Noa's breath came out uneven.
His right arm trembled violently, nerves screaming from the backlash of the thrust. The bones felt cracked from the inside. The muscles spasmed every time he tried to tighten his grip.
No sword.
No aura left.
No ally.
And…
…He didn't knew why but, he couldn't use 'that'.
And yet—too many enemies.
The church air reeked of blood and burnt stone.
"Valvakile… I'm taking your sword."
His voice was hoarse but steady.
He bent slowly, fingers tightening around the fallen knight's blade. The steel was still warm from battle. Still humming faintly with leftover aura.
As he straightened, he counted.
Thirty-five knights remained. Five had died trying to intercept the thrust.
His dark eyes lifted—until they met Duke Viremont's.
The blade rose.
"Anyone wants to see the afterlife?"
The duke's spine stiffened. The chill he had felt earlier deepened into something closer to dread.
Noa wanted them all dead. Not out of rage—but out of necessity. No witnesses. No leaks. No consequences reaching Lina.
But there was one problem.
He was empty.
He spat blood onto the shattered marble.
"...fuck it."
The knights' morale had dropped after watching Valvakile fall. Their formation was tighter now, but their confidence had cracks.
Noa had maybe ten percent aura left.
He stepped forward.
Step—Step.
Each step heavier than the last—yet his presence didn't shrink.
Viremont swallowed.
"Go. Attack."
Steel answered the command.
…
clang.
The first blade struck. Noa barely redirected it.
Another came from the side—he pivoted, shoulder grazing steel.
A third slipped past—his ribs burned.
The knights weren't reckless. They were disciplined. Coordinated. Precise.
Noa was on the defensive immediately.
Steel rang again and again.
Some strikes he parried.
Some he slipped past by instinct alone.
Some he endured.
And through it all—
He muttered.
"If the aura is too much, it breaks… If it's too low, it won't cut…"
Viremont narrowed his eyes.
"Maybe this sword can handle it? No… it won't. I can't risk it. What if I channel it into my arm? No… that would break before the blade…"
Another clash.
"What if I gather the floating magicules… mix them with the aura… suspend it in the air itself…"
Viremont's expression changed.
He leaned forward to hear.
Noa's breathing grew ragged, yet his eyes sharpened.
"What if I condense every bit of magicules I can perceive… every trace of aura left… compress it into a single point… and then release it to an item?"
"???"
Viremont understood.
His blood ran cold.
"You crazy fucker—stop it!"
But it was already too late.
At the tip of Viremont's sword—
A purple light bloomed.
But it didn't remain contained.
The surrounding air trembled.
Dust lifted.
Fragments of shattered marble began to vibrate and disintegrate into particles.
Magicules—normally invisible—began spiraling inward like stardust pulled into a newborn star.
The purple glow thickened.
Condensed.
Darkened.
Even the white radiance of the Oracle's Anchor reacted—pulsing violently.
Noa's fingers trembled as he shifted his grip.
This time he used his left arm.
And threw.
clang.
crack.
For a heartbeat—
Time stopped.
Purple met white.
Void collided with divinity.
The air folded inward before exploding outward.
swoooosh—
Darkness swallowed light.
White energy retaliated.
Two opposing absolutes tore into each other.
Noa didn't understood what has actually caused it but he will find out how skills work in Mythara later.
"Oh shit."
Noa turned and ran seeing it about to explode.
"Run!" Viremont roared.
"Protect the duke!"
The remaining knights moved instantly—forming a human wall.
Duty. Fear. Loyalty.
Then—
KRAAAAAASH
Sound ceased to exist for a moment.
The church imploded before it exploded.
Light reversed direction. Windows shattered outward like wings of glass.
Walls disintegrated.
Corpses became dust mid-air.
The sacred architecture collapsed as if erased by an invisible hand.
A shockwave rippled through the countryside.
Homes two kilometers away rattled violently.
Smoke rose—blotting out the sun.
Day turned into bruised twilight.
"W-what's going on?!"
"The church—!"
"My child—!"
Some stared in horror at the collapsing landmark.
Others ran toward their screaming children. And…
Some noticed 2 figures flying in the sky.
…
"hah… heheh… I really am better at throwing swords…"
Noa lay buried in rubble.
His body was burned in patches. Skin torn. Blood everywhere.
His right arm was numb. Left shoulder dislocated.
His vision blurred.
"Uhhh…"
He forced himself upright.
Stone fell from his shoulders as he stood.
One breath.
Then another.
And then—
He disappeared into the smoke.
…
My head hurts.
The door creaked as he pushed it open.
I hope I wasn't late.
"Noa, you're back!"
Mara hugged him immediately.
Her warmth nearly made his knees buckle.
"Uh… Mom… I'll die if you keep squeezing me." Everything hurt.
"Oh! Sorry! Are you okay?"
