her frown deepening, then nodded sharply.
"We will be careful."
It was clear now: the Gateway was not at ground level. To reach it, the remaining Dreamer Army would have to climb higher into the labyrinthine spire.
Fortunately, the coral pillars were wide enough to walk on, and while steep, they offered passable footing. The Sleepers could use them to ascend, provided they moved cautiously.
Sunny stepped forward—but before he could even take another stride, Nephis grabbed his arm and yanked him back. Her voice cut sharply through the tense silence:
"Everyone, back!"
A split second later, a broad, blinding beam of light shot down from somewhere high above, slicing across the interior of the Crimson Spire and obliterating the comforting darkness.
Sunny's stomach dropped. The beam pulsed with the same soul-erasing force as the White Sun outside—but this one was more intense, more focused. Its erratic path was not random; it hunted the exhausted humans, deliberate and precise.
"Hide in the shadows!" Nephis shouted.
The Sleepers dove behind jagged coral growths, pressing themselves into every available crevice. A few unlucky ones hesitated too long. They did not scream—they simply fell, extinguished in an instant as the beam swept past. The rest froze, terror freezing them in place.
Sunny leaned against a slightly inclined coral pillar, heart hammering. Cassie and Nephis pressed close, their faces pale but resolute. The first ray dissipated, only to be followed by more, tearing through darkness and revealing more of the spire's horrific interior.
Then the golems moved. The same aimless, almost pitiful creatures Sunny had observed just moments before surged forward. Their wandering became purposeful, their mindless forms now animated by the same malevolence that drove the white beams. They advanced toward the hiding Dreamers with a terrible, single-minded will.
Sunny muttered under his breath, "…Crap."
He summoned the Midnight Shard, its dark glow illuminating his tense features, and turned to Nephis.
"What now?"
She regarded him evenly, silver sword at her side, her calm voice cutting through the tension.
"Someone will have to attack the Crimson Terror directly," she said, "to draw its attention away."
Sunny blinked. A heavy sense of déjà vu washed over him.
"And who might that be?" he asked, voice tight with disbelief.
Nephis sighed and drew her sword. Its silver edge glimmered faintly even in the shadows.
"…Me. It has to be me."
Sunny's frown deepened, his instincts screaming at him. "Are you insane? That's a Fallen Terror we're talking about!"
She did not answer immediately. Instead, she tilted her head, eyes narrowing as she seemed to calculate the pattern of the deadly beams overhead.
Sunny clenched his fists, gritting his teeth. "Alright, fine—someone has to distract it. But why does it have to be you alone? Because you're the great daughter of the Immortal Flame clan? Don't tell me you've actually bought into that nonsense!"
Nephis gave him a strange, flat look, then shook her head.
"No. It can only be me because of my sword."
Sunny's eyes widened. He remembered the rare enhancement she had described years ago, after their first encounter on the Forgotten Shore: a Memory bound to her blade, granting a human the ability to resist soul attacks.
"I am the only human on the Forgotten Shore who has a Memory that grants even partial protection against soul attacks," she said. Her tone was calm, resolute. "So I am the only one who can approach the Terror and survive."
It was hard to argue with logic. But Sunny couldn't resist pushing one last objection… before she silenced it with action.
Turning to Cassie, Nephis took the blind girl's hand. "Cas. Give me your wing cloak."
The translucent fabric of the Dark Wing appeared on her shoulder in seconds. She gave a brief nod to Sunny.
"Once I'm gone, lead the people to the Gateway. Make sure everyone escapes."
Before he could protest further, she bent her knees and leapt with all her might. The enchanted cloak caught her, propelling her upward. She pushed off a coral pillar, soaring into the darkness above.
The annihilating light followed, swiping across the interior, but Nephis dodged, crashing into another pillar and launching herself again just in time. With the majority of beams now focused on her, the path ahead for the Dreamer Army opened once more.
Sunny turned to the hundred terrified humans clustered behind him. His teeth clenched, eyes fierce.
"Follow me!"
Sunny had never expected to lead anyone, let alone a hundred desperate, exhausted people. And yet, here he was, burdened with the responsibility of guiding the remnants of the Dreamer Army through the heart of the Crimson Spire.
To make matters worse, he was, ironically, the best candidate for the job. Not because of any natural leadership skill—he had none—but because he could see in the dark. With the soul-erasing beams now focused on Nephis, he could finally unleash his shadow, sending it forward to scout and find the Gateway.
If anyone could guide them to safety, it was him.
'How the hell did it come to this…?' he muttered, swallowing his unease and projecting nothing but confidence. Shouting for everyone to follow, he found to his relief that the Sleepers obeyed without hesitation.
'Confidence is easily mistaken for competence,' he thought wryly.
Affiliation with Changing Star helped too, even if most didn't fully understand the nature of his connection to her.
Grabbing Cassie's hand, he dashed from cover to a wide, spiraling coral root that wound upward into the darkness. Footsteps followed behind him as the Dreamer Army surged forward.
