Three more months passed, and the situation had only grown worse.
One of the three Saints had fallen while fighting a Corrupted Titan.
The other two survived but were left gravely injured.
Even so, they managed to bring the creature down in the end.
While that war unfolded beyond his reach, Orren remained in the field.
His role had become simple in principle, but brutal in execution: thin out the endless tide of abominations before they reached the main forces.
Just like now.
He was locked in combat with his first Fallen Beast.
A chimera-like monstrosity with a cavernous maw and twisted limbs, it lashed out with raw, mindless violence.
Orren struck from the left while Draco lunged from the right, their attacks perfectly synchronized after months of fighting together.
Orren brought his sword down with both hands, carving deep into its left shoulder, while Draco’s massive tail whipped in from the opposite side, shattering its right leg in a single crushing blow.
It was not a clean victory.
It was the result of repeated strikes, each one weakening the same points until the creature finally collapsed to its knees.
The beast let out a deafening roar, jaws opening wide in one final, desperate attempt to retaliate.
Orren didn’t hesitate.
He stepped in and drove his sword straight into its mouth, pushing through bone and into the brain.
The monster twitched once… then went still.
[You have slain a Fallen Beast, Devouring Maw.] ‘Yeah… no surprise.
Still no Memory.’ That, by now, had become the most frustrating constant in his life.
He was sure by now that the Spell was holding a grudge.
He has been hunting non-stop for the last three months and has not received a single memory all this while.
He exhaled through his nose.
‘Let’s not start cursing the Spell again.’ “It’s just you and me, Draco,” he muttered instead.
He knelt briefly, extracted the soul shard, and crushed it without hesitation.
The number in his vision shifted.
Soul Fragments: [912/1000] So close.
He stared at it for a moment longer than necessary.
At this point, if he ever made it out of this Nightmare alive, he wouldn’t just be stronger, he would be something entirely different.
Nine months of constant killing had reshaped him more than any training ever could.
He had stopped thinking of monsters as threats long ago.
They were targets.
Problems to be removed.
Nothing more.
And that shift… had not gone unnoticed by his own mind.
A faint pressure lingered in his instincts now, something like sharpened intent that never fully faded.
He climbed onto Draco’s back for the return journey, letting the Echo carry him toward the camp.
Only when he reached its edge did he dismiss it and walk the rest of the way alone.
Inside the tent, he immediately noticed two presences.
Irene, the healer who had become a constant in his recovery, and another woman beside her.
Older.
Similar features.
The resemblance made it obvious even before she spoke.
“I assume you’re her mother,” Orren said, inclining his head slightly.
“It’s an honor to finally meet you.” “You’re correct, child,” the woman replied with a calm smile.
“Though… the look in your eyes is quite bloodthirsty.” Orren paused for a moment before exhaling.
“I suppose that’s fair,” he admitted.
“All this killing… it gets to you.
Sometimes more than you notice.” Nine months of it had worn him down in ways wounds never could.
His body was fine, constantly restored, constantly repaired but his mind carried the weight of everything he had done.
The older woman studied him for a moment longer, then nodded gently.
“I understand, my boy.
And even so… I still find it difficult to comprehend what you’ve achieved.” Her expression darkened slightly.
“Though I fear even this may not be enough.” Orren blinked.
“Huh?” She didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, her gaze turned distant, as though she were looking at something far beyond the present moment.
“I had another vision,” she said quietly.
“And it only confirmed what I already feared.
Our doom is inevitable.” A cold silence settled in the tent.
Orren followed her gaze instinctively, and for the first time, truly saw it.
There was no uncertainty in her eyes.
Only acceptance.
“When I first saw this future,” she continued, “I could not determine when it would happen.
Only that it would come soon after the town’s fall.” She looked at him then.
“And then you appeared.
A variable I could not account for.” Orren stayed silent.
“I believed you might be the key to changing it.
And perhaps you were.
You saved the town, after all.
But the ending did not change.” Her voice softened.
