In my dorm room, I sat cross-legged on the floor, Nyxrend resting silently in front of me. I stared at the blade, its dark, obsidian-like surface reflecting the soft glow of the lamp on my desk. The air was still, heavy with the kind of anticipation you feel right before a storm.

  I reached out and picked it up, laying it gently across my lap. The weight of the sword was oddly comforting—like an extension of myself now. A partner. A piece of me.

  “This might sound dumb,” I muttered, eyes fixed on the faint, pulsing glow along the blade’s edge, “but I know you can talk.”

  My voice echoed slightly in the quiet room.

  “Come on,” I said again, more firmly this time. “Talk to me. I’ve heard you before.”

  Nothing. No whisper, no growl. Just silence.

  I furrowed my brow, trying to remember the exact moment it spoke. It was back then, during the fight. That pressure, that overwhelming force—it had to have been Nyxrend. Not just the power it gave me, but the voice. Cold, ancient. A whisper in the chaos that didn’t belong to me.

  “Come on,” I pressed, frustration bleeding into my tone. “You're the one that named yourself. Nyxrend. That wasn’t me. That name didn’t come from me—it came from you.”

  Still nothing.

  I sat there for a long moment, trying to figure it out. Maybe it only responds in battle. Or maybe... it only speaks when I truly need it. When I’m standing at the edge of something—life, death, purpose.

  I sighed, my fingers brushing along the runes etched near the hilt. “You’re not just a sword,” I whispered. “You’ve got a will of your own. So what are you waiting for?”

  The blade pulsed once, faintly—like a heartbeat.

  I froze.

  “…That was you, wasn’t it?” I whispered, eyes widening slightly.

  Nyxrend didn’t speak.

  But somehow, I knew.

  It was listening.

  I stared down at the blade resting on my lap, the weight of it suddenly feeling heavier—like it was aware of me just as much as I was of it.

  “So tell me, cursed blade,” I muttered, voice low. “That power back there… what was it? Was it yours… or mine?”

  The room was silent, save for the faint hum of the wind brushing past the window.

  I shifted my grip slightly, eyes narrowing.

  “Erm… do something,” I added awkwardly. “Pulse, glow, twitch—whatever it is you do. Just… twice if it was your power. Once if it was mine.”

  A beat passed.

  Then—soft and brief—pulse.

  Once.

  A second later—pulse.

  Twice.

  I blinked. “Twice,” I repeated under my breath. “So… it was you.”

  The blade remained still now, quiet once more. But my heart wasn’t. I could feel it hammering against my ribs with a strange mix of fear and thrill. That power—the one I unleashed in front of Stein—it really wasn’t all me. Or at least, not entirely.

  “So you lent it to me,” I said slowly. “You chose to give me that power.”

  Another pause.

  Then a single, soft pulse.

  Once.

  I exhaled, leaning back slightly. “Right… not for free, huh?”

  Nyxrend didn’t respond this time. But it didn’t need to.

  Whatever this sword was… it was watching. Waiting. And maybe—just maybe—it had its own conditions.

  A cursed blade with a will.

  And now, a silent promise between us.

  ...

  The three weeks passed like a breeze.

  Between the training, studying, and pushing myself beyond limits I didn’t even know I had, the days blurred together. And now—X-Day was here.

  We traveled from Aurewyn to the Vraxis Empire, crossing vast mountain paths, lush landscapes, and long stretches of road patrolled by imperial knights. The event was being held in the capital city, SolHaven. A place said to be blessed by the sun itself, where the towers gleamed like polished gold and magic shimmered faintly in the air.

  The streets were alive with celebration. Banners danced in the wind, people from all corners of the continent gathered in the stands, and the energy in the air was almost overwhelming.

  And then there was us—the chosen representatives from Aurewyn Grand Academy. We were introduced in front of everyone, standing in the massive, open-air coliseum at the heart of SolHaven. That’s when I learned something I hadn’t heard before:

  The student council from Aurewyn had a title—The Imperial Flame.

  Not just a council, but a recognized group of elites, respected even by empires.

  They stood tall in their custom robes, each one carrying themselves with an aura of dominance and pride. At the center of them was Reinhardt, spear slung on his back, arms crossed, his crimson hair gleaming under the sun.

  And that’s when I saw someone else—someone I didn’t expect.

