"Are you serious?!"
A voice, rasping with age yet honed to a blade's edge by fury, sliced through the air.
Frost slithered across the floor as an icy aura bled from Grandma Tang, the temperature plummeting the instant she rose.
Her hood draped her face in shadow, but beneath it, her glare smouldered, searing through the figures in red—the Fractsidus.
The cultists stood motionless, masked faces blank as gravestones, offering no response to her outburst.
One among them stirred. Draped in crimson like the rest, yet set apart—his form, an eerie symphony of flesh and machine.
Four arms—two folded in patience, the others coiled like vipers, ready to strike. Metal gleamed beneath the fabric, crude seams marking where humanity had been wrenched into something else—The Fractsidus Executioner.
"Tang Yi," the Executioner spoke, his voice muffled by the mask—a weight of authority laced with suffering.
"Lower your voice a little, will you?" he asked, a warning cloaked in courtesy. Tang Yi exhaled sharply and sank back into her seat, forcing her rage into silence as the frost in the air gradually receded.
"I oppose burning the village. The Fractsidus cannot turn it to ash," Tang said, her words brittle as wind through dead branches.
"The village is doomed either way once that withered tree is reduced to embers," the Executioner stated, his tone void of life.
"You still cannot just burn the village—and the villagers." Tang's teeth ground together, her fingers curling into fists.
"Who said anything about burning the villagers?" another voice slithered in, thick with amusement.
The words belonged to a hulking, plump figure—round yet menacing, his crimson robes straining over the mechanical grafts snaking through his arms.
The Fractsidus Thruster. A brute of iron and zeal, wielding power beyond human flesh, his mask hiding the grotesque price of his ambition.
With the voice of a starving wolf, the Thruster sneered, "We're not foolish enough to let good meat turn to charcoal." His words dripped with gluttony, the true fate of the villagers laid bare. Around him, the others murmured their approval.
"I could use them for target practice," another voice chimed in—sharp, almost eager.
The speaker, dressed in the same crimson garb, polished his gun with reverence. Bandages strangled his face, concealing whatever horror lurked beneath.
His arms were no longer human—twisted into living weapons, flesh welded to steel, nerves fused to triggers. A Fractsidus Gunner. A body reforged for slaughter, a mind consumed by it.
"You can leave the destruction of the houses to me. That should lure them out," another voice rumbled.
The final figure loomed, unnaturally tall, his silhouette jagged where the bone had surrendered to machinery.
Mounted on his shoulders, massive cannons gleamed under the dim light, silent harbingers of devastation.
The Fractsidus Cannoneer. A walking siege engine, his mask concealing not just his face, but the ruin his own ambition had carved into him.
Tang Yi felt a seething rage burn within her as the fate of Yang Niu Village became clear. Yet... what could she do? Against these four elite soldiers, all above level 35, she was nothing more than a meager level 29 Resonator.
Resonators were categorized by many factors—element, Forte, and their Rabelle's Curve. While these aspects varied from person to person, the leveling system remained the same for all.
A Resonator's journey began the moment they awakened, unlocking Sol Phase-0. This Phase determined their ability to ascend.
To reach higher levels, one's Phase had to rise as well. Simply put, each increase in Phase by one unlocked the next ten levels.
Sol Phase-0 could only advance up to level 10, Sol Phase-1 allowed progression from 11 to 20, and so on. Only upon reaching Sol Phase-8 could a Resonator reach the maximum level of the current world—Sol Phase-8 and level 90.
"That is inhumane! "
The words almost escaped Tang Yi's lips, but she stopped herself. She knew better. They weren't human—they were experiments, monsters wrapped in human flesh.
So, instead of speaking, she stayed silent as the Executioner pulled a black box from his hood.
He offered it to her. When Tang Yi opened the box, a golden glimmer met her eyes. She gasped, "A Radiant Tide?"
She looked at the Executioner, who gave a simple nod. "Take it as payment for the damage," he said, "It should cover the cost."
Tang Yi wanted to protest, but the golden sheen of the pill was too alluring to refuse. The Radiant Tide was one of the most treasured pill in the world of Solaris III—capable of even improving a 'Resonator's Sequence'.
"Sequence"
An abstract additional measure of a Resonator's strength, a key factor in their power. In this world, Resonators were ranked by their stars. One-star were the weakest, while five-star were the elite.
