Ibaan walked to the base of the colossal wall and picked up the Utopian's Duke—only to drop it right away, then pick it up again.

How absurd, right?

"Huh?"

His brows furrowed. Something felt off in the way he moved—like his motions lagged for a split second. At the same time, his body felt more real than it ever had since he arrived in the realm of the dead eye of the fallen, long before meeting those filthy creatures.

He could feel his body clearly—the weight, the touch, the sense of being here.

It felt as if his real body had somehow reached this place through a path that should not even exist.

He couldn't understand what was happening at all.

A quiet thought passed through his mind, and it sent a chill crawling down his spine.

Had his real body truly come here when he almost died at the hands of those foul creatures?

He wasn't fully right, but he wasn't wrong either—or so he believed.

And if his actual body had crossed over… then how was he supposed to return to the real world?

He stood frozen on the spot, lost in thought, while the sword glowed faintly under the red light of the crimson demonic eye—the dead eye that blinked once every hour.

After thinking for a moment, something clicked in his mind.

He slowly lifted his head toward the sky.

His eyes widened.

From his memories, the dead eye should have been in the northeast direction—of course, with the current situation taking north as straight up. But now it was exactly in the northwest—completely opposite!

How could that even happen?

Every time he entered the realm of the Dead Eye of the Fallen, the dead eye had never moved even a little. This always supported his belief that time froze whenever he entered the realm.

But did this mean that now…

time in reality had started moving again, and his real body had actually arrived here?

That was the only conclusion he could make. Yeah, that felt right. Though he wasn't sure if he was right at all.

Could he really go back to the real world or not?

There were many questions, but not a single answer..

Tightening his grip on the hilt of Utopian's Sword—Utopian's Duke—out of sheer frustration, Ibaan looked back toward the east.

Three words slipped from his mouth as he stared at the tower rising into the sky. His eyes had turned slightly cold, showing how annoyed and frustrated he was.

"Kill or die."

…

Sensing the familiar presence of a living being, a creature sniffed the air. Branches shook as it rushed from one to another with caution. This time its instincts warned it that the lord wanted no mercy.

…

Hearing the faint sounds from far away, Ibaan quickly crouched behind the trunk of a broad tree, hiding on a high branch.

His eyes sharpened as the creature entered his view—it was the same one that had reminded him of his place.

Its body was still heavy, wrapped in dark, sagging skin. Its long, bent neck ended in a twisted face that looked almost human. Sharp fangs peeked out of its mouth, filled with hunger and clear malice. Its glowing eyes carried a wild intent, and the curved horns on its head looked sharp enough to tear anything apart for no reason at all—because yes, they would.

Wet strands hung from its head like rotting hair, showing how worn-out and irritated it was. When it opened its mouth, thick saliva dripped between its long teeth, matching the anger rolling off its body.

Ibaan's heart thudded faster as he tightened his grip on the hilt. He had to deal with another problem too—his vision felt weaker than before as he didn't have the mask worn on. He couldn't see things in slowed motion anymore. When he tried to summon the [Saint of Dusk] mask, nothing happened. It wasn't coming out… probably because it was still healing inside the relic's space.

He once again remembered something his Master—and ancestor—had said.

"To rely on anything, even what's mine or what's yours, is to place a knife at our own throat. Only our own hands can carry us forward."

His master, the Nemesis of Angels, always taught him lessons in a twisted way—so twisted that a normal human of this era wouldn't even understand what he meant. And that thought oddly made Ibaan feel proud in this moment.

And when he thought of his daughter… yeah, that's right.

His heart felt strange—like a quiet ache warming up again.

A mix of soft pain and old joy rose from deep inside his chest, as if a long-buried glow had started to breathe once more. However his memories were vague too; he hadn't got them back yet, how could he have been here in this world for not even a month.

He remembered her— in what he thought would be the final moment of his life.

Though it wasn't truly him, but Shon Eril, the one who lived deep inside his soul… a Servant of Will— he had thought he had failed to bring her back.

It hurt, didn't it?

He couldn't even remember the name he had carved into his heart forever.

How ironic!

People are not meant to stay with you forever.

They leave, one after another. Even those who share your blood will leave you someday.

In the end, it's only you and your God.

You have to fight for your own life, always thinking— if I just pass this stage, if this dream comes true, my life will be set.

A quiet, calm and determined voice rose from deep within Ibaan— Shon Eril speaking to the unseen, for the unseen, just to ease the weight pressing on his shoulders:

"Let me tell you something. Your life will never be set. After every stage, you'll think, 'Once I finish this, things will settle.' But the cycle will repeat. The stages will change. And so will you."

Soft tears gathered in his eyes, unknowingly and without him wishing for them.

And even the nature around him felt like crying with his unawakened will.

He looked at the creature that had just appeared a few metres away, standing on the branch of another tree.

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