—Rexdeus, Who Had Lost His Name and Identity—
[Two of my Dummies are dead. It seems Larcenous has finally managed to pick up my trail… enough to reach this area.]
The red-eyed young man slowly opened his eyes, his expression barely changing.
The information did not surprise him—not enough to provoke any reaction. It was merely something to acknowledge, then place alongside all the other unimportant things.
Two out of twelve Dummies had been lost.
The Dummies—or more accurately, temporary substitutes shaped from his own blood and aura—had never been created to survive.
From the very beginning, their existence had already been destined to end in his place.
They were bait. Outer layers. Something disposable, without any direct consequence to him.
And yet—
Two was still two.
Of the twelve scattered across different directions, only ten now remained, each moving farther apart, obscuring the traces of his existence until they could never form a complete trail to follow.
Every direction was a possibility. Every possibility was interference for anyone trying to hunt him down.
[One was mutilated… the other was swallowed by Larcenous's familiar.] He had not seen it directly. But he felt it.
The remnants of "intent" lingering within the blood were still connected to him—thin, almost nonexistent, yet enough to convey something beyond the simple fact of death.
He could feel the way they were destroyed.
Not merely their end, but the process itself—the way the bodies were torn apart, the way their forms were violated, and the moment the "intent" clinging to that blood finally broke apart.
It should have meant nothing. And yet—there was still something disturbing about it.
Not because they died.
That much was expected.
But because of… how they died. Something about it felt wrong.
It came from their expressions and reactions.
Too excessive.
Too… weak.
They did not reflect him. They were never supposed to be like that. As though something within those Dummies… had not been entirely under his control. As though, in their final moments, what remained was not truly him, but something far more fragile.
The thought did not disappear. But neither did it develop further. It simply remained there, settling quietly without any answer he could truly accept.
And that was exactly what disturbed him.
It did not reflect him. As if—
…
A faint breeze moved through the leaves.
There were footsteps. Too light to be called a threat. Too hesitant to be called an enemy.
Yet they continued to draw closer.
"Shoka, where are you?" The voice came softly, slightly uneven.
As though she was calling out while holding something back—either her breath, or an anxiety she refused to acknowledge.
And that—
Was far more disturbing than words could describe. Even more than the deaths of those two Dummies.
His body moved. Faster than his own thoughts. He stepped out from hiding without ever truly deciding to do so.
His movements were light, nearly soundless—too natural. Too automatic. As though his body had already recognized that voice… before he himself had the chance to process it.
Or perhaps—
As though he had never truly intended to remain hidden at all.
And by the time he realized it—He was already standing before her.
Too close.
A distance he should never have allowed himself to take. He did not remember deciding it.And that was what disturbed him the most.
—
The moment he stopped in front of the girl, everything became quiet again.
His expression remained flat. There was no trace of disturbance left on his face. No remnants of his earlier thoughts.
Only emptiness.
And yet, the distance between them was far too close to be called coincidence.
"…" For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Rurika did not speak immediately either.
The blonde girl's hand was still gripping something—that small container—a little tighter than necessary.
Her fingers tensed subtly, as though she herself did not realize she was holding something back.
Not fear. Not hesitation. But… worry. She had actually called out for him several times before this. There had been no answer. At one point, she had considered turning back.
There was no reason to continue searching.
And yet, her feet had kept moving. Not because she was certain she would find anything—
But because something felt unfinished if she stopped halfway through. And when she finally found him—
Standing too still, too close—
She did not feel relieved.
Quite the opposite.
The young man's thoughts remained trapped somewhere unclear—between the deaths of his Dummies… and the fact that his body had just moved on its own toward that voice.
He disliked this feeling. Did not understand it. And had no desire to pursue it further.
In the end, he chose something simpler.
"What wrong?" His voice came out steady.
Far too steady for someone who had just lost two parts of himself.
Yet inside—
[But their expressions when they died… were too excessive.] The thought surfaced again.
[Like weak creatures.] His face remained expressionless. [Pathetic losers who were not even worthy of being called a threat.]
"I wanted to give you this," Rurika said softly.
Her voice lowered slightly at the end, as though even she was unsure whether she had come at the right time.
She held out the small container along with several rolls of bandages. "For your injuries."
Shoka stared at the objects longer than he should have.
A small container.
Light. Far too ordinary.
There was no aura to read from it. No threat to be wary of. Just a simple object—something that, under normal circumstances, would not even deserve a place in his calculations.
And perhaps because of that, his hand did not move immediately. There was a brief pause. Almost imperceptible.
Yet enough to show that this was not something familiar to him—not something that had ever been part of his habits.
He was not used to receiving things like this.
Not something he needed. And more than that—not something he was supposed to take.
But in the end, his hand still moved. He accepted it.
"…Thank you." The words came out late. Slightly stiff. As though they had been forced out from a place that was rarely—or perhaps almost never—used.
His hand did not release the container afterward. He continued holding it without any clear reason. Without rejecting it, yet without truly understanding why he had accepted it either.
[Were they made too crudely… during those final moments before my identity was stolen?] His thoughts moved again.
Analyzing.
Correcting.
Searching for patterns he could understand—an explanation for something that felt fundamentally out of place.
But no answer truly fit.
And without realizing it, he remained standing there. In front of the girl. Not stepping away.Not because he had decided to stay—but because he could not find a strong enough reason to leave.
And the girl did not move either.
"Is there anything else?" he finally asked, his voice returning to its usual flatness [Strangely… Larcenous easily believed that it was me.]
"…no," Rurika answered softly.
Yet she did not leave. Her gaze remained fixed on Shoka.
Straight.
Far too long for mere small talk, yet not sharp enough to be called suspicious. As though she was trying to confirm something.
Or perhaps… holding something back. There was a slight tension in the fingers still gripping the edge of the bandage cloth.
Subtle.
Almost impossible to notice. But enough to show that she was not entirely as calm as she tried to appear.
Shoka noticed it. And somehow—the corner of his lips moved faintly. A small reflex. Unplanned. Almost meaningless.
"…I—" The sentence never finished.
The change came first.
Rurika's face suddenly paled. Not from fear.
Nor because she had finally realized who was standing before her.
But because she saw something… that even Shoka himself had not fully noticed yet.
And at that moment—Something inside his body began to move.
Not an explosion. Not sudden. It was more like a fine crack hidden deep within him, slowly opening in silence.
At first, it was only a faint sensation. Not enough to be considered a threat. But within seconds—that sensation changed.
It intensified.
Spread.
Became something that could no longer be ignored.
His blood no longer flowed as it should.
Not through the pathways he recognized. Not according to the control he had always maintained.
Instead, it spread toward something unclear.
As though searching for something. Or responding to something beyond himself.
His breath halted.
Not because he could not breathe—But because his body no longer waited for his commands.
There was a brief pause.
Long enough for him to realize something he had never experienced before. He was losing control.
Yet he did not move.
He still stood in the same place.Still staring in the same direction. But something inside him had already moved first.
And this time—
He could not stop it. Slowly… the sensation rose.Pressing inward.
Until finally—
It could no longer be ignored.