"Every scar is a sin, every sin demands atonement, and every atonement has a price—and that price is the scar itself."*
" Deep wounds always leave scars behind. Time may heal injuries, but it cannot erase the marks they leave.
Scars become part of your reality—part of your life and your body, part of your soul—until, at their extreme, they become your very self.
Even though his memory sometimes failed him, Cyn could still recall the outlines of his old world. A mundane, traditional world, yet one that relied on science to reach things that would be considered fantastical or impossible in this new world.
Although such feats could indeed be achieved in reality—driving civilization toward what this world calls fantasy—that "fantasy" was once the reality Cyn lived in. No matter how you look at it, it makes sense; Cyn had experienced that reality at some point in his past life.
But his old world could not compare in the opposite direction. While science could be carried from his old world into this new one, the reverse was impossible.
In his old world, supernatural power was nothing more than imagination—matters of theology and metaphysics. Yet human nature was always greedy; people tried their utmost to reach the supernatural, feeling painfully aware of their own weakness, trapped within a fragile body that could not expand beyond itself.
That desire birthed countless films and fictional works portraying humans with extraordinary abilities. Humanity relied on imagination to escape a harsh reality—to escape its own weakness.
Power belonged solely to gods, angels, and beings the human mind could not truly comprehend or shape.
That world was barren—incapable of containing miracles or supernatural forces as this one does. The very concept of this place could not be applied to his old world.
But this world was different. Not drastically so, based on what Cyn currently knew—yet different enough to make the supernatural attainable.
Especially after what Cyn endured in that space: that voice, the Scar of Pride, the suffering, the harsh truth of that reality.
There was a hint of magic here. The world itself wasn't magical in any traditional sense, but scars existed to compensate.
Yet those scars were sins that demanded erasure. They brought pain and misery; one had to atone for them, purge them, and become pure again.
Purity was a trait of eternal salvation. For that reason, the Church and the Temple practiced something akin to indulgences—methods to cleanse the body of scars that tainted human purity, all through the use of Sacred Halo.
Thus, since ancient times, a conflict had existed between the bearers of scars ,colloquially known as the descendants of demons and sins.
and the wielders of Sacred Halo, known informally as the children of heaven.
Millions bore scars, yet they remained nothing more than remnants of wounds—meaning not everyone could become a Scar Bearer simply by bleeding on the battlefield.
Likewise, many tried to sense Sacred Halo, but only the chosen—true children of heaven—could wield it.
The Church, the Temple, and certain zealots worked tirelessly to kill and "cleanse" those with scars, claiming it was for the greater good, regardless of the means—sending Scar Bearers to the dump heap of history.
Most Sacred Halo users held distorted principles of justice—twisted minds, believing the end justified the means.
They cared little for a person's good intentions or righteous deeds. What mattered was eliminating the scar, even if that scar represented the person's identity and the message of their life.
As for Scar Bearers, the balance was never equal. They could not stand against children of heaven as equals. Most Scar Bearers were lone wolves, preying even on their own kind, valuing material gain over kin or the fate of the world.
Their scars were the most precious things they possessed, valued above all else—despite the fact that these very scars were what ultimately killed them.
This was a lesson on the history of scars and Sacred Halo. It did not cover everything, but Xyrene explained enough for Cyn to understand as he watched her with questioning eyes.
In Xyrene's private wing, inside her study, she was explaining a few matters to Cyn, who had come to seek clarification.
When she finished, he looked at her. "You mentioned that scars shorten a Bearer's life. How?"
Calmly, she answered, "Scars are the product of many conflicts in your life—a collection of wounds, sins, and setbacks. These things become fuel that allows a scar to form.
A scar is a mixture of these setbacks, saturated with unstable negative energy. Using it improperly can affect your mental, physical, even spiritual health. It's a double-edged sword—it reacts against you, its host.
If it's an ordinary physical scar, that's manageable. A few setbacks, a slightly shortened lifespan—that's all.
The real danger lies in the higher scars. Scars of a different kind. Scars that possess partial awareness. We call them living scars.
Or, to put it another way, scars that seek to survive—Living Scars.
Their backlash isn't limited to when you use them. Even in daily life, they feed on you to keep themselves alive and conscious. They have strict conditions and standards for choosing their host."
Xyrene looked at Cyn, seeing exactly what he was thinking. "You're exposed, but there's no harm in it. Living scars are difficult to explain. Their formation isn't something words can properly describe—think of them as distortions in this world.
And what you're thinking is correct. Living scars don't form from your suffering, wounds, or setbacks—they're too powerful for that.
They are wandering scars, seeking shelter. They choose the person they wish to reside in.
They use your wounds and hardships as fuel to keep themselves alive. As long as you provide that fuel, they remain with you and grant you their power.
But what a painful, miserable life it is—living solely to feed a scar that shortens your lifespan day after day without paying rent.
That's why there are things called doses—like the ones I gave you. Those doses serve as food for the scars. But they are incredibly rare and expensive. The last one you consumed was called the Core of Pain.
It is priceless. If rumors of its appearance surfaced anywhere, a war would break out for it.
Do you know what it's made of?"
Cyn stared at Xyrene with an empty look, as if telling her, Just hurry and finish; don't test me right now.
She smiled and continued, "It's made of pain—or rather, from the human body. The human body contains a fluid that stores pain, sensitivity, emotions, and many other things. Through a delicate process, everything is separated and condensed into multiple essences, not just pain. That essence is then diluted into consumable doses.
Do you know how many lives must be sacrificed just to create the single drop of Core of Pain you consumed?"
Xyrene's question echoed in his mind. Cyn threw out a random number. "A thousand people!?"
She smiled. "You're right. A thousand people times twenty—meaning twenty thousand lives must be taken to extract those doses."
It was an enormous, terrifying number. Many had to die just to nourish a single scar—and even then, temporarily. Cyn knew that what he consumed was pure Core of Pain; even a drop could kill someone who wasn't highly trained, according to what he'd heard from Xyrene.
But the number was still astonishing, even though most people used heavily diluted doses.
Cyn asked the obvious question: "What happens if I don't feed the scar?"
Xyrene answered in the calmest, coldest tone—
"It feeds on you."