The rain was falling very slowly as he looked into Faithless's face, a face filled with both shock and loss. Blood poured from his mouth—and his eyes.
He turned toward the hand that had pierced his chest, the hand holding his heart. It was pale, deathly cold. And it held his heart… still beating, even though it had been torn out.
"The most beautiful thing is to watch someone taste victory… and then strip it away."
Cradil spoke with a cold tone, a terrifying and mocking smile stretching across his face.
Cradil pulled his hand out of Faithless's chest, still holding the heart… then tossed it toward the stands. Faithless was somehow still standing, eyes wide in shock and terror.
'From the speed of the strike that pierced my back, I thought my body had been completely destroyed… But why am I still alive even though my heart has been ripped out?'
Faithless muttered to himself, blood leaking from his mouth.
'Why do I feel two soft, pulsing organs inside me… as if they're helping me stand? But the pain… the pain makes me want to scream with everything I have.'
Cradil appeared like a shadow in front of him, grabbed his hand—and tore it off. Then, with a wave of blood, struck him so hard it shattered his golden armor… slamming him into the wall.
Faithless was pinned against it, his golden eyes glowing faintly. Cradil appeared again and struck his stomach with such power that the entire arena trembled.
'Every bone in my body must be shattered. What immense strength this monster possesses… Was he playing with me from the beginning? Was he hiding his true power all along?'
Cradil grabbed him by the neck and smashed his face into the wall, so violently that blood splattered across it—like a King of Kings enjoying the slaughter, grinning wide with delight.
Faithless raised his right hand and launched a weak golden wave—but Cradil blocked it with just his eyes. Then he grabbed the hand and broke it.
Cradil gripped Faithless's ribcage, lifted him high, and slammed him into the ground. The audience watched each other with questioning looks—but their expressions bore crooked smiles, as if they were enjoying the spectacle.
Cradil stood over the broken man lying on the ground and spoke in a sarcastic tone, smiling wickedly:
"What do you think of the party, Mr. Faithless? Isn't it delightful?"
Faithless smiled and raised his middle finger right at Cradil's face—despite his broken hand, he still managed the gesture. Cradil laughed, placing all ten of his fingers on Faithless's face as he spoke mockingly:
"Hahahahaha, you're so fun, Faithless. Like a crazed clown… Oh! Or maybe a clown who plays with children before slaughtering them later… What a madman you are, Faithleeeeeesss."
Cradil raised his palm, which glowed in a crimson hue, forming an inverted bloody cross… and drove it hard into Faithless's stomach, as if planting a tree trunk.
Then he flung him back toward the empty throne. Once again, he landed on it in the same royal posture. Faithless opened his eyes, staring at Cradil standing midair, surrounded by the unclear eyes of the Elders.
Cradil's lips moved so fast they appeared still… A nearby physical wall cracked open—and from it emerged a massive, blood-dripping sword, its blade like a bleeding needle.
The audience began to chant and play a strange tune, their red eyes full of fury. They sang in an ancient tongue:
"I played on the bloody piano,
And found it filled with blood.
I spilled my wine upon it to erase the proof,
And raised my head just an inch—
To find the guilty standing before me, shaken.
I didn't know him. But the sinner knows his guilt."
The melody resembled ancient Greek compositions, accompanied by terrifying background whispers. Cradil stood unmoving, exuding absolute majesty, and spoke with a severe and enigmatic tone:
"Now… I'll show you mercy.
You will die… and forget this ancient dream…"
He paused a few seconds, then finished his sentence:
"…and wake up in the morning with sunlight dancing on your cheeks."
Faithless listened, his heart struck by fear from every direction… He couldn't even move his eyes, paralyzed by sheer dread.
Cradil's eyes burned with bloody fire, and he brought the enormous sword down—impaling Faithless. But it felt like nothing… as if a tiny needle had gently touched him, not a massive weapon.
Faithless vanished from the throne. But blood was everywhere.
The red eyes all turned toward Cradil, who now stood with his hands behind his back, gazing sideways with half-closed eyes.
"My love… what caught your attention so much… that you watched in silence? EveryCrimson."
She raised two fingers and spoke in a calm, cold tone:
"Two things.
The emperor's beautiful son…
And the beast that lives within him:
The greater being, Antrois."
She continued in the same eerie tone:
"But why did you hold back from the start, my dear?"
Cradil leaned close to her ear and whispered gently:
"You know exactly why…
He never saw Mr. Crimson's true form due to his lack of vision.
If he had seen the truth—
All his hearts would've exploded."
"Ah… So you're saying… he has more than one heart?"
She spoke with a chilling tone, placing her index finger on her lips.
"That's correct."
He answered, and both their eyes wept blood.
At that moment, Faithless appeared, lying on the ground, staring at the beautiful blue sky… the sound of birds singing… and the sun's gentle warmth.
He slowly sat up, gasping like someone reborn from death. He touched every part of his body—he wore no shirt, only black pants.
He felt his chest—no hole. Looked at his hand—still there. His body was entirely uninjured.
