I'm no expert when it comes to electricity or anything remotely related to physics, if I'm being brutally honest… The furthest extent of my knowledge is a simple theory: when two lightning spells collide, their energies should, ideally, repel each other. In that case, both spells would weaken, or, if fortune favors me, cancel each other out completely.
But that only holds true if the polarity of his lightning and mine are aligned—something I have absolutely no way of confirming. That if, however, the polarities are opposite—positive clashing against negative—then the result would be catastrophic.
Instead of neutralizing, the lightning would violently amplify, fusing together and racing back toward the casters. In other words, death.
Twice as strong.
Twice as certain.
But come on… In a world this meticulously governed by numbers and data, how likely is it for two identical spells to somehow possess opposite attributes?
And why am I even second-guessing myself at this point?
The spell's already been cast. The lightning bolts have already collided. There's nothing left for me to worry about—what's done is done… If I live, then so be it. And if I die, then—
Before the thought can finish itself, the two bolts of lightning erupt in a flash of light, far dimmer than before… Their tips split, veering sharply to the left and right, scattering harmlessly into the air. And just like that, every last spark fizzles out without leaving a single wound behind. A sight that leaves everyone frozen in stunned silence—
Everyone except Myrrhiel.
Without wasting a breath, she draws her bowstring taut and releases an arrow straight toward the boy in the distance. The shot strikes true, piercing through his skull with ruthless precision, killing him instantly.
"Nice shot as always! I knew we could trust you, Myrrhiel!" Sigvald shouts, his voice bubbling with excitement—only to be met by the girl's flat, expressionless reply.
"I never said I was on your side."
"Ah... that's true... I'm sorry..."
Here I watch the scene unfold just a few steps away, a rare sight burning itself into my memory as it's the first time I ever see the kid look genuinely crushed, disappointed in himself.
And somehow... It leaves me feeling just a little satisfied.
"What are you staring at? Deon, don't just stand there, I need your help over here!"
The kid snaps, clearly irritated once he notices the smug grin spreading across my face as his anxiety grows just when the girl, Myrrhiel, begins to pack up and walk away, leaving the two of us alone in the darkness.
Speaking of darkness, I realize I forgot to mention at this point, I think our eyes have seemingly evolved to see clearly in the pitch-black void… Now that I think about it, we no longer even need any light to navigate—those magic glowing orbs we keep tossing out are used purely to bait the undead, not for illumination. Hell, I'm certain that if we were suddenly hit with a flashlight, our eyes would reflect the light just like a cat's eyes would.
And also, if I'm not mistaken, a few days ago I'm pretty sure I saw a window pop up notifying me that I had unlocked a new passive skill… But I accidentally closed it too fast and kept forgetting to check what it actually was.
Now, though, I'm almost certain—this has to be the answer.
But then, I snap back to reality.
That's truly not something I should be thinking about right now… Instead, my focus shifts to the sudden encounter between Myrrhiel and the other two members of our group.
Garrik, the little bastard, who left me to face three on my own, and there's Eirwen—her fingers drenched in blood, but curiously, no other part of her skin or clothing is touched.
The two of them look slightly panicked, unsure of what to do when they realize there's still one more member of our enemy's squad left alive… The figure that walks away nonchalantly, leaving Sigvald and me standing here, speechless, out of ways to persuade her.
"You... Say, are you also a member of their team?" The tip of the girl's left index finger drifts backward, pointing somewhere behind her. But hope flickers in an instant... Myrrhiel gazes at Eirwen, disbelief creeping into her eyes, forcing her to ask.
In response, the nervous, timid girl nods vigorously, her bloodstained hands clenching tightly in front of her chest. It seems like Eirwen just now begins to understand what's really going on… And if my guess is right, it looks like she's also trying to act her way into persuading Myrrhiel to join us.
"Sorry if I tricked you and your group when I said I was lost," Eirwen says.
"Did they force you? Do you… want to come with me instead?"
"Ah, no... They never forced me… And I'm sorry I have to decline your offer. Truly, I'm grateful that you care about me."
"Cut the crap and be honest with me… Have they asked you for anything strange? Are you really alright? I can protect you, you know? I really—Wait... Something's wrong."
Suddenly, Myrrhiel shakes her head as if she's feeling pain radiating from within. Her left hand presses against her forehead, causing confusion to ripple through everyone around the girl… Then, a strange utterance slips from her lips.
"A charmer...?"
The guess leaves Garrik and Sigvald a bit stunned, though more in awe at what they believe to be some sort of miracle. But for me, it's not their reaction that catches my interest. Instead, my curiosity is piqued by something else entirely… There's one thing slightly off about all the facts I've gathered from everyone, yet up until this moment, I've kept it to myself. I figure it wouldn't do me any good to bring it up, so I never have—still haven't, even now.
