Lilith hurried back to her private chambers, gently closing the heavy wooden door behind her to escape the mounting tension. Before she could even catch her breath, a sharp, steady knock rapped against the door.
Without waiting for a reply, Ivory slipped into the room, her expression grim and calculated as she closed the door quietly.
Lilith turned to face her, her voice dropping to a tense whisper. "he... he actually left one of them alive?"
Ivory crossed her arms, fixing Lilith with a cold, piercing stare. "Your little plan has pushed Haruto far enough. Slaughtering those enforcers just bumped him up to Level 25. But you know how the mechanics work—that was only a fraction of the jump. To gain even a single level from here on out, he's going to have to slaughter thousands."
Lilith frowned, a flash of genuine frustration crossing her face. "Tell me where that idiot leftover went. He's completely messing up the pacing of this entire game. I'll go drag him back myself."
"Interfering with a mortal's progression like this isn't a good idea," Ivory warned, her voice flat.
Lilith waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, leave him alone. Where is Professor anyway?"
"Not here," Ivory replied evenly. "He's been missing for days."
"Make sure you keep her and Marena's whereabouts hidden away from Haruto," Lilith ordered, a calculating glint in her eye. "It's better that way."
"As you wish," Ivory conceded with a nod.
Lilith's eyes narrowed slightly as she brought up the most dangerous detail. "By the way tell me... how is Marena's combat data looking?"
"She's adapting," Ivory explained, her tone carrying a hint of awe. "When she kills people, she absorbs their life force to forge her own swords, and at the same time, she instantly copies and masters their unique magic and skills on the spot."
Lilith let out a low, dark whistle, a mixture of pride and dread curling on her lips. "So she's getting stronger?"
"Completely, a good hidden piece for Your hidden plan" Ivory replied without missing a beat.
Lilith crossed her arms, a contemplative look crossing her face as she turned back to Ivory. "By the way... yesterday, I actually interfered directly inside Haruto's mind. Just so you know."
Ivory's eyes flashed with sharp caution. She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "As you told me. I haven't spoken a word of it to anyone else."
"Good," Lilith sighed, walking over to the large glass window overlooking the sprawling expanse of the city.
"Look at the Founders. Those three fools care far more about preserving their precious little city than they do about Haruto's actual progression. If they ever find out that the rogue criminal known as 'Echo' is actually Haruto, everything goes sideways. Keep this quiet, and make sure it stays hidden from them."
She turned back, her expression hardening with resolve. "Starting today, I'm going to keep a direct eye on Haruto myself. The city is sliding into chaos, but a small city is still a necessary sandbox for my plans. If it gets in the way or threatens to ruin things... I won't hesitate to wipe it out."
Ivory raised an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in her tone. "Considering he just unlocked his full arsenal, are you sure you want to let him run loose? He has his powers back completely."
A confident, sly smirk curved across Lilith's lips. "Oh, I gave them all back to him, yes... but I made sure to place a few strict limitations on him first."
"Oh?" Ivory murmured, a flicker of intrigue in her eyes. Then, her expression shifted as a more pressing question came to mind. "What about Aeterna? Have you heard anything from her?"
Back in his quiet, dimly lit safe house, Haruto lay awake on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. The adrenaline of the previous night had completely faded, leaving behind a heavy, suffocating silence.
He slowly raised his hands, turning them over in the pale moonlight filtering through the window. His stomach churned with a nauseating sense of horror. He felt like a complete monster—someone who could no longer look an innocent person in the eye without feeling the phantom weight of blood on his skin.
What the hell happened to me...? he thought, a cold shiver running down his spine. I just slaughtered human beings. People who had lives, families, maybe even a mother who cared about them... just like the mother and daughter those thugs destroyed. Am I really any different from them now?
Guilt clawed at his chest, whispering that he had been cornered, that circumstances had forced his hand into becoming a killer.
Then, cutting sharply through his self-doubt, Lilith's chilling voice echoed loud and clear inside his head:
The strong are always right. You're strong, they're weak—that makes you right. Don't overthink it.
