* * *
Even as she sensed nothing would change, Irina Sheril couldn’t stop.
Her lingering attachment clung to her ankles like something sticky and suffocating.
Deep down, she still held onto a desperate hope—that he’d say just once, even a single time, that he was sorry.
Her final voice trembled with something akin to pleading.
“I told you—you were mistaken! Don’t pull this crazy stunt!”
“Mistaken? How was I mistaken?! Say it’s not true! Beg for forgiveness—for what you did to me!”
Just say: ‘It was my fault. You were a good Esper. I knew you loved me, but I couldn’t help it.’
Even that much would’ve made it a little easier to bear.
If only he acknowledged how utterly broken she was.
If only he knew this disaster started because she had held another woman’s hand—one she didn’t even know—just to make him feel the same pain.
“I did nothing wrong! And I’m not your Guide anymore! Not now, not ever again! So stop this pathetic act, Irina Sheril!”
But that hope was shattered without mercy.
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
Clutching her bruised abdomen, the man stood and picked up a wooden club rolling nearby.
His eyes blazed with unmistakable hostility toward Irina Sheril.
It felt so absurd, so unreal, she wondered if she was hallucinating.
“Ha… haha…”
‘I caused all of this… It can’t be a hallucination.’
Unable to hold back the bitter laughter spilling from her lips, Irina stared at him with a hollow expression.
She no longer had the strength to argue.
She simply glanced down at the woman she had beaten, then back at the man.
Then, as if speaking to herself, she murmured:
“So in the end, you really think this isn’t your fault.”
Whether he heard her or not, she couldn’t tell.
The only certainty was that he came charging at her with the club raised—and in that moment, Irina realized this truly was the end.
The end of everything between them.
The end of a tragedy she had brought upon herself.
Chaos.
Was there a better word to describe the scene?
Just moments ago, people had been chatting and building camaraderie.
Now they were tangled up in a violent frenzy.
The peaceful atmosphere had vanished without a trace, replaced by sharp hostility and utter pandemonium.
Despite the shouting, there was no sign of terrorists or common enemies—yet people scrambled and fought as if under sudden siege.
Ben couldn’t help but be confused.
Everyone here looked like they were possessed by evil spirits, ready to tear each other apart with bared teeth.
“Get away from me! Don’t come any closer!”
A chunk of broken brick came flying at Ben.
He ducked instinctively, avoiding it by a hair.
When he looked up, he saw a man bleeding from the temple glaring at him with crazed, vacant eyes, filled with murderous intent.
A stranger—someone Ben didn’t even recognize.
He hadn’t done anything to earn such hatred, but the malice aimed at him was real.
‘Why?’
All Ben could know for sure was that something was very, very wrong.
Putting aside the unknowns, Ben decided to focus on what he could do.
The priority now was finding Enten Nebail.
That might be the only way to start making sense of this madness.
Dodging stray psychic blasts and ignoring the surging chaos around him, Ben scanned the crowd urgently.
Before long, something caught his eye.
Amid the clashing powers and screams, one corner of the central hall was painted a vivid red.
The faint metallic stench of blood hinted at what caused the color.
He looked down at the marble floor.
Blood-soaked footprints crisscrossed the surface, dried where people had unknowingly stepped.
A chill crept into Ben’s fingers as dread settled in his gut.
He bit the inside of his mouth and forced his gaze toward the source of the carnage.
There, at last, he saw her.
A woman wielding a glinting knife, driving a man into a corner against a wall streaked with blood like someone had splashed red paint.
Recognizing the man’s face, Ben shoved through the crowd and ran with urgency.
It was Enten Nebail—the deputy director of Eternita.
There was no time to waste.
“Stop right there!”
“Tch—!”
Ben grabbed the woman from behind and wrenched her away.
Enten, as if he’d been waiting for that moment, shook off the attacker’s grip and collapsed to the floor, gasping.
“Let go of me!”
But the woman Ben had seized thrashed violently, swinging the knife with terrifying strength.
He narrowly dodged the blade, sacrificing a few strands of hair.
