Zoran stared at Azriel, who held his gaze. It felt like an eternity, the silence growing heavier with every second. Azriel could hear his own heartbeat, pounding in his chest, loud enough that he wondered if Zoran could hear it too.
He probably did.
Finally, Zoran let out a tired sigh, turning back toward the massive gate before them.
“You came back from the dead, sabotaged the future we were building, and succeeded. You don’t even care about being a hero. All you want is to survive, to see the end. Yet, you’re doing it while going against us—without a plan. You’ve ensured no one else has one either. I wonder…
how far you’ve read in that book of the future that you have. It must be farther than any of us Heptarchs if you had the nerve to act so boldly.”
Azriel swallowed, his throat painfully dry. He tried to speak, but nothing came. He watched Zoran with an unreadable expression.
“Do you realize how annoying you are?” Zoran continued, his voice low, dangerous.
“It’s taking everything in me not to tear you in half, just like I did with Void Commander Dante. It’s remarkable, really—how a mere kid managed to outplay us, without even having the strength to back it up. You must think I’m a fool if you believe I haven’t noticed that you’re hiding even more from me.”
Azriel’s lips curled into a faint smile.
“As you said… we are all liars here.”
A pause hung in the air before Zoran’s tone darkened.
“…I think I’ve heard enough. I don’t want to know more from someone as vile as you. Goodbye, Prince Azriel. Be proud—you’ve done more damage to us than anyone has in the last decade.”
Zoran stood up, and Azriel’s blood turned cold. His fists clenched as dread tightened around him.
He didn’t turn or move—there was no point. Zoran wasn’t just any saint. He was an Apostle, a Heptarch, powerful enough to make even Grandmasters question themselves.
There was nothing Azriel could do now.
‘…I stalled as much as I could, but it wasn’t enough.’
All that was left was to wait.
Leo stood beside him, his expression unreadable.
“Out of respect for what you’ve done, despite your weakness, I’ll grant you a painless death, Prince.”
Zoran’s cold voice pierced Azriel’s ears, sending a wave of goosebumps across his skin. He gritted his teeth.
And then—
“Whoa! Am I interrupting something intimate here? Should I leave the two of you alone for some… quality time?”
A new voice echoed through the cave, light and mocking.
Zoran froze.
Azriel exhaled, his body nearly collapsing in relief. Sweat covered him, but none of it mattered.
It was over.
Shakily pushing himself off the ground, Azriel stood, along with Zoran, both turning toward the entrance.
Zoran growled, his expression grim.
“Saint Solomon… the clown. The youngest to ever become a saint.”
Solomon’s red eyes gleamed as his twisted grin widened.
In one hand, he dragged a limp body—armor-clad, white knight-like.
‘…The Guardian.’
Solomon was holding its body.
Ignoring Zoran, Solomon’s gaze shifted to Azriel.
“You took too long, so I figured I’d take this little guy for a walk to the twentieth floor. Trust me, no one wants to be there right now. The whole dungeon’s gone crazy. Perfect for getting stronger, though. Want to join me after we clean up this mess?”
Azriel blinked as Solomon swung the Guardian’s body like a toy. He couldn’t help but curse inwardly.
‘I almost died because he got bored…?’
Frustration simmered beneath his exhaustion.
The plan had been simple—Solomon was supposed to wait, hide after Instructor Benson’s defeat.
But, of course, Solomon had gone off-script.
Azriel had never fully trusted him, which is why he had backups in place.
Still… it pissed him off.
Solomon’s eyes flicked to the shattered bridge, then back to Azriel’s battered form, noticing his missing hand.
“Well, you handled it on your own. As expected from my future partner! Stealing the mana bomb from the academy vault and planting it here—brilliant move. All’s well that ends well, right?”
Sighing, Solomon approached the edge of the broken bridge, his grin widening as he glanced at the Guardian.
“You were a good travel companion. You didn’t speak, but your eyes said plenty. Sorry I couldn’t return the favor.”
With that, Solomon tossed the Guardian’s body into the void below.
“…!”
The ground shook.
Azriel collapsed to one knee, unable to stabilize himself.
A pulse surged through the ruins, blue light flickering from the bridge’s runes. Azriel turned just in time to see the massive gate glowing before it began to open slowly.
“Well, that’s sorted,” Solomon said, satisfied.
“It should stay open for the next 24 hours, give or take. Man, who would’ve thought a hidden boss fight would be here? Epic, right? Too bad the dungeon’s a mess—I’d explore more, but even I’m cautious these days.”
With his rambling done, Solomon turned to Zoran, their eyes locking.
“So, you’re one of the seven Heptarchs. Zoran, was it? Gotta say, I expected you to look scarier. But nope, just another handsome face. Which, let’s be honest, isn’t special—all saints are good-looking.”
Solomon grinned, pointing a finger at Zoran.
“So, in other words… you’re plain.”
Veins bulged in Zoran’s forehead. He was holding himself back from tearing Solomon apart.
Azriel couldn’t blame him.
Despite his chaotic nature, Solomon was dangerous.