But what am I even thinking, really? It doesn't matter right now, does it? What matters is I need to do my part in convincing this girl to join us… somehow.
"Myrrhiel... Would you mind telling me why you joined that team in the first place?" I ask, working hard to keep my voice steady—calm, almost wise.
"Excuse me?" she responds, a flicker of offense flashing across her face.
"Since Sigvald begged me not to kill you," I continue, my tone low and deliberate, "that means you're not a vile, twisted scum like the rest of your team. So why? Why did you choose to side with them?"
"Seriously, who here isn't just as rotten as those kids?" she mutters, her tone dripping with bitterness. "Humans are all the same—filthy, wretched, deceitful creatures without exception... What gives you the right to decide that they're rotten and you're not?"
A small, humorless laugh escapes me. "That's rich... Now I'm genuinely curious—where exactly do you draw the line between one evil act and another that's just a little worse?"
"You humans will never understand..." she mutters.
"I'm sorry, Sigvald, but she's not the one," I cut the girl off, turning away without waiting for her to finish.
I hadn't meant for it to come out like that. What was supposed to be a plea had twisted into something sharp, something bitter. And the moment the words leave my mouth, regret surges through me—but it's too late. I can't take them back. They've already been spoken, and Sigvald has already heard them.
The boy then responds quickly, "She didn't mean it like that, Deon... She just... Myrrhiel, you said it yourself—you don't care which team you join, so what's the difference with this one?"
"If she ends up joining another team as rotten as the last one," I mutter, "then we'll hunt them down too. That's for sure."
"Deon!" Sigvald hisses and snaps at me in a harsh whisper.
Damn it... I don't know why this time I can't control my own mouth…
"Forgive him, Myrrhiel... That kid's always just a little too skeptical about everything. He has a hard time trusting anyone, and, well, he's a bit of an idiot as well. But he only means to protect his friends," Sigvald says, trying to smooth things over.
And to be honest, that's actually not so bad... I never thought about it that way.
"Nice one, Sigvald!" I grin inwardly, giving him an invisible thumbs-up—almost as if I've already forgotten how rude and unsupportive I'd been just a moment ago.
Even with all of Sigvald's efforts finally managing to make Myrrhiel pause and cast us a somewhat generous sideways glance—just enough to properly listen to his plea—in the end, the girl simply turns away again, walking off slowly, putting distance between us.
And just before she gets too far, Eirwen suddenly steps forward and adds a few words of her own. "I'm sorry for casting a charm spell on you earlier," she says, bowing her head—a final gesture, marking the last exchange between our team and the girl in this place.
~~~~~
"Anyway… I'm sorry about earlier... I don't even know why I couldn't control what I was saying," I mutter, a hint of guilt slipping through. But to my surprise, Sigvald just shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"That's one of her passive skills," he says, offering only that much.
So I frown. "What do you mean?"
"She never talks about it, but I know the kind of innate abilities elves possess."
"Elf!?" The word bursts out of me before I can catch myself.
"Somewhere between a wood elf and a high elf, or maybe something in between," he explains. "She has a passive gift—she naturally makes people around her speak from the heart and without lies. Well, most of the time, at least."
"There are elves in this world?!"
"Wait… That's what surprises you the most?!" Sigvald shot back, clearly amused.
"What else, then? That an elf's soul could enter a human body?" I asked, my frustration seeping through.
"Well, that's way better, actually..." The boy replied casually. "But the point is, I think she's a bit more special compared to the others still around… The rest of them here are just a bunch of sharp killers, but that's about as far as it goes."
"Right… Anyway, once again, sorry for making the situation worse."
"Nah it's fine," Sigvald insisted, "I can read her body language. She actually seemed happy that we tried to persuade her to join us."
"Really?"
"I'm positive about it."
"Huh… Happy just for that? How old is she, actually?"
"I don't know. By elven standards, I guess she's still very, very young."
"So, that's the one who's going to be our seventh member?" Garrik suddenly chimed in, with Eirwen standing beside him.
"Well, if she wants to..." I replied, then gave the kid a playful shove on the shoulder, to balance things out though just a little over something that's still been bothering me. "By the way, you sure had some nerve leaving me alone to face three of them, huh?"
"Sorry... I kinda got caught up when I heard what they said to Eirwen earlier," he mutters.
"And what did you find over there?" I ask.
"Blood... A lot of blood… around their necks. Honestly, it was kinda nasty."
"Congrats," I chuckle, clapping him on the shoulder. "You ended up doing the least work out of all of us this time."
Then I glance at the girl standing quietly beside him, her eyes still trailing after Myrrhiel's fading footsteps into the darkness, weaving past stone pillars and the faint glow of scattered red lanterns that offer little to no help for normal eyes pierce the gloom.
