"What did you find, kid?" the man with the fancy sword asked, his steps slow and measured.
Every step the man took echoed in his mind. His thoughts spun out of control, making it harder for him to think. His breathing turned uneven, his eyes going wide and blank. Cold sweat ran down his back as he imagined the swordsman cutting him in two.
'Shiro, snap out of it. Control your breathing.'
That snapped him back to his senses—unfortunately. The timing couldn't have been worse, because the first thing he noticed was a sword politely greeting his forehead.
Not exactly comforting. If anything, it just made his heart sprint faster.
'Stop it.'
The voice snapped, irritation cutting through every word. It was intimidating—and annoyingly effective. It almost sounded like his father, only without the bitterness and the disgust.
'Shiro… trust me. You can do this. Just remember what I taught you,' the voice said, softer now. The irritation in it tone was gone, leaving behind something that felt uncomfortably close to guilt.
"Kid, what is in your pocket?" the man asked, now giving him a murderous look, which was not making it any easier for him.
His eyes burned, tears spilling out faster than he could stop them. His shoulders shook as he made sure to sob between every word, laying it on thick. Fragile. Pathetic.
Like a scared kid who didn't know any better.
He glanced up at them, checking to see if his award-worthy performance had landed.
His eyes flicked over the group. Yeah. Most of them were buying it.
All except the assassin lady. She saw right through him.
But it was good. Very good.
He didn't need to convince them completely—just enough to lower their guard.
"I… I don't know how I got here. I was just training with my friends, and then I saw this white-silver light coming out of the cave on top of the mountain. I walked in, and… and now I'm here. I don't know how."
He glanced at them again. The assassin lady's eyes never left him, full of suspicion, like if he made a single move, she'd end him in the blink of an eye.
Then the man with the shield cut in. "You're scaring him."
The swordsman sighed, realizing he might have gone a bit too far, and withdrew his blade. With that, his expression softened—to the point it didn't look real.
That definitely took some pressure off his chest. It also gave him enough time to think of a way out—which was adorable, because there wasn't one.
If he ran for the door, the assassin would close the gap before he could think of takeing a single step. And if he attacked them now, they'd turn him into floor decoration.
Every plan he came up with ended the same way: him on the ground, bleeding out.
He was left with two options, one good and one dumb: hand over the egg… or fight.
And he was not about to hand them the egg. They had bonded for a whole minute. It was basically his child now. So that left him with the other option. The dumb one.
But he couldn't fight them all at once. Not like this. Not with his limiter still on.
So he did the only reasonable thing left.
He started to weep again, this time adding a few extra sniffles for effect, to buy a little more time.
"Kid, stop crying already, or I'll give you something to cry about," the swordsman snapped, his jaw tight and eyes narrowing. He could see a vein bulging in the man's forehead, like he was two seconds away from silencing him for good.
So that was exactly what he did. He stopped crying—mostly out of fear—but he took his sweet time doing it. He wiped his tears and sniffled a little less.
If he was going to be terrified, he might as well be dramatic about it, just to buy a little extra time, all while quietly cooking up a plan.
One thing he knew for sure: the swordsman had to go down first, or else his plan would fail.
Next… the assassin had to die.
He wished he could kill her first, but that would leave the swordsman free to do his thing. Besides, he'd have to get past the swordsman to reach her anyway—and he was pretty sure it would give the man a reasonable excuse to turn Shiro into several smaller Shiros.
The man in the massive armor was also a problem. Not only would he be unable to harm the brute, but if the man gets his hand on him, he could squeeze and break every bone in his body. Just the thought sent a chill down his spine.
But leaving him for last was probably the best option. At least then, he could find an alternative way to beat him.
The backline… the robed ones. They were fragile. Shouldn't be too difficult to snap once he closed the distance.
The plan was straightforward and ruthless. He had one chance, and it had to be done in one smooth motion and finished within fifteen seconds.
He exhaled slowly and emptied his mind. His body relaxed, making himself look more vulnerable.
"I found it… over there." He hesitated, forcing a crack into his voice.
He frowned. "What does this do?"
"You did well," the swordsman said softly, sidestepping the question as he stepped closer. He wasn't an idiot. Something here didn't settle right with him.
"Now hand it over, and we all walk out together."
He dropped his sword and drifted forward, as if hypnotized. His boots scraped against the stone.
"Okay," Shiro said softly.
He slipped the egg from his pocket, his fingers tightening around it like he was afraid to let go. His hand shook as he reached out, then slowly opened his fingers.
The egg rested in the center of his palm. And for a moment… he could've sworn he felt a heartbeat.