He leapt onto the root and sent his shadow scouting ahead. The first wave of coral golems was still a distance away—there was time.
"Those at the back! Ready your weapons!" he yelled.
Obediently, the rear ranks raised their blades. The front rows scrambled up the coral root, almost entirely ahead of the first wave of constructs.
A lone golem stumbled from the shadows. Sunny's sword flashed, striking true. The creature shattered instantly, offering almost no resistance.
But more soon followed—dozens, then hundreds, clawing their way forward. The Sleepers held them off just long enough to climb further along the root, eventually regrouping with the rest of the survivors.
Sunny hesitated briefly at a bend. The wide coral root twisted sharply upward, narrowing into a near-vertical slope. His shadow had already scouted ahead: a second root intersected the first just meters away, a lifeline across the perilous gap.
He picked up Cassie, leapt, and landed safely on the next pillar, immediately veering upward in the opposite direction. Behind him, the Sleepers followed, while the wave of golems scrambled after them, climbing the twisted roots with surprising dexterity.
'Damn it… they can climb!'
Pushing himself onward, Sunny froze at the sight ahead: a wide gallery wrapped around the Spire's hollow core, hundreds of meters above the ground. From it surged another wave of golems, pouring into the open space like a river of corrupted flesh and coral. Many tumbled off the edges, shattering on the floors below, but some landed directly on the roots the Dreamers were using.
Gritting his teeth, Sunny's gaze landed on a familiar figure. Effie, tired but determined, caught his eye and forced a weak smile.
"What is it now?" she asked.
Gently placing Cassie on the ground, Sunny nudged her toward Effie.
"Take care of her for me, alright?"
Effie waved, understanding, as Sunny drew the Midnight Shard.
The first golem blocked his path. A few precise strikes later, it crumbled into fragments of coral. Not a true living creature, just a hollow echo of humanity.
'Not too bad…' he thought.
Another golem approached. One swing of the pommel, and it toppled over the edge. In small numbers, these creatures weren't a real threat.
He led the Dreamers higher, hopping from root to root, crossing stone galleries scattered along the Spire's walls. The vanguard and rear occasionally became entangled in rolling melees with the golems, while those in the middle navigated cautiously, avoiding falling debris.
The onslaught was relentless, but manageable. These constructs were slower, weaker, and almost entirely mindless—no human had fallen yet. Sasrir and Gemma, though still mentally exhausted, fought on, protecting the sides of the formation and keeping the Sleepers penned in behind them safe. Adam was also there, shining golden lightt hat made the Coral Golems hiss and then fracture into nothingness.
Somewhere above, the white flashes of Nephis' light coalesced into a brilliant halo. She was climbing toward the pinnacle, still drawing the Terror's attention, proof that the annihilating rays would not return for the Sleepers below.
'Where are you… where are you…' Sunny muttered under his breath.
Cutting through another golem, suppressing a curse as it lunged, he felt his shadow finally detect what it had been seeking all along.
The Gateway—their way back to the real world—was within reach.
Out in the darkness, a vast balcony jutted from the tower wall, stretching almost to the center of the gargantuan Spire. Broken marble pillars, overrun with crimson coral, led to a circular dais. Embedded in its stone surface was a wide iron ring.
Around the ring, a delicate pattern of runes shimmered with the familiar glow of the Spell—exactly like those every Awakened had seen countless times when communicating with it.
But that wasn't what first caught Sunny's attention. The dais itself was unlike anything else in the Spire: the stone was completely clean, untouched by coral growths, as though the place had been preserved from the madness consuming everything else.
Through his shadow, Sunny felt something stir deep in his chest.
He knew.
This was the Gateway.
They were so close.
The moment passed, and the Spire shuddered violently. Massive pieces of coral splintered and fell, smashing into lower branches. Darkness that had trapped the Dreamer Army for so long suddenly thinned.
High above, the radiant halo intensified, shining brighter than ever.
…Nephis had reached the Crimson Terror.
Shaking off his brief reverie, Sunny charged forward, cutting down golems in his path. The Sleepers followed him, trusting him with their lives.
The Spire trembled with every step; enormous pillars of coral collapsed, forcing the group to climb higher, closer to the balcony.
Finally, Sunny leapt and landed on solid stone. He shattered the few golems blocking the area, clearing a path for the others. One by one, the Sleepers jumped from the unstable coral onto the balcony, some fighting off the last of the attackers to make way for their comrades.
Soon, all hundred of them stood on the stone. Only seconds later, a massive chunk of debris rained down, pulverizing the coral branch they had climbed. Sunny lingered for a moment, watching crimson shards cascade below, then turned with determination.
"Come on! We're almost there!"
The Dreamer Army surged forward, cutting through the remaining golems and racing toward the Gateway. When they reached it, they froze, mesmerized.
Before them stood hope itself.
The long-forgotten promise of freedom that had taunted them from the looming silhouette of the Crimson Spire.
Their way home.
Salvation.
Most had spent so long on the Forgotten Shore that escape had become an abstract dream. Even following Changing Star had only made it a distant concept. Now, faced with reality, many didn't know how to react.
