.
The blood had dried across his arms, flaked and cracking at the joints where his skin had split. Lysander sat in silence, staring at the red stains as if they held answers he hadn't asked for.
He drew in a breath—slow, quiet, but deliberate—and turned.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
Gwen sat with her back against a crooked tree, her shirt torn, knuckles scuffed, and neck mottled with faint bruises from where the man's grip had lingered. Her breath caught before she answered.
"…Yeah. I guess I've seen worse."
Her voice was distant. Not cold, but weightless, like a thought she hadn't meant to say aloud. Silence pulled tight between them again. She looked at him—into him—and he couldn't read her eyes. Not this time.
Lysander rose.
"You can go back to the Colonel if you want. Just consider the debt paid."
Gwen looked at him then, really looked. There was a flicker of something she swallowed before it could surface. Her voice came quieter this time.
"I'd rather not."
Whether it was the lingering taste of orders or something else, neither of them said.
Lysander didn't press. He simply offered her his hand.
She stared at it for a long second—then reached up and took it. A human hand, warm and calloused. Not a hero's. Just a ghost that hadn't figured out he was dead yet.
The trees creaked around them. It was no place to rest. Lysander gave one last glance to the bodies before turning.
"We should move. Trial resets in the afternoon. Not long left."
A flick of thought brought the Veil Frame to life before his eyes:
---
[ Veil Frame – Trial Interface ]
Name: Lysander
Level: 4
Strength: 19
Agility: 18
Intelligence: 14
Stamina: 15
Perception: 32
Status: Healthy
→ Trial Zone: Crucible
Red Zone Proximity: 4.1 km — Encroaching
Imprint Detection: Passive Active
+ Skills
• Observation Glare [Lv.1]
• Instinct Overdrive [Lv.0 – Passive]
→ Bloodline Compatibility: 9% [Latent]
Anchor protocol established [unstable]
Event: Call of the Whispering Lake
(Grey Zone)
Countdown: 06:40:32
---
"Yeah, right," Gwen muttered beside him, eyes scanning her own interface. "Let's just keep going."
They followed the broken trail toward the lake's edge. The air grew damper, thicker, as the canopy broke. Tents, makeshift camps, and nervous faces lined the bank.
"Aristocratic faction, wasn't it?" Lysander asked quietly.
Gwen nodded, lips drawn tight. "And Erwell himself gave the order."
Lysander frowned. "Figured. Killing me and keeping the Colonel in line—it'd be tidy."
He glanced at her. "Do you want revenge?"
Gwen's mouth twitched, but the bitterness never fully surfaced. She gave a half-smile, then snorted.
"You don't need to worry about me. Saving my life once is enough for now."
He said nothing more. Just nodded.
The camp stirred as they approached. Groups fell silent. Some recognized Gwen. Others, Lysander.
Colonel looked up, relief flashing across his eyes—followed by something else. Tension. Worry.
But Lysander didn't slow. He walked forward until he felt it—eyes burrowing into his back like knives.
He turned.
Jason stood there. Hands stiff at his sides. Eyes wide and uncertain. And behind him—
Erwell.
Calm. Polished. Smiling like a man who had already sharpened the knife he was about to plunge.
Lysander tensed. The moment dragged. Then he saw two figures lean close to Erwell in a hushed whisper. Something shifted in the noble's expression. His jaw tightened, and he began to walk forward.
Jason hesitated but followed.
Erwell raised his voice as he approached, drawing the attention of the crowd.
"You're hard to miss," Erwell said loudly, drawing attention. "You have the look of someone who doesn't follow rules unless they're your own."
Lysander didn't blink. "I wasn't aware we had rules."
A few people chuckled—nervously.
Erwell turned, slow and deliberate, letting his voice carry. "Four of my people dead. Killed by a masked stranger who now walks into camp like he belongs."
Gwen's hand hovered near her side.
"Is that what you're doing?" Erwell asked. "Trying to belong?"
Lysander didn't flinch. "They deserved worse."
"You think that's your call?"
"No. I didn't wait for permission."
Jason stepped forward, voice unsure. " Father, maybe this isn't the time—"
"Stay out of it, Jason," Erwell said, not turning. "This is long overdue."
He faced the crowd again. "You want to know who he is?"
Jason's breath caught. "Don't."
But Erwell was already speaking. "His name isn't Ghost. Or Wanderer. Or whatever he's been calling himself. His name—real name—is Lysander."
The reaction was immediate.
Faces turned. Voices rose in whispers.
"He's been hiding it since the first day," Erwell continued. "While the rest of us struggled to survive, he played his little games. Killed without warning. Dragged others into his mess."
"I never forced anyone," Lysander said quietly.
Erwell's eyes narrowed. "Didn't you?"
He turned to Gwen. "You followed him, didn't you? He pulled you from your post. Lied to you. Or maybe you just didn't need much convincing?"
Gwen didn't answer just glared at him in response.
Colonel Varn took a step forward, voice like stone. "This isn't helping. We've got bigger problems."
Erwell ignored him. "The truth is simple. This man hides what he is. He kills without flag or chain. If you follow him, understand what you're siding with."
Jason looked between them, jaw clenched.
"I thought we were on the same side," he said to Lysander.
Lysander looked him in the eye. "We are. But I don't follow orders I don't trust."
Jason looked like he wanted to argue—but the words never came.
Then the sound came from the north ridge.
A long, warbling call.
Not a signal.
A warning.
A scout burst through the treeline, eyes wide. "Beast tide! Estimated breach in two hours—maybe less! Large-scale movement confirmed!"
The camp erupted into motion.
Weapons drawn. Tents collapsed. People shouting orders.
Colonel raised his voice. "Listen up! This isn't faction business anymore. All units fall back to the central perimeter. We hold this basin or we die alone."
Erwell didn't say anything. Just watched Lysander.
Still smiling.and Lysander?
He didn't smile.
He just turned toward the lake—toward the real fight.