The atmosphere shifted.

It wasn’t the stench of blood or decay that permeated the sewer.

It was a suffocating, visceral killing intent, so intense that even the instinct to sense mana shriveled in its presence.

The Saintess turned her head toward the source of the malice without realizing it.

There stood the man she’d been joking with just moments ago.

But now, he felt entirely unfamiliar.

His face was frozen, his grip on his sword was white-knuckled, and his golden eyes were sunk deep as if suppressing something.

‘…Scarab?’

For some reason, the name she’d only heard in passing came to mind. And as it did, something clicked. A sense of understanding she couldn’t fully explain.

As if confirming her suspicions, the moment she glanced behind Seti to follow Yeomyeong’s gaze, the overwhelming malice disappeared.

Gone, as if it were never there, replaced by a practiced calm, a calculated effort to conceal its presence from those behind her.

The action spoke louder than a thousand words.

The Saintess swallowed hard, and Yeomyeong’s voice, low and quiet, broke the silence.

“…Saintess. When I give the signal, shoot Jeon Yunseong.”

The voice was meant only for her ears.

In the past, she might have scolded him for saying something so absurd or at least demanded an explanation.

But the Saintess had spent too much time by his side, affected too deeply by his pragmatism. Instead of protest, her response was something entirely different.

“…Kill him?”

“No. Just incapacitate him. If he gets in the way… I’ll handle it myself.”

Without another word, she blessed her rifle.

Yeomyeong, seeing her prepare, strapped on his sword and shotgun, then stood.

 

How would they meet?

Yeomyeong had asked himself this question countless times, whenever the fire of vengeance burned hottest in his chest.

Would it be after a long, grueling chase? Or perhaps in a desperate, life-or-death confrontation?

Maybe he’d find the Player hiding in a secret lair.

But reality wasn’t so dramatic. There was no intense pursuit, no critical moment of survival.

It was a chain of coincidences and a sliver of inevitability.

Had he not learned the Player was hiding as a second-year in the academy, had he not noticed that characteristic smirk, had he not seen the imperial knight’s sword hanging from Jeon Yunseong’s belt…

Then, just as the Player hadn’t recognized the Scarab, Yeomyeong wouldn’t have recognized him.

‘When coincidence and inevitability overlap… can you call it fate?’

As he walked closer to his target, Yeomyeong pondered.

If this was truly fate, it was a cruel one.

To meet him here, in a place reeking of blood and filth, just like the day the Player massacred those janitors.

Each step toward the Player brought Yeomyeong closer to the swirling malice in his chest. His internal Scarab screamed, and sweat soaked his grip on his sword.

But the closer he got, the colder his mind became.

‘The extent of his strength is unknown. End it in one swift move….’

By the time Yeomyeong reached the group, the Player had already stepped forward as if he’d been expecting him.

That characteristic smirk spread across his face as he extended a hand toward Yeomyeong.

“So you’re the famous transfer student? Nice to meet you. I’m Arthas, a second-year. It’s an honor to meet the savior of the first-years.”

Yeomyeong didn’t take his hand. Instead, his gaze flicked to Seti, standing behind him.

No words were necessary.

Seti immediately understood what his look meant.

But the Player, misinterpreting their silent exchange, pulled back his hand with an awkward expression.

“Oh, am I intruding? Should I give you two some privacy—”

The moment his hand retreated, Yeomyeong pulled the trigger on his shotgun.

Boom!

The ambush was perfect, but the Player’s body was unscathed.

A translucent shield erupted from the bracelet on his wrist, absorbing every pellet.

“Damn it—!”

The Player’s delayed reaction wasn’t fast enough to stop Yeomyeong’s sword. A flash of silver, imbued with Wave Breaking Mana, slashed toward his neck.

The shield flared again, attempting to block the blade, but it wasn’t enough to withstand the force of Yeomyeong’s strike.

Crack!

Mana shards sprayed into the air as the barrier shattered, and a thin red line appeared on the Player’s neck.

‘Not deep enough.’

Yeomyeong’s frown deepened. The shield had absorbed just enough force to stop him from fully decapitating the Player.

