Wolf lingered in the dim-lit corridor, letting the last echoes of the previous memory dissolve from his mind like dying embers. His expression deepened—brows tightening, jaw pulling slightly to one side—not in fear, not in doubt, but in a cold contemplation that twisted slowly behind his eyes.
Although that face is mine… that jester cannot be me.
The thought rolled across his mind like a slow, amused exhale.
He let out a short internal laugh—silent, sharp—accompanied by the faint curl of a smirk tugging the corner of his lip. His fingers brushed lightly over his jaw, a habitual gesture of thought, before he let his hand drop lazily to his side.
Because in such a situation, he mused, I would have already laughed at the absurdity. I would have laughed at the fact someone actually managed to push me that far… just like earlier.
The amusement faded quickly—bled off his face like water sliding down glass—and his eyes narrowed, assessing the memory with one final pass.
So it has to be someone else. But who could that be?
His mind tightened around the question, squeezing it, turning it, as if wringing out something hidden between its folds.
Based on everything I know… perhaps the jester is one of my underlings… or maybe some friend.
The word friend echoed faintly, stretched thin and far away—so distant it felt foreign on his tongue.
He let out a silent internal sigh—heavy, almost annoyed—and flicked the thought aside with the dismissiveness of brushing dust off a sleeve.
"Enough," he muttered internally, tone flat, decisive.
He turned away.
He looked at the third hallway.
And despite his confidence, despite the certainty he carved into himself like iron, one last thought whispered through the back of his skull—soft, stubborn, fleeting—
I know who I am. That jester isn't myself.
And with that final line of thought severed, he stepped forward.
Wolf entered the third hallway at a brisk pace, shoulders squared, boots striking the crystalline floor with sharp, clipped precision.
He didn't spare even a fraction of attention toward Lamentia. Her presence wavered behind him—hovering like a sulking shadow—and she let out a quiet, disgruntled huff that echoed faintly off the lacquered walls.
But Wolf did not care. Not even a glance.
The hallway before him stretched out like a regal tomb—The Blood-Stained Marble Hall.
The air had a strange weight to it, dense with metallic undertones, as if old blood had soaked so deeply into the structure that even time couldn't scrub it away. The floor—once polished black marble—was tarnished with dried, ancient blood, stained in chaotic splatters and smeared strokes that mapped out forgotten violence.
A deep purple ether drifted lazily through the hall, tendrils curling and unraveling like smoke, carrying the scent of ambition soured into obsession. It clung to the skin lightly, almost brushing like cold fingertips.
Wolf exhaled slowly, eyes half-lidded in a mixture of interest and mild impatience.
And then the memory of Hyung-woo's third life surged outward, swallowing the hallway like ink dropped in water.
The scene formed.
A wide, battered encampment, dust swirling low across the ground. And in this life—just like the ones before—Hyung-woo repeated everything exactly.
The same routine. The same sleep hours. The same overly-polite greetings.
Every step identical to his past lives—a path repeated like a song on a scratched record.
Until that day. The day everything snapped.
Hyung-woo stood among the gathering, arms crossed tightly behind his back, blade sheathed at his hip, posture straight but overly rigid—like a soldier bracing before a firing line.
The meeting between The Union and Haven of the Forsaken carried on before him.
The air buzzed with territorial tension and political performance.
Arden spoke loudly, sweeping his hand through the air.Klion—stoic, silent—stood beside him like a carved stone pillar.
And then—
Hyung-woo's breath caught.The world seemed to jolt.
Because behind Klion… a man stood.
A man casually yawning, shoulders drooping, posture loose like he might fall asleep standing.
His eyes unfocused, drifting without aim—half-lidded, barely awake.
But even with that lethargic demeanor—even without the jester suit—even without the mandolin—
Hyung-woo knew him.
His heart began hammering—sickeningly loud.Thud.Thud.Thud.
His hands trembled uncontrollably, knuckles whitening as he clenched them tight behind his back. His throat dried instantly. His eyes widened, locking onto that face with a trembling ferocity.
This man…This man is the jester.
This man killed us.
This man ended everything.
The recognition tore through him like a knife pulled across old scars.
His mind screamed. His lungs shrank.His legs nearly buckled from the weight of truth.
But he said nothing. He couldn't.
Not here. Not now. Not with everyone watching. Not with Wolf's people surrounding him on all sides like wolves waiting for a stumble.
When the meeting ended, Hyung-woo moved without hesitation. A rush of cold, reckless purpose filled his veins.
He would kill Wolf. From the inside. Quietly. precisely and desperately.
Using his knowledge of the future, he approached Haven of the Forsaken—slow, careful, blending with shadows.
He manipulated conversation, inserted whispers, tugged strings, trying to plant division from within.
But how could Wolf overlook someone who tried so hard?
How could Wolf miss someone who spoke too much, stepped too loudly, moved too sharply with desperation?
And even if Wolf somehow didn't see through it—Klion would.
Because the moment Hyung-woo joined the them, face partially obscured by a hood stolen from a corpse in his hunting group—Klion's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. A flick of recognition.
A quiet suspicion.
