Noa knelt beside Alaric's corpse, flicking the blood off his blade with a careless motion. The once-proud "Hero of Justice" now lay sprawled in a pathetic heap—his decapitated head staring blankly toward the stone ceiling, lips parted like they were still trying to speak.
Noa rifled through his belongings. Mostly junk. A cracked health potion, some coins, a silver pendant still glowing faintly with a weak enchantment.
"Figures. Even his gear's worthless."
Behind him, soft footsteps echoed through the silent chamber.
Selene stopped a few paces away, her golden eyes fixed on him with that same unreadable calm.
"I need you to come with me," she said quietly. "to Nekros—the demon continent."
Noa didn't even look back. He stood up slowly, letting Alaric's pouch drop with a dull clink against the stone floor.
He turned, expression flat.
"Yeah, right," he said, wiping his hand on his pants. "I'll just follow a stranger to the demon continent. Sounds like a perfect vacation."
He narrowed his eyes at her.
"Who are you even, exactly? You clearly weren't part of this little adventurer party."
Selene didn't flinch. She stepped forward, just enough for the faint red glow of torchlight to catch on her silver hair.
"You're right. I'm not one of those humans."
She held his gaze.
"I serve someone else. And she's very interested in that sword you carry."
"Yeah, not gonna happen, lady."
Noa crossed his arms, eyeing Selene with a flat stare. He wasn't in the mood for cryptic offers from mysterious women who may or may not have been planning his death a few minutes ago.
Selene didn't respond right away. She simply looked at him.
Then, without a word, she reached into her cloak and pulled out a glowing scroll etched with glowing red runes.
She held it up.
"You coming or not?"
Noa's eyes narrowed.
"How the hell do I know you're not teleporting me straight to the demon continent?"
"This scroll doesn't work over that kind of distance," she said simply. "Too unstable."
She turned her gaze back to the remains of the adventurer party—their bodies strewn around the blood-stained floor.
"Besides, you don't have much of a choice, do you?" she added calmly. "I destroyed all the teleportation scrolls Alaric's party had when I came with them earlier."
"Tch..." Noa clicked his tongue, glaring at her.
He hesitated, then slowly stepped toward her, still gripping the hilt of his sword as if expecting betrayal.
Selene didn't flinch.
She activated the scroll.
A blinding pulse of crimson light engulfed them both. The world warped and bent—and in the next heartbeat, they reappeared atop a raised stone platform surrounded by a low metal fence, the sigils beneath their feet still glowing faintly from the teleportation spell.
The air was cooler, fresher.
They stood in the middle of a small human town—modest, but structured. The kind of place adventurers passed through more than they lived in. The building surrounding the platform was made of polished stone and reinforced archways, a structure clearly meant for one thing.
Teleportation access.
Noa scanned the town warily.
"...Well. You weren't lying."
"This is just a waypoint. If I took you straight to Nekros, you wouldn't survive the landing."
Noa stepped down from the platform, his boots tapping against the stone as he started walking without a word.
"Why are you following me?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.
Selene didn't miss a beat. "Because you won't come to the demon continent, I've decided to stick with you for a while."
He let out a tired sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.
Maybe I can ask her about this world… he thought, scanning the unfamiliar town around them. And find somewhere to stay...
But then his eyes flicked back to her. Her movements were too fluid—too practiced.
Still… I can't let my guard down. I'm not even sure I could kill her if it came to that. And something tells me… she wasn't using her full strength when we fought that knight.
He sighed.
"Then lead the way. I don't even know where the hell we are."
"We are in Ashvalen."
Ashvalen, huh? Not Velmoria.
They walked for several minutes through the quiet streets of the town. Eventually, they arrived at a small inn nestled between two older buildings.
They rented a room. Just one. Neither of them said anything about it.
Inside, the silence thickened. Noa leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"If you're planning to tag along," he said, his voice calm but edged with steel, "I've got questions."
Selene sat on the edge of the bed, her expression unchanged. "I'm listening."
Noa watched her for a moment, weighing her response, then asked, "Tell me about this world."
Her head tilted slightly. "So… you are an otherworlder."
His tone sharpened. "Forget that. Just tell me—what are these labyrinths? The Monarchs?"
Selene leaned back slightly, her gaze distant. "Truthfully… not even I know much. What little I've heard is mostly rumor. The Monarchs have been around since the dawn of time. They embody chaos. Darkness. Primal forces that even the gods couldn't completely destroy."
She paused, choosing her next words.
"A long time ago, they were sealed away—locked in labyrinths created to imprison them. These aren't just dungeons. They're prisons. But the Monarchs never stopped reaching out. They push through the cracks in their cages, searching for hosts—or tools."
