I Don't Need To Log Out

Arlon opened his eyes.

He was lying on the plains, the same battlefield where he had fallen. The same place where Asef's magic had swallowed him whole.

He didn't know how much time had passed.

He didn't even know if time had passed.

His body felt strange—weightless, almost unreal. The air around him buzzed faintly, as if it were holding its breath.

Then he looked up—and froze.

Just inches from his face, Asef's sword was reaching toward him.

His first instinct took over. Arlon kicked back and launched himself away, stumbling into a crouch as he braced for a follow-up.

But it never came.

Because Asef wasn't moving.

His arm was extended, his posture mid-strike, but he was as still as a statue. Not breathing. Not blinking. Not alive—but not dead.

Frozen.

Arlon's own breath caught in his throat.

He stood slowly, eyes scanning his surroundings.

Everything around him was suspended in motion. The blades of grass mid-sway. Dust particles locked in the air like tiny stars. Even the wind was silent.

Time had stopped.

He tested his movement—walked a few steps—and then bumped into something invisible. A soft resistance met his shoulder, like an invisible wall pushing back.

He reached out and felt it. A boundary.

Some kind of translucent field wrapped around him in a perfect sphere, separating him from the stillness outside.

A time bubble.

And he was the only one moving inside it.

His heart sank as realization hit. He opened his inventory and confirmed what he already feared.

The one-time-use item—the hourglass—was gone.

He cursed under his breath.

He'd been saving that item. Not to rely on it, but to study it. To learn how it worked, to use it in controlled ways. That was the plan.

But now, it was gone.

Still, he wasn't angry. Not really.

If the item hadn't activated, he would've been dead already.

So… it was worth it.

The question was how it activated.

He didn't remember taking it out. He didn't even remember thinking about it.

Could someone else have used it for him?

No, that was unlikely. The bubble was clearly centered around him. This was his item's doing.

Then maybe it was a failsafe. A passive activation based on some hidden trigger. Maybe critical health, or death.

Or maybe…

It didn't matter now.

What mattered was that he had a second chance. A real one.

Arlon turned his gaze back to Asef, still frozen in front of him.

Last time, he'd underestimated him.

He hadn't realized that Asef, despite wielding a sword, wasn't a swordsman.

He was a mage.

And not just any mage—a mage who relied on rage, on hatred. A being whose magic was tied to his emotions. Asef hadn't used any spells during their last fight, but Arlon knew better now.

He knew what was coming.

That explosion, the devastating surge that had taken him out in an instant, wasn't just a burst of mana. It was something deeper, something fused with pain and hatred.

And Arlon had watched it. Lived it. Felt it.

Through Asef's memories, he had seen the build-up. The moment of release. The truth behind it.

And now, he was ready.

He knelt down and checked his condition. Everything was intact.

His wounds were gone. His energy had returned.

The notification had said, "Another Chance has been activated. The user is being healed."

And it had worked.

His armor was still usable. His blade—the Void Edge—rested beside him inside the bubble. Untouched by time.

He grabbed it and let its weight settle into his grip.

It felt familiar. Grounding.

Then, he took a deep breath and forced his mind to calm. He needed to gather his thoughts.

First of all, he would have a chance to surprise attack.

Since time had stopped, Asef didn't know Arlon could get up. He was probably coming to make sure Arlon was that.

Arlon would also be at another spot when the time was unfrozen.

But he wouldn't waste it trying to end the fight. That would be foolish.

Asef was too strong for that now. His control over emotion and magic was too unpredictable.

So, he needed to use this chance to hinder Asef.

Instead, Arlon would aim to disrupt him. Misdirect. Delay. Unbalance.

Anything that would give him an advantage when the fight resumed.

And one more thing.

He let his thoughts drift—not to strategy, but to stillness.

He had spent what felt like a lifetime inside someone else's mind. The past. The pain. The long descent into hatred.

It had all been buried inside Asef.

And Arlon had walked through it. Lived through it.

Even though most of it came in flashes—memories compressed into mere moments—his mind felt aged. Worn.

Like he'd added years to his soul in seconds.

If he had counted all the lifetimes he had spent in bent timelines, he had already lived a long life.

Of course, except for the Tower of Time, he hadn't spent the rest of them. It was more like all of those memories entered his head in one second.

Still, he thought that resting would benefit him.

After that, he was ready.

---

June was mid-spell when the explosion hit.

It came without warning—no buildup, no tremor in the earth. Just a blinding flash and a thunderous crack that tore through the air like a rupture in the sky.

The force of it broke her concentration instantly. The spell fizzled in her hands as she stumbled a step back, shielding her eyes from the sudden gust of pressure and heat.

"What was that...?"

She couldn't see the source from where she stood, hidden behind the trees that lined the edge of the clearing. But she felt it. Every bone in her body told her the blast hadn't been ordinary.

Asef and Arlon's fight had been strangely quiet until now. Just the occasional echo of swords clashing, nothing more.

This was different.

Too different.

That wasn't normal magic...

She clenched her jaw, heart racing.

I hope that was Arlon's ability, she thought. Because if it wasn't—

She didn't finish the thought. Because if it wasn't, and if Arlon had taken the full brunt of that explosion—

He might not have survived it.

Her breath caught in her throat.

But before she could even turn toward the direction of the blast, movement flickered in the corner of her eye.

A glint of steel.

June's instincts kicked in. She threw herself into a roll, dirt and leaves skidding under her as a blade sliced through the air where her side had just been.

The strike missed by inches.

She landed hard and scrambled to her feet, turning to face her opponent.

Carla stood a few paces away, sword lowered slightly, golden eyes narrowed.

"You really shouldn't take your eyes off me," the Beastwoman said, her voice low and rough, more like a growl than a taunt. "Especially in the middle of a fight."

June didn't answer.

Instead, she raised both hands and muttered a short incantation. Wind burst outward from her fingers in a sharp, spiraling gale.

The air pulsed with force.

Carla narrowed her stance and shifted back just as the current swept toward her. She jumped into the air to soften the impact, letting the blast push her rather than slam into her.

That was the strength of wind magic—it wasn't just offensive. It was control.

It forced space between them.

For mages, wind spells were essential. Not because they were devastating, but because they created room. Time. Breathing space. If the enemy took the hit, they were flung away. If they avoided it, they still had to retreat.

And that was enough.

June was no wind specialist, but she knew the basics. Every mage worth their mana did.

She slid back into her stance, hands already glowing with the next spell.

But just as she steadied herself, another sound cut through the air.

A roar.

No—it wasn't a roar.

It was a scream.

Not human. Not beast. Something in between. Something broken.

The noise echoed out from the opening where Arlon and Asef had been fighting.