In all honesty, he wanted to understand, but the more he tried, the more confused he became. At first, he felt like he couldn’t understand because they didn’t have a clear grasp of just how strong he was.
These monsters weren’t that strong either—it was a tier four rift after all—but they didn’t know that. They couldn’t read rift informations like he could.
At the very least, they had a perfect and deep understanding of what it meant to be a Sage. Both of them did.
So it wasn’t that they doubted he would be fine on his own. So why? Why were they being so stubborn about retreating?
Was it pride?
If it was, Northern would be so disappointed in both of them, because to what end would such a useless thing serve them?
Pride was reserved for people who could protect, people who could dominate and never be dominated.
At the very least, from his experience, that was what he had surmised. Both from the old world and the new one. It was all the same.
The strong took advantage of the weak and vulnerable. But he did not want to be that kind of strong person.
He refused to use people as meat shields for himself just because of his strength. Not that he loved heroism—he just despised exploiting others.
And that was why he wanted them to leave so badly. Because, truly, he could do this on his own. Their staying would cost them their dear lives.
And pride was too reckless and flimsy an excuse to throw away one’s life. Not when they were weaklings.
Northern tore through the line of abominations that swooped upon them, viciously eviscerating every single one. A crude and ruthless blade in one hand, a sinister and violent flame in the other.
The battlefield quickly descended into a macabre cacophony, with Northern like a spearhead—both protective and devastating—blocking the flood of monsters from breaking through and overwhelming the two behind him, leaving the few that slipped through for them to handle.
Each time his sword flew, the system spoke into his ears. And it spoke so much it almost became a rhythm.
[You have slain Disastrous Beast - Mangled Flyer]
[You have gained 3 talent fragments]
[You have slain Disastrous Beast - Mangled Flyer]
[You have gained 3 talent fragments]
[You have slain Disastrous...]
[You have gained...]
The system faded into white noise as Northern focused intently on the battle at hand, his feet sturdy and strong on the ground. His footwork was balanced, his movements precise.
He needed to maintain control over a wide area. He also considered the two drifters behind him as he fought with calculated brutality.
He stretched out his senses to observe them once again. Gareon was already wielding his arsenal of abilities. His body had changed color, silver sheen glistening over his skin.
Northern had no idea if that was an item or the man’s talent ability, though he guessed the latter, since the man seemed to have a rigid body—a highly defensive one at that.
But across several parts of his skin, Northern could see cuts with blood trickling down.
The girl had more of those, in fact. Her face was now riddled with small cuts, her plexion pale, her breath ragged. Yet that look of defiance and determination burned fiercely in her eyes.
There was something about her that both amazed and annoyed him.
’Why the hell is she not using her abilities?’
Northern frowned and suddenly released his sword, letting it vanish into the embrace of his soul.
The girl glanced at him, her voice sharp with worry.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Two swords formed of sharp, dark-bluish ice materialized in his hands. He gripped them tightly and surged forward, ignoring the girl momentarily.
Meeting the flood of monsters with terrifying speed, Northern swung both swords. At the swing of each blade, a vehement blizzard of snow burst outward, freezing and swallowing the abominations on either side.
On both sides now stood tall and imposing walls of ice, freezing countless abominations within. A few remained trapped outside, but very few.
Both walls encased the shimmering rift, and Northern stood between them, glancing back with authority.
"You two take care of the ones outside and step back—things are going to get more difficult from here."
He fixed his gaze on the girl.
"I told you before... you can’t just rely on bat. You need to use whatever abilities you’ve got. Can’t you see Gareon?"
The girl shot back instantly.
"And I told you too, I don’t have anything more than this to depend on. How many times must I make it clear to you guys that I am not a drifter!"
It was then that realization struck.
Northern suddenly understood that she had been saying it all along, but he had never truly listened.
Because he thought she had to be speaking metaphorically. Not being a drifter yet following a mercenary on a difficult job to a blockade—which would obviously bee a warzone regardless of whatever caused it—had to be the most foolish thing he had heard in all his life.
So no, he had never considered that the girl was powerless. No one should be foolish enough to do that. And if there was such a being, they deserved a swift death since they held their life in such contempt.
Right now, he just wanted to turn abruptly, fly to her, and smack the base of his sword on her head.
But even that slight hit might be enough to kill her. After all, she was just a fragile human at her core.
Gareon was as shocked as he was, but not as enraged.
"You don’t make that easy to believe with how well you keep up. Not many civilians can move the way you do or stay brave enough to face the ravaging maws of a monster."
Gareon’s voice boomed mid-battle. He was right. Indeed, he was right.
The lady had an extraordinary grasp of bat—she was fast, too fast for a mundane human. But at the end of the day, it meant nothing.
Northern frowned, pausing after slashing upward at the last monster. He turned back to them.
"It doesn’t matter how much skill she has... once hellions start pouring out of the rift, she’ll be useless."
His eyes carried a cold wickedness. His words were brutal and unfair, but they were the truth.
User Comments
0 comments from readers