Perhaps more dangerous than any other saint. And if Zoran had read his part of the book telling him about the future, he would know not to underestimate Solomon.
“…Has the clown become a circus pet?” Zoran asked, voice dripping with contempt.
“I never thought you, of all people, would work for the Crimson Clan.”
Azriel remained silent as Solomon blinked, tilting his head in confusion.
“Me? Work for the Crimson Clan? No, no, no, that’s impossible. I’d rather eat pickles.”
Solomon waved his hand dismissively.
“I don’t work for anyone. I cut a deal with that annoyingly handsome prince, and we work together. Partners. No allegiances to clans or any of that nonsense.”
Before Zoran could respond, his gaze flickered upward, his brows furrowing.
Azriel’s heart raced, feeling as if a blade were pressed against his chest. Solomon, too, looked puzzled by Zoran’s reaction.
“…Four apostles on the same floor. It’s unnatural. I should finish this before something troublesome arises.”
Solomon gave Zoran a look of disbelief.
“I’ve heard you’re some weird fanatic who gave up his humanity for power, but you really are insane, aren’t you? Do all Heptarchs follow the mad writings in that book of yours?”
Zoran’s expression was unreadable as he remained silent. Solomon sighed.
“Well, no matter. I’ve learned what I needed. Not that I care, but…”
Grinning wildly, Solomon’s voice dripped with mockery.
“How does it feel to get outplayed by a sixteen-year-old? Azriel ruined your precious plans, led you into a trap, and now, you’re stuck in a cave with me. No escape. Don’t you feel like absolute trash?”
Zoran’s eyes turned bloodshot, glaring at Solomon with murderous intent.
Azriel clenched his jaw.
‘I need to get out of here.’
Just one wrong move from these two, and he’d be dust.
He limped toward the entrance, his footsteps echoing in the now-silent cave.
Passing Zoran, Azriel didn’t glance his way, and neither did Zoran toward him. As Azriel neared Solomon, the saint flashed him a grin.
“You did well. Go get some rest.”
“…Yeah, I will.”
Azriel forced a strained smile as he passed Solomon, but before he reached the dark passage, Zoran’s cold voice echoed behind him.
“You’re the Apostle of Death. The Son of Death. The God of Death was never supposed to choose a side, yet he did. He broke the rules. Remember this, Prince Azriel Crimson—no one will ever look upon the Son of Death kindly. You will deceive yourself, seeking a place where you think you belong, but the truth is, you never will.
You seek the end, but you will never reach it.”
Azriel stopped, listening to Zoran’s words but not turning around.
Eventually, he sighed.
“…How would you know? I destroyed the future. Nothing is written anymore.”
“….”
Azriel didn’t wait for a response, nor did he get one.
The only sound that followed him was Solomon’s mad laughter, echoing through the cave.
He seemed energized, almost drunk on adrenaline, eager for the chaos to begin.
Without looking back, Azriel stepped into the darkness.
His body ached, each limp forward feeling heavier than the last. But he pushed on.
As he hobbled further away from the cave, Leo’s voice cut through the silence, sulking.
“We should’ve stayed, at least for the start! I mean, come on, who’d want to miss a fight between the legendary Son of Ruin and the Clown? Seriously, have you lost it?”
“Shut up.”
Azriel snapped, his voice harsh.
“I would’ve had to use [Redo] just for watching them fight. Neither of us could’ve kept up anyway.”
Leo’s complaints weren’t baseless. Both Zoran and Solomon were legends, even among saints. And that’s precisely why it was too dangerous to stay.
Two crazed lunatics, both hell-bent on killing each other.
Why would he risk his life watching a battle he couldn’t even comprehend?
But there was one thing he was certain of: right now, he was safe.
The sounds of the cave had long faded behind him, not even a sign of tremors.
Nothing disturbed the eerie silence. It felt like this dark passage was a separate world entirely, disconnected from the abandoned tunnel on the other side and the cave.
It was confusing.
Yet, somehow, this tunnel wouldn’t be destroyed.
It simply couldn’t.
Because there was nothing here to destroy.
How could one destroy nothing?
Leo’s voice broke through his thoughts again, though now it carried a quieter, almost mocking tone.
“So, you want to see the end, huh? Makes sense. You never got to finish reading, and you’re an idiot who loves discovering the unknown… heh. Still, to think each Heptarch has a book with a piece of the future written in it. That idiot thought he knew everything, but honestly, he was following blindly. No clue what he was really doing.”
Azriel’s lips twitched into a faint smile at Leo’s words.
“It’s called pure devotion. The book he has shows only fragments of the future, as you said. But he doesn’t know the whole story—just what’s told to him, and what the other Heptarchs have shared. In the end, only the Supreme Archon knew the final outcome before I came. And yet, these people don’t question him. They trust him completely, follow him without hesitation.
If he says black is white, then to them, black will be white for the rest of their lives.”
The Crying Fog let out a deranged laugh.
“Truly mad, unlike us. We’re the only sane ones here.”
Azriel’s smile widened as he limped further into the darkness.
“Indeed, we are.”