Morder was falling from a terrifying height, his hand tightly gripping the monster's neck, while a wine glass remained lodged deep in its skull, its Crimson blood scattering through the air.
He looked down, but the bottom was nowhere to be seen—only a dense fog swallowing everything beneath.
"Beautiful… who said falling was one of my hobbies."
At that moment, ten fingers wrapped tightly around his neck, choking him with brutal force. He turned his head and saw it—the monster was still alive, despite the direct strike to its head.
"Ghh… why won't you just die." His voice carried raw hatred. He opened his mouth wide and bit into the creature's hand, tearing into it until blood splashed across his face.
He kept striking its abdomen repeatedly, trying to force it to let go—but it didn't. Its grip only tightened, and as his breath thinned, his strength began to collapse.
Then the fog collided with them violently.
Morder forced his gaze downward and saw it—a massive needle embedded in the ground, its sharp tip aimed directly at them.
"I need a solution."
In an instant, he reversed their positions—now he was above, the monster beneath him. He ripped the wine glass out of its skull and severed its right arm.
The creature trembled in pain.
There was no time left.
Morder planted his feet against its torso and drove it downward with force, pushing it toward the needle. Just before impact, he forced it further—until the creature's other arm was torn apart.
The needle pierced through it, splitting it in half.
Morder crashed beside it like a falling meteor, slamming hard into the ground.
The monster's corpse dropped next to him, cleanly divided into two halves. Dust settled slowly, revealing Morder's battered body.
He rose slightly, clutching his abdomen in pain, stepping back until he leaned against the needle. Blood streamed from his eyes.
He let out a faint laugh.
"How ridiculous… if I had fallen from that height with my previous strength, I would've been nothing but pieces."
He wiped the blood from his face—it was blocking his vision. Running his hand through his hair, it turned red from the blood staining it.
He looked around.
A wide enclosed space.
Four walls.
The ones in front of him and behind him were unnatural—perfect, flawless, without a single imperfection. The other two were decayed, barely holding themselves together.
"…Looks like this is the next stage." He scratched the back of his head.
A door opened behind him.
Morder turned.
A man stepped in—long black hair, sharp brown eyes, holding a Sorcerer rifle with a long barrel.
"Hmm… where am I," the mystery muttered, before his eyes fell on Morder.
They widened slightly as he approached slowly.
Morder didn't move. His guard remained intact.
The mystery stopped in front of him, looking down with arrogance.
"From your appearance… I'd say you're cursed. A Slave, just like me."
Morder smirked and gave a mocking wink.
"Don't try to play the hero. Everyone here is a Slave."
"But you're the only one covered in blood…"
He paused, stepping closer.
"I'd bet you've never finished a fight without turning Crimson."
Morder lifted his head—his eyes sharpened, like a predator watching its prey.
"Better my body bleeds than kneeling under them."
"Don't act like a savior. Everyone here wants the same thing—breaking the ring. No one came here for a stroll."
The mystery tapped Morder's shoulder lightly with his rifle.
"You share the same goal… yet you're ready to kill each other."
A voice echoed.
Female. Mocking.
"Slaves of the Brooken lands… a bunch of fools."
The mystery froze, scanning the area.
"Speaking from the shadows… how cowardly."
A chilling laugh followed.
"I don't need to show myself to a rat like you. If you're truly a fighter, defeat my beloved… if you can."
The mystery frowned, confused.
Morder, however, felt something strange—his face flushed slightly. An unfamiliar sensation brushed against his heart.
"Too many things need explaining… but it doesn't matter," the mystery said, his tone firm. "If the way out is through your corpse, so be it."
"Let's make this less boring…"
The walls began to move.
Slowly.
Morder glanced forward and backward—and immediately understood.
"The walls won't stop until only one of you remains. So finish it quickly… before you're both crushed."
"Is that your lover?" the mystery mocked. "She's trying to kill you too."
"You talk too much… rifle boy."
Morder disappeared.
In the next instant, he appeared beside him, his leg already swinging toward his head.
The mystery reacted just in time, raising his rifle to block.
Morder had no sword—he had lost it in that room. In the surge of adrenaline, the mark on his neck began to glow, Crimson fluid seeping from it.
"So… you want to play it this way. Fine."
The moment the mystery finished speaking, he shot forward like a comet, appearing in front of Morder and slamming the rifle into his abdomen, reopening his previous wound. Then he grabbed his head, pressing the barrel close—but Morder struck the rifle away just in time, avoiding the Sorcerer blade that shot out from it.