There was no escape.
Wolf drained every ounce of worth from Hyung-woo, squeezing him dry like pulp.
He flipped every action, every rumor, every scrap of influence—and twisted them into false accusations.
Rape. Blackmail. Torture. Exploitation.
Crimes Wolf himself had orchestrated.
Turned into sins Hyung-woo supposedly committed.
The public condemned him.
His enemies swallowed the lie.
His allies abandoned him.
And Hyung-woo died as a sinner—while Wolf was raised as a savior.
The memory dissolved. Wolf's consciousness snapped back into his real body.
He exhaled softly through his nose, head tilting the slightest degree—an expression of thin, restrained disappointment.
"To think his third life was so short…" he muttered internally. His gaze dropped to the floor, then rose again, voice flat, almost bored.
"…I wasn't able to gain any new information."
His fingers drummed lightly against his thigh.He shook his head once, dismissing the scene entirely.
Lamentia raised her left eyebrow—just a small arch, but noticeable—curiosity flickering in her expression.
But she made no comment and Wolf didn't look at her.
He didn't need to.
He already knew where he was heading next.
The fourth corridor waited for him like a held breath.
The Opaque Mirror Hallway.
Its walls were formed from matte mirrors—stone-smooth, light-swallowing surfaces that refused clarity. They did not reflect faces or bodies, only warped silhouettes that lagged a half-beat behind reality, as if each reflection were unsure it wished to exist. Shadows slid across those mirrors with no owners. The ether here was colorless, thick, viscous—like fog that had forgotten how to move.
Wolf did not hesitate.
The moment his foot crossed the threshold, his consciousness peeled away from his body once more.
He fell inward.
Not violently—no tearing, no shock—just the sensation of sinking into a familiar depth, like returning to water that had once drowned him.
Hyung-woo's body.
Again.
For the last time.
In this life, Hyung-woo had made a single, absolute decision early on:
Hide.
Hide from Wolf.
He followed the same steps as before—joined the Union, survived the camp, learned the terrain—but every action carried restraint.
Where his other lives burned bright, this one dimmed itself deliberately.
He never stood out. Never spoke first. Never showed his full strength.
Even his breathing was measured.
Especially during the first Hornmaw hunt.
This was where fate usually twisted.
This was where he and Wolf were collide for the first time.
Hyung-woo moved first.
He remembered the Hornmaws' patterns. Their pack geometry. Their scent-driven turns.
He set traps where they would converge, not where others expected them. Pitfalls masked with crushed moss. Noise lures tuned to the vibration frequency of their horns.
The ambush that was always meant to happened.
The slaughter that was always meant to bloomed.
And the camp survived.
From Hyung-woo's perspective, it never felt likevictory.
From Wolf's—watching through his eyes—it felt like a distortion.
A deviation, Wolf thought calmly.
A significant one.
Yet even as the timeline bent, Hyung-woo's heart did not lighten.
Because memory is heavier than reality.
No matter how the world shifted, his purpose remained unchanged.
I come back,again and again, for this.
The second deviation was colder.
More deliberate.
Hyung-woo led Arden into the forest under the guise of reconnaissance.
No witnesses.
No hesitation.
Steel flashed once. Clean. Efficient.
Arden fell without understanding why.
Hyung-woo dragged the body deep between the roots of a tree, covered it with soil, leaves, and silence. When he returned, his voice was steady. His lie practiced.
"Arden ran ahead. He ran away."
Maja stared at him for a long time.
Her jaw tightened.
"…Damn it," she muttered.
She followed anyway.
From that point on, Hyung-woo lived between shadows. The Union thinned. Haven advanced. The forest grew heavy with dread long before Wolf ever acted.
And then—
The slaughter.
The same screams.
The same panic.
The same blood-soaked march toward an ending no one could escape.
Hyung-woo merged into the crowd, walked with them, felt their fear press against his ribs. Ahead—through smoke and chaos—he saw him.
Wolf.
Through Hyung-woo's eyes, Wolf looked monstrous.
Hair clotted with blood. Clothes torn. Skin streaked with grime and red. His movements were efficient, relentless—too energetic for someone who should have collapsed long ago.
A madman, the world would say.
But Wolf knew the truth.
I was enjoying myself, he noted silently, with unsettling calm.
The fight played out as it always did.
No matter how Hyung-woo moved. No matter what he changed. No matter how early he prepared.
It ended the same way.
Lamentia intervened.
The slaughter halted.
The world reset beyond the camp.
And then—
Darkness.
Wolf's consciousness snapped back into his own body.
His lungs expanded sharply, drawing in air thick with iron and rot. The scent of blood, dirt, and churned mud struck him instantly—grounding, familiar. His fingers still clasped Lamentia's hand.
She stood beside him, expression unreadable.
Wolf turned his head toward her slowly.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Let's get out of here," he said quietly—his voice unusually soft, almost gentle. "I'll tell you everything."
Lamentia studied him for a brief moment, violet eyes narrowing with mild curiosity—and then, without ceremony, she released her ether.
The library dissolved.
The hallways vanished.
Reality snapped back into place like a closing jaw.
