RAGNA POV...
Just outside my house, the world felt as though a verse of reality itself had been rewritten the moment they saw the Black Steel Knight of the Holy Shrine holding me in his grasp, and all eyes gathered on us with naked contempt, their cheers erupting as if they had narrowly survived a great calamity rather than witnessed the ruin of a family.
Some spat openly onto the ground, others wore smiles stretched wide with victory as they laughed and celebrated, and a few lingered at the edges with fear carved into their faces, yet despite the mix of emotions none of them showed even the faintest trace of pity.
Laughter filled the night without restraint, cheers and shouts overlapping into a single deafening noise, and beneath the glow of burning torches their shadows stretched long and distorted, pooling together like an abyss swallowing the ground beneath their feet.
Within that darkness, six children clung to their families, their small hands clenched tight, their eyes blazing with hatred and anger they were too young to understand yet already forced to bear.
"Master..."
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My head really hurt.
That was the first thought that surfaced as my eyelids fluttered weakly, consciousness returning in fragments while a dull, throbbing pain spread from the swollen wound at the back of my head and echoed through my skull.
My body felt unbearably heavy, every limb sore as if I had been beaten from every direction, and as I forced myself upright I reached back carefully, touching the injury to judge its severity, only to realize I had no sense of how much time had passed since everything fell apart.
’Why hasn’t my regeneration healed this yet?’
The thought came with confusion rather than panic, because everything around me still felt unreal, like a poorly stitched dream that refused to settle into focus, and even now I wasn’t fully convinced this wasn’t some cruel illusion meant to mock me.
It took all the mental strength I had just to open my eyes, my vision blurred from exhaustion and from crying far more than my body could endure, my head splitting not only from pain but from the complete depletion of natural mana.
What I saw made no immediate sense.
The world around me swayed as though I were inside a moving carriage, and when I tried to sit up properly I lost my balance as the vehicle jolted, the sudden movement sending sharp agony through my wound and forcing me to suck in several desperate breaths just to keep myself from blacking out.
Through swollen eyes, I began to take in my surroundings—walls built from cold metallic planks, enclosing a narrow space that felt more like a cage than transport.
When I shifted my gaze away from the walls, I noticed figures within my peripheral vision, small bodies scattered around me, children who looked no older than five or six years old, yet what unsettled me wasn’t their age but the fact that every one of them appeared abnormal, their eyes shut tight as they lay still, their forms carrying subtle traits that marked them unmistakably as demons.
For a brief, terrifying moment, I wondered if I had died and been thrown once more into the cycle of reincarnation.
My vision was still too hazy to clearly make out their faces, but instinctively I knew they were like me, beings the world had already judged and condemned, and among all of them I alone was lying directly on the ice-cold metallic floor, its chill seeping through my bruised skin.
I forced myself to move again, clenching my teeth as I tried to sit upright, because I knew that if I didn’t begin healing soon my already exhausted body would only worsen.
With my regeneration refusing to activate for reasons I couldn’t understand, I attempted to manually circulate my meditation technique, even though my mana core was empty and my body screamed in protest, simply so I could regain some clarity of thought.
That was when the pain truly struck.
A sharp, sudden agony tore through my consciousness, dragging with it memories I wasn’t ready to face, and I shut my eyes tightly as if that alone could stop them, but it was useless.
One by one, they surfaced—clear, vivid, merciless—each memory replaying like a flash track I couldn’t pause or escape, and my face drained of all color as guilt, regret, and grief crushed down on me at once.
Even thinking had become unbearable.
Every memory of my family, moments that should have given me strength or comfort, instead twisted into blades that carved deeper into my chest, filling me with a suffocating sense of responsibility and rage directed entirely at myself.
’This is all my fault.’
The words echoed in my mind like a scream I couldn’t release, my thoughts spiraling as I cursed my own existence, questioning why I was still alive when everyone I touched seemed to suffer.
If only I could turn back time—even if I couldn’t save Father from dying, I would have demonized him without hesitation, because at the very least that would have kept him alive.
What terrified me even more was not knowing whether my mother and sisters were safe, and even if they were unharmed I knew their lives would already be hell, burdened by loss, fear, and the hatred of a world that never needed an excuse to hurt them.
All I could do was pray in silence, a helpless act that felt hollow even as I clung to it.
Tears blurred my vision again as memories of Father, Mother, and my sisters surfaced relentlessly, their faces stabbing into my heart until I could no longer hold back, each tear striking the metal floor beneath me like a confession of how utterly broken I had become.
I replayed every decision I had made, every moment I had chosen secrecy over trust, and the bitter realization settled in that if not for my selfishness, my father might still be alive, my mother would not be a widow, and my sisters would not be forced to grow up without him.
The hatred I felt toward myself, and toward the Holy Shrine, grew without limit.
The grief crushed my chest until it felt like my heart was caught in a vice, and I was forced to confront the irony of it all—reborn into a world that despised demons, given power beyond reason, yet utterly incapable of protecting the people I loved most.
What use were these abilities if they couldn’t save my family?
All of it felt meaningless.
The love my family had given me had been my shield in a world filled with hatred, their affection unwavering despite what I was, and because of that love I believed I could change everything.
When I first obtained the system, I truly thought I could become something greater, someone who could fix anything, and step by step I had tried—starting small, easing our financial burdens, saving my sister from her congenital fate by turning her into a Banshee, entrusting her with knowledge so she could protect them when I wasn’t there.
Each success fed my confidence, convincing me that as long as I continued forward alone, everything would work out.
That was where I failed.
I tried to carry everything myself and forgot that I wasn’t alone, and by the time my instincts screamed danger and the Black Steel Knight arrived, the illusion I had built shattered completely, leaving nothing behind but regret and the ruins of a plan that had never truly accounted for the cruelty of this world.