Seeing Fay still in a state of shock, Verarin seized the opening to attack. He spun his body around until her back faced her foe; refusing to give his opponent a chance to react, he unleashed a powerful kick.
"Argh!"
It was a back kick—a fundamental martial arts technique, yet highly effective for a surprise attack. Sure enough, Fay was unable to dodge it; his body was sent flying backward, landing hard on the ground.
Verarin lowered his leg and gazed at the fallen Fay. Yet, he remained vigilant. He knew h8s enemy might suddenly rise and strike back at any moment; such a possibility was always on the cards.
"...."
For some reason, Fay hadn't moved since being knocked down and left lying there helplessly. Was she feigning injury? Or perhaps simply waiting for the perfect moment—when Verarin drew closer—to launch a surprise counterattack?
These were the possibilities weighing on Verarin's mind. He had no intention of taking a risk that might leave her vulnerable to an attack from his opponent.
With that in mind, he first retrieved the dagger he had dropped. Then, she slowly stepped toward Fay, closing the distance of a few meters. Each footstep rang out clearly, the sound amplified as her boots splashed into the puddles gathering across the street.
Unwilling to take an unnecessary risk, Verarin decided to verify the situation by speaking to him.
"I know you're still conscious. Stop the charade and surrender. Or, if you prefer, you can leave without a fight. I won't stand in your way."
Verarin was a captain in the Knightley Queen. His face might still resemble that of a seventeen-year-old, but he was actually twenty-six. Having served as a captain for years and faced a multitude of challenges, he was not the sort of man to lose his composure in a situation like this.
Anyone could have done the same—after all, he didn't deal with these kinds of matters constantly—yet this was, at its core, the duty of a captain.
He had attained the rank of captain at a young age, cultivating the temperament of a leader over the course of some seven years. The necessary traits were charisma, decisiveness, courage, and authority—qualities Verarin possessed in abundance.
But this wasn't about him.
"But remember this: if you try to resist... I will stop you, even if I have to use ruthless means."
Yes, everyone harbors some lingering, unpleasant traits.
"Consider this an act of mercy."
Verarin then turned his gaze away and moved calmly. He walked off, leaving the young man behind in the rain—granting him a chance to flee as a final act of mercy.
Even after everything the youth had done to the Knightley Queen agency.
For in Verarin's eyes, he was merely dealing with a young man—someone likely grappling with personal troubles or perhaps harboring a grudge against Knightley Queen.
But, unfortunately, that didn't seem to be the case.
Amidst the sound of the heavy downpour, a sound suddenly emerged—a low chuckle that soon erupted into laughter.
"Hahahahahaha...!"
Though the sound was partially drowned out by the patter of rain, he did not stop. Verarin was instantly startled; he turned slowly, still gripped by surprise. He looked back to see the young man lying in the waterlogged ground, laughing until, finally, the laughter began to subside. "Hahahahahahaha!... Hah...."
A brief silence returned; he fell quiet again, as if deciding on the words he was about to speak.
His laughter seemed directed solely at his opponent—a mocking laugh that dismissed her earlier, firm statement as nothing more than a petty bluff.
He then sat up, his eyes fixed on Verarin's face with a look of disdain.
"You make me laugh," he said.
"What did you say?"
"Do you think... you've done things the right way?"
Silence fell between them; the only sound was the rain relentlessly striking the ground, leaving behind growing puddles. A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, briefly illuminating the darkness before vanishing once more.
The two locked eyes, their demeanors worlds apart.
Fay—the young man with black and red hair—stared back with a look of scorn, waiting for an answer to his question. Verarin, meanwhile, held his gaze in resolute silence, carefully weighing the words she was about to speak.
A single slip of the tongue could lead to dire consequences.
"But I admit, you are incredibly strong. I can sense it firsthand—the commanding aura of a squad captain," he said, offering praise.
He suddenly looked at Verarin's face with a faint smile. Something seemed to have come over him.
"You don't get it?"
"Get what?"
