The waves of grief and pain radiating from the titan were so thick they didn't even require Sense of Fluctuation to perceive. Anyone with eyes could see the "monstrous" Scorpio was suffering.

  "What exactly are you...?"

  Haruki looked at the rusted child's tricycle in his hand, then up at the four-hundred-meter-tall mountain of diseased flesh. A sense of profound absurdity washed over him. This "Legacy," this piece of junk, was the only thing this god-like disaster cared about.

  He didn't have time to ponder the philosophy of it. Scorpio's power was absolute; even a gncing blow would vaporize him. Haruki did the only thing he could: he became a lure.

  He didn't engage the beast. He simply maintained a specific distance, using himself and the tricycle as a beacon to lead Scorpio further and further away from the Tokyo Monoliths.

  As the days turned into a week, Haruki became accustomed to the rhythm of the chase. Despite its size, Scorpio's movement was lumbering and predictable. With Highnd Soul active, Haruki moved like a ghost, weaving through the wastend while the titan followed him with the slow, agonizing persistence of a sleepwalker.

  The real challenge was the local Gastrea. The wilderness was crawling with Stage Is, IIs, and IIIs. To them, Haruki was a five-star meal.

  But Haruki welcomed the swarm. He turned the wastend into his personal training ground. He sughtered thousands of Gastrea, clearing entire sectors until he had created a "dead zone" where no monsters dared to enter.

  This relentless, high-intensity sughter was exactly what his system needed. Finally, the long-awaited notification chimed in his mind.

  [System Level Up!]

  [Current Level: LV.3]

  [New Archetype Unlocked: The Darkin Bde]

  An image fshed in his mind: a towering, winged demon of war, wreathed in猩红 (crimson) energy, wielding a living, jagged greatsword.

  Just like the Wuju Bdesman, this was a complete combat tempte. Haruki felt the knowledge of five new techniques etch themselves into his soul: Deathbringer Stance, The Darkin Bde, Infernal Chains, Umbral Dash, and the terrifying World Ender.

  Compared to the precision and speed of the Wuju style, the Darkin style was pure, unadulterated devastation. It was built for suppression, heavy impacts, and total battlefield dominance.

  Using the endless supply of Gastrea as target practice, Haruki began to master his new powers. The blood-red energy of the Darkin began to mingle with his own killing intent, turning his strikes into explosive waves of destruction.

  Eventually, Scorpio's movement began to fg. Even a Stage V wasn't an eternal engine of destruction. The titan's limbs grew heavy, its single eye drooping as it entered a state of biological exhaustion.

  Haruki saw his chance. He darted toward the titan, closing the distance before its massive tentacles could react. He pced the rusted, broken tricycle on a ft sb of rock directly in front of the monster's bird-like beak.

  Shhh—

  The moment the tricycle was pced, Scorpio froze. Its thrashing appendages went limp. The mountain-sized monster lowered its head with agonizing slowness. One of its smaller, more delicate tentacles reached out, trembling, and carefully scooped up the tricycle.

  Scorpio pulled the toy close to its chest, hugging it like a precious treasure. Then, with a long, mournful sigh that shook the ground, the Stage V Gastrea closed its eye and drifted into a deep, peaceful slumber.

  Watching the world-ending disaster sleep like a child, Haruki found himself questioning everything. What was the origin of the Gastrea? What were the Stage Vs, really? And how deep did the connection between the Cursed Children and these monsters go?

  He had no answers. With the threat neutralized for now, he turned his back on the wastend and began the long trek back to Tokyo.

  The Monolith checkpoints were strict, but they were designed to keep things out. No one expected a human to come walking back in from the hellscape beyond the barrier. Haruki slipped through the perimeter without raising a single arm.

  He didn't go back to the city center immediately. Instead, he headed straight for the Outer Districts. He was worried that the appearance of Scorpio might have caused a secondary migration of smaller Gastrea into the slums.

  To his surprise, the Outer Districts were untouched. In fact, they looked better than when he left.

  "This is..."

  Haruki stared at a cluster of new, modest buildings rising from the ruins. In the center of the construction, he saw a woman who looked completely out of pce in this graveyard of society. He thought he was hallucinating until he got closer.

  It was the ruler of Tokyo: the Seitenshi.

  "Seitenshi? What are you doing here?"

  "You're... Haruki?"

  The Holy Child looked just as shocked to see him. For a moment, they stood in the middle of the wastend, staring at each other as if they were seeing ghosts.

  They quickly composed themselves and moved to a more private area to talk.