They were back.
The forest breathed again.
Almost immediately, Lamentia let go of his hand and disappeared without a word—no farewell, no glance back—her presence fading like a thought she had decided no longer interested her.
Wolf exhaled through his nose.
"…Figures," he murmured.
Seems I should've met her with my hands already stained, he thought wryly, eyes drifting over the churned earth.
He took a step forward—
And the air changed.
Pressure descended.
The forest bowed.
Light dimmed as if weighted.
Above him, space fractured with a grinding sound, stone against stone.
The Veridian manifested.
Its presence alone crushed the forest's breath.
The runes flared—golden, bright—once, twice.
Then the sound came.
Clap.
Stone struck stone.
Again.
Clap.
The Veridian's voice boomed, loud and delighted, echoing through every layer of space.
"congratulations!" it announced brightly."for passing the vetting."
The air rippled.
"you three are the remainder of this area."
With that declaration, space folded—
—and the other two survivors were teleported directly beside Wolf.
Lenmi and the other figure materialized beside Wolf in a distortion of light—no sound, no warning, just the sensation of space folding inward and snapping back into place.
Wolf felt it in his bones first.A pressure shift.A faint ache behind the eyes.
Then weight.
Lenmi collided softly against his side, staggering on unsteady legs, her breath hitching as if she had been dragged out of deep water. Wolf reacted on instinct alone—one arm looping around her waist, the other slipping beneath her knees. In a single smooth motion, he lifted her up, cradling her against his chest as though she weighed nothing at all.
She let out a small, confused sound, fingers clutching weakly at the fabric of his coat.
"W—Wolf…?" Her voice trembled, thin and disoriented.
"I've got you," he said quietly. His tone was flat, steady—but his grip tightened just a fraction. "You're safe."
Only then did his gaze shift.
The third presence stood half a step away.
At first, his mind rejected it.
Not disbelief—recognition delayed, like a word stuck at the tip of the tongue.
The girl stood motionless, posture relaxed but alert, as if she were perfectly at ease in the middle of slaughtered earth and lingering ether. Purple bobbed hair framed her face, the color deep and muted, not vibrant—practical. Long bangs fell diagonally, obscuring nearly half her features, shadowing one eye entirely. The visible eye was calm. Too calm.
Wolf's breath stalled.
"…Zhao Xinglian?"
The name slipped out before he realized he was speaking. Barely more than air moving past his lips.
She didn't respond.
Didn't blink.
Didn't even shift her weight.
Her outfit wasnt exactly as he remembered.
A cropped black jacket with an oversized hood hung loosely on her shoulders, the material reinforced at the seams. Beneath it, a sleeveless, high-collared black top hugged her frame without restricting movement. High-waisted cargo pants pooled slightly at the ankles, elastic cuffs hugging her boots, straps and oversized utility pockets layered with deliberate asymmetry.
Made for her.
Wolf felt something cold slide down his spine.
She's alive?
No—She survived.
Or perhaps...
She was never here...
Xinglian's gaze rested on him now—not with curious nor hostile.
It was the look of someone confirming a hypothesis rather than discovering a surprise.
Wolf met her stare without flinching.
Seconds stretched.
The forest around them was quiet in the wrong way—no wind, no insects, the air thick with dried blood and trampled earth. Ether residue still clung to the space, faint purple motes dissolving slowly like dying embers.
Did she hide?Or did she know something I didn't?
His thoughts spiraled, calculating, discarding, recalibrating.
Xinglian tilted her head—just a degree. Not a question. Not a greeting. An acknowledgment.
Wolf said nothing.
He adjusted Lenmi slightly in his arms, shielding her without turning his body away from Xinglian.
Lenmi's fingers tightened against his sleeve, her voice barely audible.
"Wolf… who…?"
"Later," he murmured. "Don't think yet just breathe."
The silence pressed harder.
Then—
Clap.
Stone grinding against stone.
The air buckled.
Above them, space fractured as the Veridian descended, its massive spherical body hovering without effort. Runes etched across its surface ignited in pulsing gold, each beat synchronized like a colossal heart. The rectangular stone extensions rotated slightly, not arms, not wings—just presence.
Pressure flooded the forest.
Trees groaned.The ground sank a fraction. Ether recoiled.
The Veridian clapped again, louder this time, the sound reverberating through bone and marrow.
A pause.
The Veridian's runes pulsed once—twice.
"The vetting of this area is complete!"
Lenmi flinched at the volume. Xinglian didn't move at all.
"Now, now," the creature continued, delighted, "Humans—it Is time."
The air began to glow.
White light seeped outward from beneath their feet, thin at first, then rapidly intensifying.
The forest dissolved at the edges, colors bleaching, shapes unraveling.
"I hope," the Veridian said, voice rising with glee, "You can maintain such entertaining performance in the real world."
The light surged.
Wolf felt the pull immediately—space collapsing inward, gravity losing meaning. He tightened his hold on Lenmi, bracing instinctively.
His eyes met Xinglian's one last time.
She watched the light without fear.
Without surprise.
Then—
Everything vanished in a silent explosion of white.