The sky above resembled night, yet it was nothing so familiar.
Darkness pooled like ink across an endless canvas, and through it ran a single fissure of pale light—
a crack in the heavens, stretching farther than mortal sight could follow.
But true darkness did not reign here.
Suspended at the center of this false sky hung a darkened sun, its edges rimmed with a haunting red glow.
It bled a faint crimson hue over the land, not warm, not gentle—
a light that felt carved from the horrors of the world itself.
A world bathed in sunlight is a blessing to all.
Here, that blessing was absent.
The scent of rust—blood—hung heavy in the air.
That night, the battlefield roared with chaos.
Hundreds of iron-clad warriors cried out with grit and desperation as the darkness burst with violent color: pillars of red flame, torrents of water slicing through the air at supersonic speed, and gusts of compressed wind sharp enough to cleave steel.
Each collision lit the sky in brief, merciless flashes.
“Support!!!”
Priston, his armor layered in rippling enchantments, surged forward. Colors danced across his eyes as power coursed through him.
He was one of the leading officers, a general ranked just under Miriema. With a roar, he leveled his sword at the silhouette ahead.
“Haaaaaaahhhh!”
He shot forward at blistering speed—far beyond human limits—only for his strike to be halted.
Clang!
The impact sent him sliding across the ground.
Before him loomed a creature of blackened wood, its limbs as hard as obsidian.
Hollow eyes stared without emotion.
It moved with the same impossible speed, its enormous size doing nothing to slow it.
Not a snarl. Not a breath. Only silence.
It raised its arm.
Shards peeled from its body and streaked through the air like arrows, accelerating with terrifying force.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Priston deflected them, again and again, the stalemate dragging on with no end in sight.
Panting, he leapt back to widen the distance.
“…I’m getting drained of mana and protection by the minute…” he muttered, worry flickering through his voice.
He forced himself steady.
“Monster… I’ll end you.
Damned Exploration Knight.”
Yet the doubt was there.
The creature had once been human—a knight ranked among the deadliest, an S-class threat known for wiping out villages.
In its human form, it was small. But once the corruption took hold, it twisted its body beyond recognition, reshaping it until the creature stood as large as a house.
Fear wasn’t shameful. It was natural.
His gaze lifted.
Far above, a woman carved through swarms of winged abominations with effortless grace.
“Heh… monstrous as always,” he breathed, a faint smile forming.
“General… slaying dragons like they were nothing.”
But even that small moment cost him dearly.
He looked down at the gaping hole in his torso. Normally survivable—if his support team hadn't been wiped out by shards from the Hollowed Knight. Others had been torn apart or killed outright.
That was how this abomination erased entire outposts.
“Hehe… how ridiculous,” he muttered, glancing at the fallen men. His face twisted, and he forced himself to look away.
Reaching for the pendant at his neck, he opened it gently. Inside was a small framed photo of a boy and his family—his final memento.
His gaze hardened.
“Benevolent god of divine flame, Solaris… grant me your eternal fire to smite this great evil before me.”
The oath left his lips, and warmth blossomed around him. The hole in his torso began to knit together, wrapped in gentle flame.
“For this, I forsake all protection.”
The flame surged, engulfing him until he stood like a blazing pillar.
He pointed his sword at the monster.
“Come at me, monster.”
A scream tore through the hollowness.
“Gaaahhh!!!”
A man writhed on the ground, his skin darkening, hardening into something like blackened wood as a red glow wrapped around him.
Priston lay on the coarse dirt, the ground cracked beneath him in thin, jagged lines.
Before him, the towering monster collapsed at last, its head already severed.
When its body struck the earth, the soil seemed to swallow it, drawing it down as though welcoming it home.
He wanted to smile at the sight… but he couldn’t.
Not from pain—
but because the cost of killing a single monster had been far too great.
“U-ugh…” His voice trembled. As the corruption crept up his limbs, he forced out a whisper toward the figure before him.
“I… I’m sorry…”
Before him stood a woman with flowing golden hair. In the distance, dozens of dragons lay charred and blackened, their bodies frozen in death.
