* * *
Even if Ben wanted to go, he couldn’t — not with the enemies standing between him and Haimar.
The path stretched in a straight line, wider than the alleyways they’d been hiding in earlier, but not wide enough for him to slip between two burly men.
Knowing this, what was Haimar even thinking, saying that?
Ben was beginning to seriously question his motives.
But there was no use — Ben’s powers were barely above those of a civilian, and what he couldn’t do, he simply couldn’t do.
So he just stood there, wearing a conflicted expression.
And at the sight of Ben frozen in indecision, Haimar’s mood grew even darker.
No… in this kind of moment, Ben actually wished the guy could read minds.
“I-It turned into ice… What kind of freakish–”
KANG!!
An arrow skimmed right past the fat guy’s face and embedded itself into the ground.
Haimar could’ve easily landed it between his eyebrows if he’d wanted to, but he’d missed on purpose — likely to douse the flames of aggression with ice-cold fear.
“Y-You son of a…! Retreat! Tactical retreat!”
“Wait, wait! These people—!”
‘Run if you want, but why are you running toward me?!’
The standoff crumbled in an instant.
The fat guy and his underling took off running — straight toward where Ben was standing!
Since there was only one direction to flee, it made sense they’d head his way to escape Haimar, but this just made everything more complicated. Ben had to run too, now!
KAGAGANG—!
But Haimar’s arrows didn’t miss the opening.
They rained down on the men, shattering on contact or exploding into icy shards as they struck the ground.
Ben was just about to turn and sprint when he stepped on a stray plane tree leaf and completely lost his footing.
Agh! Seriously? I trip NOW?!
His body lurched wildly as he lost balance.
At that moment, the underling fleeing from Haimar seized the chance and grabbed him.
Ben didn’t fall flat on his butt, thankfully, but he was yanked upright by the neck like a human shield.
In short — he was taken hostage.
It wasn’t even worth saying how useless he was in a fight, and now the enemies were fully intent on using whatever they could to their advantage.
Ben felt completely defeated. But more than anything, he was ashamed — to be caught just because he stepped on a dumb leaf.
He had nothing to say for himself.
“D-Don’t shoot! If you don’t wanna see this guy get wrecked!”
“Let’s get outta here!”
He already knew — Haimar was never going to let him live this down.
Embarrassed beyond belief, Ben didn’t dare meet his eyes.
He only peeked sideways at him.
Haimar looked like he could wipe out everyone here with just the energy he was emanating.
And Ben made up his mind.
He was already lagging behind — no way was he going to be deadweight on top of it.
A real man should be able to handle his own damn crisis.
“Ben Plaskun, stand still—”
He thought he heard Haimar call out just as he made his move.
But Ben was faster.
He twisted his body, hoisting the guy behind him over his shoulder, and swiftly hooked his leg to throw him down.
CRACK!
“UGH!!”
The moment Ben flipped the guy over, a formless force slammed into the man as well — it happened at the same time.
Whatever strange power it was, it got tangled with Ben’s arm in the process.
“…!!”
God, that hurts!
The pain was so intense, Ben couldn’t even scream.
He clutched his left forearm, knowing it had to be at least cracked.
If Haimar hadn’t softened the blow at the last second, his arm would’ve been shattered.
The man he’d thrown was groaning faintly on the ground, still conscious — probably because Ben had inadvertently absorbed part of the impact.
If I’d known this would happen, I would’ve just done as I was told…
Kind of ridiculous to be thinking that just seconds after making such a bold decision.
After all the trouble he went through to avoid getting hit by a water arrow, he ended up getting whacked by his own team.
At least with the water, he’d expected it to hurt.
This, though, was completely unexpected.
Maybe that’s why it hurt even more.
Ben scowled, grimacing through the pain.
“You bastard—!”
The boss, seeing his fallen subordinate, clenched his teeth and hurled a fist at Ben.
But with one arm throbbing and barely usable, Ben couldn’t even properly guard himself.
All he could do was watch as the punch came flying in.