He had only managed to cut the surface, slicing across his throat.

Yeomyeong raised his sword to strike again, but Jeon Yunseong’s startled voice rang out.

“You—what the hell are you doing?!”

Instinctively, Yunseong reached for the imperial knight’s sword at his hip.

Before he could draw it, a gunshot echoed from down the sewer.

Bang!

Blood sprayed from Yunseong’s hand. He froze in shock, unable to react as more bullets followed.

Bang! Bang!

One hit his knee. Another struck his ankle.

The blessed rounds pierced through his superhuman physique with ease, sending him toppling backward.

Even as he fell, his eyes darted toward the source of the bullets, filled with confusion.

Why? Why is the Saintess shooting at me?

But his question never found words.

Before he could speak, Seti stepped forward and grabbed his head.

Crack.

The sickening sound of bone snapping filled the air, and Jeon Yunseong’s body went limp.

 

Seti had barely grabbed the unconscious Jeon Yunseong by the scruff of his neck when Yeomyeong swung his sword toward the fallen Player.

The pale yellow blade cut across the sewer floor, aiming to sever both the space and the man lying on it in a single stroke.

But just before the blade connected, the Player reached into the air and “grabbed” something.

Flash!

A brilliant light erupted, and by the time Yeomyeong’s blade cleaved through the spot, the Player was gone.

Frowning, Yeomyeong followed the trail of light with his gaze, spotting the Player reappearing further down the sewer.

In the Player’s hand was a small gemstone, which crumbled to dust the moment the magical light vanished.

It wasn’t hard to guess what it was. Every superhuman had heard of these consumable artifacts: mana stones.

But the Player didn’t stop there. He reached into the air again, this time pulling out a crimson potion.

“...”

As Yeomyeong watched the Player pour the potion over his wound, his eyes narrowed. What kind of technique is this?

It wasn’t magic or martial arts—there was no movement of mana at all.

“What the hell…? What did you do to my senior?”

The Player’s voice was a mixture of rage and confusion, and his expression twisted as the potion healed him.

Yeomyeong didn’t reply immediately. He let his sword hang loose, gathering mana as he walked forward slowly.

When they were close enough to see each other’s faces clearly, Yeomyeong finally spoke.

“It’s been a while… Player.”

“What? What the fuck?”

The Player’s face contorted in disbelief. His eyes widened as he scanned Yeomyeong up and down, searching for something familiar.

“Who the hell are you? How do you know that name?”

The Player’s question was filled with confusion, but Yeomyeong’s answer came without hesitation.

“Scarab.”

“...”

The Player’s brow furrowed as he failed to recognize the name.

It wasn’t surprising. To the Player, Scarab was likely just one of countless insignificant stepping stones he had crossed.

But to Yeomyeong—no, to Scarab—that didn’t matter.

If the Player couldn’t remember, he would make him remember.

Scarab gathered mana into his sword, and as pale light began to coil along the blade, the Player let out a low hiss.

“...Comet Sword?”

In the next moment, the sewer was filled with the brilliant light of a comet.

 

Crack.

The sound of a teleportation mana stone shattering made the Player grit his teeth.

“Goddamn it.”

His shoulder throbbed in pain where the sword’s energy had grazed him. Even after pouring a healing potion over the wound, the ache lingered.

Footsteps.

Before he’d even finished healing, the sound of Yeomyeong’s footsteps echoed down the sewer. Despite teleporting over 400 meters away, Yeomyeong had already caught up to him.

“His tracking sense is top-tier too, huh?” the Player muttered a dry laugh.

“Guess he’s the real protagonist or something.”

He still couldn’t figure out why Yeomyeong was so intent on killing him. Scarab? Was that some kind of code?

Something tickled the back of his mind, but no concrete memories surfaced. He’d made too many enemies to count.

With a grimace, the Player pulled weapons from his inventory: a mana-fueled submachine gun and a sword coated with dragon scales.

As frustrating as this was, part of him welcomed the challenge.

If this was an enemy, better to take him down now before he grew any stronger.