However, there was a loophole to this hierarchy: Sequence.
Sequence classification ranged from S0 to S6. S0 represented the basic talent awakened upon a Resonator's inception, followed by a set of latent talents classified as S1, S2, up to S6.
Sequences amplified the Forte abilities of a Resonator, making them more powerful, versatile, or effective, or increasing their overall usage depending on the Sequence level and latent potential.
Yet, to ascend to another Sequence, one had to possess a profound understanding of their Forte. The complexity and vastness of Forte made it nearly impossible for most to unlock these higher talents. Consequently, many turned to pills.
The Radiant Tide was one... no, the best pill when it came to unlocking a Resonator's next sequence. However, the chances of success were slim, depending on the Resonator's star level.
For a 1-star Resonator, there was a 3.13% chance of success. For 2 stars, it dropped to 1.56%, and 3 stars had a mere 1.04% chance. With 4 stars, the probability was 0.78%, and for 5 stars, the odds were lowest at 0.63%.
Now, faced with the opportunity to awaken her next sequence, Tang Yi's gaze flickered between the Executioner and the pill. Her heart trembled, torn between the temptation of greed and the weight of guilt.
After a long pause, Tang closed the box, her hand touching its smooth surface. She attempted to push it back, but it felt too heavy.
Nevertheless, she understood that for her own survival, and considering her past misdeeds, this wouldn't matter. And even if it did, who cared?
"Very well," Tang Yi spoke, her tone devoid of any emotion as the Fractsidus member stood up. "Very good. We will initiate our plan after two weeks. Make sure to lay low until then," the Executioner warned as Tang Yi nodded.
Once they had left, she let out a sigh, her hands curled around the black box. "This will be the worst crime," she said.
As her words escaped her lips, the guilt left her heart. All had been done, and there was no way of reversing it. She treated this just as any bygones.
"Hmm, would that lass have made it if she'd been more unyielding?" Tang Yi mused, the memory of Hina—one of her past employees, slain for witchcraft accusations—haunting her thoughts.
She recalled the guilt that had gnawed at Hina, a poison leaking into her life, spiraling into the chain of events set in motion by her punishment of that unsuspecting boy—Kyorin.
However, something was odd about this incident. She had checked the bodies of the ten children who lost their lives. Their blood vessels had been clogged, resulting in heart failure.
It was by a strange circumstance that Hina was present there, or was her presence orchestrated at that time? Her mind drifted back to the unassuming child, wondering if he was the maestro behind it all.
But how could a child possibly orchestrate such a plot? He had always been the one left in the dust.
Yes, he was strong as a child, and perhaps capable of picking them off one by one, but he was always outnumbered, resulting in his defeat every encounter.
'Was it merely coincidence that he attacked them at their extremities, or was there intent behind it? ' Tang Yi wondered.
Did he plan this so their deaths would seem inexplicable, with no visible wounds on the bodies of the ten children, and with their sudden death, casting Hina as a witch dabbling in dark arts, shifting all blame onto her and using her as a scapegoat.
Was he carefully orchestrating this to avoid the label of a wanted criminal whilst taking revenge, or was it all just a series of unfortunate coincidences, with him as a powerless victim?
"Hmm, perhaps I should visit them," she murmured, rising and stepping out of the hidden cave. She headed back to Yang Niu village, arriving at its gates just as the clock struck high tea, past noon.
Tang Yi walked along the familiar pathway, passing through the lively village. She exchanged greetings here and there, offering small nods and smiles, but her steps never slowed.
Soon, she stopped before a modest hut, its garden alive with blooming flowers swaying gently in the breeze.
Stepping past the low fence, she approached the entrance, where a young woman was busy with household chores. Xia, upon noticing her, quickly set aside her utensils and turned with a warm smile.
"Ah, Elder Tang," she greeted, wiping her hands on her apron as she walked over. "What a pleasant surprise. What brings you here?"
Tang Yi's expression softened as she took in the sight of Xia. It felt like only yesterday that this young woman was just a girl, yet now she stood before her as a mother.
"Please, don't stand outside. Come in," Xia offered, stepping aside.
Tang Yi entered, her sharp eyes sweeping over the modest home. "Where is Kyorin?" she asked.
