The Scar's voice did not carry the tone of something that had suffered pain, nor did it sound like it sought sympathy or pity.

Its voice was filled with passion and reverence—as if that world of Scars were a masterpiece of art.

Cyn merely listened.

The Scar continued,

"Do you think the energy a Scar provides you with is infinite? Do you have any idea how much time and agony Scars endure to extract even a small amount of energy? How much power is consumed simply to protect their domains from being breached by other Scar Domains?"

"That is why being chosen by a Living Scar is exceedingly rare—despite the fact that Living Scars outnumber humans themselves. To them, most humans are failed investments."

"Only when a Scar senses someone worthy—someone who attracts it, someone with shared interests and mutual objectives—does it choose a bearer."

"That is what Living Scars are."

"They grant you power—power great enough to dominate the world itself. But in return, you must give them something."

"They, too, offer their energy, exposing themselves to shrinkage… to disappearance."

"You cannot control Scar Energy. You cannot wield it or shape it at will."

"But on the other hand—you can control the Living Scar."

"You can influence its decisions. You can make it supply you with energy."

"That is the price of the Sympathetic Link between bearer and Scar."

"Alright. Let's stop here—especially regarding the topic of energy."

But how could he stop?

A sympathetic link.

The World of Scars.

Domains.

Too much was swirling in Cyn's mind. Yet amid that chaos, he reminded himself of his goal.

Control the Scar.

Control the energy.

He could not forget the training he had come here for.

There was far too much information for Cyn to digest at once. Knowledge alone—without the power to act upon it—was meaningless.

Cyn spoke,

"Fine. Let's forget all of this for now. Since you intend to devour me and feed on me in the future, we can avoid all that if you show me how to use the phases and control the energy. That way, I can prevent it—and provide you with a steady supply of Pain core doses."

The Scar praised him,

"A sound proposal. Mutual exploitation."

"I give you what you want, and you give me what I need. A satisfying equation for both sides."

"Let us begin."

Cyn waited for instructions—training methods, guidance, anything.

He did not doubt his own readiness. However, he knew he could not remain hidden in this laboratory forever. He needed to be present, visible. Even though the Church and the Temple had gone silent for a short while, the people within the palace were watching every minor detail.

Cyn had already accounted for this.

Someone would cover for him.

Xyrene would—regardless of what had happened between them.

The Scar of Pride spoke again,

"This will take time."

It was obviously referring to training.

It continued,

"Training control is usually simple. The bearer and the Scar are fundamentally aligned—otherwise, they would never have become one."

"But something seems to be obstructing our harmony, disturbing the flow."

"I will deal with that later."

"For now—follow my instructions."

Cyn listened in silence, clearing his mind.

The Scar instructed him,

"Effective training requires certain conditions. And what better condition than placing yourself between life and death?"

"Your focus will peak. All secondary distractions will vanish. And the success rate is usually high."

Cyn smiled faintly.

"And what do you propose?"

The Scar replied plainly,

"Obvious. Your current condition is excellent. Why not change it?"

Cyn frowned.

"And how exactly do I do that?"

The Scar mocked him,

"Huh? Just stab yourself a few times. Just don't overdo it—we don't want you losing consciousness or dying before you can heal yourself."

Cyn thought it was sarcasm.

The silence that followed proved otherwise.

It truly wanted him to do it—to stab himself until he was close to death.

What happened to all that talk earlier?

If I die, who's going to supply you with Pain Doses?

The Scar answered indifferently,

"Oh, right. And then I'll have to wait millions of years to find another provider?"

"You're not at a level where I would rely on you or depend on your doses."

"Besides—you were supplied with refined Pain core dose yourself."

"Perhaps I simply chose wrong."

"That woman would've been better than you. She's willing to do things far harsher than this."

Cyn felt as if he'd been slapped.

What was that even supposed to mean?

He didn't linger on it.

Cyn took a small blade into his hand.

Swift.

A movement so fast that even the strongest individuals wouldn't be able to follow it—only flashes of gleaming steel and blurred afterimages.

For a moment, it seemed as if nothing had happened.

Then his white robe shredded into fragments.

Shallow and deep wounds bloomed across Cyn's skin—but only after a delay.

The blade had been too sharp, too fast—it hadn't given the wounds time to form.

Moments later, blood began to pour.

And the flow proved the truth.

These wounds were anything but shallow.

The Scar seemed satisfied.

Despite knowing Cyn's nature well, he hadn't hesitated—slashing vital areas with precise, lethal movements.

Cyn asked while watching blood rapidly drain from his body,

"And now?"

The Scar replied apathetically,

"Why are you asking me? Handle it yourself. You're the one who put yourself in this state—not me."

"I have work to do. Take care of yourself."

Cyn thought bitterly, What a jerk.

Muted laughter echoed from the Scar.

Cyn knew it was doing this deliberately—forcing him to train on his own.

He was now in a critical state.

A race against time.

He had to act—before blood loss stole his consciousness.

And whatever he did next had to involve his Scar.

Cyn committed to the thought, despite its danger.

"Let's begin."

Silence engulfed the laboratory—as if it were completely empty.

Cyn's breathing slowed, becoming deliberate and efficient.

His condition was extremely dangerous.

His body pushed itself beyond its limits to survive.

Blood loss drained his strength—but a surge of adrenaline flooded his system as a last resort.

His chest began to expand.

The muscles bulged outward, as if something inside was forcing its way out.

His lungs.

They expanded rapidly as his body secreted massive amounts of adrenaline and noradrenaline.

Cyn knew this process well.

The fight-or-flight response.

His breathing accelerated. His body temperature rose.

He analyzed calmly,

"Physiological response. The sympathetic nervous system is activating. Adrenaline and noradrenaline secretion. Increased respiration—my lungs are supplying more oxygen to my muscles. Accelerated heart rate—more blood flow."

"This strength is temporary. All of it is."

"Power drawn from my body alone."

"But I need the Scar's power."

Phase One.

As if responding to his thoughts, the Scar began to bleed.

His tangled thoughts prevented complete focus, but his veins bulged, muscles tightening.

He leaned against the table, barely keeping himself upright.

Cyn hadn't just listened earlier—he had thought.

Especially when the Scar mentioned that the bearer could influence the Scar directly.

That was exactly what he was trying to do.

Through thought.

Through emotion.

Through the Sympathetic Link.

If it truly was sympathetic—then memories and sensations might work.

The closest sensation he recalled was when he had first activated Phase Two.

That massive surge of energy—like a giant serpent coursing through his body.

He clung to that feeling.

His harsh, rapid breathing gradually stabilized.

The blood flowing from the Scar slowed… then stopped.

In a shocking sight, the blood began to reverse—rising from the floor, separating from Cyn's own blood, and returning to its source.

The Scar.

Time slowed to a crawl.

Cyn's eyes snapped open.

It felt as if he had forgotten how to breathe.

He clutched the Scar.

Agonizing pain surged through him—

Then darkness.

"Argh—damn it!"

He collapsed.

In the final instant before losing consciousness, his eyes caught sight of something.

His mind couldn't process it.

But before he fell—

There was someone standing before him.

Someone who had just awakened while Cyn was in that critical state.

It was Tristan.

And Cyn had completely forgotten about him.

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