Sunny, of course, had no time for hesitation.
"What are you staring at, idiots?! Pick up your jaws and move! Battle formation! Protect the rear! Wounded and non-combatants go first; everyone else holds off the damn golems and then follows! One at a time, bastards!"
His furious shout snapped the Sleepers out of their stupor. The able took defensive positions, shielding the wounded, while those too weak to fight helped the most vulnerable into the iron ring.
Sunny watched as the first human was placed at the center. The runes around the ring flared with shimmering light. At first faint, the glow quickly intensified, engulfing the Sleeper entirely. The form became almost indistinguishable in the brilliance.
Then, as if dissolving into a Memory or Echo, the light vanished.
After all these years, all the suffering and loss, the first Sleeper had finally escaped the Forgotten Shore.
Sunny realized he'd been holding his breath. A moment later, an exhilarated cheer erupted from the crowd. The raw intensity of their emotions—relief, disbelief, joy—was indescribable.
And then, the next wave of golems crashed into the defensive line. Another human stepped into the Gateway.
The defenders held fast, repelling the attacking constructs. Sunny stayed at the edge of the dais, watching carefully as one by one, the Dreamers disappeared into the brilliant light, while the others maintained their guard.
They were going to survive.
His job here was done.
…As expected, Caster was nowhere in sight.
Lingering for a moment, Sunny cast one last glance at the Gateway, then moved through the crowd toward the Spire's edge.
"Sunny!"
He turned to see Effie calling after him. She carried Kai over one shoulder, with Cassie clinging to her other side. The blind girl's face was pale and bewildered.
"Doofus! Where are you going?"
Sunny studied her for a long moment, then smiled faintly.
"…There's just some unfinished business I need to deal with. Take care of the three of you. I'll… see you later. I hope."
With that, he stepped back into the shadows and disappeared.
And behind him, Adam watched with glowing golden eyes.
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Slay the Spire-VChapter TextSummoning the Dark Wing and the Prowling Thorn, Sunny leapt from the edge of the stone balcony. In the next heartbeat, his dagger tore through the darkness and sank into a fractured coral branch high above. With a sharp pull, he hurled himself upward, the transparent cloak blurring behind him as he rose.
All around him, the Crimson Spire—unchanged for thousands of years—was coming apart. The ancient tower shuddered and groaned under the catastrophic clash between Changing Star and the vessel of the artificial sun.
Vast coral roots cracked and broke loose, plunging downward and filling the hollow expanse with deafening thunder. Massive slabs collided with lower branches and were pulverized into storms of lethal debris.
Moving through the devastation, Sunny fought simply to stay alive.
The root he had been aiming for disintegrated before he could reach it. A cascade of shattered coral rushed down toward him, threatening to bury him whole. Unfazed, Sunny twisted midair and hurled the Prowling Thorn sideways. The dagger bit into another surface, and he swung clear just as the collapsing mass tore past him. A second later, he slammed against an intact root, pushed off its surface, and continued upward.
He spun and twisted through the chaos, using the Thorn and every scrap of solid ground to dodge falling slabs, evade clouds of razor-sharp splinters, and climb higher and higher into the darkness.
All the while, his shadow leapt ahead, hopping from root to root in search of Caster.
The Legacy was faster than Sunny—but bound to the ground and blind in the dark. That advantage would not last long.
And after several torturous minutes, it didn't.
Bursting through a cloud of coral dust, Sunny landed on a wide root in a smooth roll, leaving a faint crimson trail in the air. He rose silently and waited.
At these upper reaches of the Spire, the destruction had thinned. Anything unstable had already fallen. The remaining roots were few, but solid—predictable.
That made Caster's path obvious. And it also sealed their conflict here and now. Sunny was slighyly worried, though. Not about Caster himself, but of what came after.
He did not know what resources the Han Li clan possessed. Prophetic Aspects, strange Memories, posthumous retribution—any of it was possible. A vengeful Legacy clan was the last problem he wanted after returning to the real world.
Yet by now, he was certain of one thing.
Only one of them would leave this tower alive, reprecussions be damned.
This confrontation was long overdue.
Caster was many things—arrogant, cruel, privileged—but he was not a fool. There was a chance he had already guessed Sunny's Flaw.
So Sunny needed to strike quick and clean before he asked too many questions that forced him to answer.
Let's see which of us is better… which of us deserves it more…
For Sunny, this fight was not merely about defeating Caster. It wasn't even about protecting Nephis.
It was about defying the world itself.
When they had first met in the Academy, they had stood on opposite sides of humanity.
One at the top.
One at the bottom.
One strong, admired, supported by wealth, mentors, and legacy. Armed with inherited Memories, limitless resources, and a future paved in advance.
The other had nothing.
Sunny had always had nothing—no family, no home, no one who cared whether he lived or died. No opportunity. No safety net. No future.
Thrown into the same hell as Caster, he had clawed his way forward through will, intellect, and countless brushes with death. He had endured. He had survived. He had grown.
