Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Throughout history, the sight of blood froze the hearts of billions. The thought of laying bare what was inside yourself frightened the human heart. An instinct to protect itself. An instinct that, regardless of reason, told people to look away.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Yet instincts could be controlled. Levelled and manipulated to one's own needs. Humanity had conquered the fear of blood long ago. Only few remained to fear the sight of red.

Never in a million years did Sun-young think she would be one of them. Captured by a dark, twisted dagger in her heart that screamed at her.

'Run! Run! Run! RUN!'

Marta shouldn't have been here. She shouldn't have joined her. She shouldn't be covering her mouth, stopping her hiccups, crying while believing this might be her last moments.

They hid. They didn't move. They simply listened to the violent wet squelches.

Then, when the noises stopped and the dagger eased, Sun-young gathered her strength, raised her toes slightly, and looked over.

A man in a top hat stood over a body, his face obscured by a white mask. In his gloved hand, he clutched a knife, its blade slick and glistening with fresh blood.

He wasn't killing a witch, he was killing another player.

His lively victim, a middle-aged man, lay on the floor, gasping for breath. His eyes darted frantically, pleading for mercy that would never come. The man in the top hat leaned closer, and with a deliberate and unhurried motion, he plunged the knife into the man's chest, twisting it with a cruel satisfaction. A guttural, agonizing scream filled the room, only to be abruptly silenced as life drained from him.

Stomach split open, throat slit, in one quick glance, Sun-young saw it all and nearly vomited out her lunch. But she didn't. She refused to move, to run or to fight. She remained crouched on the staircase. If they fell, if they went down the Osario, if they retreated down the stairs, they would be next.

A hand wandered on top of her stomach.

"Ladies. I can sense you."

It was a whisper, yet Marta whimpered and utterly gave up their position. 'Run! No, fight!' To say Sun-young leapt into action was false. She ran at him in a desperate attempt to buy Marta time, because she didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve to die.

"Run!" Sun-young screamed. "Run, Marta!"

A length of black steel halted the Majin-ken. Strength seemed almost irrelevant as she pushed against what felt like a steel wall. He just—

"Mmmh!"

—wouldn't budge!

He spoke calmly. Too calmly, as if he was whispering. "You are weak."

Alarm bells went off and she sprung herself back. His left hand held a knife coated in darkness. Like mud and energy, it dripped.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

She didn't understand, her eyes following as he raised his knife and slashed at her. The black energy whipped at her and slashed through her chainmail. An intense burn that stopped her breath and caused the very air to be painful. She slammed a hand on her stomach and could feel the blood leaking. So wet, so much of it, she winced from the disbelief and the agony.

'How deep is it?' Wince. Wrong question. 'I thought I dodged it…!'

The pain throbbing in her stomach persisted and the unused black cane disappeared into nothing. The man in the top elected to fight with a knife. Plain unalloyed steel, short and sharp with a particular grip and design at the hilt. The symbol of a skull, perhaps.

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Sun-young didn't pay too much attention, her eyes lasered on his peripheral movement. Clad in a black coat that covered every fibre of skin, his white gloves and white mask were painted with blood.

His name? Jack. And his level? Unknown. Class? Unknown.

His wrists twitched. Her eyes followed and reacted.

Clang! Sun-young swung her sword as hard as she could. Nothing was left behind. Every ounce was used.

His measly little knife deflected it, and it didn't even tremble. Fear struck her heart, as did the race to live.

Live. Live!

Live!

Fight harder, faster, stronger! Fight! Fight!

Majin-ken erased magic. In other words, no matter the darkness this man enveloped himself in, no matter how uncomfortable she felt, she could win. Regardless of how ridiculous it seemed, how impossibly powerful he was, logic flowed through her. Logic kept her grounded and shined down hope. Her two hands gripped together, she swung the long sword over and over and over and over again. She could gain the advantage—

'Huh?' Sun-young swallowed and glanced down. Metal had submerged itself in her belly, her insides torn apart. Her breath was taken from her.

"Do you know the greatest sin of this world? It is weakness. The sin of weakness is mankind's folly. Your sin."

"Sun-young!"

Marta's scream turned into short, ugly gasps. Sun-young couldn't see what was happening, her vision overtaken by the drips of blood rolling down the knife plunged inside her.

It was happening.

Itwashappeningtoheritwashappeningtoheritwashappeningtoher!

