It was blurry. He didn’t know where he was or what was happening. However, something seemed familiar within the hazy darkness. A woman’s laughter echoed through. Then, there was something red, swaying like the leaves of a tree. It was hair. Red hair.

Whose hair was it?

There was a woman, dressed in white, but he couldn’t see much of her, nor make out anything useful. She was moving, running away. No. He was the one moving.

Now, he floated atop a river, drifting down its currents. He was weak, exhausted, and something burned within his body. What was it, Fire? A man loomed over him. He knew this man; he had saved him… Or was saving him?

Dunn gasped awake to an unfamiliar room, looking around in confusion. He quickly recalled the battle, groaning with frustration. Was that really how he lost? A sword to the head? And he had been wearing knight plate? His heart sank, his eyes lowering.

He slumped his head. Why didn’t he just kill me? That would have been the right thing to do… How was he supposed to live now? He had lost, and worse, he had done so despite having an overwhelming advantage. He had knight plate, for warrior’s sake. And yet, he was the one lying in this bed… Not Adolla.

Did Worthless know I would lose, or did he simply guess? Dunn thought. If it was a guess, it had been a damn well-accurate one. He wondered if those who had bet on his victory were fuming over his foolish defeat…It was a thing in the encampment. Due to the bleakness of the domination, betting was one of the very few fun things they had. Of course, there were also the duels.

Likely the Golden Knight was reconsidering taking back the armor.

Maybe he will give it to Adolla. He stared at his rough fingers. He seemed the better choice.

Dunn was trying to maintain a composed heart after his loss, but the more he thought about it, the less sense it made. He had might, power, plate, and yet he had lost. Yes, he had held back to avoid seriously injuring Adolla, but was that truly a mistake? He had knight plate; using his full power would have been dishonorable…

And if he had won using underhanded methods, it would have sullied his name… Hmm, since when did I care about that? he thought idly, heaving a defeated sigh. Maybe he always had… After all, why would a man who wants death fight so desperately to win?

Maybe because I want something? He shook his head. No, that was wrong. He didn’t want anything—only the honor of dying to a worthy opponent. Yes, that was it.

And… despite losing to him, Adolla didn’t seem like a worthy opponent. So what qualified a worthy opponent?

Still, why? He gritted his teeth in frustration. His mind churned, considering and pondering, yet he found no answers. Even if Adolla had relied on tricks and movement to win, the sheer power of the plate should have compensated for that… He shouldn’t have lost.

Why was my head even exposed in the first place? he wondered, yet the memory remained elusive. Maybe his mind hadn’t fully recovered from the blow…

He touched his temples, feeling the swollen edge Adolla had created. If that had been a real battle, he would have simply gutted me like an animal. Would that have been better? Though Adolla was far from the man Dunn wanted to take his life, his victory would have at least spared him from his current state. This shameful state.

It was odd to have such a thought. Maybe he truly was weak.

Dunn’s heart sank deeper. Maybe I’m not worthy of this armor. Perhaps the better outcome would be it being given to Adolla.

“Seriously!” a loud voice suddenly rang out. He knew that voice… That was…

Dunn raised his head, eyes meeting the winner—the one who had defeated him… Adolla.

However, the man was oddly closing in on him, his fists clenched.

What is he doing?

Bang!

Dunn’s head flung backward, nearly hitting the edge of the bed’s headboard. Thankfully, Adolla grabbed him by the neck—Adolla grabbed him by the neck?

His eyes widened, his mind still nursing the pain of the sudden blow. Fortunately, it wasn’t one enhanced by shard power, or else his skull would have likely cracked against the wall behind him. That would have been messy. Especially for those who were to clean it.

“Why, by the Warrior, is your face like that?” Adolla shouted, spews of saliva spraying warmly against Dunn’s face. “You fought like a woman—capable of causing damage but holding back. This isn’t what I wanted.”

How had he even entered? Dunn was occupied with the idle thought as his mind slowly calmed. Perhaps it was the abrupt blow to his face, but now, he remembered. He had been the one to drop his helm. Why? Because of the heat?

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“Listen to me!” Adolla shook him violently, the world shifting back and forth as his stomach churned with bile. “Why did you hold back?”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to beat me?” Dunn said, suppressing the nausea. “Looks like you accomplished that.”

Adolla frowned and spat on him. That was insulting. A crime, even, but Dunn cared little for it. He was sinking back into that depressive calm that always came when he failed to die in battle. Why did that even happen?

The warm saliva trailed down his cheek, dripping onto the bed. Adolla seemed annoyed by his lack of response. “You really have a lot of red in you.”

Again with that. Dunn blurred Adolla from his vision, his mind entering a blank state. Nothing mattered now.

The world began to shake again—no, Adolla had begun shaking him again, his face practically red with fury. “You want to die, right?”

Dunn did not respond.

However, at that moment, from somewhere within his clothes, Adolla pulled out a small knife—toothless, without an edge, smooth like glass. He raised it with a deep frown. “Here, I grant your request.”

The dagger came down.

And yet, in an instant, the thrill returned. Instinctively, Dunn summoned his blade, swiping it against the incoming dagger. Adolla stopped, faint wisps of black smoke from the sword kissing against his face. He stared at him in disgust.