The Player sprinted toward Yeomyeong, and the moment they turned a sewer corner and faced each other—

Ratatatatatatata!!

The Player pulled the trigger, unloading a stream of bullets.

Yeomyeong reacted instantly, his sword flashing to block the rounds aimed at his head and heart.

It was clear this wasn’t his first time facing gunfire. Manchurian mercenary, was it?

“Yeah… definitely gotta kill you today,” the Player muttered under his breath.

He tossed the empty submachine gun aside, pulling out a pump-action shotgun from his inventory.

It was one of the most effective weapons against low-level supers, as countless playthroughs had proven.

But before he could fire, a translucent shard of ice shot through the air and jammed into the shotgun barrel.

Crack!

“What the hell? Dual attributes?”

The Player cursed as he stared at the ice blocking his weapon.

The Comet Sword and magic?

Before he could process the implications, Yeomyeong closed the distance between them.

Clang!

Their swords clashed, sending a shiver through the Player’s arms.

But—

‘His swordsmanship… it’s sloppy?’

A smirk tugged at the Player’s lips after exchanging just a few blows.

Was this a feint? A deliberate attempt to create openings?

No, it wasn’t.

After a few more exchanges, he was certain.

This bastard hasn’t had proper training.

The Player’s smirk widened.

It wasn’t surprising—mercenaries didn’t have access to proper swordsmanship schools. At best, they cobbled together techniques that barely got the job done.

Now that he’d spotted the weakness, it was time to exploit it.

The Player tightened his grip and activated a skill.

Nine Palaces Sky-Splitting Sword.

An advanced technique that even academy students wouldn’t glimpse until the first expansion.

It was the kind of skill that required slaughtering a small army of NPCs just to acquire, but it was worth it.

Hummm—!

Mana surged as a milky white glow enveloped the Player’s sword.

Yeomyeong retaliated by wrapping his own blade in energy, but the difference was stark.

Clang!

The instant their blades met, the gap in skill became glaringly obvious.

The Player barely shifted, while Yeomyeong’s uniform tore, exposing his bare skin.

The Player grinned, pressing the advantage. He rained down strikes—slashing, stabbing, and battering Yeomyeong into a corner.

“Why don’t you just shoot your comet sword already? You’re way out of your league here.”

His mocking laughter rang through the sewer as sparks flew from their clashing blades.

Yeomyeong remained silent, enduring the onslaught with grim determination.

‘It’s over.’

The Player could feel it in the vibrations traveling up his blade.

Every passing second brought more injuries to Yeomyeong’s body—more blood, heavier breaths.

“You got anything else, or is this it?”

Confidence brimming, the Player deliberately eased up, teasingly grazing Yeomyeong with shallow strikes.

“You’re just another NPC. What made you think you could—”

Clang!

The Player’s eyes widened as Yeomyeong deflected his blade, sending a ripple of mana back into his own weapon.

What the hell?

The Player instinctively jumped back, reaching for another teleportation stone.

But Yeomyeong didn’t unleash a Comet Sword.

Instead, he closed the gap again, forcing another bout of melee combat.

‘Wait a second… this bastard. He’s only using swordsmanship?’

The Player’s brow furrowed as the realization hit.

Comet Sword was impractical at close range, sure—but even the ice spikes from earlier weren’t being used.

Clang! Clang!

It was subtle, but the Player noticed something else.

The gap between their skills was shrinking.

‘No way…’

Desperation crept into the Player’s attacks as he poured more power into his techniques.

But no matter how much he ramped up his efforts, the gap continued to narrow.

When sweat drenched both their bodies and the fight reached its fever pitch, Yeomyeong suddenly leapt back, putting distance between them.

The Player didn’t pursue. Instead, he caught his breath, his chest heaving.

In the silence that followed, Yeomyeong lowered his blade and asked,

“What’s the name of that sword technique?”

It was an odd question. The Player raised his middle finger in response.

But Yeomyeong didn’t seem to care.

His calm expression remained as he lifted his sword.

At the same time—

Hummm—!

Milky white energy gathered around Yeomyeong’s blade.

The exact same aura as Nine Palaces Sky-Splitting Sword.