"Eirwen, mind removing your charm from this kid?"
My words catch her off guard, making her flinch before she quickly steps closer to me.
"My apologies, Sir Deon. I'll do it right away," she says with a quick bow. "Did it end up causing you trouble?"
"Not really," I shrug. "I forgot to warn you before we started, so don't worry about it."
With that, I wave them forward, leading everyone back toward the center of the chamber… Where a few others are already standing around the square-shaped pool, waiting for the platform to rise again from beneath the water.
Directly across from me, I spot Orion, with a few of his companions at his side. Judging by the look of them, everyone here has already hit at least level twenty—players who deliberately held off on grinding until the very last moment, unlike the crowds stuck behind us… The sight that tugs at something in the back of my mind, and I turn to glare at someone else.
"Garrik, you little bastard… That means you're still stuck at level twenty even after all of that mess, huh?" I say, stifling a painful cough that rips through my chest again.
But the little punk just throws me a smug grin, the kind only teenagers can master—though a second later, guilt flashes across his face and he mumbles an apology, glancing toward the boy standing beside me, who also looks like he has something to say.
"So it's two days from now, right?" Sigvald whispers to me.
"You mean what Orion mentioned yesterday?"
The kid nods, confirming it... I just shrug, not really caring all that much, my hands resting on my hips as if I were waiting for a bus to stop right in front of me.
"You think we can beat that guy?" Sigvald asks again.
"I don't know," I mutter. "I don't like thinking about winning or losing before the fight even starts. Feels like asking for bad luck."
Before I can say more, Eirwen peeks out from beside Garrik, her head tilting just enough to also join the conversation.
"Sir Deon will definitely beat him," she says, her voice certain. "Easily."
"Eirwen... Didn't you hear what I just said?" I groan, a little desperate, while the two boys beside me just laugh, fully understanding what I meant by it.
"By the way, Sir Deon... May I ask about why exactly do we have to keep this a secret from Siona and Therion?"
"Well..." I hesitate for a moment, unsure if I should explain, since all of this is still just a gut feeling, a worry of mine. But I force myself to push through.
"As we know, Siona is a Solmarian... I don't know how you all feel about them, but from everything I've heard from others, and from how she acts, her demeanor, how fragile she is on the inside... how unstable she seems and her mindset, shaped by her upbringing as a Solmarian..." I stop for a brief moment, glancing around to make sure she's still deep in the darkness, grinding EXP with Therion, well out of earshot.
Then once I'm sure, I continue, "I have a feeling she might betray us if she had a strong enough reason… Let's say if there's something that goes against anything she was taught as a Solmarian paladin, or if there's a side with ideals closer to her kingdom's… someone whose view aligns with her more than we do as her own teammates. I feel like there's a constant battle inside her, two sides of a coin that are far too different."
"But... I've never heard anything like that about the Solmarians," Eirwen protests, curiosity lighting her voice… And surprisingly, it's not me who responds—but Garrik and Sigvald, exchanging a look before turning to the girl.
"Really? Every kingdom outside Solmaria knows about that side of them," Garrik says, almost disbelieving.
"What he said is true, Eirwen. Every Solmarian is raised from childhood under strict doctrine, taught to view their kingdom and king with the same reverence they would the gods. It's common knowledge—you could ask almost anyone and they'd tell you the same thing," Sigvald adds, backing him up.
The two of them explain their perspectives one after another, their words blunt, almost confused by the idea that Eirwen could be unaware of something so obvious.
But I understand…
Even if part of me hesitates, wondering if it's really wise to expose her to this side of the truth There's always been something about Eirwen—something fragile, something I can't quite read. Something that reminds me too much of Siona.
Still... I've already let too much slip. Leaving her in the dark now would only make her more suspicious, and eventually, she'd realize I'd been hiding something critical from her.
No... If I'm going to do this, I have to go all the way.
"Sigvald," I say, breaking the pause, "what year did you die?"
He blinks, caught off guard. "Eh? Why do you even ask? Of course it's… Ah! I get it now. I completely missed that angle!"
But Garrik, still lagging behind the conversation, frowns. "Wait—what do you mean?"
So Sigvald exhales, shifting the burden of explanation from me to himself. "I died in the year 643 of the Radiant Cycle, Garrik."
The number makes the kid tilt his head in confusion, as if he's sure it's wrong. And for just a moment, he even looks like he's about to correct it, but then he stops himself, the words caught in his throat. He clenches his jaw and nods slowly.
"So that's it… Stupid of me not to realize it sooner."
"What year was it for you then?" I ask.
"Year 819… Of the Radiant Cycle… I died when infiltrators attacked our camp during the night of the war."
"You're unbelievable, you know that?" Sigvald jeers as he strolls over to the boy while wearing a crooked grin in face.