"I might not be the smartest person around, but at least I can think clearly. There are others like that, too—not particularly bright, yet quite skilled at deceiving people."
Verarin understood the gist of Fay's words, though the reason behind them eluded him. People might call him a fool, but those who don't flaunt their intelligence often harbor many unrevealed mysteries.
"What do you mean?"
"Fortunately, I have a friend who really helps me think things through."
His gaze snapped to Fay. He studied the young man, sensing that something was amiss.
"..."
He pondered for a moment, trying to pinpoint what felt off about him. After a long while, it finally dawned on him.
"...?!"
Verarin whipped around, realizing something was wrong. Fay had previously mentioned he was after a specific artifact kept under heavy guard in Knightley Queen's office.
But think about it—why would he linger outside Knightley Queen's office just to tangle with one of the captains? It all made sense now. Fay smiled, his lips curling upward; a look of satisfaction at the outcome was clearly visible on his face.
"Do you get it now?" he asked, his tone carrying the smug air of someone who had successfully outwitted a captain. Fay wore a look of satisfaction; he likely hadn't expected to pull off a trick like that.
"Tch..."
The situation had become more difficult now.
⟨⟩ ⟨⟩ ⟨⟩
A single problem—or thousands of them—can arise all at once.
That is the reality.
Vael'Nyth, or "Lost in Destruction," is not merely a calamity that might occur; it is an inevitable disaster dictated by laws established billions of years ago. Yet, therein lies the anomaly. If this calamity has been occurring for billions of years, Orleans should not exist. No living being would walk this fertile land. No one would breathe the air. No one would wield artifacts or work as an adventurer.
And yet, everything remains. Living beings go about their lives. The Nephilim have become the most populous race, wielding the greatest influence over the Overworld. The Seraphim remain the holy guardians of the Tree of Life—Everness. Then there are the other races—the Elfharin, Dwarfgrim, Morak, and all the peoples inhabiting Orleans, spanning not just the Overworld but the Underworld as well.
It was this realization that gave Infori an opening to ask a pertinent question.
"If Vael'Nyth occurs every hundred years, then this world shouldn't exist at all. So, how does it still stand after being ravaged by a disaster of such magnitude?" he asked.
He directed the question straight at Noya. She fell silent for a moment; her expression remained calm, yet her gaze softened as she looked at Infori. To her, he looked like a lost lamb wandering into a pack of wolves.
"...You still haven't accepted the facts, have you, Infori?"
"....." Infori remained silent.
"I know you're confused, but such is fate. No one knows what the future holds for them. Everything follows a preordained path; that is why you must act without hesitation."
"Because ambiguity has no place here..."
"Precisely."
"In that case, what is your true objective, Noya? Why are you targeting those artifacts? Your subordinates even nearly harmed a Seraphim. What is the meaning behind everything you've done?"
Noya remained silent, though her gaze stayed fixed on him.
Infori asked her directly because, in truth, he had no desire to fight Noya or interfere in the affairs of someone he knew so well. He then added the reason why he had spontaneously raised the question.
"…I don't want to fight you."
Yes, that was the reason. Noya held significant importance in Infori's past; whenever he saw her face, he was reminded of his late parents.
Noya did not answer immediately. Instead, she seemed intent on showing Infori something. She turned around, facing away from him, and asked him to follow.
"I'll answer as we walk. Follow me."
As she stepped forward, her elegant black dress swayed gently. She walked ahead, and Infori—though puzzled and deciding not to press for more details—promptly followed close behind.
The sound of their footsteps echoed through the void, yet the noise remained faint despite the reverberation.
Noya then broke the silence, answering Infori's question.
"In the Overworld, there are seven rare, legendary artifacts that possess immense power. These seven legendary artifacts were created individually by Everness, placing them a cut above all other artifacts. We might well call them the Seven Great Artifacts."
"Are the Blades of Mirage and the Gauntlet of Rebirth among them?"
"That is correct. In fact, the Blades of Mirage were the first artifacts ever created—daggers possessing the most devastating power, surpassing all else."