And now, a year later, he was ready to claim his place.
By defeating Caster, he would prove—once and for all—that he was not lesser. That he was not a disposable nobody meant to vanish from history. That he mattered just as much as those so-called "real" humans.
That he was exceptional.
…More so, even.
As Sunny waited in the darkness, the glow of a Memory lantern surged upward from below.
Caster raced toward the pinnacle of the Spire, using his speed and training to evade the collapsing tower. He was close—so close—when the light of his lantern swept over a motionless figure standing squarely in his path.
Dark armor woven from soft fabric hugged the figure's frame, dull black leather protecting vital points. An austere blade rested lightly in one hand, its tip touching the coral beneath. Black eyes were set on pale white skin, while hair blacker still was lazily tousled back.
Caster slowed, then stopped a few meters away. His jaw tightened.
"It's you."
Prey in sight, Sunny smiled.
"Correct indeed," he said lightly. "It's me."
Tilting his head, he regarded the proud Legacy with mock surprise.
"Oh! Hey, Caster. What a coincidence—running into you here of all places. So unexpected." He chuckled softly. "Ah… it must be fate."
Caster stayed silent for a long while. Then he lifted his gaze to the violently pulsating radiance of the Crimson Terror's light. At last, he lowered his head and exhaled through clenched teeth.
"Get out of my way, Sunny."
Sunny blinked once, then replied in a flat, humorless voice:
"Or what?"
The Legacy grimaced, fixing him with a dark stare filled with resentment.
"I am so tired of you and your insolence. Why do you always have to ruin everything? Why can't you just know your place?"
Summoning his elegant jian, Caster shook his head.
"Stay out of this if you value your life. This is the last chance I'll give you."
Sunny did not move. He watched the young man in silence, his black eyes reflecting nothing but darkness. After a few moments, his voice came out, hollow and unsettling:
"…Know my place? What is my place, in your eyes? Huh, Caster?"
Caster smiled faintly and answered as though stating a simple fact:
"Out of sight of those better than you, with the rest of the mongrels. Where else?"
Sunny shifted slightly. When he spoke again, his tone was unexpectedly light, almost friendly:
"Ah. That's actually exactly what I expected. Well, never mind. Before we do this, can I ask you one question?"
Caster snarled.
"Fine. Go on."
This question had been weighing on Sunny's mind for a long time.
"Why do you even want to kill Nephis? What's so important that you're willing to risk your life?"
Caster looked at him without a trace of humor. After a pause, he spoke in a strange, distant tone:
"This is something you scum will never understand. Survival is all creatures like you care about. Duty. Loyalty. Honor. Those words mean nothing to your kind. So I'll explain it in a way even you can grasp."
He pinned Sunny with an intense gaze.
"The Immortal Flame must be destroyed."
Then, with chilling inevitability, he added:
"…This is the will of the Sovereigns."
Sunny stared at him, absorbed by the gravity of the declaration.
A few seconds later, he asked, genuinely confused:
"Uh… who?"
Caster's eyes widened. He stared at Sunny, stunned, then shook his head in disbelief.
"Wait… you really don't know? She didn't tell you anything?"
Sunny scratched the back of his head.
"…not really. I mean, I know that the Immortal Flame was brought down by some very powerful and very malicious people, and that she was targetted, but that's about it."
Caster studied him for a moment, then suddenly threw his head back and laughed.
"Pathetic mongrel. You don't even know who you serve. You don't even know who rules the world you live in. Why am I wasting my breath on a worm like you?"
Sunny tilted his head, his tone reproachful.
"Ouch. That stings."
Caster smiled darkly and raised his sword.
"Enough. I'm done trying to reason with you, fool. I let you skulk in the shadows and play your vulgar games for long enough. I only allowed you to live because you weren't worth killing. What—do you really think that you, you, can defeat me? That your little schemes and secrets give you a chance against a true Legacy? I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I figured you out a long time ago."
Sunny was quiet for a moment, then asked indifferently:
"Oh yeah? Do tell. What are my secrets?"
Caster grinned.
"You hide your strength and pretend to be weak. You go around telling ridiculous stories, convincing everyone you're insane. At first, I thought you'd actually lost your mind. But once I paid attention, it was obvious. The constant misdirection, the absurd bragging no sane person would believe, the madman act… that's your Flaw, isn't it?"
Sunny tensed as Caster's smile widened.
"You're compelled to lie against your will. Did you really think no one would notice the pattern? You even bribed that idol friend of yours to mislead everyone. Pathetic. Did you honestly think anyone would fall for it?"
Sunny stared at him for a few seconds—then burst out laughing.
"Ah, damn. You got it completely wrong, Caster! I'm afriad I'm actually the most honest person in the world-two worlds even! I didn't need to bribe Kai into helping me at all, actually."
Then his laughter died. He locked Caster with a murderous gaze.
"…Sadly, it seems our time is running out. But while you ramble about my Flaw, I already know yours. In fact, I figured it out a long time ago."