“If anything, we only delayed it.” A faint, tired smile crossed her face.
“I thank you, child.
Truly.” She stepped forward and pulled him into an embrace, warm, almost maternal.
In her eyes he was still just a fifteen-year-old child.
Orren stiffened slightly, caught off guard, but didn’t pull away.
“You carried more than any child should have,” she said quietly.
Then she let go.
“And tomorrow… it will end.” She turned toward the exit.
“The sun will shine tomorrow for the last time.” ….
In the middle of the night, Orren’s eyes snapped open.
A strange unease lingered in his chest, subtle at first, like a pressure in the air, but before he could properly register it, an earth-shaking roar tore through the night nearby.
That was enough to drive away any remaining sleep.
He shot upright, already moving on instinct.
In a single motion he summoned his Memories and rushed out of his tent.
What he saw made everything else irrelevant.
In the distance, rifts were tearing open across the land.
From them, abominations poured out in endless waves.
‘So this is it…’ He exhaled slowly.
‘Then I’ll kill as many as I can before this Nightmare ends.’ From his side, he drew a plain dark wooden mask and placed it over his face.
It wasn’t a Memory.
It was a parting gift, given by Irene’s mother the day before.
He didn’t fully understand why she had given it to him, but the moment he wore it, a strange stillness settled in his mind, as if something chaotic inside him had been gently pressed down.
With his dark armor and the mask covering his face, Orren melted into the night.
For a moment, it almost looked like the darkness itself had begun moving.
He sprinted through the forest, heading straight for the battlefield, and summoned Draco mid-run.
The Echo appeared beside him like a returning storm, and together they carved into the tide of monsters.
Awakened beasts fell almost effortlessly under their combined assault.
Claws were severed, throats torn open, bodies dropped mid-charge.
Wherever Orren moved, death followed.
Fortunately, no Fallen-ranked beast intercepted his path.
That alone made the slaughter manageable.
And yet, what stood out most wasn’t the killing, it was awareness.
His Aspect worked constantly now.
Space, distance, movement; everything around him within a limited radius felt mapped inside his mind.
Every shifting step of a creature, every sudden lunge or hidden approach, it all registered before it could become a threat.
Ambushes became nearly impossible.
The Spell continued announcing his kills, but Orren ignored every notification.
His focus never wavered.
All around him, the forest had become a warzone.
Knights, soldiers, and Awakened alike were fighting for survival in scattered pockets of resistance.
The sounds of battle echoed endlessly through the night.
The most brutal clash, however, was at the main gate.
There, the two Transcendents fought against the Gate Guardians of the Corrupted ranks—each one a Tyrant-class abomination, possibly even higher.
Five against two.
Even from a distance, Orren could tell it was a losing battle.
But not yet finished.
One of the Guardians finally fell.
For a brief moment, hope flickered—only to be crushed by the state of the remaining fighters.
The Transcendents were already at their limit.
They exchanged a glance.
A silent understanding passed between them.
Then, without hesitation, their chests began to glow.
Brighter.
And brighter still.
Orren stopped.
‘So that’s how it ends.’ He dismissed Draco, letting the Echo return to his soul sea, and simply stood there watching.
The light grew unbearable.
Then… Silence.
The world held its breath for a single instant.
And then it exploded.
BOOOOOOOOOOM!
Light swallowed the forest.
Fire erased the night.
Everything vanished beneath the detonation of two collapsing cores.
Orren didn’t move.
‘I tried… I really did.’ ‘I saw it coming a long time ago.
But there was never a way to change it.’ A hollow frustration settled in his chest.
‘All this effort… and it still ends the same.’ ‘Just to die in some unknown world…’ ‘Fuck you, Spell.’ That was his last coherent thought as the explosion swallowed him whole.
And then… A voice.
[Wake up, Orren!
Your Nightmare is over.] [Prepare for appraisal…] CREATORS’ THOUGHTS Lost_01 Have some idea about my story?
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