She looked at Noa.
"Like you. That sword you carry… it's one of those cracks."
Noa's hand drifted to the hilt at his side.
Yeah… the voice that told me to destroy the World Tree. He called himself a Monarch too.
He frowned. "So, what's the deal with this sword?"
Selene studied it. "It's called the Sword of Chaos. A growth-type artifact. It evolves with its user."
"Artifacts that rare?"
"Some are. Many are crafted, but the truly powerful ones—the ones found in labyrinths—those dangerous. And unpredictable."
Her eyes narrowed. "Whether you're lucky or cursed to wield it… that remains to be seen."
Noa didn't answer.
Selene leaned forward slightly. "What about you? What were you really doing in that labyrinth? How did you even find that sword?"
She watched him closely.
"Vaelkran's Labyrinth is deceptive. Weak monsters on the surface. Unpredictable layers underneath. It kills more adventurers than it rewards. You don't just stumble into a place like that."
Her tone was even, but firm.
Noa smirked and lay back on the bed, one arm resting behind his head. "We're not exactly best friends yet, you know."
Selene observed him for a moment, then quietly moved to lie down on the other bed.
Noa's eyes drifted closed. He let himself relax—not because he trusted her, but because he knew .
If Selene wanted him dead, she wouldn't wait around to do it.
*****
The atmosphere in the war chamber of Velmoria's royal castle was taut with tension. Stone walls insulated the room, but nothing could dull the weight of the words echoing through it.
Queen Lysaria sat at the head of a circular table carved from darkheart oak, her posture regal, yet weary. The flickering light of the chandeliers above danced across her silver-and-blue robes, and her fingers—barely visible beneath fine silk gloves—rested near the communication crystal embedded into the table's center.
To her right, Royal Advisor Cedric Vellian adjusted his spectacles with slow precision. On her left sat Archmage Nimhart, draped in indigo robes marked with ancient runes.
The crystal pulsed with a dull glow—unstable, flickering. The image on the other side was distorted, the face obscured by static and shadow. But the voice that emerged was unmistakably rough, laced with frustration.
"We lost another city, Yesterday."
The voice paused—only a second—but the silence that followed said more than any outburst.
"The demons… they're advancing too fast."
Another voice spoke next, this one female, gentler but no less strained. "The heroes are still in training. They need more time."
There was a moment of hesitation. Then came the roar.
"NEED MORE TIME? Unlike you, our kingdom doesn't have the resources to summon heroes! We've already lost too much because of this war!"
Queen Lysaria raised a hand calmly. Her voice, when it came, was quiet but carried the weight of sovereignty.
"Calm your anger, King Roderic," she said evenly. "Queen Lysindra is right. We cannot afford to act recklessly. A premature strike will only thin our remaining forces."
Cedric nodded solemnly. "The demons have grown more coordinated. This isn't like the previous incursions. Charging in without a solid plan would be suicide."
Archmage Nimhart tapped his fingers against the table, his expression unreadable. "Their magic has changed. I've sensed it from the southern mage tower."
Lysaria turned back to the crystal. "If we act in haste, we'll fall one by one. We need unity, not panic."
The figure on the other side said nothing at first. Then, in a voice tight with restraint:
"…Then pray your heroes awaken soon. Or there won't be a world left for them to save."
The crystal dimmed, the connection severed.
A heavy silence fell over the chamber.
Queen Lysaria exhaled slowly and leaned back in her seat. "This world is fracturing…"
Cedric closed his eyes. "And if the cracks continue to widen… it will break."
Queen Lysaria's gaze lingered on the dimmed communication crystal. The silence was broken not by her, but by the Archmage.
"But Seraphina did mention that some of the summoned heroes are showing promise," Nimhart said, his voice thoughtful, measured. "One of them managed to slay a minotaur—alone."
Cedric leaned in slightly, clasping his hands. "And the girl—Miyu, was it? She's already formed a bond with a spirit. Still primitive… not sentient yet, but the foundation is there."
Nimhart gave a small nod. "If we grant them a year, maybe two… they may reach your level, Your Majesty. Perhaps even beyond."
Queen Lysaria arched a brow, finally speaking. "Oh? That's… interesting."
She turned her eyes to the towering stained-glass windows behind her, where soft light filtered in through the depiction of Velmoria's founding goddess.
"They're still children, most of them," she murmured. "But if they can carry the weight of the world on their shoulders... they might just surprise us."
*****
Back in Ashvalen, Noa stirred in his sleep, unaware that the world he now walked had already begun to crack—and that soon, it would demand everything he had left to give.