  K.

  The mysterious adventurer I’d seen half-dead when I fought the Archdemon.

  He was here—alive. Standing tall, dressed in well actually he only had pants on. His long dark hair tied back, but I’d never forget those eyes—sharp and hollow, as if he’d seen too much of the world and survived anyway.

  Before I could even process it, a voice pulled me back to reality.

  “Hey. You gonna keep mumbling to yourself?”

  I turned my head.

  Reinhardt stood behind me, arms folded, brow raised in that usual 'I’m-too-cool-to-care-but-I-care' way of his.

  “If you’re just gonna hide in the waiting room, you could’ve stayed in Aurewyn,” he continued, not even trying to sugarcoat it.

  I scratched the back of my head, gripping Nyxrend’s hilt with my other hand. “Right. Sorry, hahaha. I was just… spaced out.”

  He didn’t reply.

  But he didn’t need to.

  That look on his face? It said everything. Goddamn right I am. Now get your ass out there and win.

  I exhaled and nodded to myself.

  This is it. This is what I’ve been waiting for.

  And with Nyxrend at my side, I stepped forward—toward the arena, toward the unknown, and toward the battles that would decide if I truly belonged here.

  Let X-Day begin.

  I stepped out from the shadowed tunnel leading into the arena, feeling the heat of the midday sun hit me like a wall. The marble floor beneath my feet gleamed, and I could feel the collective gaze of the audience settle on me.

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  A booming voice rang out from the center platform, magical amplifiers projecting every word across the stadium.

  “AND FOR OUR THIRD MATCH OF THE DAY… REPRESENTING THE IMPERIAL FLAME—ELI THE DEMON HUNTER!”

  I paused mid-step, exhaling through my nose.

  Oh great. Another nickname.

  I could practically hear Professor Stein cackling in the distance. It was probably his doing. Either that or Reinhardt got bored and decided to brand me without permission.

  I adjusted my grip on Nyxrend and continued walking toward the center of the arena, ignoring the sudden rise in volume from the crowd. Whispers followed me like shadows.

  “That’s him…”

  “The one who beat a mercenary unit alone?”

  “Demon Hunter, huh? Sounds serious.”

  They weren’t wrong—but that title wasn’t something I earned willingly.

  It was something stained in blood, shadow, and decisions I still hadn’t come to terms with.

  I looked across the field to see my opponent waiting. My expression sharpened.

  My boots thudded softly against the stone as I stepped into the arena’s heart. The sun bore down, casting long shadows across the combat floor. Dust swirled in lazy spirals around me—calm now, but soon to be whipped into chaos.

  Across from me stood my opponent. He looked… confident. Maybe too confident. A tall guy with sleek black armor and a bastard sword slung over his shoulder like it was nothing more than a training stick. His expression was bored, like I was just another name to scratch off his list.

  He gave a mock salute, smirking. “Demon Hunter, huh? Gotta say, you don’t look like much.”

  I didn’t respond. Just tilted my head and raised Nyxrend slightly.

  He took a step forward, grinning wider. “No witty comeback? C’mon, man. Make this fun for me.”

  Still silent.

  The crowd had grown quieter now, tension replacing excitement. They were watching, waiting—for movement, for blood, for magic. For something.

  A low hum echoed as a magical seal appeared in the air above us. The announcer’s voice returned, formal now:

  “By the authority of the Vraxis Empire and under the rules of the SolHaven Accord, this duel will commence on the count of three. Victory is determined by surrender, incapacitation, or removal from the ring. Fatal strikes are strictly forbidden unless sanctioned by mutual agreement.”

  My opponent snorted, cracking his neck. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave you breathing.”

  I finally spoke, voice quiet but razor sharp.

  “You sure about that?”

  He blinked.

  The countdown began.

  “Three…”

  My legs loosened, sliding into my stance—left foot back, sword angled down, center of gravity low.

  “Two…”

  Wind tickled my face, and I drew in a slow breath. I felt it—Nyxrend, pulsing faintly with hunger. But not wild. Controlled. Ready.

  “One…”

  I didn’t wait.

  As soon as the word dropped from the air, I moved.

  He raised his blade to defend, but I was already in his space. A feint to the left—he bought it. My real swing came from the right, slamming into his sword with enough force to shake his stance. The sound of clashing steel rang out like a bell.

