Before long, a large crowd had gathered outside the mansion.
Even though it was well past midnight, their eyes were burning red.
Whether they were intoxicated by drugs, consumed by madness, or simply looking for a place to unleash their pent-up rage—
The situation had already escalated beyond comprehension.
"Bring back the Baron!"
"Give us our Baron back!"
"You bastard! If you so much as laid a finger on the Baron, I'll kill you!"
"Do not trespass into our paradise! Why do you come to torment us when we were doing nothing wrong?"
Their shouts were nothing more than senseless tantrums.
"..."
Just as it was becoming difficult to ignore them any longer, the Grandmaster returned through the mansion's back door.
In her hands, she held three swords.
One was her own greatsword, while the other two belonged to Isaac.
"Thank you."
"My services come at a high price."
She seemed to want to brush it off with a lighthearted remark, but Isaac's lips didn't so much as twitch.
It was a sign of the weight and responsibility he felt for what he was about to do.
"I can help you."
The Grandmaster spoke calmly.
No matter how skilled Isaac had become as a swordsman, handling such a massive crowd alone was beyond his ability.
If she stepped in, she could cut them down like a storm, eliminating them effortlessly.
Her greatsword alone could slice through three or four men in a single swing.
"No."
But Isaac shook his head.
"I will take responsibility for this."
After all, it was his own will that led to the execution of Baron Volten.
"Just so you know—"
"..."
"No matter what happens, you must not interfere."
"…Are you serious?"
He answered with a silent nod.
It wasn't just that he didn't want to rely on the Grandmaster's strength.
Nor was it some selfish desire to keep her from taking part in this slaughter.
'Earlier…'
When the frenzied mob had charged at them,
He had seen it—the flicker in her eyes as she fought.
A sorrowful expression.
A barely suppressed tremble.
'There's definitely something there.'
Whether it was connected to the past she never spoke of in his previous life,
Or related to the fact that she carried the blood of transcendents, Isaac did not know.
"I'll be back."
With his swords secured at his waist, Isaac strode toward the mansion's entrance.
"…Go, then."
The Grandmaster, watching his back as he made this inevitable choice, forced herself to remain expressionless as she bid him farewell.
Creak.
Isaac stepped out of the mansion.
Before the crowd could even react, he swung his arm and flung the severed head he was holding straight into their midst.
Baron Volten's head spun through the air.
Fresh blood splattered in all directions as it landed among the mob.
Someone accidentally stepped on it.
Someone else kicked it, sending it rolling across the ground.
"...!"
"N-No, Baron?!"
"No! Nooooo!"
It was like witnessing a painting come to life.
In the darkness of dawn,
The mob, torches in hand, resembled those who marched for freedom.
Yet in truth,
They were prisoners, bound by chains of addiction.
'Is this what you saw after the revolution?'
At last, Isaac was staring directly at the madness Baron Volten had spoken of.
And now—
The mob turned their eyes toward him.
"That son of a bitch—!"
"Kill him! Kill that bastard!"
"He dared! He dared to kill the Baron—!"
"Burn him! Burn him at the stake!"
"Ransack the Baron's warehouse! Find the drugs!"
Voices of all kinds—men, women, the old, the young—merged into one deafening roar.
The mob was so vast that its end was nowhere in sight.
As Isaac observed the people entering through the mansion's front entrance or climbing over the walls, he contemplated the burden he carried on his shoulders.
Regression.
A mysterious yet miraculous phenomenon.
Had it truly come without any price?
Isaac had always been skeptical about fate. Accepting it would mean that losing his leg was simply a predetermined destiny—something he refused to acknowledge.
But at this moment, he felt inclined to call it fate.
"The price of regression."
If fate truly existed, then this moment was undeniably…
"A burden I must bear."
Isaac's sword extended forward.
As he swiftly drew and cut down the man rushing toward him without hesitation—
"That bastard is swinging his sword!"
"Kill him! Rip him apart!"
"Tear him limb from limb and hang his body in the city!"
The mob, foaming at the mouth as if intoxicated by an even stronger dose of their drug, surged toward him.
But Isaac's sword moved fluidly, cutting through them as he advanced silently.
'I'm sorry, Millie.'
For having no choice but to destroy your hometown.
I hope you'll understand.
***
Baron's Office
[Humans are vile.]
[Humans are inferior.]
[Humans are greedy.]
[Humans stole our world.]
