Yeomyeong stopped his fists. He didn’t know how many blows he had delivered, but his body refused to move any longer.

He panted heavily, yet there was no guilt for having beaten what looked like a delicate woman, nor any vile excitement in his eyes.

It was natural. What lay before him was nothing more than murderous intent wearing Midiris’s skin.

Yeomyeong let go of the writhing form and threw it to the ground.

Then, he collapsed onto the ground himself, tilting his head back to look at the sky.

The sky above him was mottled, reminiscent of the polluted skies of Incheon, where he had grown up.

For some reason, a bitter taste filled his mouth. He craved alcohol, but all he had to wet his throat was dry saliva.

As his thirst clawed at him, the remnants of murderous intent croaked weakly.

“You’ll… regret… this….”

Even as it melted and lost form, the creature stared directly at Yeomyeong.

“Revenge….”

“I’ll handle it my way,” he interrupted.

“….”

“I’ll fulfill my revenge and live without shame before the foreman and my brothers. That’s all there is to it.”

“Ha… that’s… ridiculous….”

“Failure, success—it’s all on me. My burden, my responsibility. And most importantly….”

Yeomyeong locked eyes with the being. Its twisted gaze churned with boiling hatred.

“I haven’t forgiven anyone, and I won’t forgive anyone in the future. So… be gone.”

“Heh… here… isn’t… the… end… I… I’ll….”

Before it could finish its words, the murderous intent disintegrated, disappearing from the dream.

Like dust washed away by rain, or impurities melting in molten steel.

Yeomyeong stared at the spot where it had vanished for a long while before turning his gaze to the branch stuck in the ground.

The small branch, which had resembled a miniature tree, trembled slightly as it caught his gaze before it toppled over.

Moved by an inexplicable urge, Yeomyeong picked it back up and planted it more firmly into the ground.

Afterward, he turned to the only other presence remaining in the dream.

“Pasun, you knew that thing was murderous intent from the start, didn’t you?”

Pasun, still floating in his ghostly elephant form, glanced at him with a guilty look.

“I didn’t know. Truly.”

The elephant’s translucent face contorted in mock indignation, its expression oddly human-like.

Yeomyeong smirked and shook his head.

“Don’t give me that nonsense.”

“I’m serious! How could I know what crawled into your dream? This isn’t even my realm—how could I—”

Pasun’s protests grew louder, but Yeomyeong raised a hand to silence him.

“Enough. Now get out of my dream.”

“What? Are you really letting me go?”

At those words, Pasun’s ethereal form quivered with joy, but Yeomyeong’s next words shattered his hopes.

“Leave behind your flying technique first.”

“I knew it! You’re insane!”

“What’s the problem? Don’t want to?”

“That’s not a technique—it’s a state of mastery! A state! It’s not some martial skill you can just take!”

As expected, it wasn’t something he could simply steal. Yeomyeong smirked, brushing off his disappointment.

“Then give me something else before you go.”

“You thieving bastard…!”

“Fine. Do what you want. But if I end up here again, we’ll have another talk.”

As Yeomyeong stood and turned to leave, Pasun hurriedly called out.

“Wait! I’ll give you something else! Don’t go!”

“…What is it? A martial skill?”

“No. Information.”

Pasun’s trunk picked up a small stone, and he began scratching the ground with it.

Curious, Yeomyeong watched as the ghostly elephant’s movements carved out a crude map and a set of coordinates.

“What’s this supposed to be?”

Pasun pointed to the crude diagram with his trunk, speaking with a conspiratorial tone.

“It’s the layout and access code for Warehouse 113 at the Indiana Harbor in Chicago.”

“….”

Ah, so it was theft-related information. How fitting for a scoundrel like him.

Before Yeomyeong could frown, Pasun continued.

“It belongs to the Samaritan Family, the gang running Chicago. They store all kinds of magical artifacts and elixirs there.”

“…Magical items and elixirs, huh? And you want me to loot them?”

“They’re just gangsters. With your skills, you could walk off with the whole warehouse, and they wouldn’t be able to stop you. Still, there’s probably only one thing there you’d really care about.”

“…And that is?”

Leaning in as if to share a great secret, Pasun whispered:

“The rest of the unicorn’s horn—the base portion of it—is stored there.”

It was unexpected. So unexpected that Yeomyeong couldn’t trust it in the slightest.

The fact that Pasun knew about the missing piece of the Uragan’s handle—and its location—seemed too good to be true.

