The exhaustion from last night's training still lingered deep within his body. In the ground-floor chamber, ancient grimoires lay stacked by the dozens—pulled from a collapsed bookshelf. Dark crystal ore, the same material used in the tower's walls and floors, emitted a faint blue-white glow, serving as the room's only light source in the windowless space. Vertias held one book across his lap, turning its pages methodically. The title read "Seven Arts of Marrow-Force Amplification." A theoretical treatise written by an ancient mage. It should have contained methods for more efficiently absorbing the marrow-force that leaked through dimensional rifts in the Gehenna Wastes. But the more he read, the more irritation accumulated. The theory was clear. The body's mechanisms were clear. The problem was—the absence of a magic core. A magic core. A special organ dwelling within a demon king's body. The source that amplified marrow-force, drawing forth one's true power multiplied many times over. It had been shattered in his battle with Ardant. The scar running from his left shoulder across his back ached quietly even now, and when touched, it felt faintly cold—as though something else were eroding it. "Reclaiming sealed power will take more time," Vertias murmured to himself. Speaking it aloud only deepened his frustration. The door opened without a knock. —One would think he'd make some sound before entering. Walter Drake stood in the doorway. Dark chestnut hair cut short, cold gray eyes. The bandage on his left shoulder had come off, leaving only a thin scar. His recovery was swift. The body trained by the former Iron Crown Knights was indeed resilient. "[serious]I have a report" "[cold]Knock before entering" Walter paused for a moment, then said, "[gentle]...My apologies" —yet his face showed no contrition whatsoever as he stepped forward. His mouth apologized, but his eyes were laughing. It was a peculiar attitude, borrowing only the form of an apology. "[serious]I went to the western edge of the wastes. There's a small spring there. The water is drinkable. And," Walter lifted a cloth bundle. "[gentle]I caught four wild rabbits" Vertias closed his book. "[cold]Well done" Walter's expression brightened slightly—a small change, but unmistakable. That pure—or rather, not quite pure—desire to be acknowledged by one's lord. Vertias caught that light at the edge of his vision as he accepted the bundle of rabbits. "[cold]For the first time in a while, we can have a proper meal tonight" "[gentle]I'm honored to be of service" Gray eyes held Vertias's gaze steadily. ——— As evening fell, the sky outside the tower grew darker than usual. In the Gehenna Wastes, there was scarcely any concept of sunset—merely a gradual deepening of dull gray. Yet the body sensed the coming of dusk. Three figures gathered in the chamber. The rabbit skewers Walter had prepared were, surprisingly, more delicious than their appearance suggested. When asked where he'd obtained salt, he answered, "From salt rocks in the wastes." Where such things existed was a mystery. That man was certainly useful for procurement. Silvia sat against the wall, eating slowly, occasionally glancing toward Walter. Her gaze was analytical, coldly observant. Her violet irises caught the firelight, wavering in deeper hues. The vein-pattern marking beneath her left eye—proof of her lineage as a descendant of the Violet Crystal clan—remained vivid even in the orange glow. No conversation passed between the three. Only the sound of flames burning and the sizzle of meat cooking in oil continued. It was when the three had nearly finished eating that Walter spoke. "[serious]May I tell you about my time in the knights?" Vertias did not answer. Not answering was permission. Walter waited a moment, then began. "[cold]Commander Ardant enjoyed hunting demons. Especially young ones. He would torture them before killing them. He had his subordinates call it 'disposal'" Those words transformed the air in the chamber. Silvia's hand stilled. Her fingers, gripping the skewer, turned faintly white. "[cold]My clan was killed that way as well" Her voice sank low. The words were emotionless, yet beneath that quietness lay something dense and heavy. She continued, eyes fixed on the flames. "[serious]Every member of the Violet Crystal clan was 'disposed of' down to the last. I survived only because I happened to be in this tower. It was merely luck" She spoke the word "luck" flatly. Neither joy nor sorrow—merely fact. Vertias remained silent, gazing into the flames. Revenge. That single word bound the three of them here. Their purposes and methods differed subtly. Yet the root beneath them all bore the same color. "[serious]The reason I could no longer follow Ardant was similar" Walter spoke while turning his skewer