The room fell silent, all eyes fixed on Swarts. Yet he looked indifferent, as if nothing could touch him.
"Am I wrong, Captain?" Swarts continued, his tone calm but piercing. "Why don't you admit it… you already knew the Hellborne would come?"
A heavy silence followed. Clement's hands clenched at his sides. "No, I mean… I tried to protect everyone. Minata and I went to gather help, but… he arrived too quickly."
Swarts let a small, sharp smile curl across his lips. "And yet you failed, right? Why didn't you try alone? I was in Eldoria, fighting another Hellborne. But there were still powerful Lumo nearby — why didn't you assemble them?"
Clement lowered his head, his voice almost lost in the tension. "We thought we could gather enough Lumo in time, but… the incident… it was beyond anything we imagined."
Swarts' gaze softened slightly, but it still cut through the room like a blade. "I'm not blaming you. But the truth is, now… Ignis can be useful to us."
All eyes turned to Ignis. For a moment, the weight of the room pressed down on him, the silence thick with expectation. He could feel every heartbeat around him — fear, doubt, hope — converging into one sharp point: the moment had come.
Ignis took a slow sip of tea and cracked a chip between his fingers, then spoke,
"Can I ask something? Nocturo was the Hellborne of trauma… but trauma isn't one of the main pillars of sin, right?"
Dr. Froster nodded slightly. "Yes — good question. Listen carefully."
He leaned forward, resting his hands on the table.
"A long time ago, when Craneas first discovered the Soul Manipulator, he experimented on how it actually works. He realised that when someone is touched while they are in the grip of a strong negative emotion, the soul begins to twist — that is how Hellbornes are created. But there were rare cases where a person with a very strong will refused to transform. If the Soul Manipulator forces it, the mind collapses first… then the body follows, leaving behind a creature with no self — only hunger."
Some of the people around the table lowered their eyes at that.
Dr. Froster continued,
"But that isn't all. Our research suggests Craneas has more tools — either to erase memories, or to bend a person's will into obedience."
He paused, letting the weight of those words sink in before finishing:
"Now, sometimes a Hellborne absorbs fragments of power from the Pillars of Sin. If they absorb multiple pillars, they become far stronger — and their nature changes. In Nocturo's case, 'Trauma' was not a pillar itself… it was a fusion — born from wrath and jealousy combined. Two sins, layered into one emotion. That is what made him so rare — and so dangerous."
He sat back in his chair.
"I hope that answers your question."
"Yes… but why did Nocturo target the hospital? There are so many crowded places — why not choose any of them?" Ignis asked.
"They don't attack just anywhere," Clement replied gently. "Hellbornes prefer locations soaked in dense negative emotion. A hospital is always overflowing with fear, grief, anxiety, and despair — fertile ground for their kind. The stronger the emotional weight of a place, the more comfortably they can manifest."
He paused for a moment and continued, this time with a softer voice than before:
"Their strength doesn't depend on those emotions… but negative emotion amplifies their presence — sharpens their 'authority'. The opposite is also true. When positive emotions are dominant, they weaken. That's why they almost never appear in daylight — sunlight hours are when hope, relief, and normal life drown out despair."
"By the way," Elina spoke up, "I want Ignis to continue his training — and more importantly, learn to extract the power inside him. If he masters it, it will be invaluable to us. Can you do that?"
"I… don't know how," Ignis admitted, "but I can try."
Dr. Froster stood up and walked toward him, placing something in Ignis's hand — a device that looked like a sleek, black-strapped watch. Its display was so clear that Ignis could see his own reflection in it.
"This is called an Enometer," Froster explained. "It tracks any sudden rise in your aura level."
Ignis wore it — the fit was perfect. The first screen showed time and location, just like a normal watch. Froster swiped across the display, revealing another panel.
"Current Aura: 65 ac."
"That means your aura count is 65. For an average human, aura usually stays between 20 and 70. So right now, there's nothing abnormal. But for a Lumo," Froster continued, "it normally ranges from 140 to 180. After your battle with Nocturo, your ac shot up to 683 — greater than most Hellbornes."
Clement leaned forward slightly, voice regaining its usual command.
"Starting tomorrow, you'll begin proper training. You must learn to control what's inside you — and we'll help you do that."
"Does anyone have any more questions?"
Everyone simply shook their heads.
