The city still smoldered when dawn broke. Columns of smoke curled into the pale sky like incense to a god no one prayed to anymore. Ash drifted down in lazy spirals, coating the streets, the ruins, the corpses of illusionary villagers that had not been "rescued."
Seo-jin stretched his arms above his head, joints popping. He inhaled deeply. The air stank of smoke and charred wood, but it carried something else, too—something clean, sharp, almost new.
"Ah," he said with a grin. "The smell of victory."
Elior sat slumped against a half-burned wall, his robes ruined, his face pale beneath streaks of ash. He looked at Seo-jin as though the word victory were a profanity.
"You call this victory?" the Saint rasped. His voice was hoarse from smoke and screaming. "A city destroyed. Families gone. Even if they are illusions…" His eyes flicked to the corpses sprawled in the square. "…it is horror."
"Mm. Horror and victory aren't opposites," Seo-jin said cheerfully. "Sometimes they hold hands." He kicked at a collapsed beam until it rolled aside, sending a puff of ash into the air. "Besides, it wasn't the city that mattered. It was you. You finally understood the paradox. You didn't put out the fire—you directed it. That's the only reason we're not still running in circles."
The Saint didn't answer. His eyes were hollow.
Seo-jin's grin softened into something almost human. He squatted down in front of Elior, resting his forearms on his knees. "You hate yourself for what you did."
Elior's lips pressed into a thin line.
"That's good," Seo-jin said softly. "That's what makes you better than them." He tilted his head toward the sky—toward the unseen Overseers watching from above.
The Saint blinked, startled by the sincerity in his tone. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the ground trembled.
A voice rolled through the ruins like thunder.
"Next paradox."
The world warped.
They were no longer in the burned city.
The chains coiled tighter around their wrists and ankles, and the scenery bled away like ink washing off parchment. When it stilled, they stood in a vast white hall with no ceiling. The floor was polished marble, so clean it reflected their chained figures like water.
At the far end of the hall stood a single massive door. Its surface was carved with countless faces—men, women, children, their mouths open in screams.
Seo-jin tilted his head. "Charming décor."
The Overseers' voices whispered from every surface, reverberating in their bones.
"Trial of Silence. You may not speak. You may not make sound. The door will open only if silence is kept. Violate the silence, and punishment follows."
Seo-jin burst out laughing. His laughter echoed like a hammer against glass.
The floor beneath his feet split open instantly, chains yanking him downward.
"—ah, shit."
He plunged waist-deep into marble that now burned like molten iron. His grin twisted with pain as smoke hissed around him.
"Okay!" he gasped, trying not to howl as the fire gnawed at his legs. "Got it! No talking!"
The punishment ceased. The marble sealed, leaving his chains smoldering. Seo-jin exhaled through clenched teeth, sweat beading on his forehead.
Elior stared, aghast.
Seo-jin shot him a thumbs-up. No problem.
The Saint closed his eyes and muttered a prayer in his mind—thankfully, silently.
The hall was vast, and every step made the chains rattle. Seo-jin soon discovered even the faintest scrape of metal against marble earned them punishment. His first three experiments ended with molten marble engulfing his arms, his chest, his side.
By the time he stopped testing, smoke curled off his skin in faint wisps. He smelled faintly of charred meat.
Elior finally grabbed him by the wrist, eyes blazing with fury, and silently shook his head.
Seo-jin raised his brows innocently. What? I'm learning the rules.
But after that, he behaved—at least outwardly.
The silence was crushing. Every breath, every heartbeat felt amplified in their ears. The carved faces on the door seemed to scream silently, their mouths wide, their eyes bulging.
And worse—the Overseers weren't content to let them walk quietly.
Illusions began to crawl from the walls.
A child sobbing, tugging at Elior's sleeve. A mother screaming, clutching her burning baby. A soldier bellowing orders. Their mouths moved. Their throats strained. But no sound came.
Elior's hands shook as he tried to push them away. His lips parted instinctively, desperate to comfort, but he clamped them shut so hard his jaw quivered.
Seo-jin walked calmly past a row of silent corpses that flailed at his arms. He whistled a tune in his head, ignoring the grotesque faces.
He shot Elior a glance and smiled faintly. Don't break. They want you to break.
The Saint trembled. His eyes brimmed with tears. But he forced himself to remain silent.
Hours passed.
The illusions grew more grotesque. Not just strangers anymore—familiar faces now. Priests Elior had once known. Children from his parish. His mother. His siblings. Their silent screams ripped at his chest like claws.
One illusion—his youngest brother—reached for him, eyes pleading. Elior staggered, chains rattling.
Seo-jin's hand snapped out, catching his arm before he could fall. His grip was iron.
Elior turned, eyes wide, brimming with despair. His lips trembled—on the verge of shattering the silence.
Seo-jin shook his head once. Slowly. Deliberately.
And somehow—that was enough. Elior clamped his mouth shut, choking on a sob that never came.
Seo-jin released him and walked forward.
The Saint followed.
At last, they reached the door.
It loomed above them, a hundred faces frozen in eternal scream. Seo-jin stood before it, studying the grotesque carvings. The Overseers' voices hissed faintly from its seams.
"To open the door, offer silence absolute. Offer silence eternal. One must choose to surrender their voice forever. Only then may the trial end."
Elior's eyes widened. His mouth fell open in horror. He turned to Seo-jin—then froze.
Because Seo-jin was smiling.
The bastard wasn't even pretending to hesitate.
Seo-jin lifted his hand toward the door, ready to accept the condition without a flicker of doubt.
Elior lunged, chains clattering—then froze, realizing the sound might trigger punishment. He seized Seo-jin's wrist instead, eyes blazing.
Seo-jin raised his brows. Problem?
Elior's chest heaved. He pointed at himself, then at the door. His meaning was clear. I'll do it.
Seo-jin blinked. Then, unexpectedly, he chuckled—silently this time, his shoulders shaking. He mouthed, Of course you would.
But then he shook his head firmly. He mouthed back: You'll need your voice. You're the Saint. You command prayers. Songs. Hope. Me? His grin widened. All I do is run my mouth anyway.
Elior's grip tightened painfully. His eyes begged. Don't.
Seo-jin's smile softened. Just a fraction.
Trust me.
And before Elior could stop him, Seo-jin pressed his palm to the door.
Pain detonated in his throat.
It was as though molten iron was poured straight into his vocal cords. His scream tried to tear itself free, but no sound came. His mouth opened, his lungs convulsed, but nothing—not even a whisper—escaped.
When it ended, he collapsed to one knee, clutching at his throat, his chest heaving with silent agony.
The door creaked open.
The Overseers' voices whispered.
"Silence accepted. Paradox resolved. Chains: strained."
The white hall dissolved.
When the world re-formed, they were back in the familiar barren prison plain—gray sky, endless wasteland, chains anchoring them both. The trial was over.
Seo-jin lay on the ground, staring at the sky, his chest rising and falling in harsh, soundless breaths.
Elior knelt beside him, eyes wide, his face pale.
"Seo-jin…" His voice cracked. "Why? Why would you do that?"
Seo-jin turned his head slowly. His grin was faint but unmistakable. He dragged a finger across his throat, then wiggled his brows.
Guess I talk too much anyway.
Elior stared at him. For a moment, his lips trembled. Then—against all odds—he laughed. The sound was hoarse, broken, but real.
Seo-jin smiled silently back.
And the Overseers, for the first time, fell utterly quiet.