Jack Harper and his team had finally confirmed the timeline: they were now two years past the moment Griffith became the fifth member of the God Hand.
It made sense. This was the era where the story truly began. In the manga, the feud between Jin and Griffith had always been told in flashbacks. Their real conflict started here.
"But just saying 'two years later' doesn't help much," Evander Marlowe said. "History's still moving fast. A difference of a few months could mean a completely different world. We need to pinpoint the exact moment."
As a diehard fan, Evander Marlowe knew the story better than Elliot Gray—and far better than the newcomers who hadn't read it at all. His insight quickly became the team's strategic compass.
But with eight rookies dead and one gravely injured, they couldn't launch an expedition just yet. Father Frankie Romano's healing magic had stabilized Logan Barrett, the wounded officer, but his skills were rudimentary—enough to keep Logan alive, not enough to restore him. They'd need a day or two before he could walk again.
So their first day in this chaotic world was spent burying the dead and building a makeshift camp from the bandits' stolen supplies.
Night fell. The exhausted newcomers drifted into uneasy sleep, unaware of the nightmares waiting for them.
The veterans, however, remained awake.
Jack Harper, now a Gold-tier chi user, no longer needed sleep. He took the night watch, gazing up at the silver moonlight filtering through the trees. When he heard footsteps behind him, he didn't turn—he already knew it was Elliot Gray and Flora.
"Something on your mind?" Jack asked.
Flora didn't speak. She knelt beside him, resting quietly against his side. Elliot stepped forward.
"I wanted to ask—how bad is your injury, really?"
Jack frowned. "What makes you think I'm hurt?"
Elliot shrugged. "You didn't show it, but you drew your weapon against a bunch of thugs who barely qualify as Iron-tier. That's not normal."
Jack caught Flora's worried gaze and sighed. "It's not that serious. But… fine. I'll show you."
He peeled off his jacket, revealing a pale, lean torso. On his chest and right shoulder blade were two faint golden imprints—like delicate punches pressed into his skin, shimmering softly as if inlaid with gold leaf. Though shallow, they pulsed with a quiet glow.
Surrounding each mark was a halo of icy blue mist, arranged in radiating rings—evidence of Jack's internal chi suppressing the damage with his Sacred Heart Technique.
Flora leaned in, eyes wide. Elliot studied the marks closely.
Jack exhaled. "These punches hold only a thousandth of my own chi. They're weaker than my Sacred Heart Technique in raw power. But they behave like they're alive—like they have a soul. They don't fade. If I relax my suppression, they flare up and tear at my body. Even suppressed, they mess with my breathing and right arm's coordination."
He paused, then added, "I can keep them in check with thirty or forty percent of my strength. But even at full power, I can't purge them. I'll have to wear them down slowly—might take months. I could've fought barehanded today, but I held back, hoping to conserve energy and speed up the healing."
Flora reached out, gently touching the mark on his shoulder. A thread of her Holy Spirit Sword Technique flowed into the imprint.
A sharp crack rang out—like a miniature firecracker. A golden spark burst into the air, knocking her hand back.
She frowned. Her Silver-tier sword aura had been completely shattered by the golden force.
Elliot raised his hands, summoning a flicker of lightning between his palms. A glowing alchemy circle formed over Jack's chest, enveloping the golden mark. But again, the imprint retaliated—its light surged, shattering the circle without losing any of its own energy.
Elliot blinked, intrigued. "So it really is that technique… Fascinating. I thought only anime and games made it into the Reincarnation Space. But it looks like webnovel powers are fair game too. What secrets are hiding behind this system?"
Flora's moonlit gaze fixed on him, silencing his musings.
He cleared his throat. "Based on what that dragon girl said during the fight, I think this is the Dominion Fist—a martial art from the webnovel Legend of the Dragon Warrior. It's the ultimate technique of the Golden Dragon clan. Supposedly, one punch can unleash the light of creation itself."
He continued, "It's powered by generations of imperial pride—absolute confidence fused with overwhelming chi, amplified by the Golden Dragon's all-element physique. The result is a qualitative leap in power. It's not a new concept—Ranma's Lion's Roar is similar, driven by sorrow. But this story just cranks it up to eleven."
