Chapter 2. Fighting
Juwel had heard many different legends about where human souls would go after death. Some believed that the soul would become a star in the sky and watch over the world for eternity. Others said that one would return to the embrace of God. Yet for someone like he, one whose hands had been stained with blood, it seemed that only hell would be a fitting destination.
Juwel walked slowly toward the window. The sight outside made him stop.
From the window, he saw houses of uneven heights pressed tightly together, the entire scene feeling suffocatingly cramped. He could hear loud voices coming from outside. Directly across from him was a place with its door wide open. They had a signboard that read: "Massage – Gội đầu dưỡng sinh." He understood most of the words. This kind of culture had never existed in the knowledge he carried, yet since this was the world after death, nothing felt too strange.
He also saw people occasionally riding something that did not resemble an animal at all as it darted across the narrow alley. He noticed a glowing circular object hanging from a wire fixed to the wall.
Juwel narrowed his eyes as he observed the people moving below. Their clothing was utterly foreign compared to the world he had once belonged to.
There was no doubt now. This world bore no resemblance to anything he had ever known.
Juwel quietly returned to the bed, his mind sinking into its own spiral of thoughts.
…And then, he remembered Corvos.
"Hell…" Juwel frowned as he muttered.
"But why do I have to end up with this bastard."
He clenched his fist, feeling irritation rising in his chest. Zounds[1]. Of all possibilities, why did he have to awaken in the same room and worse, on the same bed as that man? He could accept any punishment for what he had done, but being forced to "do something" with his enemy even after death was nothing short of a cruel joke.
A red warning blared inside him as if reminding him that the heavens were preparing some perverse punishment meant specifically for his fate entwined with Corvos. He had no wish to imagine that further.
Yet if this truly was hell, then this punishment had already achieved its purpose.
Corvos remained composed as if nothing was worth concerning him. He looked toward Juwel, tilted his head slightly, and spoke:
"You were killed by my people?"
The air between them grew heavier.
His voice held complete steadiness. It carried no intention of provocation. Yet the question itself stirred a sensation within Juwel that felt as though Corvos was toying with his emotions.
No matter what tone one used, mentioning this subject would always be provocation to Juwel. Even so, he felt no need to bother with Corvos. If he continued engaging with the man, the gods' joke might very well become reality.
Therefore, Juwel did not answer. He simply turned his face away with cold indifference. He ignored Corvos entirely, as if the man did not exist.
Corvos did not seem offended by that attitude at all. If the one who had killed Juwel had been one of the Wandering Ones, then it would be fine. If not, it made no difference to him. However, they would be furious that their prey had been stolen because to them, being interrupted was akin to being insulted within their own territory.
Once their pride was stepped on and their game disrupted, the Wandering Ones would not hunt down the victor. They would slaughter the one who broke the rules.
Blood, in such a moment, would not flow because of hatred. It would flow because of pride.
Even though Corvos stood still and made no noise, his presence remained so vividly sharp in Juwel's senses that it fed the long-lodged urge within him to "erase Corvos completely."
Juwel observed the surroundings again. They resembled the world of the living, yet were different in subtle ways. He could still see the sun through the window. His heart continued beating in his chest. His senses remained intact.
He knew human imagination about death often deviated from reality. He still did not know whether this place was truly hell because he had not seen anyone here besides Corvos.
However, months had passed since Corvos died, and the man remained perfectly unscathed. That alone made Juwel dissatisfied. At the very least, if he could not be judged and drowned in blood for murder according to the doctrine of the eighteen layers of hell, then he should have had his eyes gouged out. The way Corvos looked at him was unbearably irritating.
If the authorities of the afterlife had not punished him, then Juwel would. He did not wish for Corvos to be pardoned or allowed rebirth while he remained here. No one had the right to determine Corvos's fate except his victims, and Juwel intended to be that person.
A subtle shift flickered in Juwel's aura.
Sensing something, Corvos raised a hand to cover his nose.
Juwel had finished assembling the scattered fragments in his mind. In that instant, time felt as though it had stopped. Only Juwel moved. He did not wait even a second longer. He charged straight toward Corvos.
Corvos reacted swiftly. He had been prepared because Juwel was incapable of not attacking again.
The chair toppled backward as Corvos leaned aside. His arm swept across the space, dragging the edge of the wooden table into Juwel's path. The impact slammed into Juwel's arm but did not slow him. His heel rotated ninety degrees. His free hand grabbed the desk lamp and swung it in a wide arc like a baton.