Stepping back a few paces, he got a clearer look at her face.
Her body was soaked in blood—it had been hard to recognize her at first.
It was Irina Sheril—the same woman who had been with Roilnia earlier.
“Haa… You saved my life, Mr. Ben. Don’t go near that woman again. She’s completely insane.”
Leaning against the wall and gasping for breath, Enten managed to speak.
One leg bore a deep gash—clearly from Irina’s attack.
His face was pale, and he clutched the wound tightly with his own hand.
Ben rushed over to help, tearing the fabric of Enten’s pants without hesitation and binding it tightly to stop the bleeding.
Crimson soaked the cloth and dripped from Ben’s fingers in fat droplets.
Enten groaned in pain but endured it well.
“Are you alright?”
“It’s not life-threatening. But I’ve never been the physical type—I’m good with control, not strength, so I don’t heal quickly. Kh, and now it feels like my head’s about to explode too…. You know this is all that woman’s doing, right?”
“What do you mean…?”
“Yes, it’s my work.”
Ben’s hands, which had been silently stemming the bleeding, briefly loosened in shock.
What followed was the woman’s calm confession.
Irina Sheril, holding a knife in one hand, was so soaked in red that it was hard to find a single spot untouched by blood.
“It’s mass hallucination. The reason everyone’s gone mad and started fighting is because of that woman. She set it up so cleverly…. Damn it. I should’ve realized the high-frequency noise before the event even began. I thought it was just jamming. I let my guard down.”
“So it wasn’t ordinary jamming?”
“We weren’t in charge of jamming this time. That woman must’ve pulled something on your end. Ever heard of a high-frequency attack? The kind that makes your head feel like it’s going to explode and makes you throw up if you’re exposed too long. She probably added in some frequencies that trigger hallucinations, too. I noticed just in time before she pulled the trigger, so I avoided falling completely under….”
“If this keeps up, some of the espers under hallucination are going to go berserk.”
Enten clicked his tongue and murmured the last part quietly.
Saying it aloud wouldn’t help anyone in this situation.
When espers and their guides fall into chaos and start attacking each other, the situation is already out of control.
“You’re right. Sharp of you.”
“Well, I didn’t get to be Deputy Director just for show.”
Irina brushed off the blood dripping from her blade with a faint smile.
But the expression wasn’t really a smile—it was too emotionless, too cold, making it all the more disturbing.
‘Thud.’
Irina casually nudged something on the ground with her foot and sent it rolling toward Ben and Enten.
It rolled unevenly and finally stopped.
Unbelievably, it was a human head.
It was covered in blood, but there was no mistaking it.
The clearly visible eyes, nose, and mouth, the tangled hair, and the grotesquely severed neck—all of it unmistakably human.
“I did this too.”
Irina’s eyes didn’t blink as she said it, like she was proudly presenting a trophy.
What shimmered quietly in those eyes was madness—calm and unwavering.
“As for the woman… I’m not sure. I tore her up too much.”
Where Irina’s gaze landed, remnants of what had once been human were scattered like trash.
A shoe without an owner, clothing little more than rags, spilled entrails drawing crimson lines across the floor, torn-out eyes, and fractured ribs.
This was the reason the area reeked of blood more than anywhere else—it screamed of deep resentment, something far beyond simple murder.
It was revolting.
The overwhelming stench of blood, strong enough to make his head ache, the brutalized corpses, the people still fighting in madness…
It felt like they were being swallowed by her madness.
Even when Ben tried to breathe slowly, all he could inhale was the hot, metallic scent of fresh blood.
He barely held back the urge to vomit.
“She’s completely gone. I took down the guy who was supposed to be handling the jamming and came straight here—this is what I found. The Sixth Division is doing their best, but the guides are just…”
Enten didn’t bother finishing the sentence, but Ben understood well enough.
And Enten wasn’t in great shape either.
He didn’t have a guide right now, and on top of that, he was injured—he was hardly in any condition to fight.
They needed a solution as soon as possible.
But before that, Ben had to ask—because he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried, understand Irina Sheril’s actions.
* * *