Xia's smile faltered slightly, and a hint of sadness flickered across her face. "He went to collect some herbs," she replied.
"Herbs?" Tang Yi's brow furrowed.
Xia let out a small sigh, her hands smoothing over her apron in a nervous gesture. "He's selling herbs these days… gathering wild grasses to sell in the market," she said with a helpless smile.
Tang Yi's gaze sharpened. "Why would he do that?"
Xia hesitated for a moment before replying. "Since he isn't returning to the academy anytime soon, he said he wanted to help with the household's financial struggles." Her voice was quiet, tinged with unease.
"You don't seem very happy about that," Tang Yi observed.
Xia nodded, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her apron. "Of course I'm not," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
"At his age, he shouldn't be worrying about money. He should be outside, playing, making friends, enjoying his childhood." Her grip tightened until her knuckles turned white.
"But instead… instead, he carries burdens no child should bear, especially at his age. I—" she paused, her voice trembling. "I feel like I've failed him as a mother."
Xia felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. She believed that at an age when her child should be enjoying his childhood, she was making him labor, even if Kyorin was doing it of his own accord.
Watching Xia's shaking figure, Tang Yi couldn't help but pity her. She had seen Xia grow, and since this all involved her own academy, she too felt a part of that guilt.
However, her mind soon refocused. She couldn't help but wonder, 'Was that child born to just sow seeds of guilt? ' she thought, unintentionally feeling guilty due to the circumstances surrounding Kyorin.
Her thoughts then went back to Fractsidus, the crimson harbingers who were about to assault the village. She felt even more guilty as she looked at Xia in her pitiable state.
Taking a deep breath, Tang Yi brought out a small stash from her sleeves and handed it to Xia. Xia looked at Tang Yi and asked, "What are you..."
"Take it as a sign of my apology," Tang Yi said. "After all, it was my academy that led your son to this state."
"But still, that..." Xia was about to argue, but Tang Yi cut her short. "Accept it, Xia. It's the only way I can ever get rid of the guilt currently in my heart."
"Guilt?"
Xia echoed, her gaze steady on the old woman before her.
Tang Yi nodded slowly, pressing a thick envelope of money into Xia's hands with deliberate care.
"Your son is a genius," she said, her voice firm, yet the weight of her words hung between them like an unspoken burden.
"But after what he's been through, he has withdrawn—stopped attending school, abandoned his potential. Consider this as reparations for the damage." Her tone softened, almost imploring.
Xia pushed the envelope back, her fingers curling away from it. "No. There's no need."
Tang Yi rose abruptly, gripping Xia's shoulders with unexpected force. "Listen to me, Xia." Her sharp gaze locked onto Xia's. "This isn't charity—it's an investment in your son. He can't afford to let his future slip away."
She leaned in, her voice dipping into something more insistent. "The boy is a ghost in this village. No friends. No ties. No interest. He's trapped."
Xia's eyes narrowed, a flicker of suspicion sharpening her expression. "Are you telling us to leave from here?" Her voice was cold now, laced with quiet defiance.
Tang Yi understood where this defiance stemmed from; after all, this village was a safe haven, or at least it would be for some time. Tang Yi knew that this place's doomsday was arriving, within two weeks to be exact.
However, no one was aware, and Tang Yi was only showing this kindness to Xia to let go of the guilt in her heart, after all, she was a traitor to this village.
"Remember what I told you once," Tang Yi said, "Think about your son." Xia's eyes widened. Tang Yi knew that her son was her weakness, and despite her shortcomings, Xia was a mother nonetheless, willing to do anything for her son's future.
With this, Tang Yi knew that Xia would consider moving out just for Kyroin's sake, and Tang Yi would also feel a bit alleviated from saving two people.
"I am home," Just as the situation was getting tense, a voice broke through—Kyorin.
He had just arrived back home and saw Tang Yi and Xia. Kyorin asked, "Elder Tang? What are you doing?" he said, looking at how Tang Yi had her hands gripped around Xia's shoulders.
"Oh, you are back," Tang Yi said before adding, "I heard you were selling herbs." Kyorin gave a confident smile, bringing out a small pouch of coins. "Yes, look at this," he said, swinging the pouch with the clinking sound echoing like a bell.
"Hmm, it seems you are hardworking," Tang Yi said as Kyorin rubbed his finger under his nose, expressing his pride.
