A wet, disgusting squelch echoed through the void as the walls of flesh pulsed like a giant, beating heart. The air was thick and humid and smelled like something had died a hundred times over.

And in that pulsing nightmare, a scream echoed—Luther's—as he fell straight through a slick tunnel of muscle and into the stomach.

He landed face-first in something that squished. It was warm. It was slimy. And it made a sound that no living person should ever hear. Luther blinked, pushing himself up with a grimace. "Fantastic," he muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I always wanted to take a vacation in someone's digestive system."

"Next time," groaned the voice of the demonic sword, "warn me before you decide to dive into a sea monster like a lunatic!"

Luther balanced himself, boots slipping against the slick surface as the walls rippled. "Warn you? I didn't exactly plan on being swallowed, you rusty drama queen!"

"I'm not rusty, I'm ancient and powerful—!"

"—and currently drowning in stomach acid," Luther cut in, stabbing the blade into the wall to steady himself.

The sword pierced deep into the fleshy surface with a wet shlunk. The Kraken gave a muffled roar that vibrated through Luther's bones. The ground—or whatever this stomach floor counted as—trembled.

"Oh, would you look at that," Luther said dryly. "It doesn't like being stabbed. Shocking."

He twisted the sword sharply, dragging it outward. The wall split with a spray of viscous fluid that splattered across his cheek. The creature screamed again, the entire chamber shaking violently.

The sword howled in laughter. "You really pissed it off now!"

"Good," Luther smirked. "I need something to vent on anyway."

He steadied his grip on the slick handle and glared upward. "All day long—angels, curses, annoying swords, exploding ships… and now a Kraken's gut. Perfect day for therapy, don't you think?"

The sword hummed. "Are you seriously venting while we're literally inside a monster?"

"I was already pissed off," Luther said, leaping and slicing another section of the wall, "and I needed something to take it out on. You'll do if this thing dies too soon."

"Excuse me—!"

Before the sword could finish, Luther stabbed deep again. This time, his swing tore through layers of tissue and muscle, releasing a blast of foul, warm air. The walls convulsed. Greenish bile splattered everywhere. The stench hit him like a physical slap.

Ugh. Rotten fish mixed with sulfur. I'm going to burn these clothes the moment I'm out of here.

His inner thoughts were sharp and fast as he ducked under a rippling wave of flesh. Come on, Luther, think. You've been in worse situations. Actually, no, you haven't. This might top the list.

He crouched, squinting at the faint glow from the sword. The walls pulsated with bioluminescent veins—the Kraken's heartbeat rhythm pulsing through the entire chamber. Luther's eyes narrowed.

"That light pattern," he muttered. "The glow weakens every few seconds… those are its contractions."

The sword's voice cut in. "What are you babbling about now, saint of slime?"

"It means," Luther grinned, "its internal tissues are softer during the pulse. That's our window."

He rammed the blade forward during the next beat—the sword's edge slid through surprisingly easily. The Kraken's roar nearly deafened him. The entire chamber quaked, flesh folding inward like collapsing waves.

"You're tearing its insides apart!" The sword shouted in disbelief. "That's disgusting!"

"You're welcome," Luther grunted. "Now shut up and cut faster!"

They moved in rhythm—Luther slicing, twisting, leaping across pulsating ridges while the sword glowed brighter, cackling like a mad spirit. Chunks of flesh fell around him, the ground becoming a chaotic mess of slime and shredded tissue.

But then—the air changed.

A sickly-sweet scent filled his nose. Luther froze mid-step. "...What the hell is that smell?"

The sword's tone shifted. "Gas. Paralytic. The Kraken releases it when it traps prey."

"Couldn't you have said that earlier?" Luther hissed, leaping backward just as a yellow-green mist hissed from the walls. The air shimmered with toxic heat. Where the mist touched flesh, it sizzled.

He spun midair, coughing but still grinning. "Oh, lovely. So it farts poison too. Fantastic species design."

"You're insane," the sword said. "You can't keep slashing blindly!"

"Watch me."

He landed, kicked off a slick mound, and sprinted toward the upper cavity. Using the sword as leverage, he jabbed into the wall again—this time, piercing through to what felt like thinner layers of muscle. Light began to leak in faint streaks.

"That's it," Luther growled, teeth bared. "Show me daylight, you overgrown sushi platter!"

He drove the sword upward, slicing through another section. The Kraken shrieked. The walls folded, convulsing so violently that Luther lost balance—sliding backward down a fleshy slope.

The sword screamed. "Hold on, you idiot!"

"Working on it!" Luther jammed the blade into the ground to stop himself. The impact sent another ripple through the Kraken's body. Above him, the veins began to rupture one by one, spilling glowing ichor.

Luther's internal thoughts whirred. Okay. Its internal pressure is rising. If I cut upward again, it might rupture its stomach lining entirely.

