Chapter 11 : Hatred
Later, still wandering aimlessly through the streets of Fostburg, Shame had no idea he was about to be touched by magic older than this world.
"Hey, Shyme…"
"Yeah?"
"Do you know where we're going?"
"Ah, uh… yeah, yeah, I know." He briefly scanned his surroundings, pretending he had a plan, though he'd taken the lead to make up for his previous mistake.
Suddenly, an unusual sound emerged from the far end of the alley they were walking through. Looking up, they saw a group of suspicious-looking figures in hoods, cloaked in long black robes that concealed their faces. One of them, a larger figure, wore a mask that covered his entire face: Shame immediately guessed he was the leader.
"These guys look shady," he murmured.
"S-Shyme… we have to get out of here!" cried Fyr, trembling, but Shame remained still, watching the scene with a curious expression.
The men advanced slowly. The masked leader suddenly drew a sword from beneath his robe, moving towards a merchandise stand with a chilling slowness. He cast a menacing look at the vendor, a frightened merchant cowering behind his goods.
"Hand over your relics," he said in a cold tone.
"You… you have to pay for that…" stammered the man, his voice unsteady.
"Pay, huh? Oh yeah, sure…" Suddenly, the leader's tone turned into a savage roar. "YOU'RE THE ONE WHO'S GONNA PAY, WITH YOUR LITTLE GIRL'S BODY!" He swung his sword down with terrible force, slicing the wooden stand in half. The terrified merchant tried to flee, but was quickly caught and restrained by the hooded minions.
Seeing what was about to happen, Shame suddenly shouted.
"WAIT! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" His voice echoed through the deserted street, even surprising Fyr, who would never have thought he'd dare to intervene. He rushed toward the masked man to interpose himself.
But it was too late. The masked leader, with a swift motion, plunged his blade into the heart of the poor merchant.
"Y-You killed him…" murmured Shame, stunned, frozen in the face of the horrifying scene.
"Oh? And you, kid, who are you? Why do you smell like relics?" the leader asked.
"I could have saved him…" Shame responded, as if speaking to himself.
"Hey, you listening to me, you little shit?!" the leader snarled.
"SHUT UP!" Shame cried in a rough, enraged voice. "Ever since I got here, all I see are horrors. I thought I could at least enjoy a walk with my friend, but even that, I'm not allowed. Even in my old world, I had nothing!"
The masked man flashed a sinister smile at these words. "Oh… 'old world,' 'arrived here'? You're an Envoy… like us." A cold laugh escaped his lips. "We're looking for ancient relics. They're worth a fortune back home."
Shame didn't move, his gaze dark and empty, the light in his eyes that had been there while walking with Fyr slowly fading. In the distance, Fyr watched the scene, paralyzed with fear. She couldn't make out the words exchanged, but the sight of the merchant lying in a pool of his own blood filled her with dread. Her eyes shook, her mind lost in panic.
"Shyme, run! Don't stay there! These men… they're not just bandits! They're part of a cult militia looking for relics!" she cried, terrified, but her words seemed to get lost in the wind, too faint to reach Shame.
The masked man noticed the young girl and cast a vile look in her direction. "Tell me, kid, is that girl over there your girlfriend? She's making way too much noise. If you weren't an Envoy, I'd have already killed her… after raping her, kukuku…"
Those words slowly made Shame lift his head. He fixed his gaze, cold and threatening, straight into the eyes of the masked man. Around them, the bystanders had cleared out of the street, leaving Shame, Fyr, and the mercenaries alone in this tense standoff.
"Shyme, please, come… We can't win! They've been terrorizing Izerack for years!" Fyr continued, her voice trembling, her body frozen.
"You killed a man…" Shame murmured, finally breaking the silence.
"That shocks you, kid? That's how Envoys live. We can do whatever we want here: steal, kill, rape… We line our pockets with relics and go back home rich as kings. Here, we're the law!" the leader sneered, laughing.
"Tell me, mister…"
"What, kid?"
"Are you a noble in our world?"
The man, a little surprised, burst out laughing. "How'd you guess? Well! Nobles recognize their own. It's clear you're not like these lousy peasants."
"Why do you think that?" Shame asked, his voice icy.
"Look at the way you're dressed! Only back home would we see clothes like that!"
"I see…" murmured Shame, his eyes locked on the man's mask. His anger was rumbling, ready to explode. His dark eyes, already deep, seemed to sink into an endless spiral, an uncontrollable rage slowly taking shape.
"What's your level, you and your men, mister? If I join you, I at least want to know what I'm getting into…" Shame asked in a strangely soft voice, barely concealing his hatred. The leader snickered, mistaking Shame for a novice.
From her spot, Fyr watched the scene, confusion and fear overcoming her. She saw Shame exchanging words with these killers and felt doubt creeping in: I thought he was just… What is he doing? I should run… No! He's Grealf's grandson, he must have a plan…
"Listen up, kid," the leader said, taking on a condescending tone. "Levels are for kids. Once you hit level 50, you enter the ranks. First there's Anodin, then Basic, Original, Powerful, Tyrant, and finally… the legendary Transcendent rank, but that's just a myth."
One of the hooded men, uneasy, added timidly, "Captain… there's also the legend of the Hero rank…" but the leader shot him a cold, chilling look, silencing him instantly.
"So, interested in joining us? I bet you've never killed anyone, so you must be itching to try it, huh?" the leader sneered.
Shame, his gaze fixed on the man, replied in a whisper, "Yes… I've killed two people."
"Two? You're still a rookie, kid."
