"Quite a pestering sound you got there..." Gunlaug finally spoke, his voice mocking as waves of molten gold surged toward Asher. He was getting tired... For sure.

He was hurt as well.

His right hand hung uselessly, sprained beyond control. His left hand had clotted, but every twitch sent needles of pain stabbing up his arm. His ankle screamed with every step, completely fractured. The cut across his chest burned, itching like a wound dipped in salt.

Still—he fought.

Sparks crackled to life. With a hiss, the Azure blade tore itself into existence. Asher gritted his teeth as a golden mace slammed down. Asher twisted aside, bringing the blade up too late — the impact rattled his bones.

His knuckles snapped like twigs.

He bit down on the pain, wrapping gravity around the broken joint to hold it still as he staggered back, a spear of molten gold tearing the air past his cheek.

Then it struck.

A blast of agony erupted in his sternum, searing every nerve. It was as if his soul core had been hurled into a furnace. Lava poured through his veins.

Asher momentarily wavered his stance. A critical moment.

Gunlaug smiled.

The spear in his hands stretched, reshaping into a golden longsword. With a single heave, Gunlaug hurled it down like a guillotine. Asher jaw clenched, letting go of the cicada's cry as his left hand clutched his chest, desperate to smother the inferno consuming him. His right dragged the flickering Azure blade up, forcing steel against steel.

The impact rang like loud. Sparks burst white and gold.

A fleeting thought entered his mind, 'Dahila did something to my core.'

Time slowed as realization dawned on him. He couldn't dodge this. Shifting his torso to the back, the Azure blade clashed with the golden sword. Sparks flew as Asher knew it was over. Soon, the whisper echoed in his ear.

[Your Memory has been destroyed.]

Fragments of azure scattered like dying stars, reflecting in Asher's eyes as his defenses crumbled. The golden edge carved deep into his side, stealing the breath from his lungs.

He collapsed, chest heaving, sweat pouring down his temples. Blood gushed freely, soaking the ground beneath him until it glistened red-black. He rolled his head to the side — the wound in his flank was wide.

He turned his eyes front, seeing the golden shimmer near his neck as Gunlaug looked down on him.

"You fought well Saint Zerei... Or is it more appropriate to call you Echo of the Abyss?"

The battlefield stilled. Sunny gripped the Midnight Shard, knuckles pale, every muscle coiled to strike. Nephis' expression hardened, her followers ghostly pale.

Gunlaug's smile deepened.

"I'll make it quick. Any last words?"

Asher's face didn't change. He had worn the same mask of stone since the first blow.

Finally, he spoke. His voice was calm.

"Why?"

Gunlaug tilted his head.

"Why did you kill him?"

Gunlaug stared at him for a moment,

The helm caught the light, flashing Asher's sapphire eyes back at him.

"Why?" he echoed, laughter spilling out, his voice blatantly mocking.

"For order, boy! For peace! Isn't it obvious?!"

Asher's lids lowered. His breath steadied.

"…I see."

Gunlaug lifted his sword high, laughter ringing. Around them, the crowd shuddered. Some turned away, unable to watch. Others held their breath, paralyzed.

"Just die, stupid boy."

Sunny stepped forward, but Nephis blocked him with a sudden hand.

"Neph?" He frowned, trying to push it aside.

Her eyes trembled. When she finally turned to him, her voice strained. "When Asher kills Gunlaug, we need to rush in and protect him."

Sunny's breath hitched. His expression hardened.

"…Kill?"

She didn't answer. She didn't know. But her instincts screamed at her. Asher's Dreamspawn Oder—it had doubled.

_____________________________

[Your Attribute has evolved!]

The words echoed as the golden blade descended toward him—only for Asher to blink, shift slightly, and let it fall harmlessly past his side.

Gasps rippled through the hall.

The Bright Lord staggered, clutching his throat, breath rasping in desperate gulps.

Slowly, painfully, Asher pressed a bloodstained hand against his knee and forced himself upright. His head tilted, eyes cold as they settled on Gunlaug's choking figure.

His hair… it was no longer the pristine white of before. Strand by strand, it darkened.

The Bright Lord dismissed his echo in a frantic attempt to draw air, but when his vision cleared, he froze.

The hall was silent.

He frowned, slowly turning front.

A familiar-yet-unfamiliar figure stared at him. His long, ivory hair was no more. Instead, it was replaced by silky-raven black hair, fluttering oh-so gently as he narrowed his deep vermillion eyes.

Gunlaug's gaze darted past Asher. His stomach lurched.

Behind Asher, the debris of shattered wood drifted weightlessly, hundreds of jagged splinters suspended in the air like a field of blades. They pointed inward, every sharp edge aimed at him... augmented.

Every hair on Gunlaug's body stood on end. His lips quivered.

"Fu—"

He never finished.

"Raise the shields!" Gemma's voice cracked, her face pale, cold sweat streaming down her temple. The hunters scrambled, forming a trembling wall behind Gunlaug.

Gunlaug felt it first—wind slashing across his face. And then he saw it. Through the storm of fluttering black hair that veiled his face… two cold, vermillion eyes narrowed at him.

That was the last thing he saw, clear as day.

First was his eyes.

Then his chest.

Then the abdomen. Soon the hands and legs followed.

Splinters screamed through the air—hundreds of them, jagged wood turned into bullets—striking at the speed of sound. The Bright Lord convulsed as they tore into him, cracking bone and ripping flesh.

He held his eyes, screaming in pain as he rolled on the floor flailing. A splinter rammed into his open mouth, bursting out the side of his throat. He gagged, choking, trying to summon his Echo through the haze of agony.

Everyone gasped, looking at the Bright Lord a neutral face. Most of them were still processing what was going on while the others were too shocked.

...What even happened?

Eventually Gunlaug managed to manifest the Echo fully as the splinters bounced of the indestructible gold. But Gunlaug was anything but fine, the splinters on his skin pressed deeper due to the armor.

His shrieks turned wet and broken. Blood poured from punctured lungs, drowning his words. His chest heaved in ragged desperation, each breath a bubbling rasp.

His skull split in places, deep gashes leaking clear cerebrospinal fluid. Thought was gone. His body acted on instinct, flailing uncoordinated hands to rip at his helmet, desperate to breathe, to live.

The shards halted mid-air. Frozen. Hovering.

Step.

Silence blanketed the hall. All eyes turned toward one figure.

Step.

The only sounds were Gunlaug's gurgling coughs coughs echoing throughout.

Step.

Asher finally looked down at Gunlaug, who was groaning in pain. Slowly, Asher lifted his foot, casting darkness across Gunlaug's face.

"Burn in hell, fucking scum..."

A web of appeared on the marble floor as Asher's heel came down.

[You have slain an Dormant human. Name: Unknown.]

The suspended splinters fell as one, raining down like a storm of knives.

And then—silence broke.

Asher swayed, chest heaving, vision blurring. And from that silence came a sound that split the air:

A scream.

A scream that he held back for so long. A scream that threatened to burst from his chest since the start of the fight.

A scream that... hurt.

Hunters surged at him in the chaos. Some raised their weapons to cut him down. Others rushed forward, desperate to shield him.

Asher turned his head, his body trembling. His soul core burned, flaring like wildfire. A streak of crimson—half blood, half tear—slid from his eye. His gaze found Nephis rushing toward him.

And then the whisper came:

[Your soul grows stronger.]

Asher's lips parted. A hoarse whisper escaped.

"…I killed him."