Chapter 72: What Sets Us Apart

Sometimes, what separates men is not power or knowledge,
but the small decisions they make when no one is watching.
While some seek glory through blood and others run from their own sins,
there are those who, even in their fragility, choose to stay.
Not out of strength, nor destiny—
but because something inside them refuses to take a step back when fear arrives.
In a land where monsters weep and heroes bleed,
what truly matters is not who wins… but who refuses to surrender.
And it’s in those silent acts, in those determined gazes amid chaos,
that we discover what truly makes us different.

——————————————————————————————————————————

The interior of the ship was shrouded in thick darkness, heavy with the stench of dried blood and rotting wood.
The echo of their footsteps faded among dismembered bodies, shattered weapons, and walls split open from within.
There was no doubt—something inhuman had taken place there.

“This is a damn disaster,” murmured Joan, nudging aside a piece of bone with the tip of her spear. “What the hell happened here?”
“Whatever it was, doesn’t look like anyone survived,” Ares said dryly, scanning every corner with distrust.
“Hey, grumpy commander—found one,” Yosa interrupted from the far corridor.

“What?”
With his usual lack of finesse, Yosa dragged a pirate and threw him roughly to the floor in front of Ares.
The man trembled uncontrollably, eyes wide and unfocused, muttering incoherent words.
“Found him down in the brig. He was hiding… or more like paralyzed by fear.”

Ares crouched in front of him, observing closely. His brow furrowed when he noticed the unmistakable mark of Blackbeard’s crew branded on the man’s neck.
“Who are you? What happened here?”

The man didn’t respond. His lips moved, but only faint sounds escaped.
“Hey,” Yosa growled, “the boss asked you a question. If you don’t answer, he’ll rip your tongue out.”
“D–De…”
“We won’t kill you,” Joan interjected, softening her tone on purpose. “But tell us what happened to the crew. Why are you alone?”

The pirate stared at the ground. His shoulders trembled. Then his eyes lifted suddenly, filled with terror.
“Y-you must… run…”

Ares frowned. “Run? Are you threatening us?”
“Quickly!” the man screamed, convulsing violently.

Before anyone could react, white foam poured from his mouth. His muscles tensed, his body twisting as if something inside him were trying to claw its way out.
“Boss, I don’t think this looks good…” Yosa began to say—

A grotesque crack interrupted him. A massive arm burst out from the pirate’s throat, tearing him apart from the inside.
The same arm swung violently, striking Yosa and hurling him several meters back like a rag doll.

“What the hell is this?!” Ares roared, stepping back with his spear raised.
Joan took a step back, her face twisted in disgust.
“Ares… I don’t think the crew is dead.”
“What are you talking abou—”

Then they saw it.
Through the shattered windows, on the shore outside the ship, dozens—no, hundreds—of deformed figures began to emerge.
They weren’t human. They were masses of fused flesh, warped and rebuilt into grotesque parodies of living beings: spiders made of skin, wolves with human faces, crawling bodies covered in eyes and mouths.

“Damn it…” Ares muttered through gritted teeth. “Looks like this is going to take a while.”

One particular creature crawled toward the ship. It had the body of a spider—
but the face was the same as the pirate they had just interrogated.

“Disgusting…” Joan murmured, tightening her grip on her weapon.

A short distance away, Edén was panting, sweat dripping down his forehead, his body covered in cuts and bruises. Beside him, Tiresias kept striking without pause, his staff whistling through the air as it smashed into the monsters.

This is insane… I can barely take one down. The old man’s wiped out almost all of them. I’m just slowing him down… Edén thought, frustrated.

“What’s wrong? Lost your confidence in your own strength?” Tiresias asked, glancing at him from the corner of his eye.
Edén lowered his gaze.
“I…”

A thunderous crash shook the nearby mountain. A figure came crashing down violently against the rocks, sending up a cloud of dust.
“What the hell was that?” Edén asked.