Caster looked at him, one corner of his mouth twitching downward. In the lantern's light, he appeared confident.
Handsome.
Mature.
A short beard shadowed his face, and a few strands of gray threaded his thick hair.
Eyes glistening with malice, Sunny smiled.
"It's tragic that your incredible Aspect shortens your lifespan every time you use it. That you counteract the damage with a charm Memory shaped like an hourglass. Ah, if only the Spell was kinder to you. Sadly, that's just how Fate is. A real bitch."
Caster's expression darkened, his face slowly draining of color. After a moment, he muttered:
"…It doesn't matter. Once I fulfill my duty and return to the real world, Awakening will restore the years that were stolen from me. While you, rat, will rot in this cursed place fo—"
He never finished.
A heavy triangular blade suddenly hurtled toward his face. Outrage flashed in Caster's eyes as he casually swatted the kunai aside—and then he vanished, lunging forward with terrifying speed.
Invisible to the naked eye, the string of the Prowling Thorn was already stretched between two coral outcroppings, drawn taut across the root directly in his path.
And the proud Legacy was about to—
A green flash cut through the air. Sunny felt his wrist snap back as the tension vanished.
"…Crap."
A fraction of a second later, Caster was on him.
ast… too fast…
Caster moved with terrifying speed, his figure dissolving into a streaking blur of emerald light. His Flaw was merciless, gnawing away at his very lifespan, but the Aspect Ability it empowered was nothing short of monstrous.
Sunny had never encountered anyone with an Ability this overwhelming—save for himself and Nephis. Even the strongest warriors of the Forgotten Shore would have stood no chance against it. Gemma. Effie. Seishan. Any of them would have been cut down in moments by the deadly scion of the Han Li clan, never even given the opportunity to fight back.
Perhaps only Harus might have managed a draw.
Even that was doubtful. Caster did not rely on his Aspect alone. He was among the finest swordsmen of their generation, a prodigy tempered by relentless discipline, and he carried an entire arsenal of Memories hidden within his soul. If blinded, he would simply adapt. There was no obvious weakness to exploit.
So that left only Sasrir.
…That was why Sunny did not waste a single heartbeat trying to destroy the Memory lantern flooding the battlefield with light. Instead, he trusted his blade—and stepped forward to meet Caster's charge head-on.
Steel clashed.
The impact rang through the Crimson Spire like a thunderclap. In the next instant, Caster streaked past him and slowed, coming to a halt several steps away. A single drop of blood slid from the tip of his jian and struck the stone floor.
Sunny staggered.
Curse you…
The sleeve of the Puppeteer's Shroud had been torn open, a shallow cut carved into his shoulder. He had deflected the thrust meant for his heart, but he simply had not been fast enough to escape unscathed.
Caster's expression darkened. Seeing Sunny still standing, he grimaced and spat:
"Not bad. This might be entertaining, after all."
Face obscured by shadow, Sunny grinned.
"Oh, I think not. Death is such a tedious affair, after all."
That, at least, was the truth.
Back at the Academy, Caster had been the only person to defeat Nephis. They had all been weaker then, and Neph had not even revealed her Aspect Ability. Now Sunny was augmenting himself with his own, narrowing the gap just enough to remain alive.
And he had two shadows now.
One wrapped itself around the Midnight Shard, reinforcing the blade. The second shadow—newly acquired—melded with his body, strengthening muscle and reflex alike. His movements were sharper, heavier, more precise.
Even so, he was still vastly slower. In a contest of raw physical ability, Sunny stood no chance of enduring this duel for long.
…But he already knew how one had to fight Caster.
He had learned it from Changing Star herself, during that brief and fateful sparring match.
A year ago, Nephis had faced the same impossible disparity and nearly prevailed. She had not reacted to Caster's movements—she had anticipated them. By reading intent rather than motion, she had blunted his greatest advantage.
That was what Sunny had to do now.
Of course, such a feat demanded an intimate grasp of combat's underlying laws and absolute mastery over mind and body.
Fortunately, Sunny possessed both.
He had reached clarity long ago, spending every waking hour honing his instincts and refining his skill. His mind slipped into a state of flow, perception sharpening until the world felt stark and precise. Thoughts accelerated. Intuition guided his movements, reinforced by hard-earned understanding of battle's essence.
…That gave him a chance.
As did the Shadow Serpent, lurking beneath his feet, masquerading as an ordinary shadow.
Caster attacked again.
Sunny snapped the Midnight Shard sideways, intercepting the ghostly green jian at the last possible instant.
Up—
He chained his next movement before the blades even met. A heartbeat later, Caster's sword came down in a vicious arc aimed at Sunny's head. It was deflected—
Thrust at the neck—
—but the jian still slid along the length of the tachi, biting into Sunny's shoulder. This time, the leather pauldron barely held, the impact jolting his arm numb.
Almost immediately, Caster withdrew and lunged again, the jian flashing toward Sunny's throat. The Midnight Shard shoved it aside, but too slowly. A thin cut opened on Sunny's neck, warm blood seeping down his collar.
