"Get out of this place, monster!"
The voice of a middle-aged man echoed harshly through the gray afternoon.
Lyxo was now kneeling on one knee, cornered at the edge of a steep ravine.
His breathing came in ragged gasps.
As though every breath were a struggle forcibly wrested from the air. Blood flowed from the wound on his forehead and slowly dripped onto the cold, dry earth.
His body trembled.
Not from fear—
But from holding back.
A groan escaped his mouth, a sign that he was tired of everything—of his life.
Dozens of pairs of eyes stared at him with the same expression—cold, filled with hatred, without the slightest hint of doubt.
"Get out of this place!" shouted a woman in her thirties as she raised the wooden beam in her hands high into the air.
"Damn you!"
The villagers' hateful screams and insults continued, growing more heated as they struck him like an invisible knife.
Lyxo slowly raised his head.
His eyes—red-gold—looked at them one by one.
His gaze was cold and piercing.
Observing.
Assessing.
Counting.
All in silence.
But his body was too weak to respond.
He tried to stand.
But collapsed back onto the ground.
A pair of hands swiftly caught him before he could hit the ground.
"...Please, stop all of this!"
His voice was loud, though a tremor could be heard in it.
Ryu.
"Lyxo isn't a criminal!"
He continued firmly, concern coloring his voice as he held his friend tightly.
Lyxo didn't need to turn around.
He knew Ryu was still the same person.
Always standing in front, always the first to take a step forward.
For a moment, silence fell.
Then—
"Please... Don't drive us away from here..." she pleaded softly.
Sheren.
She slowly stepped forward, both hands clasped tightly in front of her chest, her shoulders trembling.
Not because she was afraid of the villagers—
But because she was afraid of losing her friend.
The middle-aged man turned toward her.
"What did you say? Lyxo isn't a criminal?" he asked with a mocking laugh.
"If he really isn't a criminal, then why did he kill so many residents here?! No way! Lyxo is a monster who deserves to be driven from this place!"
The man spat the words, his bulging eyes blazing with a fire of rage and hatred.
"Yeah, get out!" shouted a heavyset woman in an overflowing voice as she pointed toward Lyxo. Her face was flushed, her eyes wide, and her brows furrowed deeply in anger.
The villagers' hateful roars and insults rang out again, raining down on the unfortunate young man who was still struggling to steady his breathing.
"ENOUGH! THAT'S ENOUGH!"
The villagers' attention abruptly turned to a small child who stepped forward with confidence and courage.
Lingz.
"Can't you stop hating and insulting Lyxo?" he asked as he took a small step forward toward the villagers, who stood frozen in silence, staring at him in shock.
"As long as we've been friends with him, Lyxo has never once been cruel to us—not by hitting us or yelling at us. If he really were a criminal, then why didn't he kill us from the start every time we argued with him?"
Silence.
Several villagers exchanged glances. No more insults could be heard—
"Where is your conscience? How could you do this to him? HOW COULD YOU!"
"Don't interfere in our business, little boy!"
Offended, the middle-aged man swung the wooden beam at Lingz.
Seeing Lingz in danger, Lyxo's instinct to protect his friend emerged.
Lyxo's eyes flew wide—in an instant, he rose and ran toward Lingz, who was screaming in terror as he tried to shield himself from the blow of the wooden beam.
CRACK!
The blow landed squarely—on Lyxo's body.
He had never expected the strike to be that powerful.
Lyxo realized something fatal. His eyes widened as he realized that his body had been hurled toward the steep ravine.
"LYXOOOOO!" Lingz screamed in horror, watching the terrifying event unfold so quickly right before his eyes.
Lingz ran toward the edge of the ravine, then dropped to his knees, his trembling hands pressed against the ground.
Lyxo's body plunged into the ravine, striking the rocks once—twice—until he finally lay helpless among the stones at the bottom of the silent ravine.
The air around him was cold and damp, thick with the pungent scent of blood and old moss.
His breathing was soft and labored, a sign that he was still alive. But his condition was deeply alarming.
His body was covered in wounds, and the clothes he wore were torn here and there. Blood dripped and flowed from the lacerations on his forehead, shoulder, waist, and leg. His right arm was dislocated, while his left leg was broken and twisted at an unnatural angle.
His once handsome, striking face was now pale and drenched in blood seeping from his forehead.
His usually neat hair was disheveled, clinging to his damp forehead and temples, matted with sweat and blood.
His prominent nose was scraped, and fresh blood flowed from the corner of his lips.
His sharp eyes, usually shining red-gold, were now beginning to lose their light as they stared blankly at the sky far above. His vision blurred, followed by his consciousness slowly fading away.
Softly, Lyxo whispered.
"F-Forgive me...."
And in an instant, everything turned dark.