In the darkness of the Baron's office, the Grandmaster stood still, the echoes of past voices resounding ceaselessly in her ears.
These were memories of the past. A form of brainwashing she had endured alongside her comrades, kneeling and listening.
"..."
Even as the ghosts of her past resurfaced in her mind, she crossed her arms and pretended not to hear.
[Look at their world.]
[They fight endlessly, blind to the blessings of sunlight and fertile land given to them.]
[War after war. And then another war.]
[Do they truly deserve a land as bountiful as paradise?]
The voices continued to unsettle the Grandmaster's mind.
And the riot unfolding before her only made them grow louder—
Like scholars raising their voices, desperate to prove themselves right.
[Do not pity humans.]
"…Enough."
[Do not stop hating them.]
"I will decide for myself."
[Open your eyes and simply watch.]
"..."
A sharp pain pulsed through her head.
The remnants of the past left a bitter taste, as if her tongue had been coated with poison.
Exhaling slowly, she forced down the emotions rising within her.
[Why would you side with humans?!]
"Because I despise your kind."
She knew there was no point in answering.
These were just echoes of the past.
[Do you think humans will be any different?]
Yet, she couldn't deny that the question cut to the core of the matter.
[You will expect something.]
"..."
[You will deny it.]
"..."
[You will be disappointed.]
"..."
[And eventually, you will despair.]
A sharp clenching in her jaw.
[Training Candidate No. 10, the possibility you speak of does not exist.]
Her gaze slowly dropped to the ground.
She could no longer bear to look at the madness outside.
Clang!
There stood a man wielding two swords in a relentless flurry, using the narrow terrain to his advantage.
"…Possibility."
The blood trickling down his cheek resembled tears.
At the mansion's entrance, he ceaselessly swung his swords, his face laden with guilt and regret.
Yet, there was no hesitation in his actions.
It was as if this was humanity's final, desperate struggle—an instinctual resistance born of sheer will.
The one least deserving of guilt bore the heaviest burden.
"I am not like you."
[…]
"He is the possibility I have been waiting for."
[Futile.]
Before he knew it, the voice had receded into the past once more.
Buried within old memories, it would bide its time, waiting to resurface.
But for now, at least, it remained silent.
As the Grandmaster placed her hand on the window and gazed down at Isaac—
Whoosh!
The sound of slicing wind had changed.
The flow of his sword strikes had shifted.
Lighter, yet heavier.
"…!"
The moment she saw the blue glow coursing through the blade, the Grandmaster's eyes widened, a flicker of unease crossing her face.
"Malevolent aura…?"
The Blackson Mansion.
The Primordial transcendents who had stolen countless lives and drained them of their vitality.
And now, Isaac's sword was beginning to resemble their origins.
***
He couldn't remember when it began.
At some point, his bloodstained vision had cleared.
His movements had become lighter, his sword strikes sharper than ever.
A lingering blue hue trailed behind his blade.
For a brief moment, he wondered if it was aura—
But no, it was far too heavy, far too alive to be called that.
"A monster—!"
Thud!
'Ah.'
His blade drank in the blood.
No, to be precise—
Isaac himself was changing through their deaths.
It made sense, if he thought about it.
Transcendents could not wield aura.
In other words, they had no concept of mana at all.
"Shit—!"
"Why?! Why are you destroying our paradise?!"
Isaac's eyes gleamed with an icy, murderous light.
His twin blades traced identical arcs, slashing through the air in unison.
Shhhk!
The powerful strike tore through the two in front of him and cut down everyone nearby in a single motion.
At some point—
Before he even realized it himself—
His swordplay had begun to resemble that of the Sword Demon he had once seen in Blackson.
'Is this right?'
He could feel it.
If he took another step forward, something foreign would be added atop the foundation he had built with his own sword.
But—
"You killed my father—!"
"You bastard! Kingdom lapdog!"
"What harm did we ever do to anyone?! Huh?!"
The drug-addled attackers showed no fear, even as the corpses piled up around them.
The ominous aura-infused blades swung again, driven purely by instinct, viciously seeking out their next prey.
At some point, his shoes had been completely soaked in a pool of blood.
Like a cursed pair of red shoes that forced their wearer to dance until death,
Isaac continued to cut his way through them, without rest or reprieve.
Like a scene from a twisted fairy tale—
Only by cutting them all down could this wretched dance finally come to an end.