And in that moment, a pale figure seized the man’s face and slammed it into the concrete wall.
“Aaaagh!!!”
‘I… I couldn’t even see it just now.’
Blood splattered against the gray cement, and the man’s face, with its shattered nose, twisted grotesquely.
What looked like fragments of broken teeth scattered across the ground, but Haimar seemed more than ready to rip the man’s head off with sheer strength alone.
The faint murderous aura thickened, pressing down like a heavy weight on the shoulders.
The atmosphere had changed—drastically, incomparably more intense than just moments ago.
Haimar Eilec, who now dominated the surroundings with an overwhelming pressure, was caught in something he’d never experienced before: confusion.
His ability had missed its mark.
Never, not once, had his powers ever gone astray before.
It was a mistake born from the dulling edge of his trampled-down abilities.
But no one else, except him, realized the weight of that mistake.
The very first failure that should never have existed.
Something that had never happened before, something completely unacceptable.
No matter how far the target was, he could destroy an enemy’s core with his eyes closed—so why, all of a sudden…?
The metal piece hanging from his ear felt like it was about to be ripped off, burning hot.
It screamed at him to stop before it shattered to pieces.
It warned him that there was no more time to wait and trust.
It mocked him, saying he’d reached his limit, that the poison he had kept tightly bottled up was now cracked open and useless.
Hadn’t his failing restraint just hurt an ally?
That man—his guide.
More than the fact that his ability missed, what Haimar couldn’t understand, what infuriated him more, was that that man had been hurt because it missed.
He had gone searching for Ben Plaskun only to find a mere shell with a familiar face.
And now, because of a slight slip in control, that same man ended up like this?
The realization was less a shock than a kind of horror.
The man in front of him, his face twisted in pain, grated on his nerves, digging into them like thorns.
It was unbearably irritating.
This visceral discomfort, rising from somewhere near his chest—something his reason couldn’t grasp—crushed down his once-proud logic and flared into rage.
The violence he’d kept buried burst through the cracks, like the leash on a savage beast finally snapping loose.
That all-too-familiar sensation of being turned into a walking corpse by layers of unpleasant emotions returned without fail—but this time, Haimar didn’t want to suppress it.
No, he wanted to seize it, shake it loose, and let it rampage.
Let the broken, useless poison spill over and wield its power to his heart’s content.
Even if there was nothing left when it was over.
The impulse roaring through him now was like a violent wave, powerful enough to swallow everything whole.
The air trembled in response to his piercing, ice-blue gaze.
Haimar moved to snap his prey’s neck, slicing through the wind.
Even before the man pinned to the wall could moan in pain, his body was thrown again, heavy and limp, writhing across the ground.
Whether he crushed him beneath his feet or burst his skull open, killing the terrified man would be as easy for Haimar as squashing an ant.
As easy as breathing—there was no need for hesitation.
Even as his mind was corroded and turning pitch black, the instinct to rip his enemy apart until the end remained unshaken.
“…Haimar?”
Someone called his name, slipping through the cracks.
But the sounds in his head were all jumbled, making it impossible to hear clearly.
Still, it was enough to create a momentary opening.
During that brief pause, the man who had called Haimar’s name racked his brain to grasp what was happening.
This… this seems dangerous.
The thick, sharpened intent to kill was aimed squarely at the enemy’s throats.
And Haimar’s face was utterly expressionless.
Ben now understood what Elgran had meant when he described “a face that could kill without even blinking.”
If someone were to face that killing intent head-on… even imagining it was horrifying.
Ben, tense enough to forget the ache in his arm, kept his eyes fixed on Haimar’s profile.
There were countless reasons to be worried.
The murderous intent alone was terrifying, but Haimar’s condition bothered him even more.
He didn’t have any solid proof.
It was just a gut feeling.
But it felt like Haimar had overused his power, like his emotions were spilling out of control.
And Ben couldn’t help but wonder—could this man really keep that in check?
There was no logical explanation, but the unease told Ben that, somehow, he really was Haimar’s guide.
* * *
