Rolin approached the burning artifact slowly.
The crimson flames danced around it with an eerie calmness… not like ordinary fire that devours and destroys, but as if it were guarding something. It circled the object, enclosing it, as though preventing anything unworthy from getting close.
He stopped one step away.
Stared at it for a long moment.
Then bent slightly.
"…This is going to hurt."
He raised his hand slowly.
Every instinct in his body screamed—
Stop.
But his hand didn't.
It moved closer.
The flames touched his skin.
Redness began to spread…
The heat rose—
Then—
…vanished.
Rolin blinked.
His hand was inside the fire.
No pain.
No heat.
Nothing.
He frowned.
"…Huh?"
He tightened his grip—then grasped the artifact itself.
Slowly—
He pulled.
At first, it didn't move.
Then—
It trembled.
A faint sound echoed from the ground, as if something that had been trapped for a very long time… had begun to break free.
Rolin pulled harder.
The ground cracked slightly.
The flames began to fade.
Dimming… weakening…
Until—
They disappeared.
And the artifact came free.
Rolin took a step back, staring at what he held.
Silence.
Then—
His eyes widened slightly.
"…A sword."
But it wasn't an ordinary one.
It was… unnaturally beautiful.
The hilt was pure white, wrapped in perfectly aligned golden threads, ending in a strange symbol—
A shape resembling a sun…
With fine rays extending outward, as if reaching into the world itself.
Rolin stared at it.
Paused.
Something inside him… stirred.
That symbol—
Familiar.
Slowly, he raised his other hand and touched the pendant hanging around his neck.
The same shape.
The same details.
The same… feeling.
He froze for a moment.
Then—
Pulled his hand away.
"…A coincidence."
He said it quietly.
As if trying to convince himself.
And ignored it.
His gaze shifted to the blade.
It was long… slightly curved, resembling a katana, yet far more refined. More… pure.
A fusion of gold and silver, gleaming even in the dim light.
Delicate engravings ran along its length—
Radiantri patterns, like light itself had been carved into steel.
He lowered the sword slightly.
Then noticed something.
Two words.
Engraved near the base of the blade.
He read them under his breath:
"…Sky Light."
Silence.
Then—
His eyes gleamed.
"A named artifact."
His grip tightened around the sword.
In this world—
Artifacts were not equal.
There were ordinary artifacts.
Enhanced tools… but still just tools.
Then—
Named artifacts.
Far more powerful.
They carried a name.
And sometimes…
They carried a rune.
Beyond that—
Legendary artifacts.
Items with multiple runes… sometimes even a bound entity.
And finally—
Divine artifacts.
So rare their existence alone bordered on myth.
Artifacts…
With will.
Rolin looked down at the sword in his hand again.
"Sky Light…"
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Maybe…"
But the smile faded quickly.
His expression hardened.
"…Useless."
He lowered the blade.
Looked at it coldly.
"I can't activate runes."
"I don't even know how to use it properly."
He exhaled.
"A beautiful sword… without value."
No core.
No mana.
No way to awaken what lay within it—
To him, this sword was nothing more than an expensive piece of metal.
His jaw tightened.
"…Damn it."
Then muttered in irritation,
"Can I not stop being unlucky…?"
Without hesitation, he stored it inside his infinite bag.
The sword vanished as if it had never existed.
Silence returned.
Rolin lifted his head.
And looked around.
Now that the flames had completely faded—
The room was clear.
Clearer…
And far stranger.
The cracked black walls looked older than he had first thought. Not just stone… but remnants of something forgotten.
He moved slowly.
Approached one of the walls.
Then stopped.
His eyes narrowed.
"…What is this?"
Drawings.
Crude.
Faded.
Partially erased.
Childlike.
He reached out and touched them.
The surface was rough.
Cold.
But the shapes—
Clear enough.
Small children.
Their faces incomplete, but their movements… joyful.
They surrounded something.
A being.
Tall.
Strange.
It had four horns.
Two extending horizontally from the sides of its head…
And two rising upward from its forehead.
Its face—
Unclear.
As if the child who drew it… couldn't understand it.
Or didn't dare to.
In its hand—
Something.
A gift.
But it was…
Erased.
As if time—or something else—had deliberately removed it.
Rolin frowned.
"…What is this?"
But what caught his attention more—
Wasn't the being.
It was the background.
The trees.
They were…
Normal.
Not massive.
Not towering into the sky.
Not like they were now.
He froze for a second.
Did this place exist before those trees grew?
The thought settled in.
Deeper.
Does that mean… those trees aren't native to this forest?
His gaze returned to the being.
And what is that…?
What was it giving them?
And where did those children go?
Silence.
Rolin moved.
He left the wall behind—
But his thoughts lingered.
He kept walking.
Slowly.
Until—
He stopped again.
Writing.
This time… clearer.
But smaller.
Messier.
Like a child's scribble.
He bent down.
And read:
("The friend is very kind…
He always plays with us when the door lady lets us.
He always gives us…
And it makes us feel really good…
But the friend doesn't like adults. He doesn't go near them.
He only appears when he sees us…
But there is something I don't like about the friend…
And it scares me.")
Silence fell.
Long.
Rolin didn't move.
His eyes remained on the words.
"…The friend."
He whispered it quietly.
Is it the same being?
And the 'door lady'…?
A title? A role? A person?
He glanced around.
The drawings were made by children…
And this… is written in plural.
His gaze sharpened slightly.
Was this place… an orphanage?
The thought lingered.
Then grew heavier.
And then… what happened?
His eyes moved to the missing parts of the text.
Two gaps.
One describing the "gift."
The other…
What exactly had scared the child.
He closed his eyes briefly.
Was that being… a monster?
He opened them again.
And shook his head.
"…Doesn't matter."
He stood up.
Turned his back to the wall.
The thoughts stopped.
Cut off.
As if he refused to let them form completely.
Why should I care?
His gaze shifted toward the distant exit.
Not this place…
Not its past.
Not the children.
Not that thing.
Silence.
Then—
He moved.
The only thing that matters…
A step.
Is—
He paused for a fraction of a second.
"…Getting out."
The cold returned to his eyes.
As it always did.
Rolin—
Only cared about one thing.
Himself.