The dagger chipped at the center, half of it dropping onto the bed. Why had he reacted? Dunn turned left, staring at the black obsidian blade still emanating faint plumes of dark red smoke.

I resisted?

“Now tell me this.” Adolla’s voice turned calm—something more surprising than losing the battle. “If you wanted to die so badly, why fight back?”

Dunn remained silent for a moment before speaking in a low voice, "Because you’re not worthy." That was it, wasn’t it?

Adolla suddenly burst into laughter, dropping the half-dagger onto the bed. He leaned back, releasing his grip on Dunn’s neck. That was good—Dunn hadn’t even noticed how his breathing had grown labored under those hands.

The shard-bearer shook his head and said, "You’re a fraud. I’m not worthy? How many times have I beaten you? Even before you had the plate, and I’m the unworthy one?" He laughed even harder. "You know something? You always say ‘Shattered Heavens this, Shattered Heavens that,’ or something about the prideful son. Yet, you are so steeped in his redness."

Dunn froze. That’s what he meant? Pride? He was full of pride? How did that make any sense? How was that even possible?

Adolla’s smile slowly faded, his voice turning into something deeper, something almost beastly. A calm beast. Would he attack again?

"It seems you’re like an ash-hound that needs to be taught basic things," he said, his gaze calm but simmering with something beneath the surface. "You are too prideful. Deep down, you don’t truly believe you can die. Or maybe it’s fear—some other nonsense. You tell yourself that only the worthy can take your life, and often you assess this worthiness. But when someone worthy does come, you fight feverishly to stay alive. And when you win, you sulk about it."

"Of course, some scholar might think this is just mental nonsense, but guess what happened the moment you got knight plate?" He paused. "See, knight plate can adjust to whatever height the bonded wants, but instead, you kept it big and strong—because that’s how you want to be seen. And when you finally got it, you saw everyone as beneath you. So when you fought me, instead of fighting like a true warlock—damn the rules—you held back. You even went as far as giving me an edge by removing your mask. So what’s that, huh? You’re so full of it. A hypocrite."

Dunn was stunned into silence. Every one of Adolla’s words slammed against him like an unrelenting tide—threatening to break down something. No. It shouldn’t be broken down. What shouldn’t?

He frowned, rubbing his temples. Dismissing the premonition, he focused on what Adolla had said. Was it true? It didn’t seem like it. It didn’t seem like him. And yet, it sounded like it. Was he truly prideful? Was that why he acted that way with Worthless? Why he held back? Was it not honor but pride?

No, it was not, his mind insisted. He massaged his head, then looked up at the roof. Things are confusing.

Whatever it was that this man was saying—it could be true, or it could be false. For now, he needed to calm down and process it later.

"Was this your way of beating out my desire to die? My pride?" Dunn asked, looking up at Adolla.

Adolla suddenly wore an awkward expression.

Shattered Heavens! Dunn nearly started.

A new expression—one Dunn had never seen before on the man—was now before him. He hadn’t even thought Adolla capable of such a face.

After a moment, it faded, replaced by a mad grin. The man’s emotions were like a storm: unpredictable and ever-changing.

"Taaa!" Dunn exclaimed, instantly regretting it as his stomach flared with a painful heat. He endured the sensation and said, "So you did want to beat the pride out of me, huh?"

Adolla still said nothing. This was the first time such a thing had happened.

"By the Warrior, you care?" That was a genuine question—Dunn was rather surprised by this turn of events.

Adolla remained silent for a moment, then sighed. "I got it." He turned around to walk away.

But before he could, Dunn called to him. "How exactly do you know the things you know?" He could be wrong, right?.

If he had guessed, then surely it could be wrong.

Adolla looked away and said passively, "Reveal yourself."

"Yes, sir," a voice suddenly said before Dunn, nearly startling him.

It was a man—brown-haired with dark eyes that seemed to hold unfathomable depths.

What?

"This is a high-class mind-worm," Adolla said. "He searched your memories and relayed them to me. He’s been following you for some time now."

Dunn stared silently at the serene-faced man. He considered beheading the fellow, but… why even bother? He sighed, waving Adolla away. So was this prove? Prove of some truth in Adolla's words?

The two soon left the room, leaving him in silence.

"Finally, he’s gone." He had been trying to get him to leave. That was the only reason he had changed the topic so suddenly and made little fuss about a mind-worm poking around in his mind. He seems to have noticed it…

Staring at the ceiling, Dunn suddenly frowned as the contents of his dreams returned to him.

Who was that person with the red hair? he wondered.

----------------------------------------

Jean wrapped herself in the silk robe, taking a sip of the chilled liquor resting on the table. She exhaled deeply, listening to the exhausted gasp of her guest. She turned to him; a boy—well, he had been one a few hours ago—lay sprawled on her bed, utterly spent. His short blond hair was tousled, and his bare chest glistened with sweat.

She smiled as he met her gaze. For someone who had just experienced his first time of passion, he had been remarkably vigorous. Who could have predicted such stamina? She had plucked him from the streets on a whim, and now it seemed she had made quite the choice… Many of the others would be eager to turn him into a lost.