  The Seitenshi expined the situation. After Haruki "sacrificed" himself to lead the Legacy away, she had officially decred him a martyr. He was awarded the highest honors the state could bestow. She had held a massive public funeral for him, turning him into a national hero—the "Sword Ghost" who gave his life for the people.

  She hadn't done it just for sentiment. She had used Haruki's "heroic sacrifice" as political leverage. By framing a Promoter as the savior of Tokyo, she had successfully pushed through legistion to build new housing and provide basic services for the Cursed Children in the Outer Districts. She had effectively silenced the opposition by tying the aid to the "will of the martyr."

  Haruki understood the py immediately. If he "came back to life" now, her political momentum would vanish. The "martyr's miracle" would become a "Promoter's survival," and the bigots would find a way to cw back the progress she had made.

  "I have a request, Aizawa-san," she said, looking him in the eye. "I need you to stay 'dead.' I need you to stop appearing as Haruki Aizawa, the Promoter."

  "I see." Haruki nodded without hesitation. He didn't care about fame or his rank. If staying in the shadows helped Kayo and the other kids, it was a small price to pay.

  "Thank you..." the Seitenshi sighed, relief washing over her. "In that case, if you have nowhere to go... would you consider working for me directly? I can offer you a substantial sary and resources, though you would have to operate under a mask."

  "As what?"

  "A bodyguard, perhaps?"

  Haruki shrugged. "Fine."

  He didn't care about the title. Working for the Seitenshi gave him access to high-level government intel, which would make finding his target—Aldebaran—much easier. Plus, the Seitenshi seemed genuinely committed to helping the Cursed Children, and he was willing to support that cause.

  And so, Haruki Aizawa officially became the Seitenshi's shadow. He adopted the codename "S" and wore a stylized mask to hide his face.

  Before starting his duties, he requested permission to visit his apartment one st time to check on Kayo. The Seitenshi granted it instantly.

  When he opened the door to his old apartment, he found it spotless. Everything was exactly as he had left it. Before he could even call out, the bedroom door flew open. Kayo sprinted out and threw her arms around his waist, burying her face in his shirt.

  "Haruki... you're really back."

  "Yeah," he said, patting her head. "I'm back."

  Haruki didn't get even a day of rest before his new life began. He reported to the Sacred Residence, the pace of the Seitenshi located in the prestigious First District.

  The Sacred Residence was a sprawling masterpiece of Gothic Revival architecture—all sweeping curves, ornate stone pilrs, and vaulted gss windows. It was a fortress of luxury and power. A normal person would have been intimidated just walking through the gates.

  Haruki walked in as if he owned the pce. He wore a simple, dark combat suit, his two bdes strapped to his back, and a sleek bck mask covering the upper half of his face.

  He reported to the guard station using his new alias. Because he looked so suspicious, the guards held him for nearly an hour, running every check in the book until the Seitenshi herself sent word to let him through.

  "Welcome, Haruki-san," the Seitenshi said with a warm smile when he finally entered her private quarters.

  However, the moment he entered, he felt the cold, sharp gaze of another person in the room.

  It was Kikunojo Tendo. The old advisor was staring at Haruki with a look of pure, unadulterated disdain. To him, Haruki wasn't a hero or a bodyguard—he was an anomaly that needed to be purged.

  "So this is the 'elite' you've chosen to protect you, your Highness?" Kikunojo sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "A masked mercenary who pys with ghosts? I told you, the state's security forces are more than enough. We don't need this... trash... in the Sacred Residence."

  Haruki didn't even turn his head toward the old man. He just stood there, his presence cold and immovable.

  "Counsellor Tendo, please. S-san is a vital asset," the Seitenshi said, her voice firm.

  "An asset? He's a liability!" Kikunojo stepped forward, his face reddening. "He's a common thug with a sword. He has no breeding, no loyalty to the state, and he associates with those... creatures in the Outer Districts. He is trash."

  Haruki finally turned. Behind the mask, his eyes fshed with a dangerous, blood-red light—a remnant of the Darkin power.

  "You like that word, don't you? 'Trash,'" Haruki said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.

  "It's the only word that fits," Kikunojo spat.

  "Funny," Haruki said, stepping into the old man's personal space. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. "I was just thinking the same thing about the people running this city. You treat children like garbage, you py politics with people's lives, and you hide behind walls while others bleed for you. If I'm trash, then what does that make you?"

  He leaned in closer, his killing intent fring for just a fraction of a second—a needle-sharp point of pure terror aimed directly at the old man's heart.

  "I call you trash because it's the truth. Is there something wrong with stating the obvious?"

  ***********************************************

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