The metal cut through the air and nearly sliced across Corvos's face. He retreated half a step. His hand shot forward and clamped onto the lamp's cord. He yanked it sharply, pulling the lamp back. Juwel released his grip at the exact moment, letting his hand slide across the table's edge as he flicked a glass toward the other man.
A sharp shatter rang out. Shards glinted as they scattered. Corvos raised an arm to shield his eyes. That was the opening Juwel needed. He lunged, his elbow aimed straight at Corvos's chest. Yet Corvos had already turned aside, using Juwel's own momentum to send him stumbling, nearly crashing into the bookshelf behind them.
Juwel avoided putting himself in a locked position. He lifted his knee and thrust it forcefully into Corvos's side. His left hand grabbed the glass bottle on the table, twisted his wrist, and threw it straight. Corvos tilted his head to avoid it. The bottle shattered against the wall, shards raining down like heavy drops.
"Wait for the judgment!" Juwel spat each word, breathing heavily.
Corvos only smiled faintly. His eyes were sharp as knives. "Try me," he replied.
Juwel wanted to ensure that Corvos would have no chance of possessing any weapon before he could act. He understood clearly that he had arrived later, so he had no advantage in terrain or preparation.
Deep inside, Juwel believed that somehow Corvos had already confined himself in that place even before his death. Perhaps he had learned some supernatural ability beforehand. Just the simple thought made it clear: before dying, he could not have appeared in this place, let alone right beside Corvos. Waking up on Corvos's bed only reinforced the suspicion that Corvos had used some method to imprison him from before, to easily control him immediately after death.
Therefore, Juwel had to be careful with every movement that might feel like Corvos's spiritual influence. He could not know what powers the man had learned.
Juwel lunged forward, throwing a straight punch at Corvos. The opponent leaned aside to dodge, and his heel accidentally stepped on a switch on the floor.
Click.
A mechanical sound echoed softly, then the ceiling fan suddenly spun wildly. A strong wind spiraled downward, scattering light objects like pillows and stirring loose papers across the floor.
Juwel paused for half a beat. His eyes blinked at the cold wind whipping directly into his face, unlike any natural breeze he had ever known. For a moment, he felt as if he were facing a strange "magic device," something operating on mechanisms beyond understanding.
Corvos did not miss the opportunity. He tilted his shoulder and used the pile of bedding whipped by the wind to block Juwel's view. Then he delivered a sweeping kick. Juwel stepped back and dodged just in time but was forced off the edge of the bed.
Corvos deflected Juwel's straight punch with a sideways motion and pivoted his hips to counter with an elbow strike. As he threw the blow, he knew immediately that it lacked power.
His muscles tensed but could not transmit the same force as before because this body was weaker than his previous one. His reaction speed was not superior, and his endurance was also lower. His breathing was heavier than usual, and his shoulder ached after the previous swing. His only advantage was his size and weight. He was taller and heavier than Juwel, able to press him when in close quarters. Aside from that, everything else fell short of his previous form.
"Annoying," he thought. He raised his hand to block the next punch, feeling his wrist go numb. The simple impact made his finger joints ache sharply.
But Juwel accelerated. His feet seemed to glide over the floor. He suddenly jumped, twisting over Corvos's shoulder, and locked his arms around the man's neck from behind. He pressed down with his weight, intending to snap his opponent's neck quickly.
If prolonged, Corvos would tire first. He could not rely on this body the way he had once trusted absolutely. He had to choose another method, using every advantage around him from the room's objects to the gaps in Juwel's mindset.
The fight spun quickly, and they collided into the study desk, tipping the chair. A book fell, hitting the computer keyboard.
The screen flashed, emitting a sudden pale blue light that shone onto Juwel's face. He froze briefly, gazing at the moving characters as if they had their own spirit.
Juwel jumped back at least a meter, trying to escape the light's reach.
Corvos glanced at him. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, as if deliberately exploiting Juwel's confusion to push him toward the door. The next shoulder ram forced the bedroom door open, and both of them tumbled out, the battlefield instantly moving to a new space.
From the bedroom, the fight surged into the hallway. Corvos blocked the path, trying to corner Juwel in a different direction because he knew that the kitchen was full of knives, and a Juwel with a sharp weapon would be exponentially harder to control.
Corvos tilted his head, slid backward, and slammed Juwel against the wall to break the lock. A heavy sound echoed, but Juwel did not let go. Corvos rotated his hips and threw Juwel to the floor. Both immediately sprang up and charged at each other again like two blades sharpening against a whetstone.
