“Hm? Why’d you stop reciting?” The woman tilted her head like a sparrow, her gaze skimming over Edlyn.

Edlyn frowned, a shadow like ink pooling between her brows.

“No. I just think the oath needs a rewrite,” she murmured, thoughts circling like leaves in wind.

The old one was soaked in bloodlust, a blade too cold; Eli wouldn’t like it.

She caught herself, mind stumbling like a deer on ice. Damn—why am I caring about his feelings?

It’s just too edgy. Yep, that’s it.

“So, how are you going to say it?” The woman’s eyes gleamed, a cat watching a flame.

“...” Edlyn drew a deep breath, gaze steady on the bronze gate like a mountain at dusk.

She felt that familiar pulse within it, a presence like a thorn in her heart—her sworn nemesis.

“I, Edlyn Bruyar. Lord of the Demon Race. In this life, I will reign over all,” she said, solemn as winter steel.

Pfft. The woman snorted, a laugh like a pebble skipping water.

Edlyn shot her a cold look, frost sliding over her eyes.

The woman waved quickly. “Ahem, nothing—edgy little brat. Now, go open it.”

“Fine. Let’s head in. Let’s see—” Edlyn paused, as if a thread tugged her senses; her gaze sharpened toward the distance like an arrow.

“What’s wrong?” the woman asked, voice light as smoke.

Edlyn shook her head. “Nothing. Maybe I’m just jumpy.”

She set her delicate hands on the bronze handle and pulled, opening a gate that loomed like a cliff, dozens of men tall.

As the Gate of the Inferno groaned open, Eli woke from the darkness like a diver breaching air, and he stepped cleanly into the rank of Transcender.

Head low, thoughts drifting like mist, Edlyn stepped into the rift, one foot steady, one foot wary.

The bronze gate shut again, a thunder-slab closing.

The woman smiled, then sat on a stone by the gate; slowly, her body began to turn to rock, like frost crawling over glass.

“Ah. The Holy War’s about to begin. The Celestial God has awakened. Let’s hope the Abyss stirs soon—” Her words snapped off as full petrification took her.

Yet she didn’t die. The Fiend’s vast life force still thrummed within that statue, a furnace sealed in stone.

Her expression stayed serene, as if waiting for the next traveler under a silent sky.

Edlyn felt like she was trudging through a swamp, every step a weight, every breath a drag.

The heat around her roared like a kiln, yet somehow it was secondary, a backdrop to the mire.

“Proxy of the Abyss. Are you here to carry out your mission?” A man ahead stood in the haze, his presence echoing the Abyss like a moon reflects a sea.

“Mm. The Abyss sent me,” Edlyn said, voice steady as a taut bowstring.

“In that case, I’ll wait here. Cross the first gate, and then I’ll lead you onward.” He shut his eyes, leaning against the wall like a sleeping sentinel.

Edlyn grumbled under her breath and kept moving, feet dragging through sludge like anchors.

At first, nothing felt wrong—just that her body held some mismatch, a note gone sour.

Then her foot sank deep into the mire, and she froze, heart clutched like a hand on a throat.

On the bank, the man opened his eyes again. “Face yourself.”

“...Face the gale?”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Nothing.”

.................................................

Eli reached the interrogation room door and stared at the Elf idol Raphael had carved, light pooling on its face like water.

He could feel it—a piece of him gone, a feather plucked from a wing.

He lowered his head, studied his hands, thoughts sinking like stones.

“What are you thinking?” An old voice rose behind him, warm as tea steam.

Eli turned. One of the five old elves stood smiling, a willow-still presence.

“Nothing much. Just feels… weird,” Eli sighed, the word like a thin reed in wind.

“Oh? Mind telling me?” The elder’s smile curved like a crescent moon.

“Uh, heh.” Eli scratched his head, awkwardness hopping like a sparrow.

He wasn’t used to talking with someone so much older. That kindly face made his mouth twitch.

You can’t tell a grandpa to shove off. And even if I could beat him, it’d be rude.

“Ah, look at me.” The old elf held a cane in his left hand and tapped his temple with his right, a self-mock against the sky.

“You can call me Waynes. In the Elf Race, I’m a minor elder with a pinch of authority. I don’t meddle much. I like a chat.” He smiled, mild as moss.

“Ha… hello, hello.” Eli said, nodding as if to still water.

I waltzed into their place and siphoned some essence from the Tree of Life’s seed.

The elder’s giving me face; I’d better give it back.

Eli scratched his head and looked at Waynes, sheepish as a cat caught stealing fish.

“Just call me Eli.”

“Good. Would you share your troubles?” Waynes tapped his staff on the ground, a rhythm like rain.

Dark green roots rose from the soil, twined together, and shaped two chairs and a round little table, living wood breathing like a quiet heart.

Waynes sat, unruffled as an old pine, and gestured for Eli to sit.

Eli didn’t hesitate and took a seat, the root chair firm as rock.

“Old sir, if you can slip into my blind spot without a whisper, I won’t guess your strength,” Eli said with a crooked smile.

“Haha, that was my slip—habit, really. You don’t mind?” Waynes chuckled, eyes bright as stars in dry leaves.

“Don’t mind, don’t mind,” Eli said quickly, hands open like empty cups.

“Then let’s get to the point.”

Waynes nodded, calm as a pond.

“Sir, I’m guessing your power’s beyond a Transcender. Tell me—do you lose anything when you become a Transcender?” Eli asked, words careful as footprints in fresh snow.

“Lose? You don’t.” Waynes smiled. “But, young man, do you know why we forced an inspection before?”

“Huh?”

“For this.” Waynes leaned forward, earnest as morning light. “Your way of becoming a Transcender is too strange, so…”

“Strange?” Eli blinked, confusion swirling like smoke.

This old man’s been weird from the start.

“In all my years, I’ve never seen someone sleep their way into becoming a Transcender.” Waynes looked at Eli as if staring at a new comet.

“You’ve truly refreshed my worldview.”

Eli: “...”