Little Pink Starfish

Having poured all his remaining mana and magic stones into the teleportation spell, Ishar staggered as soon as he arrived in the Abyss, the backlash from the spell wreaking havoc on his body. At the same time, he felt a surge of killing intent rushing toward him and instinctively drew his sword, swinging it.

With a tearing screech, a monster lunging at him for prey flinched and retreated.

The symptoms of mana depletion had worsened, and even slight movements made his stomach churn. He suppressed the nausea rising from his gut and scanned his surroundings.

Splurt, crunch, squelch—the sounds of grotesque monsters surrounded him before he even realized. Tightening his grip on his sword, Ishar traced their presence.

Six on the ground, three beneath me, and one in the air.

A snake-like monster, coated in slime, was regrowing the tail Ishar had just sliced off, saliva dripping from its maw.

The drool fell onto the head of another monster beneath it, and with a sizzle, the monster’s head began to melt, letting out a shriek.

As if that were a signal, all the monsters lunged at Ishar simultaneously. Feeling the ground tremble underfoot, he leaped and swung his sword imbued with aura in a wide arc.

With a single strike, he cleaved through them. Even before the bisected corpses hit the ground, he twisted his body midair to avoid the incoming shockwave.

Venomous tendrils shot at him from all directions like arrows. Using the falling monster chunks as stepping stones, he soared higher into the sky.

But then, a screech echoed—part bird, part beast.

“Tch.”

The sound sent out a bizarre wave, disrupting the air.

It broke Ishar’s footing mid-jump, and he plummeted to the ground. Though unexpected, he landed smoothly, correcting his posture instantly.

A giant-jawed creature barreled toward him, and he swung his sword once more.

The monster was split clean in two by the force of his aura. Next, he sent another slash skyward at a flying beast targeting him.

With a crash, the airborne monster slammed into the ground, lifeless.

“Just chaos the moment I arrive.”

The location Ishar had teleported to was the Void Zone near where Veloan had fallen three years ago—close to the edge of the Abyss, where its darkness loomed.

The sudden disturbance in what had been a relatively quiet area caused newly born monsters to swarm like ants.

Ishar remained still. They weren’t targeting him.

The baby monsters found the fresh corpses and devoured them like starved beasts. It was a gruesome sight—one that would’ve made most humans faint—but Ishar was unfazed.

He retrieved a mana restoration potion from his cloak, downed it, and cast a spell.

Stepping as if on invisible stairs, he moved through the air, scanning the area for Veloan.

Please…

All he saw were monsters. No human forms. No signs of struggle or activity.

He kept praying. He just wanted to confirm—whether it was really Veloan or not.

Truthfully, even now, Ishar didn’t know what he truly wanted.

He wished Veloan were alive—but also, that he wasn’t.

If Veloan truly believed he had been abandoned, Ishar felt unworthy, ashamed of seeking him now.

The guilt of not going deeper into the Abyss that day, of not finding him then, twisted in his gut.

But what he feared most was hearing words of resentment from Veloan’s own mouth.

Even so, he couldn’t stop searching. Even if Veloan hated him—he still wanted to see him. So desperately.

His warmth, his smile, the time they’d shared. In the three years since, Ishar hadn’t forgotten a single moment. So he wandered, endlessly.

Time lost all meaning as he frantically searched for him.

Several monsters, thinking him fresh prey, attacked. He slaughtered them all, using their remains to lure other beasts.

He repeated this cycle countless times.

Until—

“…!”

Far in the distance—he saw a human figure staring in his direction.

His heart dropped. He forgot how to breathe. All of his attention was drawn to the golden hair swaying in the wind.

Even from afar, that bright blond hair stood out unmistakably. He couldn’t yet see the eye color, but the figure was unmistakably similar to Veloan, looking just as he had the last time they met.

Even from a great distance, he could recognize him.

How could a master not recognize a disciple he had imagined hundreds, thousands of times while awake and dreaming?

Ishar rushed forward.

As the distance narrowed, the figure turned and began walking away, as if to flee. Panicked, Ishar cast a teleportation spell.

His body was still only barely recovered from mana depletion.

Even though it was a short-range teleport, it still required considerable mana, and his body screamed in protest. Ishar ignored the pain.

He closed the gap in an instant. Reaching out, he grabbed the man’s shoulder and spun him around.

“…!”

Red eyes. Veloan’s face. But the moment he saw it—he instinctively knew.

This wasn’t Veloan.

In the same instant he reached that conclusion, he raised his sword—coated with aura—intending to cut down the impostor.

But crack!—his blade was blocked.

“You recognized me immediately, as expected.”

Standing in front of Ishar now was not Veloan—but a taller man with green hair.

“Jishka.”

The dragon who had stormed the Imperial Palace three years ago to take Veloan. The one who had caught Ishar’s sword with his bare hand.

The strength that had once severed Clodonne’s limbs was now matched by Jishka’s own grip.

A smile curled at Ishar’s lips.

“So you show yourself willingly. Good.”

He was furious that Jishka had used Veloan to lure him here. Even beasts had maternal instincts—but not this reptilian freak.

“A creature who births his own child just to eat it—what did I expect?”

He would capture Jishka and torture him until he begged for death.

He would use him as an offering to pray for Veloan’s soul, to finally give him a proper farewell. Then maybe—maybe his disciple, who died because of an incompetent master, could rest in peace.

And maybe—just maybe—in one of his recurring nightmares, Veloan would listen to him. Maybe he wouldn’t walk away. Maybe he’d come back smiling, call him “Master,” and embrace him again.

Fueled by that sliver of hope, Ishar gathered his strength and aimed to sever Jishka’s hand.

Sensing the danger, Jishka finally released the sword and twisted away.

In that moment, whoosh!—the ground behind Jishka cracked, and a massive scar was etched into the earth by the trajectory of Ishar’s blade.

Jishka retreated, and magic followed. Dozens of ethereal blades formed in the air and flew at Ishar like spears.

Thin, silvery-blue barriers—like threads of mist—formed around Ishar, blocking every incoming spell.

The air trembled. As Ishar leapt, Jishka’s magic rained down in varied, complex forms.

This wasn’t like when Ishar had hunted Clodonne. Back then, Ishar had the advantage of surprise—and Clodonne didn’t even know how to fight properly.

Jishka, on the other hand, was polished. His offensive spells were efficient and clean. The gap between each chained spell was so brief it felt like a single, seamless attack.

The flow of mana in the air was like a massive river—it was hard to predict the next move based on its currents alone.

Partly, this was due to Ishar’s dulled senses from losing his old mana—but Jishka was also skilled at hiding his attacks using residual mana. Extremely skilled.

“Why.”

Ishar’s aura skimmed past Jishka’s arm.

Even though it nearly severed the limb, Jishka didn’t heal. Instead, he conjured hundreds of sand-covered spike-lances and fired them in rapid succession.

A whoosh of glowing trails surrounded Ishar. The pattern resembled a barrier—round and enclosing.

“Why don’t you reveal your true form? Doesn’t wearing a human shell limit your power?”

“…”

“And…”

As time passed, a new question emerged.

“What is it… that you fear so much?”