toward the fire. "[serious]At first, I believed it was right to serve the strong. But...his methods were different. He didn't do it to demonstrate power—he did it to savor fear. That man is no warrior" Silvia turned her gaze toward Walter. "[sarcastic]How virtuous of a former knight" Sarcasm. Yet she did not raise her voice harshly. A quiet remark, but sharp nonetheless. Walter did not laugh. "[serious]That's true. I served under that man for a long time. I intend to bear responsibility for that" Silvia said nothing more. Her silence was like a suspended judgment. Vertias opened his mouth. "[cold]Do you know anything of Ardant's old wounds?" Walter answered immediately. "[serious]His left arm. He received the injury in a subjugation battle ten years ago. It's not visible to the eye, but after intense exertion, he sometimes guards it. He doesn't acknowledge it, but it was known within the knights" That information was etched into Vertias's mind. An old wound. Perhaps one he himself had inflicted. In the chaos of that battle, he couldn't remember exactly what had struck where. But—one used what could be used. The flames flickered once, sharply. Wind from outside, perhaps. ——— When the meal ended, Silvia rose first. "[cold]Then I shall return" Her investigation of the depths continued. Every night, she descended to the tower's lowest levels. What she sought, she had not yet explained in detail. Vertias did not press her now. There were things better drawn out over time. The sound of Silvia's footsteps fading down the stairs grew distant. Two remained in the chamber. The flames had grown slightly smaller. "[serious]Can you trust that woman?" Vertias looked at Walter. "[cold]You as well" Walter tilted his head slightly. "[cold]I trust no one. I use those who are useful. That is all" "[gentle]...I see" Walter smiled—barely, almost sadly. That smile was strange. Not wounded, not convinced, but somehow satisfied. "[serious]But I believe in you" Vertias stood. "[cold]Do as you wish" He moved toward the door. "[whispers]Um," Walter called him back. Vertias did not turn around. "[serious]I can die for you" —At those words, Vertias's steps halted. He turned. Walter's gray eyes met his directly. Not a jest. Not an exaggeration. A genuine gaze. Yet that genuineness carried something different from ordinary loyalty. It wore the form of a knight's oath—to offer one's life for one's lord—but the emotion beneath it was somehow misaligned. "[cold]You really are a strange one" Vertias left the chamber. Alone, Walter stared at the closed door, whispering softly. "[whispers]I would do anything for you" The flames wavered. In that light, his expression could not be read. ——— Deep night. Vertias lay on his bed in his private chamber. Sleep would not come. The dark crystal ore in the ceiling emitted its faint glow. Regular. Slow. As though the tower itself were breathing. Walter's words circled through his mind. "I can die for you." Loyalty existed. The resolve to face death was necessary for those who stood on the battlefield. Yet what lay behind those eyes was something slightly different from such healthy resolve. Something more personal. Something from a deeper place. An emotion that transcended the master-servant relationship—something else entirely. (I hope this doesn't become troublesome.) Even as he thought it, Vertias found himself unwilling to distance Walter from him. Use every piece available. That was the path to revenge. That man's information held value. Ardant's old wounds, the inner workings of the knights, knowledge of supply routes. Emotional concerns and practical ones could be separated. His left shoulder's scar ached quietly. The mark of his shattered magic core remained cold tonight. Through the window—if one could call that small gap a window—the gray sky of the Gehenna Wastes was visible. The night here held no stars, only darkness. Yet this tower now held three lives. Silvia investigated something in the depths below. Walter slept somewhere, or lay awake. Not alone. Whether that was good or ill, Vertias could not yet determine. "[cold]Tomorrow, I begin harsher training" He spoke it to himself, a quiet affirmation. He closed his eyes. For revenge, he would forge all of them. Until Silvia's underground investigation found something. Until Walter's supply routes functioned. Until his own marrow-force recovered sufficiently—he would build preparation upon preparation. Sentiment was unnecessary. Trust was unnecessary. Use those who could be used, and topple the kingdom. But. Walter's gray eyes surfaced in his mind once more. That serious expression. Something about it was not ordinary. Eventually, he would need to discern the true nature of that obsession. The night of the Gehenna Wastes continued on—soundless, lightless, eternal.