Before the escape, Ash once had a private conversation with Ronald in the prison cafeteria.
To Ash, Ronald was just a tool, a means to an end. But it wasn't true to say Ash had no sympathy for him at all. Curious, Ash had asked Ronald about his plans after their escape. Would he part ways with Langna, or was he plotting revenge—maybe even an assassination?
If it was the latter, Ash was prepared to cooperate. After all, once Harvey's contract was fulfilled, the fugitives would inevitably turn on each other. It wasn't personal, just a matter of survival. In their world, trust was a brittle thing. You couldn't be sure who might stab you in the back, so you had to act first.
When dealing with death row inmates who clawed their way out of the filthiest pits, assuming the worst was the safest course. These people judged others as harshly as they themselves were judged.
If Ronald needed it, Ash was willing to pull Igula and Harvey into a plan to gang up on Langna during the inevitable fallout. Langna, the bald Shadow Wolf, was the strongest of them all, both in physical combat and as a leader of his species. There were plenty of reasons to take him down.
But Ronald rejected Ash's offer outright. He appreciated the help and the suggestion, but he would never allow anyone to interfere in his personal vendetta.
Ash wasn't underestimating Ronald—it just seemed absurd that a mob hitman could have principles about murder. Ronald didn't explain much, only shook his head. He said involving others would only ruin his revenge.
"Langna must feel true pain," Ronald had said.
Ahead was Gerard, swinging his blade of destruction. Behind was Ronald, burning with calculated hatred. Langna stood between them, his expression unreadable, showing neither joy nor sorrow. He merely tilted his head slightly when he heard the whistle of a steel bead.
And then, a shadow descended.
Squelch!
Gerard's chain sword came to an abrupt halt as it struck something—or rather, someone. For a moment, it felt like his miracle-infused blade had sliced into the hardest metal, the densest mire. All the force of his swing was absorbed into the slim figure standing before Langna.
The strange sensation of the impact left him unnerved.
Blood sprayed like molten whips, splattering Langna's face. He looked at the figure shielding him from the blow, his gaze lowering slightly.
Ronald, the "Golden Mouth," had earned his title for good reason. He had discovered a forbidden art in the Void, one that allowed him to craft disposable steel beads imbued with immense power. When prepared with care, these beads could rival the force of a two-winged mage. Against an unsuspecting target, they were deadly.
Among these was the "Blink Bead," which allowed Ronald to teleport to the bead's position. Since their escape, Langna had worked tirelessly to help Ronald gather the rare materials needed to craft just one. Ronald's other resources—tools and safe houses—had long been confiscated by the Hunt Hall.
The Blink Bead could have saved Ronald's life many times during their escape. There had been at least three life-threatening moments where using it would have been the obvious choice. But he had saved it—for this.
As Gerard pulled back his chain sword, Ronald crumpled like a ragdoll. Langna caught him, only to feel the cold, jagged steel of shattered bones beneath his hands. Blood poured from Ronald's wounds, exposing the horrific steel framework inside.
This was Ronald's secret. He didn't rely on spirit energy to control his steel beads. Instead, his steel skeleton generated magnetic fields, giving him precise control over them.
Beyond that, his steel frame was a miracle in itself. Though he appeared frail, Ronald's body could absorb and redistribute massive impacts throughout his steel bones. Even Langna had never managed to crack a single one.
But Gerard's full-powered strike was too much. Ronald had succeeded in blocking it, but the cost was everything—his bones shattered, his organs crushed, his flesh torn apart.
Langna felt like he was holding a melting sculpture, not a man. Ronald had deliberately preserved his face, leaving a faint smile frozen in place. His lips curved upward, his eyes half-closed, as if at peace.
In that expression, Langna saw resentment, liberation, and a trace of… pity.
With a quiet motion, Langna lifted Ronald's body onto his shoulder. He placed a hand against the ground beneath them.
"Invoke the Shadow of the Moon."
Suddenly, the platform erupted with strange runes, glowing with an otherworldly light. The crimson glow of the Blood Moon intensified, and in an instant, the stage became an impenetrable domain. Everyone on it—Langna, Gerard, and the priests—was expelled.
Gerard hovered in the air, his three wings outstretched. His crimson eyes burned as he stared at the Void Gateway, now obscured by dark light. His face twisted in frustration. "How did you—"
"You've read my records," Langna interrupted, gently setting Ronald's body down. He glanced at the Shadowborn priests watching from a distance. "You know I was once an elite Shadowborn Priest, don't you?"
"In the Blood Moon Hunt, priests aren't just for blessings. Their primary role is to seal and destroy Gateways," he continued. "The ceremony for invoking the 'Shadow of the Moon' hasn't changed much over the years. I simply completed the final steps. The spellwork was already in place. All it needed was a priest's touch to activate it."
Gerard sighed, his expression returning to its usual stoic calm. Watching Ash disappear into the Void Gateway, he folded his arms. "It doesn't matter. You can't escape me."
"For me," Langna said, removing his cloak, "it doesn't matter where I end up—Smashed Lake Prison, Kaimon City, or some foreign land."
He turned, his bald head catching the moonlight. "But Ronald wanted freedom. So I gave him that."