“You need to calm down. Knowing Lady Iryndra, she always returns before the twenty-four-hour mark. Undoubtedly, she’s already getting bored of him.”
Vincent spoke in a low tone, his voice calm yet firm, as he stood in the center of the arena. His gaze shifted to Arthur, who was biting his nails with unfocused eyes and a dark expression.
The underground colosseum was eerily silent, emptied out after Iryndra’s unexpected arrival and swift departure with Azriel. The other subjects had been ordered back to their cells, leaving only Arthur, Vincent, and… that strange man.
The guardian.
He stood motionless in the arena, his eyes closed, his expression unreadable. Yet, the faint aura radiating from him told them everything they needed to know.
A Grandmaster.
It had been over nine hours since Iryndra and Azriel had vanished, and Arthur’s patience was unraveling. He stopped biting his nails, narrowed his eyes at Vincent, and grumbled,
“You know how rare it is to find a subject compatible with PE-2. Subject 666 has the highest chance of surviving PE-3. We cannot lose him—no matter what.”
Vincent nodded, his expression serious. He understood the stakes.
Subject 666 was young and brimming with potential—the perfect candidate to become Neo Genesis’ ultimate soldier.
“Don’t worry,” Vincent assured him. “We won’t lose Subject 666. If Lady Iryndra or her guardian tries to defy us… we’ll use force.”
Arthur scowled but didn’t argue. Lady Iryndra’s powers were still undeveloped, and despite the fear her name invoked, they could overpower her if necessary. After all, being a Heptarch carried immense weight—it meant being personally recognized by the Supreme Archon.
But the real issue wasn’t her.
It was him.
The guardian.
The man radiated danger, his presence like a coiled serpent ready to strike. Arthur and Vincent could feel the raw power emanating from him. Even with their combined strength, defeating him wouldn’t be easy. And if a fight broke out here, the consequences would be catastrophic.
The facility would be obliterated.
The resulting chaos would undoubtedly attract Void creatures—a problem far worse than Iryndra or her guardian.
Their tense deliberations were interrupted as the man suddenly opened his eyes. His gaze locked onto the direction Iryndra and Azriel had disappeared.
Arthur and Vincent followed his line of sight, feeling the air ripple with mana. A split second later, Iryndra appeared, her hand tightly clutching Azriel’s.
The little girl’s face was paler than before.
Arthur and Vincent immediately dropped to one knee, exhaling inward sighs of relief.
“We are glad to see your return, Lady Iryndra,” Arthur said.
“I hope Subject 666 wasn’t too much trouble…”
“No,” Iryndra replied, her voice soft but tinged with disappointment.
“I think Mister was too tired to talk much with me.”
She released Azriel’s hand with a sigh and walked toward her guardian.
“Papa.”
Her voice was light and cheerful as she called out to the man. He responded with a faint hum, his expression softening into a small smile.
Yet…
His eyes were devoid of warmth.
If Iryndra noticed, she gave no indication. Instead, she smiled brightly and said, “I want to stay here for a few days.”
The man furrowed his brows.
“Why?”
Iryndra hesitated, glancing around nervously before gesturing for him to come closer.
The man crouched, leaning in as she whispered tentatively into his ear,
“I think I’ve found a way to improve my condition… but I need to stay here. And I can’t use my affinity or [Unique Skill].”
“…!”
The guardian’s eyes widened, his composed facade cracking for the briefest moment. He pulled back to look at her, his gaze searching.
“Are you certain…?”
Iryndra nodded firmly, determination etched into her young features.
The man let out a slow sigh, rubbing his chin as his eyes flickered between her and Azriel. After a long pause, he spoke.
“Very well. You may stay here. I’ll report this to the Supreme Archon.”
He straightened and turned to Vincent, who had risen alongside Arthur.
“I am leaving. Heptarch Iryndra is staying here. If any harm befalls her—even a scratch—your lives will not be enough to pay.”
Vincent bristled at the threat, but he nodded, his tone steady.
“You don’t need to worry. We will ensure Heptarch Iryndra’s every need is met.”
The guardian gave a curt nod before vanishing in an instant. A gust of wind tore through the colosseum, stirring their hair before settling into an uneasy stillness.
Vincent stepped forward, keeping his head respectfully low.
“Great Heptarch, if you would allow me, I’ll escort you to a more comfortable place.”
