As the werewolf and the hooded man stared at the companion they had believed dead standing before them, they found themselves at a loss for how to react.
"Wait... how is that even possible?" the hooded man muttered, his eyes filled with disbelief and confusion. "I checked your body myself. Your heart was nothing but a pulp of minced at."
"True," Maurdin chuckled, though the sound quickly turned into a strained grunt as pain shot through his chest again. He straightened slowly before continuing, "But who said I only have one heart?"
Both the werewolf and the hooded man’s eyes widened at those words, though the reaction was even stronger from the werewolf as the realization suddenly clicked in his mind.
’Now that I think about it...’ he recalled, ’I once heard that the side effect he developed after his surgery was the growth of a new organ. I always wondered what it was.’
Monts later, Maurdin confird his suspicion.
"I have two hearts," he explained. "The one that was destroyed was my human heart. But the bestial one is still intact... and that’s the one keeping alive."
What Maurdin didn’t ntion, however, was that he had originally planned to have that second heart removed after this mission was completed.
Having two hearts might sound like a blessing, especially when one of them had just saved his life, but in his case it had always been more of a curse than anything else. The second heart he had developed after the surgery — the bestial one — was enormous, far too large for a human body.
It had grown on its own after the procedure, but no space had ever been prepared for it inside him. From the mont it appeared, the massive organ had been constantly pressing against and crushing the rest of his internal organs.
If nothing was done, it would have killed him sooner or later.
So he had been forced to make a decision: remove his human heart or remove the bestial one.
His choice had been the bestial heart.
But before that surgery could ever happen, Arcanor had made the decision for him by destroying his human heart — leaving the monstrous one as his only heart.
When his human heart was destroyed, he had thought he was finished — and in a sense, he had been right. But just before the last traces of life faded from his body, his second heart had taken over.
When he ca to and realized what had happened, fury had surged through him so violently that his first instinct was to rush back and kill the bastard on the spot. But after a mont, he forced himself to calm down, realizing that doing so would only lead him straight to his death — and this ti, there would be no third heart to save him.
So instead, he stayed hidden and observed the battle from afar, waiting patiently for the right opportunity to strike.
However, when he saw the werewolf being completely overwheld, his thoughts briefly drifted toward abandoning the mission altogether and leaving his companions to their fate.
That was when the werewolf and the hooded man launched their desperate final attack.
Seeing that, he knew his mont had co.
He had originally intended to strike at the sa ti as them, but he was simply too slow compared to the two of them, especially while trying to remain unnoticed. For a mont, he had thought the opportunity had slipped away when Arcanor avoided the werewolf’s strike.
But then the hooded man intervened, delaying Arcanor for just a fraction of a second.
That tiny delay had been all Maurdin needed to arrive at exactly the right mont.
"We should confirm if he’s dead, right?" the hooded man said cautiously, staring toward the direction where Arcanor had been launched.
"There’s no way he survived that hit," Maurdin snorted. "But sure."
Only seconds later, the three of them arrived at the crater carved into the wall by the impact.
To their surprise... Arcanor was still alive.
The bastard was lying on his back a few ters away from the crater he had created when he smashed into the wall. His left arm was twisted at an unnatural angle, clearly broken, and a dark trail of blood stretched from the crater to where he now lay.
’He must have crawled out,’ the three of them thought as they looked at the marks on the ground.
What surprised them the most, however, was that despite his terrible condition, the bastard was still encased in his smoke armor — and his scythe remained firmly clenched in his good hand.
"Damn... you really are as hard to kill as a cockroach, huh?" Maurdin snorted as he stepped down from the rubble and walked toward Arcanor, stopping right above him and looking down with a cold, satisfied grin.
"I... could say the sa... about you," Arcanor replied hoarsely, his breathing rough and uneven. "I’m surprised you’re still alive."
"Yeah, well, it’s not like you didn’t try to kill ," Maurdin chuckled. "But in the end, you failed... and that failure is about to cost you your life."
For a mont, Arcanor said nothing.
Then a faint chuckle escaped his lips.
"Cost my life... huh?" he said slowly. He drew a slow breath before chuckling again. "Unfortunately for you, I can’t die just yet. I still have a bastard I need to kill."
Hearing that last part, Maurdin assud he was referring to the werewolf and burst into laughter.
"You really are a funny guy," he said, shaking his head. "So let explain your situation to you."
A cruel grin spread across his face, revealing a row of thick, blunt teeth.
"You lost," he said slowly, leaning slightly closer. "And in a few seconds, you’re going to die."
This ti, it was Alex’s turn to laugh.
The sound ca out hoarse but genuine. He truly found it amusing. There were still countless ways for him to kill the three of them, yet sohow he was the one who was about to die?
The irony was almost too good.
"I’ll make sure to kill you properly this ti," Alex said.
His voice was as calm and still as the surface of a lake.
As those words reached the rhino’s ears, Marnak—still firmly held in Alex’s hand—suddenly trembled violently.
Then it began to move.
The long shaft contracted with a series of sharp tallic clicks, its length shortening as hidden segnts slid into one another. At the sa ti, the two crescent blades mounted at each end of the weapon twisted along their base. Their curved edges straightened, the hooked tips folding inward while the tal stretched and aligned itself into a single elongated edge.
The opposing blades gradually slid toward the center of the weapon, rging into one another as if drawn by an invisible force. The tal fused seamlessly, the once separate arcs now forming one continuous, straight killing edge.
The weapon reshaped itself around Alex’s grip, its balance shifting, its structure compacting into sothing far more suited for close combat.
Despite the complexity of the chanism and the nurous moving parts involved, the transformation happened in what felt like the blink of an eye.
And Alex was now holding a longsword.
The sword was as black as night. Its edge, a deep icy blue, looked so sharp it seed capable of slicing through reality itself. But the most disturbing—and attention-grabbing—feature was the skull set between the blade and the hilt, its hollow eye sockets giving it the most ominous presence imaginable.
The mont the eyes of the three n landed on the weapon, a chill so cold it felt as if invisible claws had raked down their spines ran through their bodies.
"MAURDIN, KIL—"
Whatever the werewolf had been about to shout never left his mouth.
An overwhelming pressure suddenly descended upon them, crushing against their bodies and minds alike, as if the re act of standing before the man in front of them was an unforgivable offense.
Yet Arcanor didn’t move.
Not imdiately.
He simply drew in a slow, steady breath.
Then he began to rise.
His movents were unhurried—so slow and deliberate that it almost looked as if he didn’t care in the slightest that three level-five enemies stood before him, each one ready to tear him apart.
Step by step, he pushed himself upright.
When he finally stood fully, his back was straight as a rod despite the severe wounds covering his body.
Then he spoke.
"Frost Domain."
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