Cyn watched the subtle shifts in Xyrene’s expression. He didn’t truly understand the essence of the Core of Pain or its extract—the one he was about to take.
He had other plans. He could refuse with several excuses, make her reconsider, delay her intentions even further. There were people he could rely on to accomplish that.
But... was that really why he had co into this world? He pulled at fragnts of old mories—things he had forgotten entirely. And if he thought about it carefully, he would realize that the only thing that remained was his unmatched skill in cutting.
Xyrene had no idea that Cyn was even more eager than she was to awaken his Scar, to feel what she had described to him. He burned with impatience for that sensation—for the power that ca with it!
So he had hurried to this point, even if the risk of dying was extrely high.
There had always been a phrase etched into his mind, carved into him as if it had been born alongside his existence:
Free from all that is human.
Death? They say that once you face it, it will never frighten you the sa way again. That was exactly why Cyn no longer feared death—because he had already experienced it. Though, of course, if he could even call it death.
Cyn stared at the Dose of the Core of Pain in Xyrene’s hands. He reached out to take it.
He smiled at her—a clean, untainted smile. He wasn’t reassuring her that he had accepted her offer. He was telling her he had known all along.
He lay back on the bed and uncorked the Dose. Click!
The ones he had tasted before never carried a scent, yet this one held a faint trace of blood.
He didn’t hesitate—not for a heartbeat. He didn’t need farewell words from Xyrene. She was lost in her own thoughts... but she had forgotten sothing crucial.
Before she even rembered what it was, Cyn had already swallowed the entire contents of the bottle. Gulp!
He drank the Core of Pain whole.
Xyrene’s eyes widened. What!?
It was a disastrous mistake—he was only supposed to take a few drops.
He would die without question. But what angered her more wasn’t his death— it was that this Core of Pain was priceless, and the fool had wasted it!
Cyn fainted instantly, overwheld by the burning taste of the Dose. Thud...
Sothing like a sedative pulled him under. In the blink of an eye, he was sowhere else entirely—a vast space of white and sky-blue. He stared at the horizon, nude as the day he was born—just as he had been on the bed monts ago. His body was still there, but his mind had been thrown into this place.
Had he died again? He wasn’t supposed to lose consciousness... right? Was drinking the entire Dose truly the correct thing to do?
He stood on a mirrored surface reflecting the heavenly scene above, as if he were standing atop the highest reaches of the world. A serene sky, clean cold air brushing against his skin.
It was far too real to be a dream. Was he actually dreaming while unconscious?
He couldn’t move. His legs refused to respond. But even if he could move, there was nowhere to go. The endless space stretched without direction.
His tangled thoughts broke when sothing appeared in his line of sight. At first he couldn’t tell what it was, but as it floated closer, its shape beca clear—a mist.
A wave, a mass of gray fog.
Suddenly, the heaviness binding him vanished. Cyn could move! Should he run from the fog? Or confront it?
He examined his surroundings closely. There was nowhere to run—the fog encircled him entirely, sealing him inside a ring. Only then did he understand the helplessness of an ant surrounded by water, unable to choose a direction.
Though his case was far stranger. Cyn didn’t even know where he was. What was he supposed to do? Stand and wait for sothing to break the silence?
He touched the surface beneath him. Tap... tap...
It looked like glass reflecting the sky, but when he looked upward, the clouds above didn’t match the reflection.
Sothing was wrong. This wasn’t a glass floor. He was standing on another sky.
Cyn thought deeply, especially about the Dose of the Core of Pain. Wasn’t he supposed to groan and feel agony? Its main use was to awaken the Scar by using pain as fuel—to burn and force the Scar to intervene, creating a link that would grant the user strength to endure the suffering.
But Cyn didn’t know that drinking the entire Dose had made the process nearly impossible. No matter how much power the Scar could grant him, it would never be enough to overco the Core of Pain.
The pain that was approaching. The pain he was already experiencing, even if he couldn’t feel it. The pain tearing through him at that very mont...
Elsewhere, Xyrene watched Cyn with horrified eyes. She had expected him to die instantly, his body dissolving in a blink. What she hadn’t expected was that Cyn was enduring it—the full force of the Dose.
On the bed, she held Cyn’s head between her thighs. His body trembled, soft groans slipping from him. Hngh...
Blood spattered the sheets... and across her face.
But stranger still was the mark on his chest—or rather, what she called his Scar.
It bled like a living creature, glowing faintly. It writhed in chaotic motion, yet beneath that chaos lay a precise pattern. The Scar expanded and shifted, slow but fluid, reshaping itself.
Xyrene stared in disbelief. From its forr form, it shifted as if taking on the shapes of olive leaves and thorned blossoms—purple thistles, blue petals, and crimson rose-stems that bled and pulsed with life.
His Scar was becoming sothing entirely different. Those blossoms and thorns wrapped around him, sinking into his flesh. His left side was overtaken, creeping up past his eye and across his neck.
His veins bulged green, his complexion turning pale.
Cyn’s eyes were barely open, a half-lidded stare drained of life. Only darkness seeped from within.
Blood-tears stread down Xyrene’s cheeks, her silver irises darkening into a deep red shine. She was using sothing too—it was obvious by the toll it took. She murmured to herself, a hint of mockery in her voice though her words were for him:
"Since you’ve co this far... I’ll sacrifice a little. Now show you’re worth it."
Cyn, lost in a deeper sleep than dreaming, couldn’t hear her. On that bed, the two of them fought alone. Xyrene bled from her mouth and eyes.
A crushing silence filled the room—so still it felt suffocating. She had evacuated every servant and forbidden anyone from entering on this day.
She knew what would happen, and had prepared everything in advance. Above all, she wanted the entire incident kept secret.
Now everything depended on Cyn’s will—and on his Scar.
The pain tearing through his body was unbearable. His muscles ruptured; his Scar dug into his flesh and veins like a weapon, taking pieces of him with every movent—as if it were a living thing devouring him.
He would die from the pain if he didn’t act quickly. Xyrene knew this. The fact he hadn’t died instantly from taking the entire Core of Pain was already a miracle.
But miracles didn’t happen twice.
Everything now depended on his strength... and on whatever remained inside him.
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