The rapid breathing and clashing continued until Corvos suddenly struck, pushing Juwel straight into the window frame.
The glass shattered, glittering shards falling like a rain of knives. Juwel's back pressed close to the edge, half his body already dangling over the height. Yet instead of panicking, he twisted, one hand holding the window frame, the other grabbing Corvos's wrist, using the force to counterattack.
In an almost inhuman move, Juwel spun, pulling Corvos toward him, and then thrust hard, sending Corvos falling.
Wind rushed through the window, bringing cold and the smell of exhaust.
Juwel did not immediately relax. His eyes scanned below because he had not yet heard the sound of objects falling.
To track down those who had killed his family, Juwel had tried every means. By the time he turned eighteen, he had succeeded in facing Corvos.
Contrary to his expectations, Corvos was a bastard who looked very young. Juwel thought that his former subordinates had been wiped out and replaced.
This also meant he had arrived too late. The hope of revenge had become a fading dream.
Facing the unintended resolution of his enemy, the emotion Juwel felt was alien, not relief.
Juwel had been clinging to a sliver of hope that his enemy was not dead yet.
His plan went smoothly, although with how difficult it was, even a small mistake could have put his life in danger. But Juwel had captured Corvos, and it was not anyone else. It was the real leader of the Wanderer Church.
What could have pushed someone so young to choose a criminal path? Juwel was not curious about that. Who he was, what kind of person he was, what had happened to him, none of that was anything Juwel actually cared about. If he did not need to find the man's weaknesses, Juwel would never have touched his past.
Corvos carried the blood of the East, and that was certain. There was no one in Ilix or in the nearby territories who possessed black hair and black eyes. If those features appeared in these regions, the person would be considered a demon and dragged to the stake.
Although in recent years the prejudice against ethnic traits had softened and people no longer killed someone simply for being different, it was still another matter if that person belonged to a "heretic group." The Church of the Wanderers would personally deal with that.
It was extremely difficult to find information about the Wanderer Church. At the time they operated as criminals and later formed the church, they had already been wandering everywhere. Anyone who had seen their real faces had been killed, and even their clients never dared reveal information about them, even with a blade at their throat. The fear they carved into their victims was far worse than expected.
Juwel could only fumble along and try to narrow down the investigation based on language traits and appearance. He had spent quite a lot of money just to obtain a small amount of information about the Wanderer Church.
The first thing Juwel learned was that Corvos and the Wanderer Church first appeared in a colony of Ilix. According to the people's impressions back then, the Wanderer Church had not been bad people. Most of the jobs they took were delivering goods for merchant caravans, and people did not ask them to do anything beyond the abilities of children who had not even grown up yet. At that time, the Wanderer Church had only seven founding members, including Corvos.
The Wanderer Church traveled everywhere in the world. Truly everywhere. There was no place where they stopped walking. Even without thinking deeply, Juwel knew what kind of trials they would have faced. The language barrier alone would have caused countless problems, not to mention that they had no citizen papers to legally enter other countries. They would have lived like plague-carrying rats at the bottom of society, suffocating in misery.
Juwel did not care what they had gone through that turned them into who they were. But they truly had no weakness if one considered the fact that it was impossible to find any of their families.
And Juwel did not care about that either. His belief was simple. He wanted to kill them directly and openly. He did not want anyone else involved.
So Juwel had studied many martial arts, suitable weapons, and combat strategies to face them.
Juwel knew that Corvos was not the type who depended on brute strength to earn his dangerous reputation. The man had many other things far more formidable.
Juwel stepped toward the window to check, and with a sharp whoosh, Corvos's shadow returned. He held onto the drainpipe, pushed off with his legs, and leapt back to the upper floor. The fall earlier had only been his warm-up.
When his hand touched the window frame, Juwel immediately stepped back half a pace to avoid the incoming strike, but Corvos had already spun into the room and delivered a sweeping kick across head height.
The collision sent the wardrobe flying, and items clattered to the floor. However, Juwel managed to land a strike on Corvos. It was not fatal, but blood had already flowed from Corvos's arm. Corvos quickly tore a piece of nearby cloth to stop the bleeding.
When Corvos fell, Juwel had already prepared his weapon, which was obvious and something Corvos had anticipated would happen.
Juwel stood only a few steps away from Corvos, his gaze cold as ice. The reason he did not attack immediately was that he suddenly sensed something dangerous from Corvos. He guessed it was some kind of secret weapon, so he could not act without thinking.
