The war between the Empire and the Black Mist.
No, it would be more accurate to call it the war between the Empire and Atawolf.
It had now become less of a battle and more of a one-sided massacre.
The mist that once protected them had vanished, and the influence that had controlled them like brainwashing was wiped out in an instant.
The remaining forces panicked and tried to flee, but where was there to run?
All that surrounded them was the merciless blades of the Empire’s soldiers, patiently enduring within the mist.
Even if the demons had transformed into monstrous beasts and rampaged, as long as their vision and senses remained intact, they were no match for the Empire’s knights.
The Empire’s army, having surrounded the entire forest battlefield, advanced at a terrifying speed.
Their destination was the Gray Castle, located deep in the heart of the forest — the highest spire within it.
Just a little way into the forest, the towering spire came into view.
At its very top stood a solitary figure.
The ceiling had long since been destroyed, and the walls were tattered, making the place almost like the outdoors.
A magician stood there.
Hio Pavlenko.
Tilting his head back, his gaze fixed on the sky, Hio muttered.
“He really left.”
Atawolf’s massive soul had truly disappeared without looking back.
As soon as he confirmed that Vitalianus was still alive, it was as if he didn’t want to linger even a moment longer in this hell and had simply gone away.
Hio stared at the sky for a long moment before slowly lowering his head.
Now, the miserable situation around him came into focus.
Atawolf’s body, emptied of its soul, lay on the ground with an old sword pierced through its heart.
And beside it was Vitalianus, lying down.
His faint breaths barely audible—he was barely alive.
Even the superhuman had a sword from Atawolf stabbed right beside his heart.
Not just any ordinary iron sword, but the Sword of the Black Mist—compressed and concentrated with the power of the Black Mist itself, the continent’s strongest weapon.
That sword, stuck next to his heart, conveyed all the unspoken words.
Just surviving was very much like Vitalianus.
Though both had swords pierced through their chests, their appearances were relatively intact—especially compared to the other remaining person.
Through the gaps of the crumbled wall, a bloodied face was faintly visible.
“…Airlights.”
The second villain who had allied with Atawolf for her own benefit—Airlights.
She lay buried beneath the rubble, staring vacantly at the sky with empty eyes.
There was no need to mention what form the unseen body beneath took.
It was utterly horrific.
Her sacrifice had bought a moment, less than a second, against Atawolf.
Airlights’ power was maximized when she concealed her true position.
Conversely, now that her body was exposed—right in front of Atawolf’s eyes—she was almost powerless to resist.
Though she must have known this, Airlights willingly stepped forward and paid the price by being buried in ruins, utterly devastated.
There was no movement at all.
Her eyes, which once glimmered bright red, were hollow and lifeless.
Her fox-like, sly smile could no longer be seen.
Airlights’ heart had long since stopped beating…
She had simply died like that.
No hidden trump card, no last-minute reversal.
There was nothing bittersweet about it.
That is what death is.
Countless times before, even before coming to this world, she had experienced it.
There is no special kind of death.
‘What is special is never death itself but always the person.’
One must not confuse the two.
‘Besides, Airlights was a villain, wasn’t she?’
A woman who put her own interests above all else and casually spoke of others’ deaths without remorse.
So it should not have been strange for her to die so meaninglessly.
…But there was something strange.
“You… You were certain, weren’t you?”
When Furnel’s voice, calm until then, reached Hio, he also sensed that strange feeling.
“You said that all Bingija have empty souls.”
“…That’s right.”
Bingija’s souls were all empty without exception.
That was an undeniable fact. It had been confirmed through Sylvia.
Except for Hio himself, there was no soul to be found in any of the Bingija.
“Then why does this exist?”
‘Then what was the presence Hio felt?’
[Trait – Ghost’s Eye activated.]
Above Airlights’ head, there existed something—her soul, curled up tightly, buried deep in confused memories.
Without a doubt, it was Airlights’ spirit.
