The air in the elder palace's dungeon cells carried the heavy scent of dampness and rotting wood. Candlelight flickered as if it were breathing.
The old man sat behind his worn desk, hands folded neatly before him. A faint smile lingered on his lips—one that revealed nothing of what lay beneath.
Baran smiled too.
But his was measured. Calculated. Not warmth—just a response.
He broke the silence, his voice calm yet sharp as a blade.
"So… you didn't summon me because we killed your subordinate?"
The old man's expression didn't change, but his smile slowly faded.
"No. I have something far more important."
He paused, as if weighing his words on invisible scales.
"Are you interested… in a legendary weapon?"
Time stopped.
No one moved. No one breathed. The words fell into the room like a stone into a deep well—and the echo had yet to fade.
Even Baran—who hid his emotions like a man behind an iron mask—felt something tremble in his chest.
---
Weapons were divided into five tiers, each separated by a gap that could not be bridged by training alone, but only by blood, luck, and fate.
The first tier: Meteor — ordinary weapons forged by blacksmiths, suited for beginners and common fighters.
Above it: Earth Tier — the line that separates serious warriors from amateurs.
Then: Sky Tier — where a weapon becomes an extension of the soul rather than just a tool. Those who reach the Integration Realm can unleash its full power, as if opening a door that had been closed since birth.
But beyond all of that…
Legendary Tier.
Every legendary weapon possesses a unique secret—one that exists nowhere else. The rarer and more violent that secret, the higher the weapon stands.
And beyond even that… something lost to time.
A myth whispered in stories no one could confirm:
Winged Weapons.
No one knew their form. No one understood their power. It was as if the world itself had chosen to hide them.
Legendary and Winged weapons were born from metals that fell from the sky—materials that had touched the stars before reaching the earth, carrying fragments of another realm within them.
Others were forged from the very essence of the world itself—from the hearts of mountains and the depths of ancient springs. These weapons responded only to those with true strength of spirit, revealing their full potential only upon reaching the Integration Realm.
Each legendary weapon was a living entity.
A single secret. A singular power.
The deeper and darker that secret, the more terrifying—and rare—the weapon became.
As for Winged weapons… they had vanished so long ago that some doubted they ever existed.
---
Baran exhaled slowly, a faint smirk forming.
"And if I'm not interested… who would be?"
The old man's lips curved slightly in satisfaction.
"Good. I'll tell you where it is."
He paused.
And in that brief silence, the weight of his demand gathered.
"But I want something in return."
Baran waited without showing curiosity.
"I want you to kill everyone in the Connected Realm… within the Kurion Clan."
Baran didn't move.
"So you want to become the clan leader?" His gaze shifted slightly.
"Or… do you want to drink that poison?"
The words struck like silent lightning.
The old man's hand trembled near his sword. His eyes narrowed.
No one was supposed to know about the poison. No one outside the Kurion Clan even knew it existed.
"How…?" the old man began, his voice unsteady for the first time.
"I ended up in prison by accident," Baran replied casually. "You hear a lot of things in prison."
The old man didn't believe him. His grip tightened on his sword as he measured the distance between his hand and Baran's neck.
Then Suleiman spoke, explaining everything in detail—how he was trapped, how it all led here.
The old man listened, disbelief slowly fading. His hand loosened.
"That's exactly Lorina's style…" he muttered.
Then he looked up decisively.
"Shall we make a plan?"
---
Baran and Suleiman left the palace under the old man's watchful gaze from the window.
One guard whispered, "Can we really trust them?"
Without looking away, the old man replied,
"Don't worry. If the plan succeeds, both sides benefit. If it fails, both sides lose. They have no other choice."
---
The market felt unusually calm—as if Lorina's absence had lifted a weight from the city.
"So," Baran said as he walked, "you and Diaso planned to kill Lorina… but no one expected the elder to reach the Connected Realm."
"Yes. I was supposed to fight her alongside Diaso, then Shiro would be killed afterward." Suleiman paused.
"The flaw," Baran said calmly, "is that your plan relies on luck. How were you going to kill Shiro after exhausting yourselves?"
Suleiman said nothing.
He had known that weakness from the beginning.
But he kept going, hoping to find the missing piece along the way.
When Baran appeared, he thought he had found it.
But the elder's breakthrough shattered everything.
Now, Suleiman wanted only one thing:
To free the imprisoned women.
---
They sat in Baran's room, forming a plan to find Narvik. After long discussion, they agreed to leave the next day.
Then—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Baran froze.
He hadn't sensed anything.
No presence. No warning. Not even his instincts—those that had saved him countless times—had reacted.
That alone was impossible.
"How can I not feel him…?" he whispered.
He opened the door.
No one.
