Human hatred

The Lindru Temple had been completely rebuilt, and the temple staff had resumed their work. Yet, after the Sidran Gasra incident, fear still lingered. Even among the temple members.

Dion had recovered fully, and today, together with his son—Atron—he was at the temple. As usual, he led the temple. This time, however, he was accompanied by his son. Although not his biological child—he hadn't even married yet—such was his life.

One of the temple staff, Adri, 35 years old with gray hair, was among Dion’s most trusted aides. He bowed in respect. His tone was friendly, but deep inside, trauma from the Sidran Gasra incident still haunted him. Despite appearing friendly toward Atron, that warmth was meant only for Dion.

"Stand up, I'm just the temple head," Dion commanded.

Adri straightened his posture.

"Have you completely recovered, temple head?" Adri asked.

"It’s been a week. I’m fully recovered," Dion replied.

Dion continued walking, inspecting every room in the temple. He was surprised to find a new one. Together with Atron, he entered to examine it.

"What’s this room?" Dion asked, peering inside.

"A protection chamber, temple head," came a voice from behind them.

Dion turned to see a man younger than him, 41 years old, with brown hair.

"Bayu, why was this room prepared?" Dion asked.

Bayu, the man in question, was also among those Dion trusted the most.

"To prevent the Sidran Gasra incident from happening again," Bayu explained.

Understanding dawned on Dion, and they continued their inspection of the temple, eventually arriving at the assembly room.

Inside, someone not of the temple was waiting. His attire made it clear—armor gleaming, sword at his left side, and crimson-red hair like ruby. A royal knight. The knight approached Dion and handed him a ring. Dion observed the symbol on the ring: a sun with two crossed swords.

"The sun and crossed swords... This must be urgent," Dion noted.

"Are you willing to come with me?" the knight asked.

Dion nodded in response.

He turned to Atron, placed a hand on his shoulder, and leaned down.

"I’m going to the palace. Can you watch over the temple for me?" Dion asked gently.

"Yes, Father. Please be careful," Atron replied with a nod.

What Atron didn’t know was that not a single temple member was truly happy with his presence. The kindness he saw was a mask—pure hypocrisy. No one wanted to be expelled from the temple, so they wore that mask. And with the temple head away, their true faces began to show.

As Dion and the knight departed, the mask dropped.

"Honestly, I wish you'd just disappear," muttered one of the temple members.

"You must be thrilled the temple head treats you like a son," another shouted—this one with blonde hair.

"You’ll kill the temple head one day, won’t you?" accused a red-haired member. "You’re a monster."

Atron’s chest ached. His breath caught in his throat. Helpless, he yearned for help. But no help came. His body trembled with fear. He could’ve fought back—but chose not to. Tears flowed freely. No one had touched him.

Not yet—

Until Adri arrived.

He kicked Atron in the leg, knocking him down.

Atron regretted everything. Why did he exist? Why was he created as the seal for a dark artifact? He never asked for this. All he wanted was to be born—a human. Not a product of magic. Not a vessel of darkness.

Adri grew more furious. Kicking him wasn’t enough.

He began forming a magic circle—beautifully designed: a circle with four stars and a cobra inside. It glowed blue like a clear sky.

"Lan Sukmo dadi loro kan roso dadi sekso," Adri chanted.

A fierce wind hurled Atron into a wall.

Pain wracked his body, making it difficult to stand.

"Stop pretending you're hurt, monster," spat a dark-haired temple member, throwing an axe.

No physical blow landed, but Atron shook violently from fear.

Hopelessness consumed him.

Shaking with terror, he tried to rise.

He didn’t want this to continue. He longed for love, not hate. He wished for death—yet remembered: if he died, Dion would grieve.

He remembered the protection chamber.

He thought that room might protect him.

He ran there. It wasn’t finished yet.

The temple members were still visible.

He entered the room, praying it would shield him.

Bayu grinned slyly, a single thought in his mind.

He formed a magic circle.

An elegant pattern: a circle with jasmine petals.

It glowed ruby red.

"Sang Hyang Wijra engkang puspo rupo," Bayu intoned.

Nothing happened.

The temple members approached.

One of them threw a stone.

Atron hoped the room would repel it.

It didn’t.

The pain was unbearable—a bruise on his left chest.

He healed the wound.

If it had been visible, it would’ve provoked even greater cruelty. But he didn’t know that.

"Hmph, it’s not satisfying if we can’t see the injuries," Adri shouted.

The others nodded in agreement.

Bayu prepared another magic circle.

Beautiful patterns: a circle, an elephant, and a sun.

It glowed pure white like the clouds.

"Lan suoro kanggo rupo sekso," Bayu chanted.

Atron’s body was pulled toward the doorway.

He stopped just short of crossing the threshold.

The pain was like being pierced by a thousand iron spikes.

One temple member approached—a dark-skinned man with red hair.

He punched Atron.

Atron shut his eyes.

The pain flared from his left cheek.

A bruise formed.

Tears streamed down as he wished for his father’s return.

But he had another thought—he didn’t want the temple members to get scolded.

"Now this is satisfying," the man smirked.

The others nodded.

Atron could heal quickly, being the seal of Sidran Gasra.

He healed himself.

Unaware of the temple members' malicious intent.

"Wow, heals fast too, huh?" the blonde muttered.

Adri stepped away.

Not to report.

But to retrieve a sword.

Moments later, he returned.

A sword in his right hand.

"I wonder if he can reattach a severed hand," Adri grinned cruelly.

He raised the blade.

It gleamed ominously in the dim light.

Atron closed his eyes.

No pain.

But when he opened them—

The pain came.

"Enough, let’s get back to temple work!" barked the dark-skinned, red-haired man.

Bayu released both spells—one sealing the room and the other manipulating Atron’s body.

They left Atron in agony.

He looked at his severed hand.

His wrist.

That’s where the pain radiated from—thick black fluid oozed from the wound.

He picked up his severed hand.

And pressed it back to the wrist.