"Do I look like it?"
Her smile faltered into worry.
"You're back. I've been waiting."
A new voice.
Calm. Refined.
Mara brightened.
"Yea! Noa, you have visitors."
Visitors? For me?
"What about Lina?"
Mara placed her hand on Noa's head.
"She's safe. Don't worry."
Relief struck like sleep.
Noa passed out instantly.
---
When I opened my eyes—
It was the same ceiling from four years ago.
A woman sat beside the bed.
Silk-green hair. Golden eyes. Clean white coat over a high-quality long-sleeved blouse. Calm posture.
Is she a medic?
"You're awake! It was a fatal wound. I'm surprised you healed this quickly."
"Quickly?"
"How long?"
She checked her watch.
"Forty minutes."
Forty—
Wait.
A watch?
They have those?
"Let's go downstairs. The princess is waiting."
Princess?
Now what.
…
"Hey. How are you feeling?"
The voice carried quiet authority.
I turned.
She stood there.
Around 175 cm tall, posture effortless yet deliberate. Not stiff like nobility trained for display—rather someone who understood her presence and owned it.
Her figure was balanced perfectly—slender waist flowing into natural curves. Not fragile. Not exaggerated. Just proportioned with quiet harmony. The kind of body that moved gracefully even when still. Her chest was full but refined.
Her hair fell in long, textured waves of white past her waist, with soft, sharp bangs framing her face. Crimson eyes, deep and steady like wine, held quiet amusement while two locks of hair descended from her temples to act as a boundary for her layered mane. They framed her eyes without hiding them—crimson eyes, deep and steady, holding both intelligence and a playful spark beneath.
She wore layered white as a base, the inner dress falling asymmetrically with the left side extending to her knee, while the rest of the dress ended above her thighs, creating a subtle rhythm in movement. Over it was a fitted crimson-red coat, cut high in front and flowing slightly longer behind, ending above her thigh. The sleeves were stylishly cut from the front—from the middle of the elbow down to the shoulder—revealing glimpses of black gloves.
Black thigh-high stockings accentuated her long legs, meeting polished heeled boots with faint crimson accents.
A slim ornamental belt rested at her waist.
She wasn't dressed for war.
She wasn't dressed like a conventional noble either.
She carried herself like someone who had already decided her future.
And I could confidently say—
She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Real life or internet.
"Let me introduce myself first, Noa. I'm Vionette Crimvane of the Crimvane Kingdom… or…"
She paused.
Smiled.
"…I'm also Han Seoyeon."
What?
A transmigrator?
Why tell me that?
"…I'm Noa Ra—"
"Noa Shinra."
She interrupted smoothly.
"I have a proposal."
She knows.
"A proposal?"
"Yes. You want to enjoy life, don't you? I'll give you wealth. You give me strength."
Direct.
Sharp.
Dangerous.
"So what do you want to do?" I asked, buying time.
"I want to rebuild my nation… and enjoy ruling it."
"Why?"
She blinked—slightly surprised.
Then she exhaled softly.
"Because this wasn't just transmigration."
"Meaning?"
"Not only did I inherit Vionette's memories… I inherited her emotions. Her ego. Or perhaps…"
She leaned back slightly.
"…Han Seoyeon was always Vionette Crimvane. Maybe I simply regained my past life."
I understood.
Family.
Kingdom.
Different shapes of attachment.
"But why should I trust you? And I won't work under anyone. I want freedom."
She laughed softly, covering her lips.
"Turn visible. Target: Noa Shinra."
A blue window appeared.
[A Match Made in Hell (Unique)]
Two souls written within the same forbidden paragraph of fate. Born in different worlds, shaped by different scars, yet aligned by a design that even the heavens cannot ignore. A bond forged not in purity—but in mutual ambition, survival, and shared desire to rise. If trust is given willingly, a pact may be formed at the level of the soul itself.Effect:
– Detect and locate your destined counterpart's soul (pre-pact).
– If one perishes, the other follows.
– Enables long-distance communication and perception.
– Allows compatible skills and abilities to be shared.
–Switch places with each other (Cooldown: 24)
Pacts created: (0/1)
A match made in hell? Not heaven?
No.
More like—
A contract signed in defiance of it.
Excitement crept into my chest.
"So that's how you found me."
She smiled.
"Judging by your expression… I assume the trust issue is resolved."
"Hmmm."
"You misunderstood something," she continued, rising from her seat.
"I'm not asking you to become my knight."
She extended her hand.
"Become my partner."
Sunlight cut through the window behind her.
"You hold the sword. I'll hold the pen. Let's build a utopia we can enjoy."
My heart raced.
Not fear.
Excitement.
Before I knew it, a smirk formed.
So I took her hand.
"Okay… partner."
Thus, here in Mythara—
A story of a duo who can shake the world began.