Yeomyeong’s suspicious gaze bore into the elephant, but Pasun flapped his ears, as if proud of the information he had shared.

“Well? Isn’t that enough for you to let me go?”

“…How do I know I can trust this map and code?”

Pasun’s gleeful expression faltered at Yeomyeong’s cold words.

“What are you talking about?”

“How can I just trust your information and let you go?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Ask the Saintess for foresight!”

Pasun’s matter-of-fact tone made Yeomyeong freeze.

How does this guy know about foresight?

“To you, it might be some invaluable treasure, but to anyone else, it’s just a haunted staff. The security isn’t even that tight… The Saintess could confirm it in seconds. What’s the problem?”

Pasun’s casual attitude toward foresight suggested his group either employed a foresight user or was prepared to counter one.

A terrorist group with foresight…?

Thinking back to how startled Kaharl Magdu was when he encountered the Saintess, Yeomyeong deduced that their foresight ability was likely inferior to hers.

Still, foresight itself was a dangerous skill. Should he press Pasun for more information?

His deliberation didn’t last long.

Allowing an unknown entity to linger in his dream seemed far riskier than letting Pasun go with some interrogation still unfinished.

“Fine. Deal. How do I let you go?”

“When you achieve clarity and wake up from this state, take my spirit with you. Simple, isn’t it?”

What might have terrified ordinary transcendents seemed like a minor task to the two of them.

Half a day later, Yeomyeong awoke from his no-mind state, having grasped the essence of both Heavenly Mist Art and Black Wing Style.

By then, a day and a half had passed since he first entered the state.

 

Midiris opened her eyes.

The first thing she saw was a ceiling that felt both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

Could this be… the Academy infirmary?

“…Comrade Miri?”

As she began to regain her senses, a presence approached her. Lime stood by her bedside, holding a damp cloth.

Midiris allowed the cool cloth to rest on her forehead, her thoughts still sluggish as she finally spoke.

“Lime… how long have I been dreaming?”

“All day,” Lime answered calmly.

“All… day?”

“You fell asleep yesterday around noon, and you’ve only just woken up. It’s been well over twenty hours.”

That long? Midiris shivered slightly and let out a trembling breath.

Seeing her reaction, Lime, misunderstanding her distress, gently brushed her forehead and asked cautiously:

“Whose dream were you in? Was there another elf nearby?”

Midiris didn’t answer. No, she couldn’t answer.

The sensations from the dream still lingered vividly in her mind.

The thrill of connecting to a human’s dream for the first time.

The fear of being swallowed by an unfamiliar emotion.

And… the unrelenting violence.

Everything was strange and new—sensations she couldn’t explain with any words she knew.

But one thing was clear: for the first time in her life, she had fully experienced the emotions of a human.

Joy and sorrow, rage and delight, despair and determination… all of it.

If there was one regret, it was that she hadn’t been able to see all his memories. His memories were fragmented, obscured as if hidden by shadows.

If only she could’ve seen those memories too, she might’ve understood him completely.

The missing pieces of his past left Midiris with a lingering sense of regret.

“Lime….”

After a long silence, savoring the remnants of the dream, Midiris called softly to her attendant.

“Yes, Comrade?”

The silver-haired elf, who had been watching her with concern, clasped her hand tightly. Feeling that warmth, Midiris spoke the thought that had just crossed her mind.

“The special instructor application… it starts today, right?”

“If you’re referring to that, don’t worry. The principal has made arrangements for you to attend Magician Michele’s class.”

“…Cancel that, please.”

“Pardon? But you were looking forward to Magician Michele’s lessons….”

“That dung beetle… I mean, Cheonyeom. You know who I’m talking about, right?”

For a brief moment, Lime’s expression twisted before returning to its usual calm.

It was an uncharacteristic reaction for Lime, and Midiris smiled gently as she continued.

“Please submit my application to the same special instructor he chose.”

“He submitted his application to only one instructor… Corvus, the beastfolk. Are you sure that’s acceptable?”

“Yes, that’s fine.”

Lime’s lips moved as if to protest but eventually, she bowed her head in resignation.

“…Understood. I’ll do as you wish.”

“Thank you for indulging my whim. Oh, and… could you bring me some tissues?”

“Tissues? What for…?”

Midiris tilted her head slightly, and as she did, a thin stream of blood trickled from her nose.

Startled, Lime hurried off to fetch the tissues, leaving Midiris to press her hand against her bleeding nose with a quiet laugh.

This nosebleed was undeniable proof of the dream she had just experienced.