Tang Yi, who had been observing him, found his response natural or rather something obvious, as nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She thought, 'Maybe I am reading too deep into it.'
"Hoh? But if you keep working every day, when do you ever get to be a child? You know, a child should have time to play too." Tang Yi asked as Kyorin hesitated, glancing toward his mother.
"If I play, then who will help my mother?" he said innocently.
Xia felt something inside her crack—sharp, splintering pain, as if a dagger had been driven into her heart.
Meanwhile, Tang Yi smiled to herself, convinced that this child's innocence would push Xia toward making the right decision—to leave, at least before the inevitable came.
With her goal achieved, Tang Yi cheerfully stepped out of the house. "I'll be going now. Hope you two will continue to be happy."
Kyorin waved, beaming. "We will."
Then, he turned to Xia, eyes bright with excitement. "Mother, look! I earned a lot. Maybe now we can buy our own cattle!" He opened his pouch, showing off the shimmering Shell Credits.
Xia didn't respond, her hands trembling.
Kyorin's smile faltered. "Mother?" He called again, this time with uncertainty. "Is... is it not enough?" A flicker of fear crept into his voice.
Xia looked into his trembling eyes—eyes that held a fear she recognized all too well. But it wasn't fear of scolding or loss; it was the fear of not being enough. The fear of failing to provide.
And that fear, reflected so clearly in her son, shattered her heart all over again.
Without a word, she pulled him into her arms, holding him tightly.
"It's enough," she whispered, her voice breaking. "It's enough, my dear."
The warm embrace stretched on, an eternity wrapped in fleeting moments. Night had fallen by the time Xia found herself gently patting Kyorin's chest, his eyes peacefully shut.
Unthinkingly, she began to speak—whispering to him as if he were still awake, as if voicing her thoughts could lighten their weight.
She spoke of Tang Yi's offer, of the money placed in her hands, of the suggestion to leave. But the world beyond wasn't a safe haven; it was unpredictable, filled with dangers.
Yet, what troubled her most wasn't the unknown—it was the fear that Kyorin would be left behind, unable to make friends, deprived of the childhood every child deserved.
And wasn't it her duty to give him that?
But no matter how she turned it over in her mind, the choices before her were few—and none of them good.
As she finished speaking, a warm trail of tears slipped from her eyes. She let them fall freely, her breathing steadying as sleep finally took her.
The moment her eyes closed, Kyorin's fluttered open.
Now, he understood—understood what had transpired earlier, the weight behind his mother's words, the reason her embrace had felt so fragile.
'So this is it… This is what, the masses call guilt? ' He silently concluded.
Yet, as the realization of this burden one would say—guilt—settled in, he did not feel burdened by it.
He did not look back and wonder if he could have taken a different route, nor did he worry about what their future held. The past was gone, the future uncertain. All that remained was the simple truth—his mother had cried, and he had seen it.
If this was guilt, then it was nothing more than a passing shadow, cast from something one called conscience for a moment and then gone.
His thoughts did not wander beyond that because he lived in the present moment, had lived in the past, and may live in the future.
Tomorrow, he may wake up. And that was enough for an assurance.
To be continued...
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A/N: Regarding the earlier poll, I've decided to stick with the second option. I know some of the chapters may have felt underwhelming so far, as Kyorin hasn't had those big, epic moments. However, the focus right now is more on him training his psyche from a societal perspective.
To be honest, Kyorin is a character I haven't fully developed yet. Initially, I wanted him to be a contradictory figure—someone who might seem heroic on the surface, but ultimately represents a great evil.
I know he's a challenging character to write, but I'm exploring the idea of how someone could be seen as a hero, even if they manipulate the masses to achieve their goals.
The underwhelming feel in some chapters might come from the lack of intense fight scenes, or perhaps ones that don't hit the mark—I know this fanfic has no genuine peak moments.
However, my current focus is on the thematic exploration of society—swift decision-making, the hidden pressures of societal expectations, and now, guilt.
I'm presenting Kyorin's enlightenment and his growing understanding of these themes. Instead of equipping him with blades, I'm giving him the power to understand and shift the psyche of the masses.
Also, is there any moment the readers have loved while reading this? Please do tell me which moments were good, if any, up until now.