Leveling From Hell

Night in the Eterna Kingdom always carried a strange weight. It wasn't silent like the endless forest trails, nor alive with the chaos of the daytime market. It was something in between, restless yet calm, a city that breathed in the quiet after dusk.

Oil lamps lined the stone streets, their dim glow flickering on the brick walls of old buildings. The shadows seemed to stretch with each sway of the flame, dancing along the cobblestones. Arzael's boots struck the ground in a steady rhythm. His pace was calm, but his mind wasn't. Thoughts, calculations, and half-formed plans refused to stop turning.

At his side walked Seraphina. The girl didn't make a sound. She looked as if silence itself clung to her, her presence pulling all noise into nothing. Her long white hair swayed faintly in the evening breeze, pale strands catching the light of the lamps like threads of silver. Her flat red eyes didn't focus on anything, just staring ahead, detached.

Eventually, they reached a modest inn. The same one Arzael had been using since he arrived in the capital. Its wooden sign creaked slightly above the door. Inside, a middle-aged innkeeper in a stained apron looked up from the counter. His eyes landed on Seraphina, lingering for just a second too long. Unease flickered there, but the moment Arzael dropped several gold coins onto the counter, hesitation vanished. Gold had its way of silencing questions.

"Hot water," Arzael said flatly. "Food for two. And clothing, small? Or medium size. For her."

The innkeeper nodded quickly, as though eager to prove his efficiency, and disappeared into the back.

Their room was upstairs, plain but clean. A wooden bed with a thin mattress. A small table. A single window overlooking the lamplit street. Simple, practical. Exactly the kind of place Arzael preferred.

"The bathwater will be ready soon," he told her once they were inside. He gestured toward the side room where a tub had already been prepared. "Do you need time alone… or help?"

Seraphina's eyes didn't waver. "Alone."

"Alright." He leaned back against the chair, crossing his arms. "Take your time."

She stepped inside without another word, and the door closed softly behind her.

Left in the quiet, Arzael sat unmoving, gaze fixed on the wooden floorboards. His thoughts drifted—not to her, not yet, but to what he had heard at the black market. "Cursed." That word. People loved throwing it around at anything they didn't understand. Convenient label. Useful excuse. And a prison for those unlucky enough to wear it.

The creak of the door broke his thoughts. Seraphina emerged again, her hair damp and clinging to her shoulders. She wore a plain blue dress delivered by the innkeeper, loose but neat. She walked wordlessly to the table, eyes briefly resting on the food laid out, chicken soup, warm bread, slices of roasted meat.

"Eat," Arzael said simply.

She obeyed. Sitting down, she picked up the spoon with careful, deliberate movements. She ate slowly, like someone testing the world to see if it would hurt her again.

The room was filled with nothing but the quiet clatter of spoon against bowl. Arzael leaned back, resting an elbow on the chair's arm, eyes drifting to the faint glow of the street lamps outside the window. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, but heavy, like air waiting to break.

It was Seraphina who broke it first.

"…Why did you buy me?" Her voice was quiet but steady. "Aren't you afraid?"

Arzael turned his gaze to her. For a moment, he just studied her pale face, expressionless as always. Then he answered, calm and certain: "Because I'm also a curse."

Her hand paused midair. The spoon hovered, dripping soup back into the bowl. She didn't show surprise, but her eyes flickered, just barely. A spark of curiosity.

"…How?"

"Touch me."

She hesitated. Then, slowly, she reached out and pressed her hand against the back of his. Seconds passed. Nothing. No fire. No pain. No burning flesh. Her eyes widened, barely, but enough.

"…How?" she repeated, her voice quieter now.

Arzael smiled faintly. "You can't burn what was already burned since birth."

That answer lingered in the air. For the first time since he had met her, her eyes softened. Not warmth, but not the hollow emptiness from before either. Something in between. Something fragile.

They ate in silence after that, but the quiet felt different. Not just empty space, but a space where words were waiting.

It wasn't until the plates were empty that Seraphina spoke again. This time, her voice carried a weight it hadn't before.

"…I've always been a problem," she began. "From the very moment I was born. My mother died instantly when she touched me. Her body burned. My father… left me in an orphanage. I tried to live like the others, to play like the other children. But one day, I hurt someone. Without meaning to. His skin blistered from my touch. After that… no one came near me. They just whispered. From a distance."

Her hands gripped the hem of her skirt. Her expression didn't change, but her voice told the story anyway.

"They called me a curse. And one night, the orphanage sold me to the black market. They said it was better that way. Better than me… causing more trouble."

She stopped. Not because she was done, but because there was nothing left worth saying.

Arzael didn't move. His gaze was steady, his expression unreadable. But inside, fire burned. Hatred for this world and the gods who had shaped it. They dressed cruelty in excuses. Wrapped betrayal in words like "necessary" or "for protection." It sickened him.

Finally, he said, "The world is cruel, Seraphina. But you never deserved that."

She didn't answer, only lowered her gaze. Silence settled again, different, heavier, but no longer cold.

"How old are you?" he asked at last.

"…Fourteen. Around that."

"Then I'm a year older."

It was a simple exchange, but the weight of it lingered. A fragile, human moment amidst everything else.

Later, when the inn grew quiet and the city outside had fully sunk into night, Arzael turned from the window. Seraphina was asleep. On his bed, sprawled across the middle, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

Arzael stood in the doorway for a few seconds, watching. Then he exhaled, smirking faintly. "…Forget it."

He pulled his cloak over his shoulders, checked the edge of his blade. Crimson Edge gleamed faintly in the lamplight. His mind shifted from the girl on the bed to another image entirely: the demon Blackfire, in Underworld Layer 1. A memory of pain. Of rage. A scar on his soul.

"Time for a little revenge," he muttered.

With calm certainty, he activated Gatewalk.

[Gatewalk Activated]

A black portal opened, swirling with wind and shadow. In an instant, Arzael stepped forward and vanished into its pull, leaving Seraphina to sleep in silence.