“Are you alright?”
At Vitalianus’s question, Atawolf nodded.
A faint smile strained onto his face, despite the white bandages wrapped tightly around his neck.
“… …”
“Ah, don’t mention it. Luckily, the Cathedral was nearby, or I might have lost my voice forever.”
Though he barely escaped with his life, the last desperate strike of the man posing as a Luxen Liberation Movement terrorist had severely cut Atawolf’s vocal cords.
Still, with continued treatment and rest, there was hope his voice would return.
Because it was a fairly large city, there was a Cathedral and, fortunately, a bishop-level priest capable of using Holy Power.
That was why the injury wasn’t worse—it had truly been a close call.
“There won’t be any training for a while. Get plenty of rest.”
Vitalianus turned his back without another word.
To think Atawolf almost died from the last frantic thrash of an enemy they had nearly captured.
He almost said he was careless, which was unlike him, but he held the comment back.
What did “unlike him” really mean?
Perhaps this was precisely what made him so… himself.
Kind-hearted, tender.
The reason he wanted to be a hero wasn’t for personal glory, but to erase the shame of others.
“No matter what anyone says, you’re already a hero.”
That was all he could say.
***
After receiving treatment and having his bandages replaced, Atawolf left the castle.
He roamed the city ravaged by terror, using his abilities without hesitation wherever they were needed.
Though advised to avoid exerting himself until his wounds healed, he did not hesitate.
‘Wasn’t this tragedy caused by Luxen?’
Before the gulf of resentment widened further and the chain of hatred stretched even longer, he had to resolve it himself.
He had to try harder.
For several days, wounds reopened and healed, bandages soaked with blood were changed repeatedly.
Soon, Atawolf’s name officially spread throughout the city.
Not by his own doing, but because the Empire announced that Atawolf was the officer responsible for suppressing the recent terror attack.
It was meant to praise him and inspire admiration among the people—surely his Order of Guardian Knights, especially Vitalianus, had pushed for this.
But things did not go as they had hoped.
“Atawolf? That knight from Luxen?”
“So the one who stopped this damn Luxen terrorist attack was a knight from Luxen?”
“How does that make sense? Those bastards must be conspiring with each other…”
“No wonder he arrived so late! I heard they had advance intel…”
“He’s said to wield the Black Mist… I knew it…”
Instead of gratitude, suspicion greeted his heroic actions.
When suspicion accumulated, it turned into certainty—a confirmation bias.
Of course, nobody voiced it openly.
Because Vitalianus Mahel stepped forward.
“By my name and my life, I swear.”
“There is no falsehood in Atawolf’s actions. He is the hero who saved this city from indiscriminate terror. No one should tarnish his honor.”
The Mahel family was one of the Empire’s most prestigious lineages.
Among them, the presence of the Holy Imperial Sword Saint Vitalianus was overwhelming.
“Thank you, my friend.”
Atawolf smiled faintly toward Vitalianus.
Though he felt miserable, he knew his friend’s heart.
Before his vast capacity, he could not reveal the rotting bitterness inside and forced himself to smile.
“Well, we promised, didn’t we? To become heroes together.”
At Vitalianus’s words, Atawolf unexpectedly turned his head away.
He simply could not smile.
Once his neck wound fully healed, Atawolf was deployed again.
The so-called Luxen Liberation Movement’s terrorist activities worsened drastically from that day forward.
Their attacks no longer bore the name Luxen—they were nothing but hateful massacres.
The justification had long vanished, replaced by an endless chain of hatred.
Empire citizens hated Luxen.
Luxen natives hated the Empire.
A hatred tangled beyond reckoning.
Among the countless intertwined resentments, only one path remained:
One-sided slaughter.
Unable to untangle the mess, they sought to erase the other side’s thread entirely.
Naturally, the side to vanish was Luxen, and the side doing the erasing was the Empire.
“Kill them! Filthy Empire scum!”
“Die! Die!”
Eyes clouded by hatred.
There was only one thing Atawolf could do.
Shroud their vision in Black Mist.
“Black Mist!”
“Atawolf! You filthy traitor!”
They cursed Atawolf as they died.
“Empire’s dog, Atawolf!”
“You’ll never die in peace!”
“You’ll end up as miserable and abandoned as we are! Atawolf!”
Atawolf remained unmoved.
He silently did his duty.
Only one man’s question echoed inside his mind:
—’Why! Why! Why! What did we ever do wrong!’
A question he would never answer for his entire life.
“Thank you, Sir Knight.”
***
After the terror was suppressed, a child hesitantly approached and bowed deeply.
In the small hand was a handful of wildflowers, offered without hesitation.
A faint smile appeared on Atawolf’s lips for the first time in a long while.
He reached for the flowers and said to the child, “Thank you.”
The voice was chilling, like metal scraping metal, enough to raise goosebumps.
A symbol of honor—an emblem of glory earned from saving a city—yet without an ounce of shame.
“Waaah!”
