How should this be melted? Wouldn’t it be too fragile for impact?
As Banteon wandered around searching for something sharp, Tearot approached.
“I’ll do it.”
He wanted to refuse the offer, but Banteon lacked the strength to do so. If it was ice that neither heat nor light could melt, then it must respond only to an Esper’s power. Just as expected, when Tearot infused the ice with his energy, it slowly began to melt. Tearot’s expression as he stood before the ice was grim.
Compared to Rohan’s power that had once poured down like a waterfall, Tearot’s power only formed into dew-like beads. The difference in power was obvious—the ice melted painfully slow. Tearot’s face twisted in frustration. Even so, he silently melted the ice, sweat trickling down his forehead, without a single complaint despite the strain.
A crack formed in the slowly melting ice. What began as a hair-thin fissure soon spread like a spider web in all directions. Tuduk. When a fragment of ice fell to the floor and Banteon stepped on it, a piercing chill shot up from the sole of his foot.
He clicked his tongue at the cold seeping through the thick soles of his boots. Ice that had endured for hundreds of years—there was no way it would break easily.
After a long while, a part of the boy’s body finally emerged from the ice.
Between the scattered shards, Banteon grasped the pale fingers that revealed themselves. They were stiff, like dried twigs.
“Tch.“
Idiotic. This place was full of fools. Why were Espers always so pathetic, so pitiful?
Banteon slammed his fist against a fractured piece of ice, shattering it with all his might. Tearot raised a hand to stop him, alarmed by the violent action.
“He’s already injured—breaking the ice like that might be dangerous.”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s already dead.”
The moment his hand grasped those cold fingers, he could tell. This wasn’t the texture of something frozen—it was the hardness of a body already gripped by rigor mortis. The blood pooled red along the back, proof that this was a corpse.
To wander for centuries carrying around a dead Guide… there had to be a limit to such pitifulness. It was a kind of foolishness so frustrating it made him want to scream. Tearot, briefly lost in thought after hearing Banteon’s words, also looked down at the young boy with a dark expression.
“Is this what you came down here to check?”
“Take him out.”
No answer—just a command. Tearot gave a bitter smile at Banteon’s reaction, then gripped the boy’s arm encased in ice.
The frozen body was not easy to extract. With his energy nearly depleted, Tearot barely managed to pull the boy’s body out and lay him on the ground.
Seeing him up close made it all the more clear. A young boy, still childlike. His entire body had been savagely slashed, blood still visible where it had frozen over—a pitiful child, trapped in ice before anyone could tend to his wounds.
Perhaps he hadn’t even had the chance to be buried properly. Banteon reached out, intending to straighten the boy’s disheveled clothing.
Just as his hand was about to touch the boy’s body, the sound of a distant explosion grew louder and then erupted right beside them.
Part of the building collapsed, unleashing a massive sandstorm. The shock created a crack in the wall just to the left of where Banteon stood.
“……!”
He swiftly stepped back to avoid a falling marble slab that barely missed him.
Dry wind followed as Rohan walked through the wall’s opening, his footsteps heavy.
It was the first time seeing him since the seal had broken, and Banteon swallowed hard.
His face was pale, but at the center burned crimson eyes that gleamed like blood. Disheveled golden hair whipped about his head, more beast than human.
Swollen, twitching muscles flexed with the lingering shock. Wherever he moved, his shadow moved with him.
The red energy rippling from his body marked the full return of his perfect form—indistinguishable from any other Esper’s.
“Step away from him!”
Rohan’s roar tore through the air, his teeth bared. Bulging veins rose grotesquely from his fists up to his neck.
It was the howl of a wounded beast. That beast’s eyes were fixed on the boy’s exposed body, visible now outside the shattered ice.
His rage was so intense, Banteon had to swallow again. The intensity—he looked ready to rip Banteon apart.
This had always been the plan from the start.
When they first decided to break the ice, it wasn’t just to confirm whether the boy was alive or dead. Banteon hadn’t dragged himself down here through sheer exhaustion out of idle curiosity.
The entire setup had been to lure Rohan here.
Banteon braced himself against the crushing pressure of Rohan’s energy, then took a step closer to the corpse.
If Delroz won, he would be rescued. If Delroz lost, Tearot could help him escape from Rohan, whose energy was now nearly spent.
But even knowing that, he couldn’t just stand by. To simply wait for someone else to save him—how pathetically laughable.
Banteon picked up a piece of broken stone from the floor. Gripping it in both hands, he used what strength he had left to raise it over his head.
The sharp edge pointed downward—aimed directly at the boy’s body, hardened like ice.
Perhaps the boy had lived a wretched life.
