There Is No World For ■■

Yeomyeong flexed his fingers and checked his breathing.

His twisted organs had begun to pulse again, and he could feel his dislocated bones snapping back into place.

Which meant one thing: there was no need to keep listening to bullshit about being 4,000 years old or whatever, no need to stall for time.

He gripped his sword in his right hand, staff in his left, and glared at the Titan.

“I can’t comprehend it. Even if you're a star, once you've fallen to Earth, you should follow a human lifespan—”

Yeomyeong pointed his staff at the one still spouting nonsense.

And instead of using the mana within his body, he pulled in the warped mana overflowing in the air and wove it into a repulsive spell.

Corpse Detonation.

An invisible spell shot toward the Titan’s head.

His insides churned from the recoil of using twisted mana, but thanks to the staff sharing the burden, the damage was minimal.

“Trying to threaten a volcano with a matchstick, are you?”

The creature dispelled the spell with just a wave of its hand, proving it was fundamentally different from the other Titans.

Yeomyeong wasn’t disappointed. Corpse Detonation had only been a distraction to begin with.

In the brief moment it took the enemy to block the spell, Yeomyeong scattered ice spears into the air and leapt skyward.

Beneath the dreary clouds, his figure soaring through the air resembled a moth flying into flame.

At least in appearance.

The Titan, having fully grasped Yeomyeong’s threat level by now, immediately engaged.

“Is that all you’ve got? Then let me show you what I can do.”

The grotesque voice filled the sky—and then, the Titan’s forehead split open vertically.

From the gash emerged a blood-red eye, like something out of a nightmare.

The third eye gave no explanation. It simply locked onto Yeomyeong.

In that instant, twisted mana surged to follow its gaze, flowing and clustering around Yeomyeong.

CHHHHHHHH!

A chilling hiss rang out as a yellow-green smoke burst forth, blocking Yeomyeong’s path.

Yeomyeong reacted instantly. He dispelled the ice spear he’d been standing on and dropped out of the smoke’s range.

He didn’t need to ask what the smoke was. His coat collar, which had barely grazed the yellow-green mist, had already melted into charred black °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° threads.

Acidic smoke...?

The stench alone made him grimace—it was horrifyingly potent.

He summoned another ice spear to stop mid-air and unleashed a blade wave.

He aimed to slash through the smoke—until the creature’s eye flashed again.

Another blast of acid smoke? No. This spell was different... and familiar.

He’d experienced it before—at the hands of those pig-headed shepherds...

...Curse of the Senses.

But this was on a completely different level.

Unlike the shepherds’ version, which only caused a bit of dizziness, this curse twisted every one of Yeomyeong’s senses.

First, his ears went numb.

Then the feeling in his sword hand dulled, and instead of the stench of rot, a sickly sweet floral scent filled his nose.

But the worst part was the distortion of his vision.

His left eye flipped left and right. His right eye flipped up and down.

Yeomyeong almost slipped off his ice spear. He clenched his teeth.

Only ever uses bullshit magic, huh.

How the hell was he supposed to respond to this? The thought was brief. The action was immediate.

He shut his eyes.

He ignored his sense of smell and hearing entirely.

Only one thing remained—his ability to sense mana.

It could only detect a few hundred meters around him at best, a temporary fix—but Yeomyeong didn’t care.

No matter the method, as long as he jammed a blade into the bastard’s head, it’d be over.

Did the thing read his intentions? It let out a dry, mocking laugh.

“Reaching me with that broken body? What would the Undying King say if he saw this! You’re far too valuable for me to consume!”

Was that admiration or sarcasm?

Yeomyeong didn’t answer. He closed the distance.

The Titan responded by casting another spell.

“By the decree of the King’s Claws, rise—”

This time, the target wasn’t Yeomyeong—but the wreckage of the earlier Titans.

Specifically, the bones within the corpses.

CRACK!

With a sonic boom, bones inside the mangled Titans began to swell. Some grew as large and thick as buildings or towers.

The swollen bones floated into the air all at once and aimed their sharpened tips at Yeomyeong.

Massive as they were, their shape was unmistakable—javelins meant to be thrown.

Acid smoke. Curse of the senses. And now flying bone spears?

As he dodged the incoming spears, Yeomyeong grimaced. He understood how this battle was going to play out.

Dodge the spears, and the smoke follows. Evade the smoke, and the spears pierce through.

Avoiding both, with twisted senses? Impossible.

Naturally, this would devolve into a long, grueling war of attrition.

And if the enemy managed to finish another spell during that time? The outcome was obvious.