Damn it!
Sunny tried to counterattack, but was forced back into pure defense. Dozens of strikes rained down on him within seconds, filling the vast chamber of the Crimson Spire with the relentless clangor of steel. More cuts appeared—none deep enough to be fatal, all of them burning.
No matter how precise his movements were, Sunny could not fully compensate for the gap in speed. Months of training. Hundreds of battles. Endless refinement of technique—Caster had done all of that too, and then gone further.
And yet, Sunny was still alive.
Not gravely wounded.
Not yet.
At one point, he feinted a block and twisted aside instead, snapping his head forward as though to ram Caster.
And then the Shadow Serpent burst forth.
Its jaws gaped like a bottomless black pit, lunging straight for Caster's face. Despite all his training and experience, the Legacy flinched—pure, instinctive human terror overriding discipline for a split second as a nightmare creature tried to tear his head off.
That was all Sunny needed.
He lunged, blade flashing in the dim light, and for the first time landed a clean blow. Caster was too occupied with the Serpent to dodge fully.
A gash tore across his chest. Unfortunately, his armor absorbed most of the damage, sparing him from a mortal wound.
The next second, the emerald jian flashed, slicing the Shadow Serpent into a dozen pieces at once. The Legacy Creature dissolved into shadows—not slain, but forcibly recalled to recover.
"I'll kill you!" Caster spat, fury blazing in his eyes as he surged forward.
In response, Sunny hurled the second kunai he had summoned while Caster was distracted, then followed it with a vicious thrust of his sword. Caster sidestepped the dagger with ease, deflected the tachi, and drove a brutal kick into Sunny's stomach.
Sunny staggered back with a pained groan.
For a fraction of a second, he was wide open.
Caster did not miss the opportunity. He turned into a blur as he lunged, the gleaming jian flashing through the air. At the same moment, Sunny twisted his body, spinning just enough to avoid a killing blow.
They nearly brushed past each other as Caster flew by.
A moment later, Sunny shuddered and bent over, blood pouring from a deep gash in his side.
Caster turned and smiled cruelly, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.
"…Not so boisterous now, are you, worm?"
Sunny groaned and slowly straightened, pressing a hand against his bleeding side. His voice was strained, but steady.
"Not so fast. I wouldn't say… I lost that exchange."
He tilted his head and raised his other hand, staring at the object dangling from a torn chain clenched in his fingers.
Caster's hand shot to his neck.
"You—"
Sunny grinned, letting the sandglass charm sway gently.
"Wow. Would you look at that. How did this thing end up here?"
Caster ground his teeth as the stolen Memory began to glow faintly white. He was trying to dismiss it, to pull it back into his soul core.
Before he could, Sunny closed his fist.
The crystal hourglass shattered into countless fragments.
Caster's eyes widened.
"Bastard!"
The shards struck the ground, dissolving into sparks of light before vanishing completely.
For several seconds, neither of them moved. Shock and disbelief warred across Caster's face, tangled with fury, indignation… and fear.
Slowly, he raised his head and fixed Sunny with a gaze full of naked hatred.
"You scum…"
His voice trembled, strained tight by barely contained rage.
Good. Rage is good. Anything that makes him lose control is g—
The thought never finished.
Caster slammed into Sunny like a charging beast. Pain exploded across Sunny's chest as he was sent flying backward with a hoarse scream. He managed—somehow—to deflect the tip of the enchanted jian, but the Legacy himself hit with the force of a speeding train. The blade tore through the Puppeteer's Shroud once more, carving a bloody line across Sunny's forearm.
Goddammit!
It was infuriatingly unfair. The Shroud was a tier-five Memory of the Awakened Rank. Where in damnation had the bastard found a weapon that could slice through it so easily?
…Well. Sunny more or less knew the answer.
Who was to say that the ghostly green jian was not of equal tier—or higher? Legacy clans hoarded terrifying Memories in their vaults.
Unlike him.
Rolling as he hit the ground, Sunny sprang to the side and smashed the pommel of the Midnight Shard into Caster's wrist. He saved himself from decapitation by a breath.
Shaken, Sunny hurled a fistful of coral dust into the air and retreated. A heartbeat later, Caster burst through the cloud like a wrathful demon, the damned jian already aimed at Sunny's heart.
But—
Caster looked different.
Sunny's guess had been correct. The Flaw. The charm. Before, Caster had already appeared slightly older than the rest of the cohort, which had been strange—Effie and Kai were supposed to be the oldest. Back at the Academy, there had been no such disparity.
Now, with the crystal sandglass destroyed, time was collecting its due.
If someone saw him now, they would have assumed he was in his late twenties—perhaps even early thirties. The resemblance to the youth Sunny had once known was still there, but only just. Instead, a handsome, mature man attacked him, dark skin smooth yet already marked by the promise of future wrinkles. Silver threaded his beard.
Sunny braced and parried the thrust, then dodged left. He was late again—by a fraction—and another cut opened along his body.