He smirked. "Hey sword, how do you feel about being used as a can opener?"

The sword hissed, "Do it, and I'll haunt your descendants!"

"Good answer."

He pushed off and sliced again and again—each stroke timed between the Kraken's agonized pulses. A shimmer glowed.

Huh?

Luther turned left as his eyes widened.

On the Ship. Above deck, the ship rocked dangerously as massive tentacles flailed across the water. The Kraken's screech was deafening; its glowing eyes rolled back in agony.

"Luther's still in there!" Alina shouted, gripping the railing as the waves rose high. Her long hair whipped across her face in the salty wind as she stared at the thrashing beast.

Liliana stood beside her, hand glowing faintly with mana, but her expression was grim. "If anyone can survive in there, it's him."

Arthur crossed his arms, his voice calm despite the chaos. "He's not your average saint."

Alina looked at him sharply. "You're not explaining anything."

"That's the fun part," Aithur replied with a smirk.

The Kraken howled again, body twisting as its tentacles released the ship one by one. Its roar turned to a strangled shriek before it fell still. The once terrifying creature went limp, collapsing into the ocean with a thunderous splash that sent waves crashing against the hull.

Inside the Kraken, Luther was slumped on a mound of pulsing flesh, panting lightly. "Well, that was fun," he muttered. "Next time I'll bring snacks."

The sword groaned. "You're disgusting."

"Better disgusting than melted," Luther replied, standing up and sheathing the sword. "Now, where's the—ah, there."

He jammed the sword upward, slicing a glowing path through layers of muscle and tissue until daylight pierced through the hole. "Ladies first," he said mockingly, and launched himself upward.

The sword grumbled. "If I had eyes, I'd roll them."

"Lucky for me," Luther said, "I can still imagine it."

With a powerful slash, the belly tore open, and a cascade of dark slime spilled out—followed by Luther, covered head to toe in glistening muck.

"...What in the world?" Liliana murmured as she saw the sword burst through the Kraken's stomach.

A moment later, a hand appeared—then a head. Luther emerged from the gash like a demon reborn, dragging the sword behind him.

"Never," the sword growled, "—and I mean never again—are we doing that."

Luther spat seawater and mucus, wiped his mouth, then blinked. A faint odor hit him.

He sniffed once. Then again.

He froze. "...What is that smell?"

The sword snickered. "Take a wild guess."

Luther slowly looked down. His once-white shirt was brownish green, dripping slime, and reeking of death and fish. He sniffed it and gagged violently. "Oh gods—! I smell like the Kraken's colon!"

He started flailing his hands uselessly. "Do I look like I marinated myself in rotten soup?!"

The sword laughed so hard it started glowing. "Serves you right for calling me rusty!"

Luther glared, picked the sword up by its hilt, and with a single motion, threw it into the ocean. The splash echoed loud and satisfying. "Cool off!" he yelled. "Literally!"

Arthur let out a whistle. "That's one way to shut a sword up."

Alina gasped. "You just threw your weapon!"

"He'll float back," Luther said casually, waving a hand. "He's too loud to die."

True to his words, the sword floated up moments later, sputtering in fury, soaked and steaming. "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?!"

Luther shrugged. "I got bored of your voice."

"You—! You infuriating, sanctimonious brat!"

"Love you too," Luther smirked, stepping onto the deck with a splash of seawater.

Alina rushed toward him with relief all over her face. "You're alive!"

"Yeah," Luther said, stepping back quickly and holding up a hand. "Stay right there, princess."

"Why?"

"I stink. Badly. You come closer, you'll regret it for life."

Liliana, watching from the side, lifted a brow. "He's not exaggerating."

Arthur covered his nose with his sleeve. "I think the Kraken's ghost is haunting his laundry."

Luther groaned. "Laugh it up, you clowns."

Alina's expression softened despite the smell. "At least you're safe."

"Safe and smelly," Luther corrected, dragging himself toward the cabin. "Don't follow unless you want to be traumatized."

As he disappeared below deck, the sword floated after him, muttering, "You're cleaning me first."

"Add that to the list," Luther replied. "Right after I bleach my soul."

The Shadow's Meeting

Later that night, far from the sea, a dark chamber flickered with candlelight.

A heavy fist slammed onto an oak table, making the papers scatter. The man in the shadows growled, his voice dripping with barely contained rage. "They killed the Kraken," he hissed. "Do you have any idea what that means?!"

Another voice, calm and cold, answered from the corner. "It means they're still on schedule."

"Schedule?!" the first man barked. "That thing was supposed to delay them! I needed time!"

The second voice remained unmoved. "And yet, you waste that time shouting instead of preparing. Let them come. They'll never reach the truth in time."

The first man's breathing steadied. Then his lips curled into a cruel smile. "You're right. Let them come. We'll be waiting."

The candlelight flickered across the wall, revealing a map, its center marked with a small red circle.

Olona Village.

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