Shunk!

There was a toppling sound and the knife broke away from her. Blood spilled out from her stomach, which she vehemently stopped with her own hand. It didn't matter, the blood continued painting her hands. Gasping for air, she dropped to her knees.

"What—what did you—"

Jack didn't purposely take out the knife from her stomach. His left arm, which had been reaching out towards Marta, had been sliced from the wrist down.

Jack hissed, "That sword…! Anti-magic. I see."

Sun-young struggled to her feet. Her HP was steadily dropping, but also recovering from her natural regeneration. Jack was one-handed. She could afford not to be, stomach be damned.

Darkness replaced his hand, a clawed monstrosity. Sun-young glanced over her shoulder and saw that very same darkness withering away from Marta's neck. Logic. Logic had prevailed and given her a chance. Marta was still gasping for air, eyes red, and holding her half-crushed throat.

Her eyes set in determination, drawing in all the air of the world, Sun-young took a step forward and hammered down on him. An under slash following a swing to the right side. The knife responded just as she expected it would. Her eyes lit up and she read the thrust aimed for her heart, going just out of reach. She purposely created a hole in her stance to lure him for a devastating, lower-body-powered dismantle. She hoped to send the knife out of his wrist.

Her hopes were dashed when she hit rock solid. The timing, the strength, she did nothing wrong. It was her opponent that was wrong.

Jack tilted his knife and with ease he overpowered her. Darkness flickered and weakened, and he almost curiously pulled back, observing the reaction of her anti-magic sword.

Sun-young didn't stop. She wouldn't stop. Upright, left. Downright. A step back and a thrust. A step forward, a semi-dive, and a slash upwards.

When did a human grow the most? Was it during training? Strife? No, it was when facing incomparable fear. Facing fear yet still pushing. Fighting against an insurmountable and trying desperately to catch up.

For an instant, her vision was covered by a screen.

[ Amateur Sword Proficiency upgraded into Intermediate Sword Proficiency ]

[ Congratulations! You have fulfilled the necessary conditions! Receive the 'Intermediate Swordsman' class! ]

As much as she wanted to relax, celebrate, and read over the new class, she couldn't. She couldn't remove her eyes from Jack for even an instant, or else it would spell death. Brutal, torturous death.

The hundredth interlocking of blades occurred. Sun-young grit her teeth so hard she could almost hear them through the thumping of her heart.

Jack cocked his head. "Where did you learn swordplay?"

Needing—begging for time to breathe, she replied, "My grandparents."

"Where are you from? A country girl, perhaps?"

"Seoul."

His head tilted, curiousity growing. "A city girl..."

"Get away from her!" Marta! She was up! "Radiant BLAST!"

A light too fast for Sun-young to react to blasted past her shoulders and into the mask of her enemy. Her sword understood that he was stunned in this instance and came forward to lob his head off. Her eyes dulled and she could feel the world slow down.

Darkness pooled from his hands and Sun-young was blasted away, slamming into Marta. Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! The two of them fell down the long stairs of the temple. Her back dropped into a corner and she let out a gasp. Marta managed to stop herself but Sun-young didn't. She failed to gather up her strength and she ended up at the bottom of the fleet of stairs, with blood pooling under her.

Her stomach was empty; in its place, a slimy wet, and massive gash. The ground seemed to worsen the open wound with the slightest touch. Breathing made it widen.

'Am I…dying?'

She didn't expect an answer. However, she heard a voice. Was it Marta? Kazi maybe? God, she didn't care. She just wanted it to end. End her world of suffering and misery. Just end it.

Thud! Thud! Thud! A drumming noise invaded her ears. She forced herself to look up. Black boots and a cape fluttered. Her heart skipped.

Two black circular dots in front of white came into view. They remained there, staring into her soul. She wasn't sure if she was breathing. Jack cocked his head innocently. "Stay saucy, my lady."

As if she were some tender thing, he took her limp hand and shook it. He returned to his full height, mask still staring down at her, and put a finger up against his would-be lips. Then, without looking, he threw his knife.

There was a blood-curdling scream and the shriek of a woman.

"Too many eyes, and I haven't had my fill. Good night."

Screams pierced her ears and the world fell into darkness for Yoon Sun-young. Only when she began drowning in that darkness she began to hear whispers of heaven.

"...en's…urgence…!"