Hearing those words replay in his mind didn't comfort him. Instead, a surge of raw, bitter fury bubbled up inside his chest, and Haruto clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white.
Deep inside, Haruto was tearing himself apart, the internal agony so suffocating that he felt like he was losing his very identity, as if the person he used to be was completely gone. Unable to stand the suffocating air of the room any longer, he abruptly stood up and headed for the door.
As he stepped past, one lady officer called out, "Where are you going?"
Haruto didn't even turn back, pushing the door open and stepping out into the cool, morning air.
Walking aimlessly through the quiet streets, a terrifying realization gripped him. He had taken a human life, yet he felt completely detached, as if it meant nothing. But what haunted him even more—what truly made his stomach churn—wasn't the act itself, but the chilling fact that after all the agonizing reflection, all the soul-searching and overthinking, he wanted more.
No, this is wrong... Haruto thought, pressing his palms against his burning temples as he walked through the dimly lit streets.
Yet, as his gaze swept across the late-night pedestrians passing by him, a terrifying, dark urge clawed at the back of his throat. Every single person he looked at—every stranger, every passerby—triggered a sudden, intrusive impulse telling him to strike them down, to tear them apart and feed the insatiable hunger of his system.
He glanced inward, checking his status interface. The intensive week of grinding and soul-crushing hesitation had vanished in a single bloody night: both his Creation and Nothingness stats had violently shot straight up to Level 25, all unlocked by butchering just three men.
The sheer efficiency of the dark shortcut made him feel like he was losing his mind. The terrifying speed of his growth was intoxicating, yet it felt like a poison slowly rewriting his humanity.
I need to fix this. I need someone who can ground me... before I lose myself completely.
Desperate for an anchor, Haruto changed his direction, moving with purpose through the labyrinthine alleys until he emerged near the grand perimeter of Lilith's sprawling mansion.
Scattered near the outer stone walls, huddled against the chill of the night, was the familiar beggar he had crossed paths with before—the old man always draped in worn, faded green rags.
Haruto approached slowly, his boots crunching softly on the dirt. He stopped right at the edge of the shadows and looked down.
The beggar was still there, curled up against the cold stone. Hearing footsteps, the old man slowly lifted his weathered head, squinting through the gloom at the masked figure standing above him. A toothy, cracked grin split his face as he recognized the young man.
"Ah..." the beggar rasped out, his voice trembling slightly in the night air. "Hey there, kid... how are you holding up?"
The old beggar squinted up through the gloom, noticing the heavy tension weighing down Haruto's shoulders. "What is it, kid? You look like you've got the weight of the world on you."
Haruto let out a hollow, bitter breath, sliding down the brick wall until he sat cross-legged on the dirt beside the old man. "Life... life is just really weird right now."
The beggar chuckled softly, pulling his faded green rags tighter around his thin frame. "Life's always weird when you're young. Tell me, what's got you so twisted up?"
Haruto stared down at his hands, the moonlight casting harsh shadows across his knuckles. "I... I killed some people."
The old man froze, his laughter dying in his throat. He turned his head sharply, staring at Haruto in shock. "You... you what? How many?"
"Three," Haruto muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I left one alive... because he pissed his pants and cried like a coward. Figured he wasn't even worth the blade."
The beggar stared at him for a long, heavy moment, processing the chilling casualness of the confession. Then, a sudden realization hit him, and his eyes widened. He pointed a shaky, dirt-stained finger right at Haruto. "Wait a minute... the news this morning. That viral broadcast about 'Echo'—that's you, isn't it?!"
Haruto didn't flinch or deny it. He just stared blankly ahead. "Everyone thinks Echo is some underground syndicate murderer."
The beggar let out a nervous, breathless laugh, shaking his head. "Well, considering the survivor you left behind probably told the cops everything..."
"I cut his tongue out," Haruto interrupted flatly, his voice devoid of any warmth. "He couldn't tell anyone a damn thing."
The beggar swallowed hard, the color draining from his face as the sheer terror of the boy sitting next to him finally set in. He slowly pulled his legs back, giving Haruto a wide, trembling berth. "H-Ha... right."
