Hwang Seungho's core rose with massive force, arms spread.

  This wasn't a regular Resonant.

  A mourner class, same as the warden... all Jaemin could do was smirk; there were pressing matters halting his celebrations.

  "Welcome to the afterparty."

  WOOSH!

  His eyes were gone. In their place: pits of abyssal light.

  And in his hands?

  A scythe-long battle axe, thick and brutal, its edge glowing with Bastion fury.

  Jaemin's voice came low, almost like a command layered with quiet satisfaction:

  "Edit name: Meok."

  (Author's note: In Korean, "Meok" means "ink," but I'll be using "Ink" since the novel's original language is English. However, since Jaemin is Korean, he'll be calling him "Meok"… I hope it makes sense.)

  Cantor Seraphor, for the first time, flinched.

  His dead eyes glowed red, overtaken with a new, burning fury. The quiet priest's body tensed. His muscles twisted like cords.

  "INSOLENT CREATURE…"

  His voice was ragged, low, and vibrating with restrained malice. And yet still...calm. Controlled.

  FWOOOSH!

  Seraphor leapt, crystal longsword raised, dagger slicing downward in his off-hand. But Ink didn't back down.

  CLANG!!!

  The axe met the longsword with a metallic scream, neither budging. Sparks scattered. The shockwave made the Crytharis around them stagger.

  The dagger?

  CLANK!

  Blocked—dead centre—by Ink's conjured energy shield, flaring on impact like a forge bellows.

  From behind the clash, a flash of violet lightning screamed through the mist—

  The Warden leapt in.

  Spinning midair, his thunder-forged spear slicing down like judgment, aimed straight for Seraphor's exposed flank.

  The High Priest turned his head—just barely.

  Seraphor tensed, spine arching backward unnaturally as a blizzard burst from the bone-hymn tubes on his back—

  FWOOOOOOOSH!!!

  The wind was razor sharp, like frost-blades slashing through the air. The Warden was blasted back, boots scraping across the ice, while Ink was kicked like a cannonball, his armoured form crashing through a jagged obelisk with a guttural grunt.

  But Seraphor had just made a mistake.

  [Active Skill: Binary Orbital Overload.]

  Jaemin hurled his daggers forward—

  FWWIP-FWWIP-FWWIP!

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  They didn't stab. They orbited.

  A twin-star cyclone formed, daggers spinning around Seraphor at insane velocity, sucking in wind, snow, and sound itself. He barely managed to flash-step out, leaving only his crystal longsword trapped in the spiral.

  BOOOOOOOM!!!

  The overload exploded like a miniature supernova, cracking the ice beneath their feet and blinding everyone for a second with cyan-violet light.

  The daggers rematerialized in Jaemin's grip. But—

  The sword was still there.

  Cracked.

  But not shattered.

  "...What the hell is that sword made of?"

  Jaemin blinked. That shouldn't be possible.

  Before he could breathe, Seraphor rushed him, face contorted in pure hatred—

  "HYPOCRITE!!"

  His voice broke the silence like thunder. But then—he stopped mid-sprint, muscles locking, twitching.

  The Arcanists had raised their arms, chanting arcane sigils, shimmering circles blooming in the air—

  A slow spell. A restraining lock.

  Seraphor growled. His power was too strong, already breaking free.

  Until—

  THUNK.

  Ink appeared behind him, massive arms sending a hard punch to have him fly across the field.

  Warden burst forward, lightning charging through his spear—

  SLASH!!

  The spear cut clean through both of Seraphor's legs, bringing the high priest crashing down.

  "KKKKAAAAARRRRRRRRHHHHH!!!"

  Seraphor screamed, not in pain, but in wrath.

  The roar came out like a death hymn, a soundwave that vaporised every single Resonant in the field into a puff of black mist.

  "KYUCK—!"

  Jaemin coughed, the pressure insane—

  But by then, it was too late.

  SHUNK!

  A dagger was already lodged deep into Seraphor's throat, violet energy sizzling through his flesh.

  Jaemin threw that dagger right before he started screaming

  "Shush."

  Jaemin whispered, face close.

  "You're too loud."

  Seraphor's body slumped. Dead.

  The priest of hymns, silenced.

  His corpse collapsed forward like a felled statue—

  Frost-silk robes stained in black ichor.

  RMMMMMBLL!!!

  The rift rumbled as if resisting its closure, the colours around its swirling veil shifting violently — from deep crimson, to dull wine-red… and then finally to pitch black once again.

  FWUUUMMM!

  A gust of icy wind blew through the rift zone, kicking snow across the waiting teams.

  Then—

  "THEY MADE IT!!!"

  Hajun shouted, eyes wide as he pointed.

  "IT'S THEM! THEY'RE ALIVE!"

  Out of the rift stepped seven survivors.

  —Four recruits, trembling but intact.—And three from Hwang Seungho's original strike team, limping and bloodstained.

  Gasps broke out across the scene.

  "Hwang Seungho bought them out alive!!"

  "Wait—where is he?! Where's the rest?!"

  The rift was already gone.

  "EHH?! WHERE ARE THE OTHERS?!"

  Confusion broke into concern, voices rising—That's when Kang Daesang stepped forward with an expression of steel.

  "HALT!"

  Jaemin was just walking past, head low, coat fluttering from the cold wind.

  "Where are the rest of the people?"

  Kang Daesang's voice wasn't soft. It was the kind of tone officers used when expecting excuses.

  Jaemin stopped. Didn't turn.

  "…Dead."

  His voice came out flat. Hollow. Like it was a fact, not a wound.

  "And you came out alive?"

  Kang Daesang's tone sharpened.

  Jaemin's head slowly tilted.

  "…I did."

  Then a pause. A twitch of his lip.

  "Why do you say that in such a tone…?"

  His voice dropped. Cold now.

  "Were you anticipating our death?"

  That hit.

  Kang Daesang blinked. His face shifted from authority to hesitation.

  "I'm sorry…"

  He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly aware of how many eyes were watching.

  "I just wanted to ask what happened to the others… Please, help us file the report."

  Jaemin didn't look at him.

  Didn't nod. Didn't move.

  He took one step forward. Then paused.

  Turned back slightly—Eyes low. Shoulders tense.

  "I'd think a proper commander would've been glad that people made it out alive of the rift."

  His voice had bite now.

  "But you're quite the opposite."

  Daesang didn't respond.

  "Ask your remaining team to help you with that report."

  Then Jaemin walked off.

  Kang Daesang stood frozen, but not from the cold. His expression was… off. Not anger. Just stunned silence.

  He watched Jaemin's silhouette disappear into the base crowd.

  "That wasn't just some survivor."

  That was someone who walked out of a Dysgenesis Rift with seven people, alone, while the others—strike team included—were gone.

  "Miss Kim Rae-ah…"

  Daesang's voice was low.

  "Do you have any idea who that person was?"

  Rae-ah, still catching her breath, looked at him with a half-tired, half-bewildered face.

  "Nope."

  Daesang raised an eyebrow.

  She added, brushing some frost from her hair.

  "We tried asking him what was wrong with the boss, he fought, and he just said…"

  She paused. Bit her lip like she still couldn't believe it.

  "...He was late for work."

  "Work?"

  Daesang echoed, almost blinking in disbelief.

  "Yeah."

  Rae-ah nodded.

  "He's a part-time magician."

  That one hit harder than it should've.

  "A part-time… magician."

  Daesang repeated, lips twitching. Scoff.

  "Hajun."

  Hajun snapped to attention.

  "Yes, commander?!"

  "Recruit the magician, please."

  A beat.

  "...His tricks might be very useful to us."