The freezing rain continued to fall in the darkness of the forest, beating with a dull, rhythmic sound against the dead leaves and the ground turned into a blackish quagmire.
The silence following Riko's execution was icy, broken only by the muted moan of the wind through the tall branches of the pines and the gurgling of trampled mud. The elf's body lay limp in the center of the clearing a disfigured, battered shell pierced by dozens of stab wounds, dark red blood seeping slowly into the soaked earth, mingling with the rain.
Without uttering a word, the twenty cultists sheathed their wavy daggers. With stealthy, almost synchronized movements, they slipped back into the shadow of the trees, vanishing into the fog like ghosts summoned from a nightmare.
Arkon remained alone.
The old sage calmly adjusted the folds of his elegant dignitary's robes, entirely spotless despite the massacre he had just overseen as an authoritative spectator. From the nearby dense foliage emerged another sect affiliate, leading by the reins a massive draft horse with a coat black as pitch, already saddled and ready for travel.
Arkon grasped the dark leather reins. He slipped his foot into the stirrup with a fluid, almost youthful movement and swung into the saddle. Gathering the reins in his withered fingers, he settled his cloak over his shoulders to shield himself from the pouring rain.
He didn't spare a single glance at Riko's corpse. To him, the elven girl had never been anything more than a disposable tool, an insignificant piece to be swept away the moment she ceased to serve his purposes.
He turned the horse's head southeast, toward the smoking ruins of Opes Castle, and nudged the animal's flanks with his heels. The horse took its first steps through the mud, picking up a steady, measured trot that soon dissolved into the thick woodland fog.
A few meters away, Hayjin's invisible, spectral form stood utterly still.
The boy was speechless. His impalpable lips parted slightly before tightening into a rigid line that trembled with unbearable tension. His wide eyes, bloodshot with a visceral hatred, stayed locked on Arkon's mounted silhouette until the old sage vanished completely among the trees.
Hayjin clenched his fists. He squeezed with all the strength left in his body, until his spectral knuckles turned white and the tendons in his arms strained beneath his skin like steel cables pulled to their breaking point.
A monstrous knot of emotions tore through his chest. There was blind, pure, uncontrollable rage toward Arkon the man he had trusted, the solemn mentor who had revealed himself to be the true maggot burrowed in the kingdom's heart. There was agonizing sorrow and anguish for Isabelle's gruesome end, dying alone on the stone floor, bled dry and forgotten. And there was the toxic, paralyzing frustration of having stood there watching it all as a mere invisible bystander unable to move a single finger, unable to scream, unable to stop even one of the knife strikes that had torn Riko's flesh or pierced Isabelle's back.
Nothing... Hayjin thought, his abstract chest heaving with silent, ragged breaths. I couldn't do a damn thing. I saw everything... I uncovered it all... yet I stood here playing the ghost while the world fell to pieces.
Just as his mind threatened to collapse under the weight of that vision, a familiar presence took her place right beside him.
The girl with long blue hair stood on the muddy earth, her pure white dress pristine, entirely untouched by the rain falling from the dreary sky.
She said nothing. She showed him no pity, nor did she offer a resigned glance. She simply raised her right hand and snapped her fingers with a sharp motion.
SNAP.
The crisp sound of the snap echoed through Hayjin's skull with the force of a small thunderclap.
An instant later, the rain, the dark woods, the smell of mud, and Riko's corpse vanished instantly.
Hayjin and the ethereal figure found themselves once again immersed in the semi-white void of the intermediate dimension. Massive layers of energy with blue and violet hues floated around them, while far in the distance, endless white marble staircases climbed into the indistinct mist.
Hayjin barely had time to draw a single breath, catching a fraction-of-a-second glimpse of his reflection projected onto one of the translucent membranes.
SNAP.
A second snap from the girl broke that abstract dimension as well.
The white light and purple currents dissolved like fog swept away by a sudden gust.
The air filled once more with the crisp, rich scent of damp earth, pollen, and wild honey. Warm wind gently caressed the skin of his face. Hayjin felt the solid touch of ground beneath his feet and the cool softness of tall grass brushing against his calves.
They were back in the endless expanse of the green meadow.
The clear, sunless blue sky arched above them unchanging, calm, completely indifferent to whatever slaughter or tragedy unfolded in the real world.
Hayjin stood still for several seconds, his legs slightly apart, his head bowed. His eyes stared down at the small white and yellow flowers bent under his boots.
His hands no longer spectral, but once again physical and solid still bore the small scabbed wounds across his palms, a physical monument to his earlier fit of rage.
Gradually, the fog of panic and visceral horror began to settle in his mind, giving way to a cold, painful clarity, sharp as a scalpel.
I have to save them... Hayjin thought, his mind drawing invisible lines through the dust of his memories. I have to save Isabelle. I have to stop Arkon from stabbing her in the back. I have to save Wilder from the dungeons... I have to protect Zhilian before that feline bastard rips her arm off and beheads her... I have to keep little Wren safe... I have to save the entire kingdom of Opes from the Cult of the Mark.
