Eternal Malediction의 모든 챕터: 챕터 31 - 챕터 40

That’s when Kieran noticed it. He squinted, leaned slightly across the table, and frowned. “Wait a minute… That’s not our school uniform.”Annie blinked mid-bite. “What?”Roy, Tanaka and Brock all instinctively thought of the same thing. “Is this guy stupid? We go to an all-boys school, and he says that’s not our uniform? Not shit, Sherlock.” He pointed at the dark blazer she’d hung on the back of the seat. “Your crest. That’s from the all-girls school down on the road, right?” Tanaka chokes on his soda. “The High? The all-girls school from down the road?”Annie tilted her head, suspicious. “...Yes…” Brock raised an eyebrow. “I thought that place was basically a fortress. No boys. No visitors. No joy. Just a factory producing high-class girls.” Tanaka, completely ignoring Brock, leaned in like he was uncovering treasure. “So do you have any cute friends?” “Wow,” Roy muttered; he was stunned. “You didn’t even pretend to ease into that question at all, did you?”Kieran tried to so

In the quiet corner of the Nova in Veil hideout, the fire cracked low, casting soft shadows that danced across the stone walls. The room was modest with a plain wooden table, a few scattered cushions, and a blanket folded neatly in the corner. The air smelt of stew and burning wood.Ilya sat by the hearth, ladling soup into two ceramic white bowls. She moved with careful purpose; every action was gentle and unrushed. Across the room, two children huddle together. It was the little boy and girl; he looked around nine and the girl looked around 7-8. The girl clung to a frayed cloth rabbit, its ear half torn from wear. The boy, thin and sharp-eyed, kept his body in front of hers, protective and wary. “I didn’t season it much,” Ilya said quietly, placing the bowls near the fire. “But it’s warm, and there’s bread if your stomach isn’t too shy.”She didn’t press them to come closer. Instead, she sat cross-legged on the floor nearby, opposite them, just leaving enough space between. Not to

Roy woke up to pain.Not the gut-wrenching, soul-crushing pain of death or despair.Just an old-fashioned headache, a hangover, a throb right between his eyes as if someone had stuffed a live hornet in his skull. “Ugh…” He groaned, lifting a hand to rub in between his temples.The pounding subsided almost instantly. That was new, as he didn’t heal himself; it was almost as if it occurred automatically. He blinked a few times, groggy, then slowly sat up from the old sofa he’d collapsed onto the night before. The base was quiet, too quiet.He glanced around. It was empty.No people arguing over something. No Mella clinging to her bunny. No Kieran drooling on the spare bed. Not even the distant clatter of Ilya doing chores with military efficiency.He ran a hand through his tangled hair. “Huh,” he muttered. ”Where did everyone go? I guess I got abandoned.”He didn’t blame them. Being cooped up underground in Nova’s base was like being trapped in a concrete shoebox. Even the most discip

He finished the ice cream cone. It was nice.The town centre had grown louder.Crowds surged like waves, full of tourists, merchants, and the usual scatter of kids playing together. The festival banners hung for the tournament. People really do take this seriously, huh? The air was thick with spice, chatter and a faint hint of roasted peanuts.Roy got up from the bench and navigated through the crowd of people like a ghost, weaving between people with his shopping bags tucked under both arms, vegetable bags in one and spices, snacks and sauces in the other.He was halfway to the station when it happened.Even though the ice cream was long gone, the sticky residue was still faintly on his fingers.He was halfway to the station when it happened.A shoulder. A crash. The world was tilting; actually, it was Roy tilting.THUD.A bag burst open on the cobbled path, and the sound of bouncing carrots and tumbling onions echoed louder than it should have.People stared as it happened but just

The clatter of steel filled the air; it wasn’t wild or chaotic but rhythmic, like a pulse—steady, relentless, and almost meditative. Each strike echoed through the training hall, bouncing off the concrete walls and settling into the cold floor like a heartbeat refusing to slow.Kieran moved like a machine: calculated, fast, efficient. Every motion was stripped of excess, reduced to pure function. His eyes stayed locked on his opponent, unblinking, unyielding. Across from him, Tanaka stood his ground, his breathing steady despite the sweat gathering at his jawline. His grip tightened around the wooden sword, knuckles pale, but his stance remained firm. They had been going back and forth for nearly half an hour, neither speaking, both locked into that rare kind of silent understanding that came only from shared frustration and the need to hit something that wouldn’t break.Another clash—sharp, decisive. Kieran twisted his blade with a precision that bordered on unnatural, forcing Tanaka