Flora's soft voice cut in. "Is there a way to counter it?"
Elliot nodded. "If its core is emotional—pure ambition—then maybe the captain can fight it with an opposite emotion. Not only could he purge the injury, he might even grasp the essence of Dominion Fist and create his own emotion-based technique."
He then recounted the novel's plot, detailing each emotion-fueled martial art and its origin.
Emotion against emotion?
Jack Harper fell silent. He wasn't an emotional man. Even his feelings for Flora were quiet and steady—not the kind of passion that could fuel a technique.
Compared to the novel's characters—tragic lovers, vengeful warriors, madmen—his emotional depth was a still pond.
But… wait. Could the absence of emotion be an emotion?
Great sound is silent. Great form is shapeless. Great skill appears clumsy. Great achievement seems incomplete.
The Dao is heartless. Heaven is indifferent.
Could indifference counter passion?
A flicker of inspiration stirred in Jack's mind. But this was uncharted territory. It would take time to explore. And even now, he wasn't truly emotionless—he could only freeze his feelings temporarily with his powers.
"Well, if that's the case, I don't need to keep conserving my strength," Jack said. Noticing Flora's lingering worry, he smiled and added, "Don't worry. It's not that bad. That dragon girl was about as strong as me. I just haven't mastered the full suite of Sacred Heart techniques yet. Once I do, this kind of injury won't happen again."
He added, "Besides, I've inherited Sephiroth's swordsmanship and combat experience. That's Gold-tier martial arts. Since I can't use chi freely right now, it's the perfect time to refine my technique and patch up my weaknesses. This world's only a Bronze-tier mission. It'll take more than this to threaten me."
Flora nodded slowly, though it wasn't clear if she truly believed him. Elliot seemed to have something to say, but hesitated and stayed quiet.
By morning, Logan Barrett's condition had stabilized. He couldn't fight yet, but he could walk. That was enough.
The group set off eastward, following the road. Jack Harper had spotted smoke rising in that direction the previous evening—likely a village or town.
Sure enough, before noon they reached a small settlement of several hundred people. It was worn and chaotic, but it was inhabited. That meant information, supplies, and—hopefully—some semblance of order.
Unfortunately, Jack Harper had never gotten along with towns.
Back in the Claymore world, every village he entered either drove him out or tried to kill him. This one was no different.
They had barely stepped into the outskirts when a chorus of shouts erupted. Dozens of villagers—men, women, even children—armed with pitchforks and hoes, rushed toward them in a frenzy.
"You bastards finally showed your faces!" the village elder roared. "Don't resist! Tie them up!"
Jack blinked. "What?"
Were they in another demon-infested town? A black zone like in Claymore?
The villagers didn't get far. Jack and Flora disarmed them without even drawing their weapons. A few casual movements—barely more than a stretch—and the mob collapsed in a heap, groaning and disarmed.
Jack grabbed the elder by the collar. "Explain. Why are you trying to arrest us?"
Under the influence of Jack's Force-based Mind Influence, the old man didn't hold back.
"You sent two scouts last night," he said, eyes wide. "They snuck in after dark and slaughtered the entire Mark family. This morning, they killed four more villagers and fled. You're wearing the same heretic uniforms. Don't tell me you're not with them!"
Two scouts. A massacre. Matching uniforms.
Jack and Elliot exchanged a glance.
"The twin killers," Jack muttered.
It was clear now. The twins hadn't stayed with the group. They'd found this town overnight—and true to their nature, they'd turned it into a bloodbath. Now the villagers were blaming Jack's team for the carnage.
It wasn't an issue—for Jack, at least. It just meant switching from stealth to brute force.
Within minutes, Jack and Flora had subdued the entire town. Elliot, ever the tactician, took over the interrogation and cleanup.
Jack, meanwhile, left to deal with the real issue.
The twins.
He'd hoped to leave them be. But if they kept slaughtering civilians, they'd attract attention—and not the kind they could afford. According to Evander Marlowe, this world still housed several Gold-tier threats. They couldn't afford to provoke one.