The names of the people he cared about echoed in his head like a rosary of souls to be rescued from death. But immediately afterward, the harsh reality of his situation struck him with devastating force.
How the hell am I supposed to do that?!
Hayjin grabbed his hair, clutching the soft locks between his fingers as his breath turned ragged and uneven once more.
How can I do this all by myself?! I'm just one man! I'm not a knight, I'm not a supreme mage, I'm not an invincible warrior! Every single time I try to change things, I end up slaughtered or arriving too late! The stress is eating me alive... it feels like my brain is going to split in two every time I look into Wren's eyes or see Isabelle's smile, knowing how it all ends...
The weight of the structure he was trying to carry on his shoulders was simply inhuman. The psychological crushing weight of the time loops, the constant terror of impending death, and the paranoia of not knowing whom to trust were draining him day by day, wearing his sanity down to the bone.
Hayjin snapped his head up.
The blue-haired girl was three paces away, standing motionless in the tall grass, her gaze fixed on him. Her light-blue eyes were clear, calm, completely devoid of anxiety.
Hayjin took two quick steps toward her, his voice rasping from his throat desperate, drenched in an entreaty that was practically a prayer.
"You... you can do something, right?" Hayjin asked, pointing a trembling thumb at his chest. "If you're the one managing this loop... if you're the one bringing me back every time I die... then you can give me something! You can make me way stronger than I am right now!"
He took another step forward, his shoulders slumping, his red-rimmed eyes locked onto the ethereal figure's.
"Please... give me some power!" Hayjin screamed, his voice cracking with frustration. "Give me enough strength to blow Karjalan away! Give me enough raw force to snap Arkon's neck before he lifts a finger! Make me strong enough to protect everyone without having to rely on luck or chance! You can do it, right?! Answer me! MAKE ME STRONGER!"
The girl stared at him in silence for a long, grueling second.
Then, with a slow, solemn motion completely devoid of hesitation, she shook her head from side to side.
No.
The answer was an absolute, flat, unmistakable refusal. There was no room for negotiation.
There was no hidden power waiting to be unlocked, no divine blessing to be bestowed, no magical shortcut to transform him into an invincible hero.
Hayjin stood frozen, arms half-raised.
Her silent "no" echoed inside his head like the blade of a guillotine crashing down on his pride.
"N-no...?" Hayjin stammered, his voice reduced to a barely audible whisper. "What do you mean, no...? Why not?!"
He looked down at his hands. He touched his neck, his fingers brushing the skin where he knew the Mark resided the dark curse infesting his flesh that bound him to this hellish loop.
In that moment, an agonizingly lucid, ruthless realization broke through his mind.
It's a sentence... Hayjin thought, his face twisting into a grotesque grimace. This piece of shit mark on my neck isn't a gift. It's not some hero power. It's just a permanent death sentence. It doesn't give me the strength I need... it doesn't give me mana... it doesn't make me faster... it gives me nothing! It's just a fucking brand dragging me through blood and slaughter without even giving me the means to protect the people I care about!
He was weak. Terrifyingly, hopelessly weak when measured against Karjalan's monstrous might, Arkon's ancient dark magic, or the Cult's hordes of deformed beasts. He was just an ordinary guy thrown into a slaughterhouse.
And the collision between that certainty of absolute helplessness and the sheer absurdity of his predicament snapped something inside his mind.
Hayjin bent double. He covered his mouth with a hand and began to laugh.
"Ah... hahahaha!"
It was a dry, ugly laugh an hysterical sound stripped of any trace of joy that rattled through the silence of the meadow.
"HAHAHAHAHA!"
The laughter grew louder, harsher, devolving into convulsive giggles that shook his chest and shoulders. But at the same time, large, hot tears streamed down from his bloodshot eyes once more, tracking down his cheeks and wetting his lips and chin.
Hayjin laughed and cried at the same time, a picture of pure madness and creeping despair.
"Of course! Of course not!" Hayjin screamed through hysterical sobs and laughter, staring up at the blue sky. "Why on earth would you give me power?! That'd be too easy, wouldn't it?! It'd be too convenient if I could actually defend myself! It's way more fun watching me get ripped apart and watching everyone else die one by one!"
He collapsed onto one knee in the tall grass, slamming his fist into the ground, sending broken stems and clods of dirt flying.
"I'm weak!" he shrieked into the wet earth, his voice broken with weeping. "I'm just a damned weakling! I can't do anything on my own! I can't save anyone if I keep acting like an idiot praying for a miracle!"
The laughter gradually died out, leaving only the sound of his heavy breathing and sobs that slowly subsided.
Hayjin remained on his knees for several minutes, head bowed, tears dripping from his hair onto the dirt. But as the crying dried up, the hysteria yielded to a bone-chilling cold.
The hysteria died. The despair died.
Hayjin realized a fundamental truth: if he couldn't rely on superhuman strength, if he couldn't turn into an unbeatable warrior, then he had to change his entire approach.
