Mrs. Kim was swamped with her own household affairs. She only managed to spare time to feed Torong at Jia’s mother’s request, but she lacked the energy to closely monitor the puppy’s condition.
“Poor little thing,” she muttered, thinking of Jia, who’d died so young.
At her words, Torong’s ears twitched again. The puppy understood “poor.” It was the opposite of happiness. In the fairy tales Jia read aloud, princesses started out poor but found happiness with their princes.
Mrs. Kim said Jia was poor. Jia had cried, wanting to be happy.
Was Jia poor now?
No. Torong wanted Jia to be happy.
In its fading consciousness, Torong wished for Jia to meet a splendid prince and live happily ever after, like a fairy-tale princess.
It longed to see her smile again.
She hadn’t always remembered her past life.
Like most, her previous existence was a blank. Yet, etched deep in her soul was an indelible urge.
I want to make someone happy.
She didn’t know who. But the desire to bring happiness to someone dominated her life.
Perhaps that’s why, when humanity faced peril, she could so readily sacrifice herself.
“Lossa, think carefully. This barrier isn’t just about you—it’ll pass to your daughter, to your descendants.”
Though Sian spoke calmly, his voice trembled faintly.
Lossa thought of her young daughter, the spitting image of her husband. Was it selfish to be grateful her daughter didn’t resemble her?
“I know,” she said, gazing at the battlefield where monsters wreaked havoc, her expression tinged with sorrow.
If they didn’t stop the creatures now, humanity wouldn’t survive. Even if some did, their lives would be wretched, including her daughter’s and those she loved.
Someone had to act. And she was the most capable for the task. It wasn’t a role she could shirk.
“Are you sure you won’t regret it?”
Sian knew there was no alternative, yet he asked, hoping she’d harbor no regrets—a futile wish.
“And you?”
She wasn’t the only one sacrificing. While Lossa would be the barrier’s core, activating and sustaining it across generations fell to Sian and the others.
“I’ll regret it,” Sian admitted, his eyes heavy with self-loathing.
“Where did it all go wrong?”
This wasn’t what they’d wanted. They’d only sought happiness together. But the reality before them was devastating.
“Now’s not the time for regrets,” Lossa said.
“Zaivan!”
“Good gods!”
Lossa rushed toward Zaivan, his face smeared with blood. Crimson dripped from the hand clutching his eye.
“Your eye—is it hurt?”
“This body’s about to vanish anyway. If losing an eye buys us time, it’s a small price,” Zaivan said nonchalantly, brushing back blood-soaked hair.
“But we’re out of time, Sian. Even Rou’s holding them off has its limits.”
“I know,” Sian replied, biting his lip as he watched the monsters swarm like bees beyond the barrier. Somewhere out there, their friend Rou was fighting to hold “him” back.
“How much longer?”
“We need a bit more time.”
“Is that so?”
Zaivan looked up with his remaining eye. A radiant sun shone in a cloudless sky.
“A fine day to die,” he said.
They weren’t just prepared for death—they faced something worse. If the barrier succeeded, their souls would be bound to it, never finding rest. Yet Zaivan prayed for its success.
“Heh, everyone’s here,” a grating voice scraped their ears.
A man with slit pupils and sharp teeth appeared, grinning.
“Inayari!”
“Been a while.”
He tossed something to the ground—a blood-soaked mass that landed with a thud.
The Inayari smirked again.
“Too rough for a reunion greeting?”
“Rou!”
Recognizing the mass, Lossa screamed. As she lunged toward Rou, Zaivan grabbed her. Sian stepped protectively in front of her, clenching his fists, glaring at the Inayari.
“Did you kill him?”
“Ha, hardly.”
“…Ugh!”
The Inayari’s foot pressed on Rou’s shoulder. Rou, motionless as if dead, twitched in pain.
Sian’s face twisted.
“Stop it!”
“I told you to choose wisely from the start.”
Crunch.
“Argh!”
The sound of crushing bone rang out as the Inayari pressed harder, drawing a pained scream from Rou’s barely breathing form.
“Inayari!”
Clang!
Unable to hold back, Zaivan’s sword swung at the Inayari, who blocked it with ease, as if he’d anticipated the move.
“I’ll kill you!”
“Can you, though?”
While Zaivan fought with all his might, the Inayari’s movements remained effortless.
Zaivan, half-blind and off-balance, left openings. The Inayari’s knee slammed into his exposed abdomen.
“Gah!”
“Zaivan!”
Zaivan flew back, crashing to the ground. The Inayari clicked his tongue mockingly.
“You’ve grown weak, Zaivan.”
“Cough!”
Blood spilled from Zaivan’s mouth as he tried to rise. The Inayari’s lips curled into a twisted grin.
“Or have I grown stronger?”
Lossa moved to help, but Zaivan was faster, wiping his mouth and charging again.
“Hey, friend, your welcome’s a bit much, don’t you think?”
“I never called you friend—urgh!”
The Inayari’s hand seized Zaivan’s jaw, lifting him off the ground with crushing force. He grinned, baring white teeth.
“That’s harsh. Weren’t we once close enough to risk our lives together?”
“You… filth…”
Zaivan couldn’t speak, his jaw near breaking.
“Stop!”
Lossa’s sharp cry made the Inayari turn. Her green eyes, brimming with tears, burned with resentment and rage.
“Stop, please, Inayari.”
“Why should I?”
He dropped Zaivan with a thud and turned to Lossa.
“Why should I stop?”
“You weren’t like this.”
“Ha, that’s rich, Lossa.”