"I know, I know... Shut up already," Garrik grumbles. "Down here, my brain's been stuck in nothing but survival. I'm telling you, it's that damn Holy Sacrament Curse, I'm sure of it… It forces you to think of nothing else but staying alive."
The two boys devolve into a childish argument, throwing insults back and forth about who's the bigger idiot. Meanwhile, Eirwen just stares at me, her eyes wide and hollow… This—this is the part I hate most. The reason why I kept all of this buried from the others.
Maybe it's guilt. Maybe it's my sense of responsibility acting up. Strange how even thinking that feels uncomfortable... but I know I can't just leave her hanging there, lost in a world that no longer exists. So I steady myself... and give her the explanation she deserves, even as my eyes turn away, watching the rippling water ahead as distant tremors disturb its surface.
"I only figured it out a few days ago too," I say, voice low, apologetic. "But... I didn't know how to tell you, Eirwen. I'm sorry."
Her lips tremble as she then whispers, "So you mean... seven hundred years have passed since I died?"
I'm afraid that's still a gross understatement, but I decided to stay silent and just nod.
"So, what about my syndicate?" she presses.
"When I asked you about Nyxthorn and the deaths of the Valkenheim soldiers tied to it, you seemed completely unaware... And when I questioned Sigvald and Eirwen about the Charmer class, they didn't seem to know anything either, as far as I could confirm," I explain.
"But that girl earlier... Myrrhiel! She knew about Charmers!"
"She's an Elf," I point out. "There's a high probability you both lived during the same era."
The girl's gaze then drops to the ground. For a moment, she shakes her head before lifting her eyes back to meet mine.
"I see..." she murmurs quietly, wiping her face as if trying to regain her composure.
But I can't tell if she's really coming to terms with it… or just pretending. That kind of quiet can mean a lot of things. So I glance sideways at her, keeping my voice low.
"You alright?"
"I'm fine, sir Deon... At least knowing it now is better than later. But maybe... I should ask Myrrhiel one more time about it, just to be sure." She nods, offering a smile, though I can't shake the doubt that lingers within me.
I mean, she truly is a trained Charmer, raised under harsh conditions... Probably molded by some doctrine too, though maybe not as extreme as Solmaria's. Even so, she's still the youngest among all of us here when she died.
Especially back then, she was so eager to get out of this place, desperate to return to her syndicate… So it's only natural she'd crumble a little when faced with a bitter truth like this.
And I don't know why, but a strange sadness wells up inside me—something I never really experienced in my previous world.
Is this what they call parental instinct? I wonder... Like watching your own child suffer and feeling helpless about it.
I don't know… I can't say for sure. At least one thing is clear though: for the first time, I genuinely feel pity for someone else—a raw, unfamiliar emotion I've never once felt before.
Not the usual, hollow kind born from arrogance or condescension. This is different. It's a weight in my chest, an ache that makes me want to take the burden from her shoulders and carry it myself, just so she wouldn't have to.
And it stirs something else in me… curiosity. A quiet, growing wonder about all the other emotions I've never known—never been allowed to feel—in the body I once had.
Does that even make sense?
But maybe... maybe that's not such a bad thing. Like what harm is there in feeling something new—something ordinary people experience every day of their lives?
In my former life, I never once spared a thought for such things. I was too consumed by killing... killing to enrich myself, enriching myself only to make the next kill come easier.
I never watched a single movie, never once drawn to the idea of it. I never read a novel nor even a fairy tale, for much the same reason. I barely listened to the stories others told about their lives, real or imagined. I was born into a mind wired that way—cold, singular, mechanical.
But maybe, because here I walk in a different body... with a different mind... Now I can't help but wonder about things. For the very first time, I find myself yearning to witness a story unfold… To follow its twists, to see how it breathes and grows.
I mean, having a story of my own still feels too distant, of course… Something for now just way out of my reach. I do want it, deep down... but I feel like I need a guide first, a path to show me the way. Just like how I'm curious about what Eirwen will do with the truth she just learned... what kind of new purpose she will choose to live for.
So for now, the choice to simply watch another's tale... to lose myself in someone else's journey... feels like the best answer to this strange, human longing I've only just begun to understand—a longing I never had the chance to feel in the world I left behind.
A purpose beyond killing... somehow, it blooms here, in this moment.
I've made my decision.
Eirwen, Garrik, Sigvald, Siona, Therion... and perhaps even Myrrhiel.
I want to live to witness their stories—to watch their lives unfold.
Somehow, deep inside, I feel like... it will make me smile.
Uh… I don't know… I don't even fully understand the words just coming out of my mouth, but this strange feeling—this excitement—it's real.
And for once, I find myself looking forward to what comes next.
~~~~~