They were all too busy staring at the egg when the assassin's voice broke in.
"Don't drop your guard, Sett. There's something off about him."
The assassin sighed, the kind of sigh people make when they're already tired of explaining obvious things. "Look at him. You really think a normal kid could end up that toned? Those hands are way too rough."
'Damn her.'
And now that she'd pointed it out, they started noticing things they'd missed before—details they'd overlooked simply because he looked like a child.
The swordsman chuckled. "Doesn't change anything. Still a kid. And I can barely sense any mana from him."
He realized why the voice had told him not to remove his limiter.
"You idiot. He was able to cut open a serpent's belly with a rusted sword," she said flatly. "Care to explain?"
"It's sharper than it looks," Shiro murmured.
Her eyes flicked to the sword for a second. "Oh, is that so?"
In that mere second, the egg slipped from his hand as his arm snapped forward, nails slick with his poisonous blood. The swordsman barely reacted before Shiro cut across his throat—clean and fast.
The cut tore deep, deep enough to sever his voice, stealing his breath in the same motion.
The swordsman's hand clamped down, blood spilling through his fingers. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came—only a rasp. His chest hitched, shallow, while the venom was already eating through him.
And just as he expected, the first to notice was the assassin. Her sharp awareness was what he feared most—but this time, she let her guard slip.
When she finally realized what was happening, he was already in front of her—closing the distance—and spitting a mouthful of poisonous blood straight into her eyes before she could make any move.
"I can't see!" she yelled.
While she was immobilized, he yanked the daggers from her belt, his bloody palm streaking the steel. One hard pull across her throat. Her scream broke off, drowning wetly in her mouth.
This whole thing took three seconds.
The group broke. Panic spread fast.
The woman in red murmured something, sparks skittering along her staff.
He rushed forward, but the armored man beat him to it, dragging his hammer loose. Chains clattered as the swing came down hard.
He dropped low, sliding between the giant's legs. His gaze snapped to the robed woman in white, the one threading blessings and strength through the others.
He closed the distance in a breath and swept his dagger across her throat, ending it before she could finish casting.
He turned with the same motion, coiling around the caster. One arm locked around hers, the dagger pressing beneath her chin. He grabbed her hand and forced the staff up, aiming it straight at the shield-bearer.
"Do it."
The words left his mouth in a low hiss, and his voice instantly paralyzed her with fear. But somehow, her lips kept moving.
Fire bloomed at the tip of the staff, and with his grip guiding it, he sent the spell flying straight into the armored man's chest.
The fireball hit full force and detonated.
The armored man screamed in agony. The blast hadn't just hit him—it was cooking him alive. Metal plates warped and melted, fusing into his flesh.
In blind desperation, he clawed at himself, tearing the armor free piece by piece, and when he ripped off his helmet—
It gave him the opening he needed.
He hurled the dagger in one smooth, practiced motion. The brute's head snapped back before his body even hit the ground. Then he went still. The blade had killed him instantly, yet the flames kept eating at him long after death.
He kept his hold on the woman in red. The woman stared at his darkened expression one last time before he grasped her head with both hands and snapped her neck in one brutal, violent motion.
It took him a little over ten seconds. He hesitated—just slightly—when it came to the woman in red.
He laid her beside the others, careful despite himself. Then he looked down at his hands. They were shaking, and he still didn't understand why.
He scooped the egg off the ground, blood from his palm smeared across the shell until it looked like it was drinking it in.
That helped with the shakiness.
A bit. Just a bit.
"Oh, you like that?" he murmured as it pulsed against his palm, slow and steady, like a heartbeat. "I'll take that as a yes."
'Good job, Shiro,' the voice said, unmistakably pleased.
"Yeah," Shiro muttered softly.
'Biting the inside of your mouth to store blood, digging your nail into your palm for a cleaner strike. That was smart.'
He glanced at the mess he'd caused. "Yeah."
'As the proud winner of this very impressive battle, you're entitled to the spoils. New rule. Winner takes all,' the voice said, slipping comfortably back into its usual nonsense.
"Winner?"
He looked down at his hands, still smeared with blood. The scars were gone. He didn't know when or how it had happened—only that it had. Somehow.
"This didn't feel like winning."
The voice didn't answer. It stayed silent, like it didn't have the words to soften what he was feeling.
The emotion sat heavy in his chest. It was… uncomfortably close to guilt. Or maybe that was just what came with killing for the first time. He wasn't sure.
He didn't bother pushing it and just checked the bodies anyway.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Still nothing…
Except the swordsman.
In his pocket, he found nothing but an ominous black shard.