The room was quiet enough that he could hear his own heavy breathing mixed with a faint electrical buzz from the devices in the room.
Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted.
From Corvos radiated an invisible pressure so heavy that all other sounds seemed swallowed. Juwel felt his presence change, subtle yet deep, like the air around him had been stretched, ready to crush anything weaker than it.
Then the scent arrived.
At first, it was like a thin wisp of smoke in the air. But it grew stronger, and Juwel could clearly recognize it: the scent of smoldering incense wood, mixed with the metallic smell of blood, combined with something melancholic and solemn.
A shiver ran down his spine.
Juwel frowned slightly.
"This smell…"
His whole body felt locked, and his breathing grew heavy. At the same time, Juwel noticed a strange reaction in his lower body. Even though he was not someone driven by lust, he knew what that reaction would lead to.
He held his breath, but it was useless. "Magic?" he thought, concluding that it was not really a scent, because even without smelling it, he could still sense it. It was probably something unique to this world that Juwel did not understand.
Juwel, of course, did not know that it was Corvos's pheromones. Originally, Corvos had not intended to use them, simply because if Juwel aroused, Corvos himself would also be affected. This was a two-way reaction between an Alpha and Omega pair.
However, Juwel already held a weapon, and in a battle this balanced, the weapon could change the entire situation. If it were just other ordinary weapons, Corvos could deal with them, but this was Juwel's preferred weapon, and Corvos believed that having a good thing and not using it was foolish.
Juwel bit his lip and forced himself to stay alert. He could not retreat.
Corvos tilted his head slightly, the corner of his lips curling.
"What is it, Juwel? Not continuing?"
The voice was deep and husky. Perhaps influenced by the strange scent, it involuntarily made the listener's heart tighten.
The strange reactions of his body made Juwel furious. In his gaze, Corvos's shadow reflected, and both anger and reason flared simultaneously.
Juwel gripped the handle of his knife, the blade inward, then sliced a short horizontal line on the inner side of his arm. Blood flowed out but not deep enough to reach the main vein. The sharp pain made his breath hiss for a moment, and immediately, Corvos's scent was isolated from his mind, letting reason regain control.
Before Juwel could regain the advantage, Corvos threw a straight punch, forcing Juwel to drop his weapon. Corvos grabbed the knife with his dominant hand. Juwel leaned aside to dodge, then grabbed Corvos by the collar. Both of them crashed into the bedroom doorframe.
They lunged at each other again, this time even faster. Punches, joint locks, spins, using the surroundings as weapons, the chair was lifted and used as a shield, a vase shattered when used to block a dagger that Corvos had drawn from somewhere unknown.
Juwel grabbed a chair leg, spun it like a temporary staff, and struck Corvos's wrist, making the knife fall. But immediately, Corvos elbowed Juwel's side forcefully, pushing him back against the dining table. Every movement was swift and precise, almost continuous, turning the quiet apartment into a cramped battlefield where every square meter could become a deadly spot.
Corvos's forceful shove made the dining table tilt. All the plates and bowls fell, shattering into sharp white fragments. Juwel twisted to dodge, his leg sweeping across and making Corvos lose balance. But Corvos planted his hands on the floor, used the momentum to flip back up, and delivered a straight kick to Juwel's chest.
Juwel retreated, but his hands did not leave the broken chair leg. This time, he threw it straight at his opponent's face. Corvos tilted his head to avoid it, but the edge still grazed his cheek, leaving a thin red streak. He glanced at his hand, saw the blood, and his expression did not change in the slightest.
The momentum carried them crashing onto the bed. They rolled across each other amidst joint locks, neck holds, and pillow strikes.
The bedsheet was pulled off, the pillow flew to the floor. The bed shook violently under their weight and the force of their thrashing. For a moment, Juwel pinned Corvos's shoulder with his knee, intending to deliver a decisive punch, but Corvos twisted his hips, reversed the position, and pinned Juwel onto his back.
"Crack!"
The sound of wood breaking rang out. BAM! The bedframe could not hold and collapsed onto the floor, sending both of them down with a strong impact.
Before silence could settle, knock knock knock!, the sound of someone at the door rang out, along with a neighbor's voice from next door:
"Are you two okay? I heard a rumble like an earthquake!"
Both Juwel and Corvos stopped, still breathing heavily, eyes not leaving each other.
The fighting tension still hung in the air, but they had to pause for the moment.
[1] A minced oath derived from God's wounds; a noble expletive