Curses!
Gritting his teeth, Sunny dodged, parried, blocked, retreated. Every motion was a desperate calculation, every step taken to claw out distance. Then a furious roar shook the Spire:
"Get back here, you rat! Why are you running like a coward?!"
Hidden in the cast shadows and gasping for air, Sunny hissed back:
"What fool…would fight you openly?"
When they clashed again, Caster looked older still—late thirties now. A man in his prime. His shoulders were broader, straining the metal of his scale armor. Grey streaked his temples, silver ran through his beard. He looked like the sort of man young women would fawn over without hesitation.
Sunny groaned as another laceration opened. He shoved Caster away and dashed back. The Midnight Shard flashed low and high, never resting, steel ringing against steel until the sound merged into a single, deafening clamor. His lungs burned like fire, but he could not afford to slow—not even for an instant.
A single lapse would mean death.
Come on… this… this is not much worse than fighting… Effie…
It was worse.
So much worse.
Even augmented by two shadows, Sunny could not withstand Caster's relentless assault. He was stronger, tougher—but sharp weapons existed to erase such advantages. For a swordsman who relied on speed, one precise touch was all it took.
To Sunny, Caster was a nightmare.
If not for the Blood Weave, he would have collapsed long ago, drained dry by the countless shallow wounds crisscrossing his body.
Still, he endured. Still, he retreated. Blade flashing, arms trembling, he deflected one lightning-fast strike after another.
…The next time Sunny truly saw Caster, a chill ran down his spine.
The man attacking him was old.
Many months ago, before the Crimson Spire, before blood and shadows and the taste of terror in his mouth, Caster Han Li had stood alone with the proof of his damnation glowing before his eyes.
He had survived his First Nightmare.
He had gained an Aspect.
And then he had read his Flaw.
At first, he did not understand it. The words were simple enough, but their meaning refused to settle, sliding away from his thoughts like oil on water. He read it once. Then again. Then a third time, his fingers tightening until the thin sheet of parchment crumpled in his grasp.
No.
That was impossible.
Shock came first—pure, numbing disbelief. Then terror followed, cold and suffocating, squeezing his chest until he could barely breathe. Finally, childish, helpless rage erupted, sharp and directionless, leaving him trembling.
This was not merely a shackle.
It was an execution.
Every second his Aspect Ability was active devoured half a year of his life. Six months—gone. Erased. Paid as fuel.
Yes, for those seconds, he would be faster than a bullet. Faster than sound itself. Untouchable. Unstoppable.
And then he would die.
Less than an hour. That was all it would take to burn his entire lifespan away.
Caster remembered laughing then—an ugly, broken sound that startled the attendants waiting outside the chamber. He remembered sinking to the floor, his back pressed against cold stone, staring at nothing as the realization hollowed him out.
Defective.
That was the word that echoed in his mind.
A blade forged flawless in form, cursed to rust after only a few swings.
When he finally rose and faced his parents, he could barely meet their eyes.
Without the Han Li Clan, Caster Han Li was nothing. No matter his talent, no matter his lineage, his worth existed only insofar as he could carry the family name forward. How could he do that now? How could he meet their expectations—his duty to the Clan, to Sovereign Ki Song—knowing that his power was a countdown to death?
The answer, it seemed, was that he could not.
His mother broke first.
The moment she understood, she pulled him into her arms, clutching him as if he were still a child. Caster felt her hands tremble against his back as he wept, the tears he had sworn never to shed burning his eyes.
"It's not fair," she whispered, voice breaking. "It's not fair… you survived. You did everything right."
She held him for a long time, murmuring comfort she did not truly believe.
His father did not join them.
The Patriarch of the Han Li Clan stood a short distance away, hands clasped behind his back, expression carved from stone. When at last he spoke, his voice was calm, measured—utterly devoid of warmth.
"You cleared the First Nightmare," he said. "That is commendable."
That was all.
No talk of the future. No discussion of succession, or honor, or duty. No reassurance. No anger.
Nothing.
Caster understood then.
In his father's eyes, he no longer possessed a future worth discussing.
It was only days later, in the quiet aftermath of disgrace unspoken, that salvation came—wearing the face of an enemy.
Caster recognized the man at once, though he had never seen him before. His bearing was too precise, his presence too deliberate. An agent. A spy.
Anvil's.
Caster knew the rules of the game as well as any Legacy. The Sovereigns spied on one another openly, almost politely. Anvil and Song were allies in name and rivals in truth, their Domains riddled with informants who were never rooted out so long as the balance remained intact. Too much blood spilled too early would benefit no one.
Spies, after all, were useful. Even when you knew they were there.
This one had likely been tipped off by a servant. The Clan estates were full of ears.
He approached Caster not with threats, but with sympathy.
"You are in pain," the man said quietly, meeting Caster's guarded stare. "And you have reason to be."
Caster said nothing.
"There is a way," the agent continued, unhurried, "to counter your Flaw. To control it. Even to reverse its effects."
Caster's breath caught despite himself.