The child suddenly burst into tears and collapsed, scattering the white wildflowers on the ground.
Atawolf’s outstretched hand froze in midair, lost its destination.
The ever-present Black Mist around him rippled.
“H-Hanel!”
The child’s mother rushed over, scooping the child up and retreating as if fleeing.
The look in her eyes wasn’t admiration or gratitude for a hero.
It was only fear.
Atawolf nonchalantly stood up from his bowed posture.
The faint smile vanished without a trace, and his gaze locked straight ahead as he walked on.
Step.
Step.
With every step he took, the white wildflowers beneath were crushed.
No other thoughts crossed his mind.
Only the desperate man’s question echoed endlessly in his head.
—’What did we ever do wrong!’
The voice repeated so often he could no longer tell if it belonged to the man or himself.
Vitalianus, who had been watching from a distance, could say nothing.
‘What words could he offer?’
‘Where had it all gone wrong?’
He could not blame the child.
He could not scold the mother.
Still, there had to be an answer.
Think, think carefully.
If he took his time, thought slowly and thoroughly, surely this tangled situation could be unraveled.
In time, both Vitalianus and Atawolf’s fame grew.
Though Atawolf was always followed by the label “Luxen-born knight.”
His power grew with his fame.
The Black Mist became Atawolf’s symbol, its density growing darker still.
A chilling voice paired with ominous black mist.
Rumors spread naturally.
Atawolf’s Black Mist fed on people’s emotions.
Atawolf’s Black Mist grew stronger by feeding on misfortune.
Atawolf’s Black Mist was nourished by death.
None of it was true.
It was not ominous, nor a forbidden power.
It was simply one of his skills, a power that grew as his reputation did.
Vitalianus did his best to correct the misunderstanding, but it made no difference.
People whispered that Atawolf’s heart was evil.
Some boldly claimed he hid a dark nature and would eventually explode.
Perhaps they even hoped for it.
The ominous Black Mist, the eerie voice, and the stigma of being from Luxen—
The perfect recipe for a villain’s stereotype.
“Their organization has grown larger than we thought.”
In this climate, the terror group’s scale ballooned beyond imagination.
Composed mostly of Luxen natives, it had now become a massive criminal syndicate united under one banner.
“They seem determined. They strike indiscriminately across the Empire.”
That group was known as—
“The Heuka.”
A crime syndicate called Black Fang.
“They’re just small fries, easy to sweep away if we want.”
But the ones facing them were the Empire’s forces, led by Vitalianus and Atawolf.
They could have crushed Heuka at any time if they chose to.
Deeming Heuka a dangerous element, the Empire declared war.
Vitalianus and Atawolf’s involvement was only natural.
Screams, curses, and hatred ran rampant.
The Heuka who stood against the tidal wave were nothing more than a sandcastle.
Their unity turned out to be poison to themselves.
‘Was this the beginning of the end for the chain of hatred?’
…But who said otherwise?
Misfortune is blind. It happens to anyone.
That saying is wrong.
Misfortune has eyes.
Eyes set mercilessly on Atawolf alone.
‘Otherwise, how could this be?’
***
After a long campaign, Atawolf returned to find his family’s bodies cold and lifeless before him.
“When we found them… it was already too late…”
The mansion had been burned down and his family brutally murdered.
No one could say who did it.
‘Was it the Empire citizens who hated Luxen?’
‘Or was it Heuka taking advantage of Atawolf’s absence?’
‘Could anyone say for sure?’
In the heart of the Imperial Capital, no less.
Or maybe no one even cared.
It was unfortunate, but after all, this was what a Luxen-born had to endure.
“Hahaha…”
Atawolf laughed bitterly.
He saved the city.
All he received was insults.
He saved a family.
All he received was fear.
He stood for the nation.
All he received was his family’s mangled corpses.
He sought to become a hero and wash away the shame.
Now, there was no need anymore.
‘What did I do wrong?’
‘What should I have done?’
“Haha…”
That day, seeking answers to such questions no longer mattered.
—What did we ever do wrong!
The voice that had constantly echoed in his mind finally fell silent.
Atawolf disappeared.
At the same time, the remaining Heuka factions vanished without a trace.
In their place, only the Black Mist lingered.
An intensely thick, hatred-soaked Black Mist.
People whispered in unison:
“Tsk tsk, didn’t I say so? I knew it all along.”
“He looked ominous and evil from the start.”
“Damn dirty Luxen bastard.”
“Hero? No, he’s the villain after all.”
Atawolf gave them what they wanted.
The man who could not become a hero ultimately became the villain.
His resentment, born from not knowing whom to blame, was cast toward the world.
Steel against steel.
Sword against sword.
Or will against will.
***
The clash of two forces meeting head-on always inspires.
Enough to dredge up very old memories.
Clang—
Swords collide, and one is sent flying.
The moment of victory and defeat.
Vitalianus spoke, “Sorry.”
His lips stained with blood.
The only thing I gain from all stories coming from this country – Korean people are evil. Genuinely vile