"Yes. One, in my old world, and then…"
[Skill acquired, threshold of hatred and guilt reached: Rusted Lance]
"...my second victim is a masked man."
"A masked man… like me, for example—" he begins to reply, but suddenly, the sky above them darkens, as though an eclipse has struck.
"W-What's happening?" murmurs one of the hooded men, terrified.
Shame's body begins to glow with an eerie gray light, as though color itself has ceased to exist around him. Yet, one vivid thing remains: his eyes, ordinarily black as the abyss, now burn with an intense red.
"Is that… Shyme…?" Fyr stammers, watching from a distance, trembling.
"You bastard! Are you the one doing this? Are you the one summoning these clouds?!" yells the masked man, his voice tinged with panic.
But Shame doesn't respond. He remains immobile, impassive, not even breathing. His gaze, red like blood, is fixed coldly on the man, exuding an overwhelming, devouring chill. A dark aura begins to spread around him, as if it's absorbing every ounce of life energy in its path.
It grows, expanding outward, engulfing everything.
"I'm so tired of crying," he murmurs. "It drains me."
"What the hell are you babbling about, kid? We're nobles, you get that?!"
"A noble… no… I'm just a peasant. Though… that's not quite true anymore. Let's say for now, I'm the grandson of the king, a Transcendent rank."
"A...a wh-what..." stammers the masked man, swallowing, terrified. Suddenly, his men try to flee, but their bodies refuse to move.
"Don't move." Shame's voice cuts through the air.
They are alone now, abandoned under an ink-black sky. Slowly, Shame starts to move forward, his steps heavy and deliberate, as if he exists in a bubble separated from the world.
He then raises his hand toward the sky, and in the massive black cloud born of his gray aura, something begins to take shape, descending toward them.
"W-What is that!" the masked man screams, horrified. "Let me go, kid! I'll give you anything you want, okay?!"
"Nobles, always the same way…" Shame murmurs, a look of disgust on his face.
From the darkened sky, a tip emerges, followed by a shaft adorned with ominous patterns. A colossal spear descends from the heavens, all red, every ornament making it look more like a ritual artifact than an ordinary weapon.
"O-Oi… what the hell is this…" the masked man whispers, transfixed by the sky.
"Kid! Let us go, we were forced to follow him! Punish him alone if you must!"
"That's true…" Shame murmurs before adding coldly, "But I don't want to. I've got a bit of a grudge against nobles, you see…"
The lance keeps descending, casting a terrifying shadow over them. Shame's face becomes blank, devoid of emotion; his determination ability has just activated, freezing his expression into an implacable mask.
He raises his head to observe the rust covering the lance, giving it a sinister beauty, before lowering his gaze again.
"I'm about to kill. Not out of duty, but pure desire. I don't want anyone to take what I love from me," he says. By some stroke of fate, Fyr hears these words and takes them as an indirect confession: Shame would fight for her.
"Lance of Elvaristria, I command you, descend and crush those inferior to you. You, bride of Aleystria, the god of hatred, bearer of the greatest sins, the one who killed humanity's creator," Shame declares in a voice that's almost mechanical.
Suddenly, the lance hurtles toward the ground, cutting through air, space, even time itself, while red roses fall in its wake, creating an almost divine scene. Its enormous weight generates shockwaves with every meter it descends.
A ray of pure energy bursts behind it until it finally nears the ground.
At last, it strikes, and the impact resounds like a thunderclap, hitting the masked man and his followers. The shockwave sweeps through the deserted nearby houses, abandoned quickly by the local militia's intervention.
A massive beam of light erupts from the tip of the lance, pointing toward the heavens, as if this energy longs to return to its celestial source.
A huge explosion shakes the earth, raising a thick cloud of dust where the men once stood. Slowly, the lance begins to disintegrate into tiny glowing particles, eventually disappearing entirely, leaving behind a strange ballet of scattered stars.
"S-Shyme, did you… kill them all…?" Fyr asks timidly, her face still terrified, but now her fear is directed at Shame.
The young man turns to look at her, his face still empty, but as he sees her, his emotions slowly return.
"Wow… damn…" he murmurs, grasping the sheer scale of what he's done.
His gaze drifts back to the impact site, where the dust is beginning to settle.
Where the army once stood is now a gaping crater, deeply etched into the earth. Those within it have been utterly vaporized.
"D-Damn… BUARGH." Horrified by his own creation, Shame realizes the enormity of his actions. He can't help but vomit, terrified of what he's done.
"S-Shyme! Are you okay?!" Fyr cries, finally overcoming her fear to rush toward him, seeing how distraught he is.
"F-Fyr... sorry about the date," he manages to say, trying to smile despite the pallor of his face.
Fyr's heart skips a beat at the sight of his expression, ravaged by disgust and guilt. She realizes he deeply regrets what he's done and that he's suffering. She wanted to run, scared of his power, but now she can't bring herself to leave him alone.
Shame clearly needs comfort.
"Shyme, come here," she says, opening her arms wide.
"Where?"
"You know… here."
"Where's here? You're not making sense."
"I-In my arms," she murmurs, her cheeks turning a shy shade of pink.
Finally, Shame understands. She must've been scared by all this. If she's asking for a hug, it must be to reassure herself, he thinks, believing she needs comfort, unaware that she wants to comfort him.
He straightens up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after vomiting, then steps forward timidly to embrace her, careful not to get her dusty with his clothes.
They stay there, holding each other, for several minutes, letting their emotions settle. A few tears roll down Fyr's cheeks, the poor girl having truly been terrified.