“So, she wasn’t a Bingija?”
“She was.”
Ranked third. Airlights.
Her exact nickname was I Like You.
Although other players roughly called her Airlights, it was impossible that she wasn’t a Bingija.
There was no reason to think she was an impostor either.
‘Then… what was going on?’
Approaching the soul that was tightly curled in on itself, Hio focused his spiritual energy further through Ghost’s Eye.
Gradually, the components of the soul began to become visible—finely divided yet softly connected, the memories etched into the soul.
Within them was the image of a young girl crying bitterly.
I had no father.
Anyway, I was born into this world, so biologically he existed somewhere.
But since he had not appeared since I was six years old, I might as well consider him never having existed.
That’s that.
Also, it was hard to call the man who was drunk, destructive, abusive, and spewed curses a father.
Anyway, after I turned six, I lived with only my mother.
People began to look at me strangely around then.
“Antisocial personality disorder… commonly known as sociopathy tendencies.”
That diagnosis was a thunderclap for my mother.
Sure enough, I caused all kinds of problems.
Or rather, other children were shocked by my behavior, and that caused disturbances.
I didn’t understand those children either, but it was always me who was wrong.
It was because I couldn’t empathize.
My behavior was very different from other children my age.
Self-defensive, self-centered actions.
Whether that was innate or caused by environment, I didn’t know.
“Then… then you mustn’t. You must learn to love others.”
One evening when a crying child next to me was being too noisy, I stomped on her hand with my foot.
My mother hugged me and said those words.
“What is love?”
“It’s caring for and valuing someone other than yourself.”
That was the day I first took an interest in love.
I didn’t understand it at all, but I managed to learn it anyway.
***
After countless trials and errors and several moves, I learned to at least fake the expressions and emotions similar to others.
I caused fewer problems, and we no longer had to move.
It was probably the effect of steady learning.
Maybe I was slowly getting better.
The tightly locked door of my heart gradually opened, and I thought I might begin to understand others’ feelings, even if just a little.
But.
“…It was an accident.”
When my last family member finally left.
“I did drink a little, but I wasn’t drunk… No, it was the fault of the person who suddenly ran out in the rain!”
***
The day my mother never came home again.
The heart I had slowly opened closed again, tighter than before, as if nothing had happened.
My mother’s funeral was on my birthday.
Of course, no one knew that.
“Tsk tsk… Look at her, not shedding a single tear for her own mother’s death.”
“Creepy, isn’t she…”
“Isn’t that right? A psychopath?”
“She gave her so much trouble…”
Despite those whispers, I felt nothing.
Because they weren’t wrong.
I truly shed no tears, so I was indeed a creepy child, just like they said.
I heard those words quite often, so I didn’t care much.
Only.
“You must learn to care for and love others.”
That was what I finally understood clearly.
‘…What is love?’
That no one loved me.
By the lessons I had learned, families were supposed to care for and love one another.
But it was so different.
My father left when I was six, and eventually my mother left as well.
No one loved me, and I loved no one.
So maybe it was natural for me to lock myself away at home.
Even those who maintained superficial friendships left quickly once they learned my true nature.
No one loved me.
No, I didn’t even really know what love was.
Even though I shut myself away without interaction or attention from anyone, I was still curious.
‘How does one love and be loved?’
‘What does it feel like?’
Because I didn’t know and had never experienced it, that lack grew and eventually love became my life’s goal.
‘What is love?’
Whenever I walked down the street, all I heard were songs about love.
Songs craving love, resenting love, yearning for love.
Looking out a window, I saw people whispering love.
Families and lovers spending their lives together under the name of love.
Turned on the TV, and it was always a story about love.
Stories of crying, happiness, and joy because of love.
Men and women who went out to find love.
Stories experienced through love.
People enjoying them.
The whole world sang about love, spoke about love, and shared love.
Everyone except me.
So I could only be curious and search for it.
The clue was found in a place I never expected.
Ventair Online.