And Yeomyeong wasn’t dumb enough to throw himself into a losing fight.

He stopped mid-flight, recalled his staff, and gripped his sword with both hands.

A deep breath. Mana coursed through his veins.

He began preparing—telekinesis, sword aura, and Jugasibili.

“Further resistance is meaningless. Become my meal and—wait, what are you—?”

Whatever the creature possessing the Titan was about to say didn’t matter.

Yeomyeong, fully prepared, latched onto himself with telekinesis strong enough to make space itself ripple.

And regardless of whether his ankles or ribs cracked under the strain, he pulled his body back as far as he could.

As if drawing a bowstring to its breaking point.

Except this time, Yeomyeong was the arrow.

What he did next would horrify even Seti and the Saint, watching from the distant train.

Yeomyeong flung himself with all his might, using telekinesis like a slingshot.

It was crude—but effective.

Before the enemy could even react, Yeomyeong tore through the acid smoke and bone spears, closing the gap in an instant.

A dizzying rush. The Titan’s face growing closer by the second.

Yeomyeong didn’t hesitate. He thrust his sword forward.

On the blade—tempered with dwarves’ blood and tears—he layered Comet Blade, Payang Cut, and a stolen sword aura from a Player.

The same technique that had once sliced through the heart of Kahal Magdu.

But this time, something was different.

The blade’s aura had turned completely blood red.

It was a forbidden blend—every martial art’s true intent fused with murderous intent.

It was Yeomyeong’s declaration of will: he would kill this thing.

The acid smoke and spears tried to chase him down, but nothing could outpace the sword already in motion.

“This ends—”

Crimson light burst from the blade, painting the gloomy horizon red.

And in that very moment—

Yeomyeong and the others awoke from the mental world.

****

“....”

Yeomyeong opened his eyes in the familiar train cabin but said nothing.

Seriously? I wake up now of all times?

The midday sun peeked in through the window—only to flee immediately, unable to endure the sheer weight of the atmosphere.

A heavy silence.

The suffocating quiet threatened to stretch on, until the Saint, lying across from him, cautiously spoke.

“...Uh, talk about waking up at the worst possible moment.”

“....”

“I-It wasn’t me, okay? You know that, right?”

“....”

“I-I was on the train, watching you and Neti. I swear. You can go ask her.”

Yeomyeong stared at her with a sullen expression.

Seeing her stammer like some frazzled diner lady brought a bit of relief to the lingering shock.

Not that the Saint noticed, of course—whether she was trying to lighten the mood or prove her innocence, she kept talking.

Saying things like how crazy this coincidence was, how curious she was about who the real culprit was...

But just as her babbling rolled on—

Screeeech!!

The train came to an abrupt halt. The whole car rocked violently, as if someone had yanked the brakes by force.

No way. Again?

Yeomyeong and the Saint sprang to their feet at the same time, the same thought flashing through their minds.

Instinctively grabbing their weapons, the two turned toward each other, just about to say something—

When someone suddenly threw open the door and stepped into the cabin.

The Saint flinched, raising her revolver—but the moment she saw who it was, she let out a sigh of relief.

“Seti?”

Seti looked just like she had inside the mindscape. The only difference was the long rifle in her hands.

“That gun...? What’s going on out there? Why did the train stop?”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m the one who stopped it.”

“...What? Why?”

“We’ll get to that later. For now—can you come with me and bring this?”

Seti handed the rifle to the stunned Saint, then pulled her straight to the window.

She opened the window and pointed beyond it—toward the top of a rather high hill in the distance.

“See that skeleton and that woman up on the hill? Think you can hit them?”

“H-Huh...? I think I can, yeah....”

Narrowing her eyes, the Saint measured the distance between the wheezing woman collapsed on the hill and the floating skull beside her.

If the train were moving, it might be tough—but at a full stop, the shot was absolutely within range.

The moment the Saint nodded, Seti glanced over at Yeomyeong.

He stood with his arms crossed, watching the two of them quietly—clearly unaware that waking up from the mental world had been her doing.

...Would he get mad if he found out?

Seti stifled a bitter smile and spoke to the Saint.

“Shoot. Right now. But don’t kill the woman.”

“...Why? Who are they?”

The Saint asked cautiously, her finger resting just outside the trigger guard.

Seti smiled faintly and answered.

“They’re the ones who just dragged us into that nightmare.”

The Saint didn’t hesitate.

She pulled the trigger.

Had she known she’d be sharing a train cabin with that woman later, she never would’ve made that shot.