Hayne and the others moved swiftly in the direction Seiya had indicated in urgency.

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"How’s his pulse?" Hayne asked, directing his question to the bulky senior carrying Eiro.

"It’s steady, but I think he’s having difficulty breathing," the senior replied.

"Then I’ll keep using my ability to suppress his condition," Hayne said. "Let’s get this done with quickly and get him to a hospital."

Riena let out a frustrated sigh. "What the hell was he thinking? Ordering us to go ahead while he takes on the elites alone?" Her brows knitted together in anger, but no one answered.

She continued venting as they walked. "How did he even get that strong? He’s so young, yet has such an overwhelming presence and power."

"Having someone like him on our side is a huge advantage, sure," she admitted, "but something about his attitude pisses me off." Riena stomped her foot against the ground, her frustration evident.

"Hmph! He acts like some big shot, thinking he can just order everyone around because he’s strong," she scoffed.

"He’s not like that," Hayne interjected, earning a sharp glare from Riena.

"He just… doesn’t know how to express himself," Hayne continued. "It’s been that way since he was a kid. And now, after everything, it’s only gotten worse."

Riena averted her gaze, unconvinced. "Doesn’t excuse his arrogance."

"He’s not arrogant," Hayne countered. "He’s just—broken right now. If you’d known him back then, you’d understand."

Riena said nothing, unwilling to entertain excuses for Seiya’s behavior.

After walking for a while, they reached the small building Seiya had mentioned. Just as he described, a narrow alley ran alongside it. The late hour cast deep shadows over the passage, the moonlight failing to reach its depths.

Without hesitation, they stepped into the alleyway, heading toward the said river.

_ _ _

Having understood Seiya’s command to rely on his legs, Seiya’s elite stepped forward, ready to face the other elites.

"Heh-heh! You’re really gonna fight us looking like that?" The dagger-wielding elite sneered, his expression laced with contempt.

"How low we must’ve fallen," the bald one muttered before swiftly extending his hand. From the sleeve of his coat, a thick rope slithered forward, shooting to ensnare Seiya’s elite who crouched to evade it only to be struck by a powerful kick that sent him hurtling aside.

The rope, which had been a decoy, shot through the air and coiled tightly around Seiya’s neck in an instant. Though to Seiya, it didn’t happen in an instant since his eyes weren’t covered with his sleep mask so he saw it all happen in slow motion and allowed it.

The rope constricted around Seiya’s throat, its grip tightening.

Seeing Seiya restrained and his subordinate sprawled on the ground, the dagger-wielding elite let out a sharp, mocking cackle.

"What’s this?" he sneered. "With all that bold talk—blocking our path so effortlessly—I thought you’d be something special." His grin stretched wide, his eyes gleaming with ridicule. "Guess it was just dumb luck."

The bald elite used his Awakened Ability to manipulate the rope, tightening it further. Veins bulged along Seiya’s neck as he tensed his muscles, resisting the strangling force.

With a firm yank, the bald elite attempted to drag Seiya forward. But Seiya’s hand shot up, gripping the rope on his side and resisting with equal strength.

The dagger-wielding elite doubled over in laughter, his body trembling with amusement.

"Oi, Anma," he called between gasps and cackles. "Just finish him alr—"

His voice broke.

His laughter died in his throat.

His eyes widened in sheer horror at the sight before him.

In an instant—a speed too fast for him to see—a movement too quick for him to register—Seiya had acted.

One moment he was bound and the next, he had stood before the bald elite. With well tensed muscles, veins bulging along his arm, he delivered a single devastating punch to the elite’s face that ruptured his flesh and shattered his bones—his face obliterated.

Blood sprayed violently and what remained of the elite’s body crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

The dagger-wielding elite remained frozen, his expression locked in terror. His wide, unblinking eyes took in the remains of his fallen ally—his lifeless body sprawled on the floor, blood pooling beneath him.

Seiya unraveled the rope from his neck, letting it drop to the ground before turning to the remaining elite, who stood paralyzed, gaze fixed on his dead ally.

"An…ma," the boy choked out, barely above a whisper. His body trembled, his bloodshot eyes fixated on his dead ally rather than Seiya himself.

More than the fear of being cornered, his devastation over his ally’s death was heavier. He did not move. He could not move. He simply shook in place, lost in his grief.

Seiya slowly walked to the remaining elite whose will to fight had been shattered—he merely stood even as Seiya walked up to him, eyes frantically darting within their sockets out of terror.

As Seiya reached him, the elite stiffened, his breath shallow, gaze locked onto Seiya, waiting—dreading—what would come next.

Seiya placed a palm gently on his chest, fingers trailing in slow, deliberate circles, as if marking his claim. Then, he raised his staff, its tip resting lightly against the elite’s sternum.

The elite did not resist. He could not. His body was frozen in terror, his mind trapped in the brutal reality of what he had just witnessed.

Leaning in, Seiya’s eyes gleamed. His voice, soft yet frigid, broke the silence.

"Ruin."

The elite’s chest caved in instantly only to explode outward a second later, leaving behind a gaping hole.

The elite’s eyes trembled more, his muscles tensed with seizing hands as let out a wet gasp, choking on thick blood that poured from his mouth.

His wide, disbelieving eyes remained locked onto Seiya’s calm ones until his body gave out, collapsing lifeless to the ground.

Seiya’s elite, seated at where he was blasted, still recovering from the blow, stared in shock. Admiration warred with fear in his eyes. He revered Seiya. But yet, he feared him.

With a casual flick of his staff, Seiya sent droplets of fresh blood splattering onto the ground. Then, without sparing another glance at the fallen elites, he turned and strode casually toward his elite.

"Let’s meet up with the others."

His voice was calm and unbothered, his posture relaxed. As if he hadn’t just massacred two people without hesitation.

The way he moved, the way he spoke, carried the grace of an angel, like the very embodiment of peace itself. But the blood staining his body, the carnage left behind him, told an entirely different story.

His elite rose to his feet, casting a wary glance at Seiya before following him toward the river, where the others awaited.

The elite couldn’t help the unease that settled deep in his bones, a silent, gnawing doubt that refused to fade. With every step, his heart pounded heavily—feeling his decision to serve under Seiya might be one that will cost him dearly. He feared this might be the worst decision of his life.