Ignis took a moment to scan all their faces — this time, he could finally match most of them with their names. A few lingered behind to ask him small things — some about his past, others because they hadn't spoken during the discussion. When all questions were done, Clement gave Richard a signal to escort Ignis out.
"No need," Swarts said casually, rising from his seat. "Ignis will be going to the training camp with me."
No one challenged him. The members began leaving one by one.
Ignis glanced upward — the ceiling was lined with ornate lamps shaped like hanging stars, bathing the room in warm golden light, giving it a quiet royal dignity. He slid his hands into his pockets and turned to leave. Swarts had already gone ahead.
But before Ignis could step out, Oliver grabbed him by the shoulder — squeezing hard enough to make his muscles tense in pain. He pulled Ignis closer and hissed,
"Listen, idiot… you're a monster. The only reason you're still breathing is because I couldn't finish you that day. But if it turns out you're connected to them — I swear I'll cut you down myself."
Ignis clenched his fist and moved to strike him — but Oliver's punch landed first, sharp and brutal across his face. Then he walked out without another word.
When Ignis finally stepped outside, Swarts was already waiting — and the blood trickling down Ignis's cheek, along with the red imprint of Oliver's fist, said everything without him needing to speak.
"What was that?" Swarts asked without looking back.
"Nothing… shouldn't we go?"
Ignis lowered his gaze, avoiding eye contact as he hurried down the stairs.
But the moment his eyes fell on the plates again — the steak, the garnish, the scent of warm spices filling the air — he slowed down unconsciously, breathing in the smell like a starving wolf.
Swarts was right behind him.
"You haven't eaten, have you?"
The tone was flat but sharp — the kind of voice that didn't need eye contact to read someone.
Before Ignis could deny it, his stomach growled loudly.
"…Sit down and eat first."
"No, Commander… I'll eat at the camp."
"I don't like arguments."
Before Ignis could resist, Swarts pushed him lightly into a seat and signalled a waiter. "Grilled steak. A cold drink. And a dessert."
The moment the plates landed on the table, Ignis stopped pretending. Hunger took over — he didn't even bother with hesitation and started eating like he'd waited days for this meal.
Swarts didn't order food for himself — just a glass of beer, which he sipped silently as he watched Ignis eat.
When the plates were finally empty, Swarts rose to pay. The receptionist tried to refuse the money, bowing respectfully — but Swarts insisted briefly, dropped the note anyway, and walked out.
Ignis followed, a little stunned.
"Just how respected is he…?" he wondered in silence.
When they stepped out of the restaurant, night had already settled over the streets. Ignis glanced at the Enometer on his wrist — 9:38 p.m.
He looked toward Swarts, who was walking a little ahead of him.
"May I ask a few questions?"
"You can," Swarts replied, casually straightening his hair and nudging his glasses with his middle finger.
Ignis hesitated for a moment, then spoke.
"Why did you protect me in that meeting? And why did you tell the nurses to bring me to Ava?"
"You know," Swarts said calmly, "I'm a very selfish man. I don't do anything unless it's… interesting."
A faint, effortless smile crossed his face.
Ignis narrowed his eyes.
"Interesting? What kind of interest?"
"I won't answer that," Swarts said, still walking. "But someday, you'll understand."
Ignis realized there was no point pushing further — the answer would remain sealed. He fell silent for a few seconds, then asked again:
"Do you know how many Hellbornes there are?"
"No. Not exactly."
"Then… who's the strongest among them?"
Swarts' expression sharpened faintly.
"Hellborne of Disgust, most likely."
Ignis swallowed. "Has anyone ever faced him?"
"Very few — and very few survived."
"Have you ever—"
"Yes. Many times."
No hesitation. Just a statement of fact.
Ignis looked stunned, trying to form his next question, but—
"Good night," Swarts said abruptly, already turning away.
The last words came out soft… distant… hazy — like a curtain closing on a conversation that wasn't meant to continue.
Ignis just stood there, watching Swarts disappear into the night.
When Ignis looked around again, he realised he was already near the training camp. He entered his room quietly, changed his clothes, and took a cold shower. The chill of the water calmed his restless mind, washing away the tension still lingering in his chest.
Afterwards, he lay down on his bed. Before closing his eyes, he whispered softly, as if speaking to the memory in his heart,
"Good night, Sister…"
The room faded into darkness, and Ignis slowly drifted into sleep.