Her eyes, glowing red in the dim light, followed him silently as his transformation advanced. His arms and legs had already been consumed.
He repeated the apology, breath hitching.
“G-General… I’m sorry. Really… I didn’t plan to die here, but… it is what it is. General Starfall… sorry for this ugly sight, General… haha…”
“…”
Her cold gaze met him, yet he felt no betrayal.
Miriem Starfall inhaled softly, her voice sharper than steel.
“…You know what this means. I can’t undo any of this. Your protection is gone—extinguished. And the priests… they’re all running on empty. More importantly, what you did back there… it was an oath, wasn’t it?”
Her tone grew quieter.
“You understand what that means… right, Priston?”
Her words were freezing, but the man only smiled—thin, pained, but sincere.
“Of course I do…” he answered. Then he forced a wavering smile.
“M-my consciousness is slipping, General… I’m not the strongest, but maybe… if I end up corrupted, I might give you a run for your money. Maybe even land a little scratch, hehe.”
His weak grin faded.
“But hurting that beautiful face of yours… I’d never forgive myself. That’s why…”
His words faltered into silence.
“Please don't hesitate to kill me. Not just for me… but for everyone's sake. I know the others don’t like me much ‘cause I’m a commoner… but I care about all of them.”
Blood dripped from his lips as he stared at the creeping corruption.
“I hate this… I can’t feel anything. It’s so cold. Too cold… General, I feel like I’m losing pieces of myself. It’s like I’m being eaten alive. It hurts… in a way that isn’t pain.”
His eyes shook, as if trying to cry, but whatever he was becoming no longer allowed such a thing.
The sun wasn’t burning him.
It was freezing him—an emptiness gnawing straight into his soul.
Each inch of darkened wood devoured another fragment of who he was.
And once the god who protected him had lost its essence, the god of the darkened sun welcomed him instead.
He tried to speak—“…”—but no sound followed. His mouth, once merely trembling, had begun to hollow out, stretching into something like a bottomless pit.
“You’ve done well… Officer Priston. May the Higher One gather your weary soul into His quiet embrace.”
Miriem raised her staff.
With a steady breath, she ended the warrior’s suffering.
The exchange that day was harrowing, and it became one of the battles where they lost some of their finest soldiers. It was an unusual case; none of them had expected to pinpoint the monster’s exact location. It wasn’t the strongest of its kind, but it was the type that wandered toward the outside world, so they chose to eliminate it.
But doing so drew other creatures toward them—dragons.
The one Miriem faced was a Sky Dragon. Not the strongest, but a dragon nonetheless.
By the end, everything had been burned into charred fragments.
Not long after, more soldiers fell. Suffering piled upon suffering, until even the army’s formation began to collapse from within. Corruption spread through the ranks, twisting some soldiers into monsters that tore through their own comrades, shattering morale with every loss.
They pressed on through human-devouring swamps and eerie forest fogs where entire squads would normally vanish without a trace. Yet they endured. They were a battalion of elite warriors; even alone, each one was formidable. But the Hollows were worse—far more unsettling, far more lethal, and filled with horrors they had no names for. Yet they endured.
But the mind fades and grows weary by the day.
Or perhaps it was not even “day” at all—down here, who could tell the difference between night and anything else?
So they couldn’t help but want to ask her, “Why are we still continuing?”
Yet none voiced it.
They were free to turn back at any moment; some already had.
But for those who continued knew… the woman leading them never rested—never faltered. Without her, they would have perished long ago. More importantly, they were here by their own choice.
'Still… why go so far?'
Even that doubt could not stop Miriem. She continued marching, and so did they.
Eventually, they reached the edge of everything they knew.
The light from the darkened sun above was fading, growing dim.
Miriem gazed over the scene.
Her skin remained unblemished, her clothes untouched by filth—but her eyes could no longer hide the truth.
Dark bags clung beneath them, carved by exhaustion she refused to voice.
Before her, the soldiers stood even more worn than she was.
She looked at each of them, then stepped forward.
“Everyone… from this point on, we will be entering the deepest depths of the Hollows ever explored.”
Her voice was steady, but heavy.
“Which means the chance of returning is… practically zero.”