Maybe he had never once been able to grasp anything he truly desired.
A child who had died before even reaching adulthood.
Banteon felt a flicker of guilt. But even in that moment, the speed at which he brought the stone down toward the boy’s heart did not slow.
“NO!”
Rohan’s scream echoed as a blinding surge of red energy exploded from his body and hurtled toward Banteon.
His body, hyper-aware of Esper energy, staggered from the force. How much longer could it endure?
Just a little more. Please, let this body hold out just a little longer.
Just until Rohan is fully drawn in.
Banteon pleaded desperately— And then, something black appeared in his vision.
Rohan’s crimson energy stopped. It scattered into smoke, vanishing without a trace.
Tuduk.
A thick arm that had pierced through Rohan’s body was yanked back out.
With a gruesome sound of blood and flesh tearing, golden hair drenched in blood collapsed to the floor.
Standing over it, breathing heavily, was Delroz.
Like a painting burned into memory.
Blood-soaked. His entire body covered in wounds. Standing there, looking as if he might be consumed at any moment by the crimson aura enveloping him.
The moment their eyes met, time froze.
“……Ro… han…….”
Rohan’s lips called out his name as he collapsed, heart pierced. Why? Why was he calling out his name so desperately at this moment?
Rohan’s fingers twitched faintly, reaching toward the boy. As if trying, until the very end, to reach him. That desperate effort ended completely beneath Delroz’s foot as he stepped on Rohan’s throat, extinguishing the last of his life.
“……”
It was over.
As everything came to an end, Banteon sank to the floor. Only the sound of ragged breathing escaped through his tightly clenched mouth.
Delroz, who had been watching, quietly stepped back, putting distance between himself and Banteon. His head was bowed low, bangs hiding his face.
What kind of expression was he making now?
Banteon took a slow look at him.
If not for the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he took deep breaths, his wounded body could have been mistaken for a shattered statue.
The evidence of brutal battle made Banteon’s instincts reach out—and in that instant, a wave of dizziness hit him, as if a thread had snapped in his mind.
Was it because the tension had finally broken? As he tried to force himself upright, it struck him like a blow to the back of the head.
Earlier, when Rohan had reclaimed his body, his surroundings had been bathed in crimson energy. But now—everything looked clear.
Delroz’s condition clearly wasn’t normal, and yet— The red aura Banteon had seen surrounding him for as long as he’d known him was slowly fading away.
It had once been a deep, suffocating black-red, but now it was settling, as if pressed down by force.
It made no sense. He had just endured a battle where his life had hung in the balance. There was no way he’d be stable without a proper Guiding.
The energy surrounding Delroz began forming a faint outline, slowly collapsing inward—
As though something were forcibly holding it down.
“Delroz.”
No reaction. It was as if he hadn’t even heard Banteon’s voice.
Of course. The most stubborn, pathetic Esper of all was right here. Always chasing after a Guide who kept pushing him away— Risking his life to fight, and then silently bearing the pain alone.
Around Delroz, a ripple of uncontrolled energy briefly shimmered like heat haze— And then vanished again.
The energy wasn’t calming. Delroz was suppressing it by force.
Instead of radiating outward, the crimson aura coiled like a serpent, climbing up its master’s body.
His figure darkened further, little by little. His condition was worsening.
Banteon exhaled and stood up. There was one last thing he had to do.
At that movement, Delroz’s tightly shut mouth finally opened.
“Don’t come any closer.”
The sharp refusal stopped him in his tracks.
“If you come near me now, it’ll be dangerous.”
“……”
He had seen it before—many times. The signs of a rampage. Even if the energy wasn’t visibly flaring, the disturbed air currents were pulling toward Delroz.
That immense shift in force— The trembling of the atmosphere— It was the calm before the storm.
Delroz’s power was quietly going berserk, burrowing deep into his own core. After being forcibly Guided by Rohan, his hypersensitive body was now overloaded.
“Take that damned bastard and get out of here.”
“What about you?”
“…That’s none of your concern.”
The cold words were spoken with a voice so quietly forlorn, they scraped across Banteon’s chest.
If Banteon left, Delroz would remain here alone and lose control. He would endure the agony that tore through his entire body— Until, finally, his rampaging power consumed him.
He knew all this, and yet—he was trying to send away his only lifeline.
With his head lowered, Delroz let out a tired, hollow laugh.
“Why are you making that face?”
“……”
“If I die, wouldn’t you be the most relieved person of all?”
His head stayed bowed in pain, so Banteon couldn’t see his expression. But under those broad shoulders, clenched fists were trembling.
Blood dripped from beneath his tightly gripped hands, squeezed in a futile attempt to withstand the pain.
So damned foolish.
