They were still running, the Mist just as thick around them, but Kenzo could tell something had changed. The air remained heavy and oppressive, the pain continued attacking their prana Hearts, yet the pressure felt slightly different now—less crushing than before. Lucian was being supported by Ophelia, his body practically dragged along, his breathing irregular and his face covered in blood.
Then, without warning, he spoke in a weak, strangled voice.
— « Kenzo… the voice… it told me my artifact was destroyed. »
He tried to catch his breath, but his body finally gave out. His legs collapsed beneath him and he fell unconscious, his face still twisted by pain.
They did not have time to stop.
They kept fleeing.
Again and again, with no real way of knowing how much time had passed.
Then Naty collapsed too.
She remained conscious, her eyes still open, but her body simply refused to go any farther. Her legs trembled too violently to support her.
Kenzo felt his prana Heart burning. He could clearly feel the pain, deep and persistent, as though the Mist were deliberately attacking that exact point.
And yet, unlike the others, he still showed no visible symptoms.
Ophelia lowered Lucian to the ground and met Kenzo's gaze.
They did not need a long discussion.
He nodded.
— « I'll hold them back. »
— « I'll take both of them, » she replied simply.
She hoisted Lucian up without ceremony, grabbed Naty, and immediately turned forward.
— « We're getting out of here. »
Kenzo turned to face the Mist.
Despite the wound in his shoulder, despite the constant pain, he took a deep breath.
He could feel the presences approaching.
The spiders emerged almost immediately, their yellowish silhouettes barely visible through the fog, their legs striking the ground in an endless clattering rhythm.
Kenzo moved without thinking.
He dodged, pivoted, and used the reach of his guandao to keep them at a distance. He was not trying to kill them. Every strike was meant to drive them back. The blade of his guandao, an Infected Unstable–level weapon, cut easily through their shells, wounding them without much difficulty, but their sheer numbers made eliminating them all impossible.
He pushed [Serpent] harder and maintained it longer than ever before. His mind stretched, perceiving trajectories, angles, intentions. He dodged at the last possible instant, sometimes feeling the wind of an attack brush against his skin, then countered, using the shaft to deflect and the blade to cut.
Little by little, he felt Ophelia moving farther away with the others.
He did not look back.
He only needed to hold.
Just a little longer.
His nose began to bleed.
Then he coughed up blood.
Kenzo knew it was not [Serpent]. This pain was different—duller, deeper. The Mist was still attacking his prana Heart.
The spiders began forcing him back, their legs scraping across his armor and leaving deep marks. Kenzo retreated, struck, stumbled, regained his footing, and continued anyway. Time stretched endlessly. His breathing grew more difficult, and a heavy buzzing filled his head.
Less and less air seemed to reach his lungs.
This was no longer about endurance.
The Mist had won.
Kenzo missed a dodge.
His foot slipped, and his body crashed heavily to the ground, his face pressed into the damp earth as blood from his nose and mouth mixed with the soil.
Ahead of him, dozens of spiders were already charging.
Their legs trembled with a suffocating rustle that made him nauseous.
So this is how it ends…
The thought crossed his mind without panic.
Almost tired.
Dying after sacrificing myself… me… when I'd already considered abandoning them if things ever reached this point…
A thick bitterness crept through him, something far older than this fall, fed by years of regrets and things he had given up. Kenzo felt that cruel clarity crushing him, that quiet certainty that deep down, he had never truly believed things could end any other way.
What was I expecting…? As if someone born beyond the Outer Walls could ever really make it out.
A face suddenly appeared in his mind, sharp and painful, bringing everything he had left behind with it.
I never should've left…
His throat tightened.
If I hadn't left that country… if I hadn't believed starting over somewhere else would erase everything, I wouldn't be here now…
Anger rose inside him, quiet and heavy. Not directed at the creatures approaching him, but at the life he had dragged behind him for years. An existence without warmth, built around survival rather than choice.
Everything fell apart after…
He did not dare put a name to the source of that collapse.
And I just kept going, as though moving forward was enough to give meaning to the emptiness…
Then one final thought forced its way to the surface, heavy and almost venomous.
No… I'm here because I tried to save someone. Because I believed, once again, that reaching out to someone was worth it…
He cursed himself for that weakness, for the absurd decision that had led to his kidnapping, all the way to this ridiculous end.
That'll teach me to play the hero…
And yet, beneath all that self-loathing, one truth remained.
Persistent.
Unforgiving.
Even knowing how it would end… even hating the life that came after… I would do it again.
That certainty remained with him until his vision blurred, his thoughts faded, and his consciousness finally disappeared.
When Kenzo opened his eyes again, light struck him full in the face.
It was not the dim, suffocating glow of the Mist, but clear daylight, almost painfully bright after everything he had endured. The sun had only just risen, still low in the sky, casting a faint but very real warmth across his face.
Kenzo blinked several times, disoriented, his head heavy, as though his mind needed far too long to understand one simple fact.
He was still alive.
His body immediately reminded him of reality. Deep internal pain remained, dull and persistent, while the wounds left by the spiders were sharper and more precise. Every breath pulled painfully at his chest, and every attempt to move made his muscles protest.
He remained still for a moment, lying on the ground, unable to fully rise. Eventually, he managed to prop himself up slightly on one trembling arm.
Lucian and Naty were in front of him.
Lucian was still lying unconscious on the ground, his pale face stained with dried blood. His breathing was weak, but regular.
Naty sat nearby, utterly exhausted. Her shoulders sagged and her features were drawn, but when she met Kenzo's gaze, she managed a faint, fragile smile, as though even that small gesture demanded more energy than she had left.
— « Thank you. »
Those two words struck harder than anything else.
Kenzo did not answer.
He did not have the strength.
And perhaps he was not even sure he deserved them.
Then he sensed a presence behind her.
A figure slowly approached.
She was covered in wounds and dried black blood, some of it still smoking. Kenzo did not immediately recognize the blazing red hair, nor even the face beneath skin that had been pierced, torn, and ravaged by battle.
But he clearly saw the faint smoke rising from her body.
Her flesh was slowly closing.
Regenerating despite the catastrophic condition she was in.
Ophelia's voice rose through the silence, hoarse and exhausted, yet strangely calm.
— « Well done, Kenzo. We made it to the other side of the Mist. »
At those words, something inside him finally loosened.
Not true relief.
Not joy.
Only the quiet certainty that they had survived.
For now.
[End of Volume One: The Lastborn]