On the battlefield's edge, cloaked in the eerie silence that stretched between clashes and carnage, Song Woo-Ji stood rigid.
He felt the weight of his duty pressing down on his back as he stared at the portal his master's master, the middle-aged woman, had conjured.
Its swirling colors pulsed with a tantalizing promise of safety, its glow a silent invitation to leave, to escape to a world unburdened by bloodshed and terror.
However, something heavier than fear gripped him—guilt.
It was like having swarm of flesh eating bugs at his insides, demanding he turn away from that portal, yet he could barely tear his gaze from it.
His breaths came in shallow, ragged draws.
He was alive because of his master's quick actions and, though he was a system user, he hadn't even used his trump card.