Then—
In a fraction of a second, his instincts screamed.
He turned and threw a punch, lightning-black energy surging through it like breath itself.
But the man was already behind him.
And countered—with a punch infused with ice.
BOOM.
The explosion shook the building.
The shockwave sent them in opposite directions.
Black lightning crackled around Baran as he stepped back three paces.
Ice drifted calmly around the stranger, who only stepped back twice… then stopped.
A boy stood before him.
Nineteen years old.
Short hair the color of a cloudy sky. Black eyes with a faint violet flame flickering within—like a dying star.
His calm was unnatural.
The calm of someone who had lived in chaos long enough to call it home.
Baran's eyes widened.
"N… Narvik?"
He couldn't believe it.
"Narvik!"
Before he could finish, he had already pulled him into a tight embrace.
For the first time in a long time—
Baran cried.
"I've been looking for you," Narvik said softly, returning the embr
Narvik sat on the edge of the bed, his calm eyes fixed on Baran—yet beneath that calm lay countless unspoken questions.
"I was at the outskirts of the Dark Kingdom," Baran began. "I thought you had gone to the Sun Kingdom."
"Because it's the only logical place for someone seeking protection," Narvik replied. "Did you change your mind?"
"My master suggested something else."
The moment Zavlian's name was mentioned, a strange weight filled the room. The man was unforgettable—a warrior whose strength was so overwhelming that even the powerful spoke of him in lowered voices. The rumors of his death… remained nothing more than rumors in Baran's eyes, at least until he found the time to uncover the truth.
Narvik exhaled slowly before lifting a serious gaze.
"Has the King-Slayer Curse manifested in you?"
Silence spread through the room like fog.
The King-Slayer Curse—neither an insult nor a simple warning. It was a binding fate woven around those born to carry it, weighing down their every step, complicating every path. And in the moment they were needed the most… it could kill them—just to prevent them from killing a king.
"It doesn't seem to have awakened yet," Baran said after a moment, a hint of cautious relief in his voice. Then, more firmly, he added, "From now on, we walk the same path. You and me."
"Me too!" Suleiman suddenly chimed in from behind, unable to contain his excitement. "I haven't even been properly introduced to this friend yet!"
For the first time in days, Baran laughed.
---
After Baran explained everything that had happened since entering the city, Narvik fell into thought before speaking:
"If Lorena drinks the poison, her power will become abnormal. We have to kill her before that… and we need to free the women from the prison." He paused. "Should we also go after the legendary weapon?"
"Yes, yes, yes!" Suleiman interrupted, his eyes shining. "I want to see a legendary weapon with my own eyes!"
Narvik glanced at him calmly, then gestured toward the sword strapped to his back.
"This sword of mine is legendary."
"Wha—?!"
Suleiman froze in disbelief. Carefully, he reached out and touched the sheath, as if afraid it might break from the slightest contact. The sword was slightly long, its sheath a deep blue that shimmered like a winter night. Frost-like engravings intertwined across its surface like branches carved into ice.
And on the sheath, in ancient script, were the words:
"Frostlight."
"Every legendary weapon has a secret," Suleiman said, staring at it with fascinated ignorance. "What's the secret of yours?"
Narvik smiled—the smile of someone carrying a comfortable secret.
"When this sword pierces someone—even by the width of a finger—it drains all the blood from their body. Instantly. No escape."
He paused slightly.
"But I can't use its full power yet… it's still weak."
Silence fell.
Then Suleiman slowly lifted the sword… and struck his own wrist.
"Suleiman, don't—" Narvik began.
"AAAH!" Baran shouted.
---
Minutes later, they stood before the prison gates.
"Yes, this is where I found Suleiman when he was imprisoned," Baran said calmly, gesturing toward the corridors.
Narvik and Suleiman looked at each other. Then at Baran. Then back at Suleiman—this time with expressions that mixed disbelief, mockery, and confusion.
"Why are you looking at me like that?!" Suleiman protested.
No one answered.
They walked in.
---
Narvik was stunned when he saw the sheer number of women on the first and second floors.
But when he descended to the third floor… he froze.
"If Lorena drinks that poison while surrounded by this many…"
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
They all understood.
Baran walked silently to the end of the corridor. He stopped, his eyes scanning the ground with the precision of someone trained to find what cannot be seen.
Then—without warning—the floor shifted.
A hidden passage opened beneath them, as if the stone itself had swallowed its own surface.
"Just like the Elder said," Baran murmured, staring into the darkness below.
"There are caves beneath the prison… and down there…"
"…is the legendary weapon."
Narvik took a slow breath. Suleiman's breathing quickened.
Baran remained silent as always—
But in his eyes, there was something new.
Hope.
Or something very close to it.