I don't have brute force, Hayjin told himself, slowly raising his face and wiping his tears with the back of his arm. But I have something no one else in this world possesses. I have knowledge of the future. I know who will betray us. I know when they will attack. I know where they will breach. I know exactly which lies they will tell.
The Mark didn't give him the power to shatter mountains, but it gave him the ability to cheat. It gave him the power to preempt his enemies' moves before they could even conceive them.
If I have to be weak, Hayjin thought, his bloodshot eyes narrowing into frozen slits, then I will be the most ruthless, calculating, and cynical bastard this kingdom has ever seen. I'm not playing by their rules anymore.
Hayjin slowly stood up. He straightened his shirt, brushed the dust off his knees, and turned to face the blue-haired girl.
She was watching him with her usual tranquility, rooted to the spot.
Hayjin locked eyes with her, his voice now devoid of any trace of crying, laughter, or pleading. It was dry, firm, solemn.
"Tell me one thing," Hayjin said. "How far back are you sending me this time?"
He took a step forward, awaiting a concrete answer. He wanted to know whether he would have days to prepare or if he would wake up just hours before the catastrophe.
The blue-haired girl looked at him. For the first time, her face bore a slightly different expression: she tilted her head to the side and raised both hands shoulder-high, opening her palms outward in a playful, almost childish gesture as if saying, "I haven't the slightest idea," or "Who knows? It's a surprise."
Hayjin didn't react with anger. He didn't scream, tear at his hair, or try to strike her.
He simply stared at her with a deadpan, entirely expressionless face. His gaze hardened into a mask of clinical indifference a reaction of sober, icy detachment in the face of yet another absurdity from this creature and her limbo.
He held her gaze like that for five long seconds without blinking.
Then, without uttering a single word, Hayjin turned his back on her.
He crouched down in the tall grass and sat cross-legged on the cool earth. Resting his elbows on his knees, he placed his fingers beneath his chin, narrowing his eyes to focus completely.
Alright, Hayjin thought, forcing the information through his mind like steel gears. I don't know when I'll wake up. It could be the morning of the attack, or two days before. Either way, I can't afford to waste a single second.
Hayjin began structuring his plan of action for the next time loop, compartmentalizing his priorities with surgical coldness.
Objective Number One: Riko.
The elf's name resonated in his head like a death sentence.
Riko is a lethal and completely unreliable variable, Hayjin analyzed, clenching his teeth. She murdered me in cold blood in the first loop, stabbing me in my sleep. In the second loop, she tried to eliminate me again, but Isabelle and I managed to stop her even if that paved the way for that bastard Arkon.
I don't care if she was manipulated by Arkon. I don't care if she thought she was acting for peace or to save Wren. She's a public menace, and she deserves to die...
Hayjin made his final decision regarding the elf, an imperative that allowed no compromises or moral second-guessing.
I can't afford the luxury of playing the hero who saves everyone. I can't explain things to her because she wouldn't believe me, or she'd run straight to Arkon to report everything. I have to permanently neutralize her.
The words echoed in his mind with terrifying clarity.
I will kill Riko.
I will kill her immediately, at the very first opportunity after I wake up. Before she can talk to Arkon. Before she can get near Isabelle. Before she can draw a single knife. A swift, silent, decisive strike. No dialogue, no explanation, no hesitation.
Hayjin then moved on to objective number two: Arkon.
Arkon is the real problem here... Hayjin reflected, rubbing his jaw. He's the one pulling every string from within. If I eliminate Riko right away, Arkon loses his operational hand in the royal quarters. But Arkon is a powerful mage, a sage revered by all. If I accuse him publicly without evidence, Princess Zhilian and the guards will think I've gone mad just like in the previous loop and have me arrested. I have to frame him or sever his connections before he can let that bastard Karjalan into the castle.
Hayjin continued refining the strategy, piece by piece.
Objective Number Three: Protect Isabelle and Princess Wren.
Isabelle must stay safe. She cannot be left alone in Riko's room.
I have to make sure she's at my side or under the direct protection of trusted royal guards. And Wren... Wren must be evacuated before the attack begins, or hidden in the deepest shelters that Karjalan and his beasts don't know about.
Objective Number Four: Wilder and Zhilian.
Wilder is a loyal fighter. If I reveal specific details about the impending attack without disclosing the time loop, I can use him as a heavy assault force to seal the dungeon entrances. And Zhilian... I have to stop her from confronting Karjalan alone. I must convince her not to divide the Royal Guard's forces.
Hayjin reopened his eyes.
His mind was no longer a chaos of rage and terror. It had transformed into a battle map a cold, ruthless plan, calculated down to the smallest detail.
He knew the road ahead would be hell. He knew his hands would be stained with blood even before the official battle began. But he no longer cared.
Kill, the girl had told him in the previous chapter.
Now Hayjin understood. It wasn't about giving in to madness; it was about doing whatever was necessary so those he loved could survive.
He slowly stood up from the grass, his back straight, his eyes fixed ahead, ready to awaken in the darkness of the next loop and begin his hunt.