Under the weight of tension… and among the scattered corpses of SI soldiers, the group exchanged silent glances.
They weren't ordinary looks.
They all carried the same question:
What the hell is happening???
And yet… no one broke...
Perhaps they were used to scenes like this.
Or perhaps fear, in their world, was a luxury reserved for the dead...
They maintained their composure — at least on the surface.
Breaths slow. Controlled. Hands close to their weapons...
Lorian spoke in a low voice, though a slight tremor betrayed him.
"No need to panic… One wrong reaction could expose us."
Raym had his hand resting on his sword the entire time...
Not out of fear… but readiness.
He glanced at it.
A silver blade with a black hilt trimmed in gold. It might seem ordinary to some… but not to him.
This sword had stood beside him longer than most people in his life.
It had witnessed his blood.
His rage.
His silence.
Every scratch on its blade was a memory.
Every drop of blood it carried was an unforgotten promise.
Was it a sense of control???
A battle instinct sharpened by bloodshed???
Or suppressed anger seeking release???
For him… this was the first time his hand rested on the sword without trembling.
A heavy silence lingered for minutes that felt much longer...
Once they confirmed there was no immediate danger, they continued forward.
They were close now...
As they walked, Raym realized that in moments like this, he used to stay near Vail… speaking in low tones about trivial things, just to lighten the weight.
A sudden pang of longing struck him.
He clenched his fist… and looked away.
The whispered hesitantly,
"You didn't have to do that… I only needed you to agree with me. Just once."
And then—
Their senses shifted...
That aura…
It was appearing again...
Closer this time...
They exchanged quick glances. No explanation was needed...
"We're almost there," Lorian said quietly. "But as I suspected… our 'guests' won't let us pass without a price."
They moved cautiously between bushes and shattered buildings, hiding behind broken structures.
Voices soon reached them.
"What do you mean you felt him?" one man demanded...
"His trace is clear," another replied. "That well-known mark— the drag of his sword across the ground. It ends near here."
Curiosity spread among them.
Lorian risked a glance—
SI soldiers.
But not ordinary ones.
Their armor was thicker… heavier… far more intimidating.
He quickly pulled back, muttering inwardly, Damn… these ones?
They continued listening.
"As you can see, he wiped out another squad of those weaklings. That's why we were sent."
"And if we fail to track him?" another replied bitterly. "That would be disgraceful… especially for elite SI like us."
A third cut in sharply,
"Idiot! Didn't you see how he slaughtered them alone? We're not talking about just anyone. He's one of the most dangerous escapees from Lord Nero's prison."
His voice lowered.
"And when we finally had the chance to capture him… this happens?"
Before anyone could respond—
They felt it...
The aura...
Heavier. Clearer. As if the air itself had grown dense.
Their breathing froze.
Even Raym—
who rarely showed fear—
felt his heart pound violently.
And that brief moment…
was enough...
Their position was exposed...
The voices stopped...
And silence fell—
the kind that comes just before a storm...