Iryndra’s golden eyes flicked toward him, her expression suddenly devoid of warmth.
“You may,” she said coldly.
And with that, she began to follow him, her small form radiating an authority that belied her age.
*****
Inside Arthur’s lab, Azriel sat on the flat bed, his hands resting tensely on his knees. He wasn’t restrained, but he felt the weight of Arthur’s gaze. Arthur, seated across from him on a chair, stared at him with a hardened expression.
“So,” Arthur began, his tone cutting through the suffocating silence.
“What did you and Heptarch Iryndra talk about?”
Azriel pursed his lips, avoiding Arthur’s piercing heterochromatic eyes. The silence stretched thin, tension winding like a taut string.
“Speak,” Arthur demanded, his voice colder now.
“That’s an order, 666. I’m in no mood for games. Tell me what the Heptarch wanted with you.”
Azriel exhaled through his nose, his shoulders slumping slightly. There was no escape from those eyes—the same eyes that haunted his every waking moment. He parted his lips, reluctantly giving in.
“…Lady Iryndra asked me to become her big brother,” he said quietly, his voice trembling.
“She wanted me to make ice thrones and other toys for her, to be with her whenever she wanted. I refused. She…” He paused, his hands clenching on his lap.
“She scares me. I feel like my heart might explode if I stay with her too long.”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Azriel for any sign of deceit. The boy’s face was pale, his gaze unwavering despite the clear discomfort. After a moment, Arthur leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh.
“Very well…” he muttered, rubbing his temples.
“Today has been full of surprises. I never thought a Great Heptarch would visit this facility.”
His voice carried a strange reverence, almost trance-like, as he spoke of Iryndra. Azriel couldn’t help but frown at the contradiction in his tone—reverence laced with fear.
‘Even though she’s just a child and so weak… they look at her like some kind of angel,’ Azriel thought, his mind spiraling.
‘But they’re afraid of her, too. Afraid of what she could become if she grew too powerful, too uncontrollable.’
The contradictions made his head throb.
‘Why give such a girl the title of Heptarch, then? Even if it’s for her affinity or [Unique Skill], there must’ve been better options. What is the Supreme Archon thinking?’
The headache flared into a burning pain. Azriel clutched his head, his fingers digging into his scalp.
“Agh…” he groaned, but the pain only worsened, escalating into a searing fire behind his eyes.
His body locked up as if seized by an invisible force. The headache became unbearable, like a second heartbeat pounding inside his skull. Memories flooded him, suffocating him under their weight—fragments of moments he’d skipped, of actions he’d taken.
The pain was excruciating, and his voice was stolen, leaving him unable to scream.
When the agony finally subsided, Azriel’s mind reeled at the revelation.
‘Everything I did today… it’s almost identical to what I originally did.’ His chest tightened.
‘I suspected I’d take the same actions, but not on this level. It’s like…’
His thoughts broke as Arthur’s detached voice cut through the haze.
“We’re moving forward with the project,” Arthur declared, standing abruptly.
“We’re starting PE-3.”
Azriel’s entire body stiffened. His heart raced, his breathing shallow.
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‘No…’
Even though he had no control over his body, his inner self mirrored the same reaction as his original: panic and dread.
Arthur’s words felt like a death sentence. The boy’s lips moved, his voice emerging hoarse and broken.
“Wait… I’m not ready…”
Arthur scoffed, dismissing the plea with a wave of his hand.
“Now you speak? It doesn’t matter. If this works, I’ll request a health potion strong enough to fix that face of yours. Stop whining.”
Azriel gritted his teeth, his fury barely masking the terror clawing at his insides. Arthur rose from his chair, his presence looming over Azriel like a shadow of inevitability.
Panic surged through Azriel’s veins, his body trembling at the thought of enduring something even more excruciating than PE-2. PE-0 had been agonizing, PE-1 had doubled that pain, and PE-2 had been twice as unbearable as PE-1.
Now, imagining the torment of having PE-3 injected into him… it was almost too much to fathom.
And then—
The lights in the lab flickered red. A blaring alarm screeched through the facility, echoing off the sterile walls.
“”!!””
Arthur froze, his eyes narrowing, as a metallic voice boomed overhead.
“Warning. All cells have been opened. Warning. All cells have been opened.”