He exhaled softly, a silent moment to himself, taking in the cold, beautiful atmosphere.
'What a journey…
I was trapped in a nightmare among beings whose cosmic status I don't even understand.
I gave everything I had…
But the Elders always have their own ways of shattering your spirit.'
He grabbed his head, suffering from a throbbing headache. Reaching his right hand back, he accidentally touched something heavy and sharp.
He turned to see the Sword of Antrois… its hilt adorned with a skull, its mouth shut. He picked it up, lifting it with surprise, scratching the back of his head.
'But what was that strange form I entered?
And who is that great entity they fear so much…?
I have so many questions… and no clear answers.'
"How was your journey through the Old Dream World, my prince?"
Isaac asked, speaking with a sarcastic tone and a cold smile.
Faithless looked up, fury slowly filling him. He grabbed the sword tightly and swung it at Isaac's neck—but Isaac dodged.
He kept swinging in rage, his voice sharp:
"You lunatic saint!
You sent me to a terrifying hell—a world like some other dimension, filled with beings whose power and presence were overwhelming!"
Isaac kept dodging gracefully, his hands behind his back, smiling gently.
"Calm down, boy…
That was simply to refine your power."
"And to refine my power, you had to send me to that hell?"
Faithless growled through clenched teeth.
"But without that dimension,
You wouldn't have met your friend… the one who lives inside you."
Isaac said calmly.
"Friend? There are many ways to tell me that…
But why this path?
Or was your choice just a way to kill me?"
Faithless almost split him in two.
But Isaac stood on the blade of the Antrois Sword, speaking with chilling indifference:
"If you don't bleed…
If you don't look death in the eyes…
You'll never learn the truth—about the world, or yourself."
"Spare me the needless philosophy, Saint… Were you trying to kill me? Are you conspiring with the kings?"
Isaac slapped Faithless's hand, and the sword slipped from his grasp. Then Isaac grabbed him by the neck and lifted him slowly, a cold smile spread across his face.
"I could've killed you when I saw you lying like a pig on the ground, your head detached from your body. But I chose not to. Or do you think I'm conspiring with the kings? No, boy… I don't speak pig."
Isaac let go of him, and Faithless fell to the ground. Isaac bent down to speak to him.
"What if I told you… there's something that will get you closer to the kings?"
Faithless looked into Isaac's chilling, cold eyes. He spoke with disinterest while holding his head from the pain.
"Seems like you're about to send me to another hell."
"No… This time, you'll go there of your own will. It's a tournament being held by King Jin Lee, and the one who wins first place will become a knight in the Saints Division…" Isaac spoke with a calm, deep tone, eyes closed.
He continued with the same tone:
"To put it more clearly, you'll become a knight with the rank of Saint — which is near equivalent to a general in the military hierarchy."
Faithless's eyes widened at this — it was news both terrifying and amazing. He muttered to himself in a quiet voice:
A tournament? This is a golden opportunity that won't come again for hundreds of years… If I don't seize it now, I'll probably lose it forever.
He looked at Isaac's face — unreadable, expressionless.
But can I trust him? I won't deny he helped me grow and awakened a power hidden deep within me… or a being that walks inside me… But the important thing is: can I really trust him?
Isaac stood up, turning his back to Faithless, speaking in a calm tone, his expression solid:
"The choice is yours, boy. The tournament begins in seven months. You have six more to raise your level — because you have no idea what kinds of monsters you'll face there."
Faithless stood on his feet, gripping the golden sword tightly, and spoke with a cold tone:
"I don't know if I'll ever trust you… But if I see one wrong move from you, I swear on my mother's life, I won't let you see another morning sun."
Isaac smiled and snapped his fingers, breaking the invisible wall separating reality and dream. He spoke with a deep tone:
"This is the spirit of the Emperors. Now rest — and by tomorrow morning, begin your training."
Faithless walked past Isaac, steady and full of presence. He opened the door and walked down the corridor, emanating a terrifying golden aura.
Ahead, the six were quietly chatting, smiling among themselves — until they stopped, staring at Faithless as if he were a soulless corpse.
He passed by them like a ghost. Everyone was stunned by the dreadful aura surrounding him.
"Is that really Faithless? Or someone else entirely?" said Juline in a worried tone, placing her palm on her chest.
"I've never felt such an ominous aura… It makes me want to vomit." said Marceline, covering her mouth with her hand.
As for Lady Marianne, she remembered the same aura she felt when he tried to rip her head off. She even started sweating — subtly — and tugged lightly at her collar. Meanwhile, Tawakizra was smirking faintly.
"Seems like he's been training hard… So we need to do the same. Don't just stand there. Let's head to the arena."
The six headed toward the arena… On the other side, Faithless entered his room and closed the door behind him. He was swaying, seeing everything upside down.
He held his head from the pain. He wanted to scream, but couldn't — as if his mouth had been sewn shut — and he collapsed directly onto the bed.
He fainted… from the horrifying sights he had witnessed.
In the end, he's just a human — not a being.