'I wish I had a sword… I would've split him in half.'
Morder moved behind him, wrapping his arms around his body, lifting him up before slamming him into the ground. But the mystery didn't stop—he raised his rifle and fired another blade, grazing Morder's cheek. The veins on Morder's face surfaced more clearly, bulging in a grotesque way. The mystery leapt upward and fired another blade. Morder tried to evade—but his movement had slowed, and the blade pierced directly into his leg.
"Fffff—!"
The pain was sharp—it had struck a vital artery. Morder tried to pull the blade out, but the amount of blood pouring out made him stop.
'My movement… it's slowing. Why?!'
He touched his cheek. His eyes widened—then hardened into rage as he looked at the mystery.
"You cursed ones… you've got plenty of tricks. Especially when it comes to fighting dirty."
"Life here demands deception. Honorable fights are long gone."
The mystery mocked him with a wide grin.
Morder clenched his teeth and vanished from sight, reappearing in front of him with his fist tightened, delivering a punch to his head that sent him crashing into the massive needle.
"Son of a—how the hell are you this fast?!"
The mystery grabbed his hand as the dust cleared. Morder emerged again, attempting another punch—but the mystery stopped him.
"…Seems I underestimated you."
A heavy strike from the mystery slammed Morder into the ground, then toward the moving wall. Morder spat blood and forced himself up again. His eyes shifted to the wall—it was getting dangerously close. Even the mystery noticed.
"We should end this farce… you blood-soaked Slave."
Morder glanced at one of the fallen blades on the ground. At that moment, the mystery began firing multiple blades toward him. Morder ran, dodging them as they flew at him, aiming to reach the giant needle for cover. Even then, a deep cut tore through his hand.
"What precision…"
He grabbed one of the fallen blades and remained hidden, waiting for the right moment.
"Where are you hiding, rat? Come out."
The mystery approached, stepping behind the needle—but Morder wasn't there.
He was behind him.
Morder raised the blade and thrust it toward his back—but the mystery caught his hand.
And broke it.
"AAAAAAARGH!"
The fracture was brutal, his scream echoing through the room.
"You think the poison maker tastes his own poison? Fool."
The mystery pulled another blade from the rifle, infused with dense Sorcerer energy. As he prepared to cut his head, his eyes shifted toward Morder's neck—the glowing mark, the flowing Crimson.
"A mark? Is that the source of your curse…? How strange."
Morder grabbed his arm, trying to pull the blade away—but failed, receiving a heavy strike to the face that sent him crashing to the ground. He was breathing rapidly now, his chest rising violently as the walls nearly closed in on them.
The mystery lowered himself, placing the blade over Morder's eye, a mocking expression clear on his face.
"What a shame… you'll die in front of my beloved. That fool really thought someone like you could win."
Morder spat blood into his face.
The mystery's expression twisted in anger as he punched him, his head bouncing twice against the ground.
"Time's up. You die now."
At that moment, the air shimmered, and a magical parchment appeared, carrying a single line:
{Why not try using some magic, you Crimson Slave?}
Then it vanished as if it had never existed.
Morder smiled faintly in confusion—he didn't even know how to use magic.
'What timing… this is insulting.'
The mystery stabbed into Morder's chest and pulled the blade out instantly. The pain didn't register at first—then it came, burning and terrifying.
"And now… we move above the chest."
Morder was cornered. No options left.
'I don't want to die… but I can try a small trick.'
He raised his hand, shaping it like a blade, moving it toward the mystery's chest. The mystery frowned—nothing happened. Then he started laughing.
"What are you doing? Have you finally lo—"
He stopped.
A crack appeared across Morder's face—from the edge of his mouth to the middle of his cheek—glowing with a Crimson aura.
At the same moment—
A blood-forged blade erupted and split the mystery's body in half.
Blood spilled from his mouth, his eyes frozen in shock.
The last thing he saw—
was Morder smiling.
"Looks like that move… my mother used to torture me with… worked."
Morder smiled faintly as the crack on his face disappeared. Something approached him—he could feel it, but he couldn't move a single finger.
"If you're going to kill me… hurry. I've got nothing left."
But what approached him…
was a black cat.
It stepped onto his chest.
Morder stared at it in disbelief.
"…Where did you come from?"
"Well done, dear. Your strength is clearly evolving… meow."