The marble floor of the Convent of Saint Marigold was so white, so sterile, it seemed designed to reject the existence of even the smallest speck of dirt. Twilight sunlight filtered through the soaring stained-glass windows, refracting ruby reds and sapphire blues onto the polished surface. But that beauty felt dead. In this place, light did not provide warmth; it only delivered cold judgment.
Elian stood at the threshold of the main corridor of the West Sector. The massive oak door he had just smashed open still trembled on its hinges, but the sound had long been swallowed by the sound-absorbing walls made of Silence-Ore.
He stepped forward.
Tap. Tap.
The sound of his footsteps was strange—heavy and thudding low. Every time his heel touched the marble, fine cracks appeared, spreading like spiderwebs. That was the burden of the Ring of Weight, now reaching its peak. In this environment saturated with holy energy, the ring seemed to grow thirstier, pulling the gravity around Elian more greedily.
Elian's face, usually possessing the softness of a noble girl, now looked like a cracked porcelain mask. His long black hair had partially come loose from its tie, framing an androgynous face dirty with dust and dried bloodstains. His eyes—pitch black without a trace of emotion—were fixed on only one direction: the central tower of the convent.
"Stop right there, boy."
The voice came from a group of knights emerging from behind the marble pillars. There were twelve of them, all clad in full silver armor with white cloaks embroidered with a golden sun. They were the elite knights of the Church, warriors sworn to erase darkness.
"You cross the holy boundary with hands dirty with blood," their leader said, a large man with a scar on his temple. He drew his greatsword, which began to glow with Light Aura. "Drop your weapons and kneel to receive forgiveness in death."
Elian didn't stop. He didn't even blink. He continued walking at the same pace, calm but carrying a suffocating pressure in the air.
"Did you hear me, Brat?!" The knight felt insulted by Elian's silence. "Attack!"
The six front knights charged simultaneously. Their armor clanked softly, but their movements were fast and coordinated. They formed a semi-circle formation, intending to kill Elian's movement space.
Elian tilted his head slightly. In his vision, the world seemed to slow down. Not because time stopped, but because his sensory perception as a Child of the World was operating at its highest frequency. He saw the flow of Aura inside the knights' bodies, saw the gaps between their armor joints, and felt the vibrations in the floor telling him the exact position of every opponent.
Just as the first sword was about to cleave his shoulder, Elian shifted his center of gravity.
He didn't dodge far. He merely twisted his body clockwise.
CRACK!
The marble floor beneath his feet shattered into pieces as Elian channeled the momentum from the Ring of Weight into a single elbow strike. His left elbow—the arm bearing the ring—slammed squarely into the nearest knight's chest plate.
The three-centimeter-thick silver steel caved in as if hit by a wrecking ball. The knight was thrown backward, crashing into a marble pillar until it cracked, and he did not rise again. His ribs had been shattered and punctured his own lungs.
"What?!" his comrades were stunned. That kind of physical strength was impossible for such a slender child.
Elian didn't give them time to ponder. He drew both his Karambits. The black blades seemed to drink the light in the room.
He slid low across the slick floor. With movements more akin to a dance than a fight, Elian spun his body between the knights' legs.
Slash. Slash. Slash.
The sound of thin cuts was heard. Elian didn't aim for the thick armor. He aimed for the gaps behind the knees, under the armpits, and at the wrists.
Blood began to soak the holy marble floor. The knights fell one by one, not because they were weak, but because they couldn't hit a "ghost" that possessed the mass of a giant yet moved as smoothly as a shadow.
"Demon! You are a demon with a pretty face!" screamed the knight leader, now left alone. He raised his sword with trembling hands. " The Light will destroy you!"
He unleashed a Combat Art technique: Holy Slash. His sword blade extended with blinding light energy, slashing vertically toward Elian.
Elian didn't use his weapons to block. He raised his left hand—the hand wearing the ring—and formed a fist.
BOOM!
The clash between the light energy and Elian's fist created a shockwave that shattered the stained-glass windows in the corridor. Colorful glass shards fell like a rain of gems between them.
The light sword shattered. The knight was thrown back, his arm broken by the gravitational backlash Elian channeled through the contact.
Elian stood amidst the ruins of the corridor. His breathing remained steady, but sweat began to bead on his forehead. The ring on his finger felt hotter, as if trying to eat Elian's finger as payment for the power just unleashed.
He stared at the dying knight with a hollow gaze.
"Where is..." Elian began, his voice very soft but trembling with suppressed rage. "...Elara Vane?"
The knight could only groan, blood bubbling from his mouth. He pointed upward, toward a golden spiral staircase leading to the convent's peak.
Elian turned away without finishing the man off. He didn't kill out of bloodlust; he killed because they blocked his path. And now, the path was open.
He climbed the spiral staircase. Every step felt harder. The air at the top of the convent was saturated with oppressive holy energy. This was no longer healing energy, but lethal energy to anyone resonating with nature or darkness.
At the top of the stairs, he arrived in front of a magnificent double golden door. Behind it, he could hear the monotonous sound of liturgical chanting and the throb of immense energy.
Thump-thump... Thump-thump...
Not the sound of a human heart. It was the sound of The Heart of Marigold.
Elian placed his hand on the golden door. He felt a familiar warmth behind it. It was the remnant of Elara's scent. The scent of jasmine and snow that always accompanied her when they were in the North.
However, that scent was now mixed with the smell of death and hot metal.
"Forgive me, Elara," Elian whispered. "Big Brother took too long to find you."
Elian pushed the door open with all his might.
The room beyond was a gigantic Oratory Chamber. In the center, a reddish-purple crystal sphere floated, surrounded by chains of light. Inside the sphere, a little girl with long silver hair appeared to be sleeping, but her face was etched with lines of constant pain.
Elara.
And in front of the sphere stood a man in the most magnificent white robes Elian had ever seen. Archbishop Benedict.
"So, you are the failure of the Vane family," Benedict spoke without turning, his voice filling the room with crushing authority. "I must thank Silas. He was right about your blood. You carry very pure 'World' energy. You will make an excellent additional offering to perfect the awakening of our god."
Elian didn't listen to the sermon. His eyes were locked on his suffering sister.
The anger that had been cold was now beginning to boil. He felt something inside his chest—where his damaged Core resided—begin to vibrate. The cracks in his Core no longer emitted pain, but radiated an incredible chill.
"Let her go," Elian said.
His voice no longer sounded like a child's. It was the voice of someone who had crossed the border between human and monster.
"Or I will tear this entire place down and bury you under the remnants of your sanctity."
Benedict laughed, a dry and dismissive laugh. He turned, raising his brightly glowing golden staff. "You are just an overweight Tier 1 child, Elian. You have no power to change anything here."
Elian didn't answer. He simply lowered his stance, pulling his right leg back, crushing the marble beneath him to get the sturdiest footing.
The ring on his finger glowed with a pitch-black light, swallowing the holy light in the room.
"Then I will show you..." Elian stared at Benedict with the gaze of the deadliest predator. "...what 'trash' can do when it has nothing left to lose."
Silence for a moment. The silence before the most devastating storm in the history of the Convent of Saint Marigold exploded. Elian Vane, the child beloved by the world, was ready to challenge God's representative on earth for the sake of a sliver of affection left in his hardening heart.