Seventy Seventh Seven

"Fucker. I knew it. That old hag's suspicious."

Growl.

Lythian's words were cut off by the howler standing motionless, watching them without blinking.

It was waiting.

"No. Look behind it."

"Behind?"

Lythian's gaze flicked past the howler.

There, lying amidst the wreckage of the kitchen, was the old woman—her frail body half-buried under broken wooden debris.

Unconscious.

'She's not the howler?'

If she was, then the howler before them wouldn't make sense.

Yet, the same scar marred both their eyes—the one stabbed by a broken sword Seven had hurled back in the forest.

"..."

Unlike Lythian, Seven said nothing. He only stared at the old woman.

Neither side moved.

Seven could feel the tension. Their weapons were practically useless. But the howler also knew something, and that it wouldn't be easy to fight them both in such a confined space.

A single wrong move, and blood would spill.

"How the fuck did it get in?!"

Lythian broke the silence.

The answer came immediately. His gaze drifted to the shattered window, jagged glass still clinging to the frame.

It had broken in from the outside, likely spotting the old woman and recognizing her as prey.

But something didn't add up. The window was too small—even Seven might struggle to squeeze through it.

So how did the howler fit?

"..."

Another silence. Then...

"Sister, I'm scared..."

"It's okay, Ron. Hide under that table."

"B-But..."

"Let sister take care of this, okay?"

The siblings.

Seven looked at Lythian, who gave him a casual nod. 'I know.'

The old woman needed help. But so did her grandchildren.

"Don't die on me."

"Fucker. I should be the one saying that."

Seven smiled, then pivoted, swinging his makeshift weapon at the other window.

Crash!

Glass rained down as he forced himself through the broken frame. The front door was too far. This was the fastest way out.

Step.

His boots crunched against the dirt as he landed. Beneath an overturned table, a small, trembling figure sat curled up.

Ron.

The boy clutched his knees, his face buried against them.

"Sister, I'm... scared..."

For a moment, Seven saw himself—or rather, the original 'Seven' with Eden.

'No.'

He shook his head, forcing himself back to the present. His gaze snapped to the village entrance.

The girl.

She wasn't hiding. She wasn't even running. She was frantically searching, shoving aside thick bushes.

'What is she doing?'

Seven wasted no time, striding toward her and grabbing her arm.

"Go, hide with your younger—"

"I can't."

"It's dangerous."

He pulled her toward the broken table, but she jerked away.

"I said I can't! The torch—"

"The torch?"

"I need to find it..."

Seven hesitated.

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He remembered the torch he had thrown earlier. The one that made the howlers freeze, afraid to take a step forward.

'...Don't tell me—'

"What are you doing?! Help me find it!"

Immediately, his gaze followed the path he had thrown it.

"There."

"Where?!"

"Over ther—"

Before he could finish, she was already moving, stumbling toward it.

Step.

Just a few feet away, the torch lay on the ground. But now, the green fire was gone. Her face fell.

She picked up her pace.

"I need to touch it..."

The Miraculous Torch.

A flame that had never died for seven centuries and existed since the village's founding.

Its smoke kept the howlers at bay, acting as a natural barrier. But more than that, it concealed the village itself, separating it from the outside world.

No one ever stumbled upon this place.

Not the Kingdom.

Not mercenaries.

Not even Ciae, the novel's protagonist.

Because this village wasn't supposed to exist in this timeline.

The only reason Seven had found it was because of Theia's Eye, the all-seeing artifact in his possession. And since Lythian had entered with him, the mirage allowed him through as well.

Time had stopped in this place.

The villagers had only one connection to the outside world—a single day, once a year, at the start of the first season. Their only chance to gather supplies.

That was why the old woman had let them in without hesitation.

Seven wasn't just the first visitor in centuries. He was the one who had helped her in the Kingdom. The one who saved her apples, though he crushed a bucket, and the one who gave her a purse full of Sevtals.

And now, ironically, because of him, the village might meet its end.

"Hah..."

Slowly, he exhaled.

'Is this my fault?'

He looked at the girl, desperate to reach the torch.

"Just a little more..."

She staggered, falling, but she kept crawling forward. Her trembling fingers reached out.

One touch.

That was all it needed.

She was going to make it.

Until she didn't.

A flash of black. A glint of claws. A guttural snarl slicing through the night.

A howler.

"Fud—no!"

Seven's grip tightened. His makeshift weapon—a chair leg—wasn't sharp enough to pierce its hide.