For a second, silence stretched between them—heavy and tense. Then, the old beggar abruptly tilted his head back and burst into a rough, raspy laugh.
Haruto frowned, turning his head sharply toward him. "What is so funny? Why are you laughing?"
The beggar wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, his weathered face breaking into a crooked smile. "Laugh? What else am I supposed to do, cry? Don't look so terrified, kid. This is just how the world works. Killing a few scumbags? In a city like this, that's barely even a Tuesday."
Haruto stared at him, completely thrown off. "I don't get it. Aren't you... aren't you going to judge me?"
The beggar's laughter faded, replaced by a strange, piercing clarity in his old eyes. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Listen to me, kid. You might not be the man you want to become yet... but I can look at you right now and see that you are already miles away from the weakling you were before."
Haruto went still. Those words hit a raw nerve deep inside his chest. He looked down at his trembling hands, clenching them into tight fists.
"Yeah, maybe," Haruto muttered, his voice laced with bitter self-loathing. He dragged a hand down his face, the frustration bubbling over. "That's fine and all, but give me some real advice here. Looking at where I am right now... I feel so damn weak, man."
The old beggar leaned his back against the rough stone wall of the mansion perimeter, letting out a wheezing, raspy breath as his faded green rags settled around his scrawny frame. He reached into the dirty folds of his sleeve, pulled out a small, half-eaten dry biscuit, broke it in two, and casually tossed one half onto Haruto's lap.
"Eat," the old man grunted, chewing slowly. "A stomach full of acid makes even a god feel like a starving dog."
Haruto stared down at the stale piece of food in his lap, his knuckles still white, his breathing tight and shallow. "I didn't ask you for garbage. I asked you how to stop feeling like I'm made of glass."
The beggar swallowed, wiping his dry lips with the back of a calloused, soot-stained hand. His cloudy eyes narrowed, studying the subtle twitch in Haruto's fingers—the restless, predatory vibration of a boy whose veins were humming on freshly stolen life force.
"You feel weak," the old man said quietly, "because your mind is still clinging to the rules of a civilian, while your body just tasted the blood of a butcher. That friction inside your skull? That's not a weakness, kid. That's a gear grinding against a broken tooth."
Haruto looked up sharply, his jaw setting hard. "I went from struggling against low-tier syndicate street trash. My mind... it glitched. It's telling me everyone walking past that corner is just fuel. I'm looking at normal people and thinking about how many EXP points their necks are worth. That doesn't make me a butcher. That makes me a disease."
"Then be a disease that chooses what it infects," the beggar snapped, his voice dropping an octave, losing its raspy mockery and taking on an eerie, grounded weight. "You think the bastards running this city got to the top by feeling bad about stepping on ants? The syndicates, they drink the blood of thousands every single day. The only difference between you and them is that they hide their slaughter behind ledgers, contracts, and city ordinances. You did it with cold steel under a broken streetlight."
The beggar leaned in closer, tapping a dirty, cracked fingernail against Haruto's chest, right over his racing heart.
"You want real advice? Stop whining about being weak. Power isn't measured by how clean your hands stay, boy. It's measured by whether you hold the blade, or the blade holds you. If you let the thirst run through your body, you'll end up like one of those mindless feral beasts down in the lower drainage tunnels. But if you accept that blood is the currency of this hellhole... then stop acting like an amateur pickpocket. Spend it on the ones who deserve to be erased."
Haruto went dead silent. The chill in the night breeze brushed against the back of his neck, but beneath his skin, the chaotic friction began to settle into something rigid, heavy, and ice-cold.
The beggar pulled back, settling comfortably into the dirt with a cynical smirk. "Now take your fancy black-and-white mask, get your body off my pavement, and go finish whatever mess you started. The sun's coming up, kid. And blood dries fast in the morning."
Haruto looked down at the stale biscuit, picked it up, and crushed it slowly in his palm before letting the crumbs scatter into the dirt. When he rose to his feet, the hollow confusion in his eyes was gone—replaced by a sharp, calculating focus.
"Thanks, old man," Haruto muttered, pulling the hood of his dark coat low over his brow as he turned back toward the lower district.