"A way to live," the man added. "To rise. Respect. Prestige. A guarantee of becoming a Master—perhaps even more. And a personal debt owed to you by both Sovereigns."
It was everything Caster had ever dreamed of.
More than he had dared to hope.
"And the price?" Caster asked, voice flat.
The agent did not hesitate.
"You will kill a young girl in the Dream Realm."
Silence fell between them.
Caster was no stranger to murder. No Legacy was. They were blooded young, escorted into the Dream Realm by Saints to ensure the Spell's blessing upon their sixteenth year. Death was a tool, a lesson, a necessity.
But this was different.
This was not a monster. Not an enemy. Not even a rival.
A person he had never met.
Someone he bore no grudge against.
Someone whose family name he even admired.
The agent seemed to read his hesitation.
"Speak to your father," he suggested mildly. "This is… significant. I understand that."
Then he left.
Caster went to his father that same night.
The conversation was brief.
"Opportunity," the Patriarch said, unmoved. "Is not offered twice."
"She hasn't wronged me," Caster said. "She's done nothing."
"That is irrelevant," his father replied. "Honor is written by the living. The dead have no voice."
"She's just a girl."
"And you are just a boy," the Patriarch said coolly. "Unless you prove otherwise."
Caster clenched his fists.
"Our Clan does not survive by mercy," his father continued. "It survives by victory. Pride is not purity—it is results. If the Sovereigns have chosen you as a piece worth moving, then you would be a fool to refuse."
He paused, eyes sharp.
"Do you wish to be remembered as defective? Or victorious?"
Caster had no answer.
He agreed.
The payment came swiftly. A Charm Memory, forged personally by a Weapons Master of Clan Valor, designed to counteract his Flaw—turning time's theft into something manageable. Not erased, but delayed. Controlled.
The emerald jian followed soon after.
His grandfather's blade.
Its weight in his hands felt like judgment.
On the morning he left for the Academy, Caster stood before the estate gates. The Clan had assembled to see him off. Servants, elders, retainers—silent witnesses.
His mother was crying openly now.
His father stood rigid at her side.
"I will return," Caster said, voice steady despite the storm inside him. "As the ender of the Immortal Flame. And as someone worthy of carrying the Han Li name."
His father nodded once.
That was all.
Caster embraced his mother, briefly, fiercely. Then he turned away and entered the waiting car.
As it pulled away from the estate, bound for the Academy, one thought echoed in his mind with cold certainty.
He would meet the infamous daughter of Broken Sword.
And he would plan her murder.
Caster's face was gaunt, traced with a spiderweb of deep wrinkles. His hair and beard were completely gray, the last remnants of youth erased by time. Almost nothing remained of the handsome Legacy Sunny had known—and despised—for so long.
And yet, Caster was still brimming with power. His fury was as murderous and scathing as ever.
Only his speed had diminished.
Just a little.
"Die, mongrel!"
With a furious roar, Caster brought the ghostly jian down in a devastating arc. Sunny, still reeling from the previous blow, barely managed to lift his tachi into a crooked block.
The impact sent a jolt through his arms. The Midnight Shard flew aside, nearly slipping from his grasp.
Worse still, Sunny lost his balance and fell backward, crashing to the ground in a heap.
A cruel smile twisted the old man's weathered face.
He lunged forward to finish the defenseless enemy.
At the last second, a calm voice echoed from behind him.
A voice he hated.
A voice he knew all too well.
"Back."
The command carried absolute authority.
Caster's eyes widened. Utter terror flooded his face as he spun around, raising his sword to finally confront the person he had feared—and longed to kill—for so many months.
There was no one there.
Nothing but empty air.
Just a simple rock resting on the ground.
Caster stared, confusion dulling his thoughts, age dragging them down like lead. Then the rock shouted, perfectly mimicking Changing Star's voice:
"Hide in the shadows!"
Realization struck.
Caster spun back, sword snapping into a defensive posture.
He was a fraction of a second too late.
Without a sound, the tip of the Prowling Thorn slid through his scale armor, pierced flesh—
—and drove straight into his heart.
Sunny stared at the stunned expression frozen on the old man's face. He scowled and let out a weary sigh.
Caster looked down at the blade protruding from his chest, blood streaming freely. His trembling hand weakly grasped the tachi. Pain and resentment twisted his pale, wrinkled features.
With great effort, he lifted his head and met Sunny's gaze.
"You… you have no… no honor."
Sunny regarded him in silence, a trace of pity flickering in his eyes. Then he looked away.
"There is no such thing honor," he said quietly. "It's just a word powerful scumbags invented to make young fools like you die for them. And kill for them. It's nothing more than a chain they wrap around your neck to turn you into a slave."
Caster's lips moved, as if trying to form a reply.
No words came.
He slowly sank to his knees.
'Mother, father...I'm sorry.'
Silence fell over the battlefield.
Then, the cold whisper of the Spell echoed in Sunny's mind:
[You have slain a dormant human, Han Li Caster.]
[Your shadow grows stronger.]
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