For the rest of the day, Won was a ghost in his own skin. He couldn't think of anything else—the image of Blossom and Arnold, breathing but already gone, looped in his mind like a broken film. The thought of never meeting them again, never hearing Blossom’s sharp wit or seeing Arnold’s quiet strength, made his mood turn awfully grim.Leo and Orson stayed clear of him. They could see the dark cloud hanging over his head, but they couldn't figure out the cause. Won didn't reply to their questions. He just stared through them. Every time Orson mentioned his sister’s recovery, Won felt a sick twist in his stomach. He couldn't imagine how he would react when he finally found out that his hope was a lie.Won gritted his teeth as he settled onto the small bed near the window. The view outside was deceptively peaceful—rolling hills and a wide, dark river. In the far distance, he could see the massive, hulking shapes of lower-ranked monsters wandering the ruins. They looked like moving mountai

Won sat at the highest point of the clock tower, his legs dangling over the edge of the weathered stone. The moon tonight was a monster of its own—a giant, luminous sphere that bathed the Sacred City in a cold, clinical glow. It was far brighter than the moon of Earth, turning the ruins into a landscape of stark whites and deep, bottomless blacks.He pulled the parchments from his cloak and spread them across his lap. He frowned as his eyes moved across the lines. The language was a mess of jagged symbols and ancient script that he couldn't even begin to translate. But the drawings... the drawings spoke for themselves.Won squinted, his stomach turning. One page depicted a circle of hooded figures, their faces obscured by shadow, feasting on slabs of raw human flesh. Another showed a row of severed heads placed meticulously before a roaring bonfire, their mouths frozen in silent screams as if they were reciting some unholy prayer.It was dark magic. Vile, ancient, and undeniably powe

Some days flew by, the passage of time marked only by the shifting of the moon and the steady rhythm of combat. Each member of the cohort threw themselves into training, pushing their bodies to the absolute limit. Following Won’s advice, they abandoned the safer streets of the Sacred City and traveled to the Dark City ruins to hone their edges.They still didn't have a solid plan to attack Gnasher. Ramiro had set a brutal benchmark: until they could collectively kill two hundred SS-rank monsters in a single week, he wouldn't even consider them ready. They all knew the truth, though. Even if they reached that goal, the chance of killing Gnasher was barely one percent. The other ninety-nine percent was just a long, painful way to die.At one midnight, the Sacred City was silent.A girl was walking through a very narrow alley, her footsteps light against the damp stone. Even though the main part of the city was asleep, the dregs of the population were still awake. Drunkards leaned agains