The only routine in my aimless life.
Here, I wasn’t a creepy child.
I was someone completely different, and I had chosen that name to be so.
So I fell into the world of Ventair.
Maybe it was just a game to others, but to me, it was another life.
When I logged out, all I saw was an empty, dark space, so my monitor never turned off.
That’s that.
So rising up to the rankings was a very natural result.
It was my pride.
An achievement in another life.
But no matter how much I immersed myself in Ventair day and night, I couldn’t climb any higher.
Ranked third—that was my limit.
The gap between me and the top two players wasn’t narrowing but widening with each passing day, which was puzzling.
I was giving it my all.
‘How were they achieving greater fame and grander feats?’
That curiosity was the start, and at the end of it, I met him—the overwhelming number one in the world I was immersed in, Jijoncheonma.
I wanted to surpass him.
I wanted to prove that my mindset toward the game was different.
So I followed him, imitated him.
Analyzed him, searched for his weaknesses, and tried to surpass him.
That was my method.
And after just a few days of tailing him, I realized something.
Jijoncheonma was a far greater being than me.
“…What? Why go this far?”
There were too many scenes I couldn’t understand.
He entered the heart of the Gran Dina Mountains to save someone, wandered day and night for days to fulfill an NPC’s simple request, despite no apparent reward.
His approach was completely opposite to mine.
Avoiding low rewards and low probabilities was Airlights’ way—moving with maximum efficiency.
“Surely he’s insane… is there some other secret?”
It made no sense that such inefficiency was the secret to the overwhelming number one’s success, so I decided to keep following him just to uncover that secret.
Days became months, months became years, and I finally accepted it.
Jijoncheonma was as immersed in this world as I was—perhaps even more.
A saying I once heard came to mind.
‘People are attracted to those who are their opposites, wasn’t it?’
I wanted it.
Jijoncheonma’s thoughts.
I was curious about that mindset.
What kind of thinking made him act like that? Guessing at it somehow made me excited.
“Is this… love?”
Maybe it was.
Wanting, being curious about what someone else thought, wanting to surpass them.
I think I’d definitely heard that was love.
So it had to be love.
From then on, under the name of love, I followed him.
Moved to save the world with him, mimicked his actions, and built goodwill with others.
There’s a saying that when you love, you become alike.
I liked thinking that was true.
Eventually, when I heard the server was going to shut down without stopping the world’s destruction, what I regretted most was not being able to see Jijoncheonma anymore.
Honestly, I had planned to die after the server ended.
No matter how I thought about it, there was no reason to live anymore.
But I was dragged into the game world as if to spite me.
It wasn’t a dream. It was real.
I tried to find a way out, but there was none.
…Which was good.
One life merged into another.
Then there was only one goal left: to find Jijoncheonma.
That was it.
So I chose the fastest and most efficient way to raise my fame—using a criminal organization to build a notorious reputation.
That would drain my strength and impose many limitations as time went on, but what did it matter?
I wanted to meet Jijoncheonma directly and say I loved him as soon as possible.
My life’s goal was only to love and be loved. That was all.
But… for some reason, two years passed and I still hadn’t seen Jijoncheonma.
I sought out every suspicious figure but none of them were him.
They were all just ordinary people with familiar faces.
I knew because I loved.
That overwhelming power.
That attitude of looking seriously at the world more than anyone else.
None of them showed any of that.
Time passed, and I discovered Jijoncheonma by pure chance.
The City of Sauer.
When I heard news that an unfinished demon would be unleashed there, I observed the place through another’s eyes to gather information.
“I need to correct you, Sword Saint. I’m no jester.”
When I found a man confronting one of the continent’s strongest warriors for the sake of a young girl.
“A Master Magician.”
When I saw the blazing blue sun above his head.
The last magician left in this world.
I shivered.
I was certain.
Smiling quietly in a dark corner, I whispered without realizing it.
“I found you. Jijoncheonma.”