I was alone in the hall, and the absence felt wrong.
Trace and Sare were still exploring outside, moving through the broken expanse beyond the hall's entrance, their voices and footsteps long faded. In the Hallow, distance carried weight. Since the moment we'd been thrown into this place, it had almost always been the three of us. Moving. Fighting. Surviving. Being alone now felt… unfamiliar. Almost unsettling.
I glanced down at myself.
My garb had already repaired the damage from the wound to my chest. The fabric clung close to my skin as it always did—too close, like a second layer of flesh—but it moved with me effortlessly, adapting to every shift in my posture. Where the cloth had been torn, thin black flames had ignited, crawling across the fabric like living veins. They burned without heat, stitching the material back together until not even a scar remained.
Interesting.
I turned inward, sinking into my soul core.
The familiar darkness welcomed me—vast, hollow, yet alive in a way I still couldn't explain. My gaze passed over the contents within.
Death Shards.
I still didn't understand them. But if they worked anything like Soul Shards were supposed to, then they were making me stronger—quietly, gradually, without announcement.
I returned to my body and tested myself.
I flexed my muscles, rolled my shoulders, then jumped—once, twice—lunging across the open hall in sharp bursts of movement. Cold air brushed against my skin as I moved, carrying the distant scent of damp stone and decay from outside. Pain flared in protest, my body still carrying the weight of everything I'd endured since arriving here, but I ignored it.
Beneath the ache, something else stirred.
I was faster.
Not by much. Not enough to feel dramatic. But it was there—subtle, undeniable. My movements felt lighter, more responsive, as if my body obeyed before I fully thought to command it.
I checked my soul core again.
13 Death Shards out of 1000.
A ridiculous number.
What happens when it fills? The thought lingered, unanswered, like everything else in this place. But speculation wouldn't help me survive—not right now.
There was something else.
Something I'd earned.
I focused inward once more, pushing deeper into the blackness of my soul. The emptiness greeted me again, vast and cold—but this time, it felt crowded. As if I wasn't truly alone.
That realization sent a chill through me.
I steadied my thoughts and fixed my focus on the presence buried within.
The knight.
At first, it was nothing more than a suggestion—an outline in the dark. Then it began to take shape, forming piece by piece within my core. Armor. Mass. Weight. Purpose.
I opened my eyes.
Before me stood the knight I had claimed.
As my fingers brushed against it, the Voice echoed through the open space.
"0 out of 100 Death Shards."
What the hell does that mean?
The thought struck hard, frustration flaring. The more time I spent in this place, the more questions piled up—and the fewer answers I received. Whatever this Echo required, I clearly didn't have enough.
Not yet.
With a slow breath, I let the darkness recede and returned fully to the real world.
Then, without hesitation, I summoned my knight.
I looked up at it—then down—scanning the construct from head to toe.
Armor first. Then posture. Then the silver sword resting in its grasp, polished and untouched, as if it had never known battle despite the weight it carried.
"Run down the hall," I commanded. "Then come back."
The knight moved instantly.
No hesitation. No pause to interpret. Its armored form turned and sprinted down the length of the hall, footsteps striking stone with rhythmic force, before pivoting sharply and returning to stand before me—exactly where it had started.
"Raise your left arm."
It obeyed.
"Now your right."
Again, immediate compliance.
Alright… so I have complete control over it. And more importantly—it isn't hostile.
That alone was a relief.
I drew Midnight, the black blade sliding free without a sound. The air around it dimmed slightly, as if the light itself leaned away.
"Alright," I said, leveling my gaze at the knight. "One strong attack. Downward. Full force."
The knight raised its right arm.
For a brief moment, everything went still.
Then it slashed.
I met the strike head-on, bringing Midnight up just in time. The impact detonated through my arms, a violent shock traveling straight through my body. The ground beneath my feet fractured with a sharp crack, stone splintering outward as the force drove me down to one knee.
I gritted my teeth, staring at my sword as it trembled in my grip.
Damn it… how long is my body going to be like this?
The thought burned, bitter and familiar.
Still…
Impressive.
I lifted my head, meeting the knight's hollow gaze. "You'll be useful to us," I muttered. "Very useful."
Then the reality settled in.
"The problem is," I continued, pointing the tip of Midnight toward its chest, "if you die—my Echo's gone."
I held the gesture there for a moment longer.
"So don't you dare die."
"Listen," I said, locking my gaze onto the knight. "I want you to fight me at full strength. Don't hold back. Even if an attack is lethal—it's fine."
The words tasted bitter, but honest.
"We'll keep fighting until I die otherwise. Trace is right. The best experience comes from combat to the death."
I raised Midnight in my right hand. Across from me, the knight adjusted its stance, its silver sword shifting into its left hand. No emotion. No hesitation. Just readiness.
I lunged.
At the last possible instant, I stopped directly in front of it.
The knight reacted immediately—its blade coming down in a brutal, vertical arc. Before the strike could land, my shadow surged beneath my feet, swallowing me whole as I dove into the shadow realm.
Cold. Weightless. Silent.
I burst out behind it an instant later and slashed low, Midnight cutting toward its leg. My body screamed in protest—muscles burning, joints protesting every ounce of force—but I pushed through it.
I had to.
Technique matters. If I let it dull, I'd die for real out there.
The knight twisted with inhuman speed and swung again. This time, I rolled beneath the blade, gravel scraping my back. I shifted Midnight into a reverse grip mid-motion and struck at its Achilles.
Metal rang.
I planted my hands, vaulted upward, and drove my heel into its chin, the impact snapping its head back before I sprang away and landed unsteadily.
I forced myself to breathe.
Based on raw strength alone, it outmatched me—easily. Even though it was only a second-rank Hallow creature, the gap was obvious. I couldn't win this head-on.
I needed to be smarter.
The knight rose again, unfazed.
I tightened my grip.
I'm focusing on technique. I don't want to destroy it.
It lunged.
Faster than before.
I barely reacted in time—Midnight flashing up in a reverse grip, my other hand bracing behind the blade to absorb the impact.
It wasn't enough.
The force slammed into me like a falling wall. I was hurled across the room, crashing into stone hard enough that the wall nearly shattered on impact. The air exploded out of my lungs.
I collapsed to one knee.
My breath came in ragged gasps. The world tilted. I couldn't steady myself. Sweat poured down my face as my muscles trembled, threatening to give out entirely.
Not at the knight.
At myself.
I stared at the floor, fingers clenched around Midnight as my arms shook. I wasn't angry. I wasn't afraid.
Just… disappointed.
Disappointed that this was still my limit.
Disappointed that my body betrayed me before my will did.
Disappointed that even here—after everything—I wasn't enough.
Grinding my teeth, I forced the word out, low and restrained, stripped of any command or anger.
"Enough."