Elliott felt as though he had been buried deep in an abyss—cold and dark.
Then, suddenly, warmth seeped in. At first, it was just a faint embrace, but soon it spread, suffusing the entire abyss with heat. Light trickled in, and Elliott found himself enveloped in comfort. A current of warmth flowed through his body—only to vanish just as swiftly.
Unwilling to let it go, Elliott summoned the icy energy within him and gave chase. The warmth, however, stopped abruptly at his dantian. Yet, sensing the immense heat radiating from the other side, he surged forward without hesitation.
So warm.
The warm and cold currents merged, their temperatures indistinguishable, their combined presence swelling beyond their original forms. With no other choice, Elliott guided the flow outward—until the dormant energy of the Nine Yin Manual stirred on its own, absorbing the currents like a parched riverbed.
But even that wasn't enough. Elliott directed the excess toward an empty space beyond, and by the time he had absorbed his fill, that void had vanished. Now, all that remained was the need to refine what he had taken.
---
Phoebe slowly dressed herself, wincing at the lingering pain below, then clothed Elliott as well. His eyes fluttered open for a fleeting moment, catching a blurred glimpse of her before he slipped back into unconsciousness.
That single glance would haunt him forever.
She pushed open the door. Simon rushed in to check on Elliott, while Lucas and Grace, watching Phoebe's unsteady gait, exchanged stunned glances.
Taking the bundle from Grace's hands, Phoebe heard Simon's jubilant voice from inside. Without waiting for a response, she said, "I trust you'll keep your word. I'm leaving." Then, with a swift motion, she vanished into the distance.
Lucas, sharp-eyed as ever, noted how much stronger her martial arts seemed. Meanwhile, Phoebe cursed under her breath—That damned man wore me out. Yet, for the first time, she had felt true happiness, however fleeting.
A single crystalline tear scattered into the wind.
---
In a grand courtyard, a lone figure sat beside a stone table, gazing at the late autumn scenery. The dim, overcast sky exuded desolation, the cold air thickened by mist.
Elliott listened to the rustling of withered leaves, feeling as lifeless as the barren trees around him. Everything that had happened—before and after his awakening—had deepened his disillusionment with the world.
Nothing stirred his heart anymore. Joy had long since abandoned his eyes, leaving only a hollow smile—one devoid of warmth. His gaze was frigid, save for the rare flicker of sorrow.
He had never seen the depths of that sorrow himself, but Grace had. On the first day he awoke, lying silent in bed, his empty eyes had suddenly flooded with immeasurable grief. The sight had struck Grace like a physical blow, stealing her breath away.
That was the day Simon vowed to heal Elliott's eyes. After that, Grace could never meet his gaze again.
She feared she might blurt out the truth—that Phoebe hadn't abandoned him. She had left to spare him the infamy of the martial world.
"Elliott, you should go inside," Grace urged. "The wind is harsh, and your wounds are still fresh."
Since waking, Elliott had never once asked about Phoebe. The others found it strange. Grace had tried hinting at it, but Elliott had brushed it aside like a passing traveler, shifting the conversation so effortlessly that their worries eased.
Then Simon made his demand: Elliott must kill Vincent.
Elliott agreed—on one condition. Simon had to restore his sight. Vincent was a master of poison, and without keen vision or peerless skill, Elliott stood no chance.
Simon had no choice but to accept. A warrior like Elliott—one who not only recovered from grave injuries but emerged stronger—was rare. Most either died from their wounds or never regained their former prowess.
What Simon hadn't anticipated was that Phoebe's decades of cultivation had been the perfect nourishment for Elliott. And, ironically, her own power hadn't diminished—it had ascended.
The Nine Yin Manual thrived on refining innate energy, and Phoebe's essence had been pure. Their union had elevated them both.
Elliott gave no reply, only a vacant nod before sinking back into stillness.
The biting wind carried his thoughts. His arrival in this world had been absurdly theatrical, yet it had forced him to taste life's bitterness and sweetness in full.
He had accomplished nothing here. In the modern world, he might have already commanded his own faction. But here?
Here, people only feared martial prowess. Only overwhelming force earned their submission. In his past life, influence alone could command respect—but the martial world was a different beast.
Rising, Elliott finally spoke. "Grace, is Simon coming? Today's the final treatment. In ten days, I'll see this world clearly again."
Grace nodded. "Yes. Lucas will be with him. You should talk."
Elliott agreed. Perhaps Lucas was the only one in this world he truly trusted.
Then again, in Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils, Lucas had always been the man everyone relied on.