So he did the only thing he could.

In a split second, he adjusted his stance, shifted his weight, and moved.

Dash.

"Eclipsing Blade."

Through Theia's Eye, he saw the path. The weak spot.

Seven vanished.

Slash.

He reappeared on the far side of the clearing.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then—

Slice.

A single, clean cut split the howler in two.

It was over.

Thud.

The howler collapsed.

Thud.

Another body hit the ground.

"What...?"

The girl.

But... the torch was lit. A brilliant green flame crackled to life.

She had done it.

Yet, crimson stained her clothes. The howler had already landed its attack.

Seven's eyes widened.

Somewhere between the delayed cut of his technique, the claws had found their mark.

The girl wobbled, barely standing. In her last moments of strength, she whispered something.

But Seven couldn't hear it.

Because he was staring at his hands.

At his weapon.

At the delayed technique he had just used.

His grip trembled.

"...Fuck."

Not 'fudge.'

Not the watered-down curse he always used.

For the first time, he let it slip.

For the first time, he blamed himself.

He made this technique to be cool.

To be flashy.

Like the delayed slashes in anime, where the enemy had time to speak their last words before falling.

But this wasn't an anime.

This wasn't cool.

This was real.

And because of that delay, because of his decision, the girl was dying.

But there was no point dwelling on it. He had already witnessed the deaths of Iria, the Archduke, and the fall of the Hart Duchy.

There was no way the death of a random girl would touch his heart.

"Hah..."

Instead, he looked at the village. There had been three howlers in the forest, and now three here.

One lay dead beside the girl, its body sliced in half.

Another crouched beside the table, feasting on the young boy who had hidden there.

And the last...

Bang!

The wall of the house shattered as the howler emerged—the one left with Lythian.

Howl.

With that, their bodies shifted, morphing into human forms.

Seven knew it.

'Lycanthropes...'

He was aware they existed. After all, the second sword of the sovereign was a wolf-shifter—but he never suspected howlers were among them. They looked more like monkeys.

The two transformed howlers eyed him and the corpse of their fallen kin.

As much as they wanted to attack, the torch's smoke kept them at bay.

Howl.

Then, without another move, they left.

***

"Fucker. Can I kill it?"

Lythian gripped the rusted metal poker in his hand, knowing he didn't stand a chance. He needed a dagger. A shovel. Anything better.

"Urhkkh..."

But before he could think further, pain shot through his skull.

The tea.

"Fuck. It was poisoned. That old hag..."

Growl.

The howler lunged. Lythian tried to move, to dodge, to fight—but dizziness overtook him.

Darkness.

When he regained consciousness, the first thing he noticed was the scent of blood.

The second was that his lower body was gone.

Detached.

Separated.

"Fuck."

His own torso lay a few feet away.

The howler wasn't even paying attention to him.

It wasn't devouring his flesh.

It wasn't eating the old lady.

Instead, it was rummaging through the shelves, searching for something.

Lythian groaned.

"I'll regenerate soon anyway..."

***

Step.

Seven placed the torch back on the post where he had first taken it.

"Heavy..."

He had also dragged the girl's body back and placed it against the post.

Step.

He walked toward the old woman's house, glancing at the village. Empty. There was no way the villagers had stayed put after what happened.

That is, if there were any villagers to begin with.

"Hah..."

He peeked through the broken window frame. Inside lay Lythian, his lower limbs severed from his torso.

"He can't regenerate here?"

Seven smirked. Now, he understood Lythian's immortality had limits. He couldn't die, but that didn't mean he was immune to poison, spells, seals, or pain.

Climb.

Again, Seven squeezed through the window frame and entered the house.

In the kitchen, beneath the sink and shattered debris, lay a body—

Or at least, what appeared to be one.

Step.

Crouching down, he grabbed the collar of the clothes and pulled. The debris tumbled away.

There was no body.

No old woman.

Just an empty set of clothes.

"Fudge."

Seven grinned as the puzzle pieces fell into place.

"Just as I expected."

He had known it from the start—that the old woman was a lycanthrope, that the tea was poisoned, that there was never a body under the rubble when the kitchen exploded.

No.

He had known ever since he confronted Brody back in the entertainment district.

After all, the artifact in his possession couldn't detect a flow of energy from her.

He tossed the clothes aside and looked out the window.

"Poor children."

The two siblings had never been her grandchildren. They had been deceived.

And the reason the village was empty?

Because of her.

"...The cultists have made their move."