Jack decided to bring the twins back himself.
He activated the Sacred Heart Technique's lightfoot skill—Steps of the Ascendant. His body blurred, gliding across the landscape like a drifting cloud. To the eye, he moved slowly, almost lazily. In truth, he was faster than sound. The chi surrounding him dispersed the air, eliminating sonic booms and wind trails.
Though he was still mastering the technique, his chi reserves were deep enough to grasp its essence. All he lacked was practice.
The twins had left hours ago, but they hadn't gone far—just ten or fifteen kilometers. Normally, tracking someone over that distance would be a nightmare. Without clairvoyance or radar-like scanning, even a master could lose the trail.
But Jack had an edge.
"You're not ordinary," he murmured. "You're psychics."
The twins had been warped by trauma. Their minds had cracked, unleashing immense psychic power. That power infused their bodies, granting superhuman speed and strength. But it also left them mentally fractured—constantly leaking psychic energy like a broken dam.
To Jack's Force senses, they were bonfires in the night.
He closed the distance in under a minute, soaring through the forest canopy. Soon, he spotted them—a boy and a girl, mixed-race twins, darting between the trees.
He landed in front of them, calm and composed.
"Good morning, kids," he said. "We meet again."
The twins beamed, angelic smiles lighting up their faces.
"Good morning, big brother!" they chimed in unison.
Then, without warning, the girl drew twin revolvers and fired. The boy lunged with twin axes, aiming for Jack's ribs.
Where had they hidden those weapons?
Their expressions never changed. Sweet, innocent smiles. Deadly, ruthless attacks.
Jack deflected everything with ease. But inside, he felt a pang of sorrow.
What kind of torment could twist ten-year-olds into this?
"Goodbye, big brother!" they sang, splitting off and fleeing in opposite directions.
Jack shook his head. "You're not getting away."
He raised his hands. "Frostfang Claws."
Two pale blue streaks shot from his palms, transforming midair into skeletal ice claws the size of round tables. They snatched the twins from behind, lifting them off the ground.
This was a hybrid technique—Jack's own fusion of Frostgrip and Bloodsnow Talon, combining chi and magic for long-range capture.
"Seal," Jack commanded.
The claws hurled the twins to the ground. They scrambled to rise, but Jack pointed again.
"Ice Shackles."
Crystalline chains erupted around them, forming ten thick rings that clamped onto their necks, wrists, and ankles. More chains snaked out, binding them tightly.
"No… please… let us go…" Their angelic smiles shattered. Panic and fear twisted their faces.
Their psychic energy surged again, trying to break the chains. But this time, Jack wasn't using invisible Force—he was using solid chi and magic. The chains held firm, tightening with every struggle.
Jack hesitated. Then he unleashed a wave of killing intent—cold, crushing, like a mountain of black steel.
It wasn't his own. It was Sephiroth's—an imprint from the silver-haired warrior who had slaughtered his way to the top of the world. A true battle-hardened aura.
The forest exploded with motion. Birds and beasts fled in every direction, terrified by the pressure.
"AAAAAAHHHHHH!" The twins screamed, their minds buckling under the weight.
Their own madness—born of fear and pain—was no match for Sephiroth's icy wrath. It was like barking dogs facing a roaring dragon.
Their psychic power collapsed. Their bodies convulsed, then went limp.
They lay on the ground, bound and broken. Tears welled in their eyes. The light had gone out of them.
No more smiles. No more bloodlust. Just confusion. Submission.
They had become something else entirely.
Two broken dolls.
The girl's voice trembled. "Big brother… are you our new master? Are you going to train us?"
The boy followed, voice shaking. "Will you punish us? We'll be good. Please… don't eat sister's meat…"
Jack exhaled, long and heavy.
Everything had gone according to plan. He and Elliot had discussed it the night before. With seven members now, they could form a full team. But the twins were a liability—dangerous, unstable.
Elliot had proposed a solution: crush their madness with overwhelming force. Shatter their delusions. Restore their childlike minds.
It had worked.
But Elliot hadn't accounted for how deeply they'd been broken.
Now they were no longer killers. But they weren't adventurers either.
What now?