  His eyes widened.

  Too slow.

  I pressed the attack, footwork tight, blade a blur. Horizontal slash—parried. Thrust—deflected. Upward arc—barely dodged. I could see it in his eyes now, panic. He wasn’t expecting someone like me.

  And that was his mistake.

  “Skill Eater…” I muttered under my breath, just loud enough for Nyxrend to hear. Let’s take what we need.

  The fight had only just begun.

  "AND THE WINNER—ELI, THE DEMON HUNTER!"

  The roar of the crowd echoed in my ears like a wave crashing down, but all I could do was blink.

  Wait… what?

  I hadn't even used Nyxrend properly. Just a few clean moves, a touch of pressure, and a bit of footwork. The guy collapsed like his bones forgot how to hold themselves together. I looked down at him—he was groaning, eyes rolled halfway back, sword several feet away.

  I hadn’t even left a proper mark on him. No real damage. Just knocked the fight right out of him.

  I scratched the back of my head, walking back toward the edge of the ring. “Huh,” I muttered, “I guess I’m way stronger than I thought.”

  Nyxrend buzzed faintly at my side like it was laughing with me—or maybe at me.

  That was barely anything…

  I stepped off the platform, the cheers still going, but they were just background noise now. Reinhardt met me just beyond the steps, arms crossed.

  “Took you long enough,” he said, though he was smirking.

  I shrugged. “Guess I’m not used to winning without trying.”

  He let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Don’t let it get to your head, Demon Hunter. There are stronger ones ahead.”

  “I’m counting on it,” I said, eyes scanning the remaining match board. I didn’t come here to breeze through this. I came to push myself. And maybe... scare a few people along the way.

  Wrong...

  A faint voice echoed in my mind.

  Wrong... Louder this time—clearer, angrier.

  My left eye started to twitch. A sharp, piercing pain shot through my temple. It hurts... it hurts...

  I stumbled slightly, clutching the side of my face as the sensation intensified. My hand shot up to cover my left eye, as if that could stop the burning sensation crawling beneath the surface.

  "Reinhardt," I muttered through gritted teeth, "where's the nearest bathroom?"

  He looked confused, concerned even. "Down the hall to the left—"

  But I didn’t wait for him to finish. I shoved past him, my feet moving on instinct. I ran, heart pounding, eyes watering—not from fear, but from the pain that felt like something was waking up inside me.

  I stared at my reflection in the mirror, breathing heavily. My left eye—it was changing. The spell Father Gabriel had cast to seal it was fading, cracks of unstable energy surfacing beneath my skin like a web of fire. The golden sheen of my normal eye couldn’t hide the deep crimson glow breaking through.

  My Demon Eye was returning.

  Eli...

  The voice was clearer now—familiar, ancient, and powerful.

  I gripped the sink, knuckles white. My breathing slowed, but my heartbeat didn’t. The edges of the bathroom began to blur, as if the world itself was being peeled away.

  “Eli...”

  The voice wasn’t just in my head anymore. It echoed in the room around me. The mirror fogged, the lights dimmed, and my surroundings dissolved into darkness.

  Then, just like that—I was no longer in the bathroom.

  I stood in a place I hadn’t seen in weeks, yet couldn’t forget, Zareth’s throne room. The twisted black spires and crimson-lit abyss behind him were unmistakable.

  And there he was. Zareth Malgrim—the 14th Demon Lord—stood before me, arms folded, his abyssal cloak flowing as if caught in an invisible wind.

  “Eli,” he said, his voice low and calm. “It’s time. I suppose you’re finally strong enough.”

  I blinked, still disoriented. “What... what’s happening?”

  Zareth tilted his head, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “Did you forget why you were summoned here in the first place?”

  Then it hit me—like a punch to the gut. Right. I’m not just some lost student fighting tournaments for fun.

  “I’m... I’m the warrior meant to ensure the victory of demons,” I said slowly.

  Zareth smiled wider, pleased. “That’s right.”

  He circled me, eyes scanning me like a predator assessing its weapon. “You’ve grown. Stronger, smarter. You’ve embraced your power—even if you don’t fully understand it yet.”

  He stopped in front of me, his expression turning grim. “In a few hours, the Great Divide will fall.”

  My eyes widened. “What?”