She let that settle before continuing, firmer now.
“What lies ahead may amount to nothing. Because of that, I will not allow anyone to accompany me any further. Withdrawal is possible by making an oath. All of you can carry enough divine power to sustain the journey back.”
A woman with dark hair rose from where the soldiers had been resting.
“General… we followed you all the way here for this exact reason. And more importantly, why come this deep at all?”
Miriem didn’t answer immediately.
Her gaze drifted toward the clear barrier in front of them, the one that marked a point of no return.
When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet.
“We’ve eliminated most of the threats that prey on the nearby villages and outposts. That was the Sovereign’s condition for granting me support. Your duty is finished. What I said about exploring the deepest depths… that was only my own selfish task.”
Shock rippled through the soldiers, yet none of them felt betrayed.
They had already sensed it, the strange pattern in their march.
Every monster they encountered had been one known for attacking human settlements.
Dozens had died for this, but to many here, that price was nothing compared to the safety of their families in the capital.
Miriem turned to face them. Her crimson eyes were steady and cold.
“One last time. I won’t allow any of you to follow me. This path is suicide. None of you will take another step with me.”
Her tone left no room for argument.
In the next moment she stepped through the barrier alone, into the hollows’ deepest dark.
A few miles in, something felt wrong.
She was met not by horrors but by an endless, silent swamp.
Nothing shifted. Nothing breathed. Even the water lay untouched.
Its stillness was unnatural enough to make the air feel colder.
After some time she found a small hut sitting beside a dead tree.
Inside, an impossibly beautiful woman sat by a fire, knitting a long piece of embroidery.
She wore a flowing skirt, a monocle resting over her left eye.
Her presence alone felt heavier than the swamp.
Before Miriem could speak, the woman did.
“My my… why not take a rest first, traveler? Your companions have been resting for quite some time.”
“…What?”
A chill crawled down Miriem’s spine.
Her gaze drifted to the embroidery.
Up close, the threads shifted—shapes forming, tiny faces woven into the cloth.
Familiar faces.
Faces that should have been breathing only moments ago.
“Stop,” she whispered.
The woman didn’t.
Miriem’s spell erupted outward, yet nothing happened.
No light, no force, not even a spark.
She tried again. Still nothing.
Her divine protection felt thin, a flicker instead of a flame.
The woman only giggled as her needle slipped through the cloth.
“Despair has a lovely taste. Especially when it comes from an apostle.
Do not worry, I cannot kill you. I have no intention to.
But since you entered my domain… I must take something from you. And give something back. What I offer is… pain.”
Miriem steadied her voice as much as she could.
“What are you? What did you do to my soldiers?”
“My name means nothing. As for your little ones…”
The woman tilted her head, smiling faintly.
“Why do you care? I can feel it. You don’t care for any of them, do you? You never have. You’re simply incapable.”
The woman stood.
Miriem lifted her staff in reflex, but her arm froze mid-motion.
Her whole body locked in place, even her breath trembling at the back of her throat.
This hut…
It wasn’t a home.
It was a sanctuary, a cathedral, a place overflowing with divine authority.
A trap she had already stepped too far into.
The woman approached slowly.
When she opened her eyes, the irises were hollow voids stretching down into nothing.
Her mouth opened the same way, an empty cavern without end.
“I will take something from you,” she whispered.
“Since you never cared for the world, nor for those who followed you, you will no longer be permitted to guide or oversee their fates. Why should you, when they mean so little to you? And if you try to break what I place upon you… you will taste pain so excruciating it will remake your soul.
“You will hold knowledge vast and unfathomable, omniscient in scope, yet have nothing to give back in return. And the beautiful crimson hue in your eyes—
that, I will claim. Do not worry; they will not become hollow like mine. You already carry something far more deeply bound to you… something that will do.”
She leaned in, smiling with that gentle, cru
el softness.
“As for what I will give you… I will make sure you learn how they truly felt.
You will understand it to an unbearable degree.
Think of it as your punishment—
for daring to disturb the quiet, peaceful rest I cherished.”
| Chapter 60 - Beneath the Darkened Sun