  Zareth’s voice was cold and unwavering. “And when it does, the Demon Realm will march. You will lead them.”

  He stepped closer, his hand clamping down on my shoulder. His burning eyes bored into mine.

  “That’s right, Eli. You’re going to be the commander—and the first place you will take... is Aurewyn. The academy. The closest territory to the border.”

  “No...” I shook my head, backing away a step. “I—I don’t want to.”

  Zareth’s grip tightened. “This isn’t a request.”

  I bit down hard on my lip, trying to hold back the storm swirling in my chest. My thoughts were a mess, clashing like swords in a battlefield. The academy—my friends—Owen, Seri, even Reinhardt… faces flashed through my mind like flickers of a dying flame.

  "What are you going to do if I don’t follow your order?" I asked, my voice low, barely more than a whisper.

  Zareth didn’t hesitate.

  “That’s easy,” he said coldly. “I will torture you until your mind breaks.”

  The words hit me harder than any blade. My knees wavered, and the world tilted around me. I felt like I was drowning in my own thoughts.

  Why?

  Why do I feel like this?

  When I was first summoned, I didn’t care. I was numb. Detached. I didn’t even ask why I was brought here—I just went along with it. No resistance. No questions.

  Because back then… I hadn’t been forced to make a real decision.

  But now?

  Now I had people. Bonds. Memories I didn’t expect to form. People who smiled at me, laughed with me, fought beside me.

  So what was the right decision?

  The right decision...

  Why am I even asking that?

  Shouldn’t it be obvious?

  Shouldn’t I pick my own kind—my fellow humans?

  Of course I should… right?

  Then why...

  “Why...” I muttered.

  The word slipped out again.

  “Why...”

  Then again.

  “Why...”

  And again.

  “Why...”

  It echoed inside my skull like a broken record. My breathing grew uneven, heart thudding against my ribs. I was spiraling.

  Was I truly asking myself which side to choose?

  Demons or humans.

  Zareth or Aurewyn.

  The one who gave me this second life, or the ones who gave me a reason to live it?

  It wasn’t just a war between two realms anymore.

  It was becoming a war inside me.

  A war between duty and desire. Between who I was… and who I was being forced to become.

  But how do I stop that war… to stop a war… to stop.

  I gripped Nyxrend tightly, the blade trembling in my hand as if it could feel my hesitation—my turmoil. My breath came in shaky bursts.

  And then—

  Thud.

  The sound echoed in the void.

  Zareth stood above me, smiling. A cold, mocking smile that stripped away any illusion of mercy.

  “Killing yourself just to avoid fighting humans?” he scoffed. “How bold… but did you forget?”

  He raised his hand, and a dark magic circle flared to life, casting a sickly glow on the void around us.

  “Huh…?” I muttered, disoriented. My eyes darted around. I was supposed to be dead—I knew I beheaded myself. I felt it. The sharp edge. The pain. The nothingness.

  So why was I awake?

  Zareth stepped closer and spoke, his tone calm, almost amused. “Did you forget how I trained you back then? I brought you back to life. Over and over again. Pain means nothing to me.”

  He reached out, grabbing my neck with terrifying ease. His fingers tightened like iron shackles. I clawed at his arm, gasping.

  “I… c-can’t…” I choked, trying to force words out.

  But Zareth only narrowed his eyes, his grip unrelenting. “Your soul is very pure. You’re… like them.”

  And then, the world around us unraveled. The room—the walls—everything faded into shadow. What replaced it chilled me to the core.

  Thousands of servants. Men, women, and children, all working tirelessly in the darkness. Machines clanked, chains dragged, the air was filled with a dull hum of ceaseless labor. I had never seen them before.

  Where were they when I was summoned?

  The darkness spread like a storm, swallowing my surroundings. I could feel myself slipping into unconsciousness. But even in that state, I was still aware. It was like I was inside a VR headset—but I wasn’t the one in control.

  Zareth turned from me, walking into the growing void.

  “You think there’s anyone in this world—anything—that I can’t pass my work onto?” he said, voice calm, composed… inevitable.

  As he walked into the blackness, something began to take shape on his back. Symbols, letters—no, not just letters, a word. A word etched into his very flesh, glowing faintly.

  I didn’t know how, but I could read it. I understood it.

  S

  L

  O

  T

  H