From the ground, a voice groaned.
“Ugh… that hurts…”

It was Yosa. He slowly got up, covered in dirt, his clothes torn.
“Hey there…” he greeted, waving weakly as he limped toward them.
“Looks like things got a little more complicated, huh?” Tiresias said, almost amused.
“Can’t you tell?” Yosa shot back—just before receiving a sharp smack on the head with the staff.
“Wait a second—” he growled, rubbing the lump—“weren’t there three of you?”
“I’ll explain later,” Tiresias sighed. “Now that you’re here, how about giving us a hand?”

In front of them, the monsters were closing in—a horde of twisted, fleshy abominations. Each had a different form, yet all shared one grotesque detail: human-like expressions warped by suffering.

“Watch closely, old man,” Yosa said with a defiant grin. “Today’s the day I surpass you. Don’t blink.”
“You’re still a hundred years too early for that, boy,” Tiresias replied with a chuckle.
“Oh yeah? We’ll see about that!”

In an instant, flames erupted around Yosa. His body flared with searing energy, and the air itself seemed to tremble under the pressure.
Edén stared, stunned.
“You’ve got to be kidding me…”
“Surprised?” Tiresias asked, half-smiling.
Edén clenched his fist.
“Yeah…”

Yosa exhaled a thin stream of smoke. His sword appeared, engulfed in fire—and without another word, he charged into the swarm.
His blade danced among the creatures like a furious spark. Each strike set the deformed bodies ablaze, their shrieks echoing through the forest in voices that no longer sounded human. One by one, the monsters fell, consumed by the sacred flames that seemed to pour straight from his soul—or so it appeared.

Yosa stopped for a moment, gasping, his face slick with sweat and ash. Then, with one clean motion, he sheathed his sword.
From behind, Edén whispered in awe,
“Incredible…”
“No,” Tiresias corrected darkly.

At that instant, Yosa staggered. A surge of blood burst from his mouth, splattering across the ground at his feet.
“What just happened?” Edén asked in alarm.
“He exceeded his limit,” Tiresias answered, eyes fixed on his disciple. “He’s talented, but his body’s still far too weak to contain that power.”

Damn it… again… Yosa thought, clutching his stomach as his legs gave out beneath him.
A shadow moved behind him—a wolf-shaped creature with no skin, its body covered in human eyes, lunging forward.
“I… can’t move…” Yosa whispered, resigned.

But he didn’t have to. A swift strike from Tiresias’s staff smashed into the creature’s skull, exploding it into fragments.
“Not bad,” Tiresias said with a faint smile.
Yosa lifted his gaze, barely standing.
“I promise… someday, I’ll be stronger than you, old man.”
“Keep dreaming.”

Tiresias turned toward Edén.
“Let’s finish this quickly. That battle should be starting any moment now.”
Edén nodded, his sword now cloaked in dark energy that pulsed in rhythm with the trembling earth beneath their feet.

•
On the other side, across the coastline stained by the remains of battle, Joan and Ares advanced among rotting corpses. Dried blood clung to their boots, and their faces were smeared with dirt and exhaustion.
“Looks like we’ve finally finished…” Ares said, resting his spear against the ground.
“Yeah…” Joan replied, breathless. “They were tougher than I expected.”

A sound stopped them.
Screeches.
Like a distorted sob, coming from among the remains. Ares slowly turned his head, frowning as he saw a creature still breathing. It was crying. Its mutated body trembled as it dragged itself forward, leaving behind a slick, viscous trail.

Joan swallowed hard.
“There was nothing more we could do… At least we ended its suffering.”

Ares didn’t respond right away. He walked toward the creature, his expression dim, as if his mind were elsewhere. He raised his spear, and the monster spoke in a voice almost human:
“H-hel… help me…”

Without changing his expression, Ares drove the spear through its head. The creature fell limp, lifeless.

•
“Looks like you’ve finished your side as well,” Tiresias said as he arrived.
“What’s wrong, Yosa? You don’t look so good,” asked Joan.
“It’s nothing…” the young man muttered, avoiding their eyes.
Tiresias shook his head gently.
“Nothing happened. He just pushed himself too far.”

Ares turned as Edén approached, staggering, his body covered in open wounds.
“Looks like you survived, Yomi.”
“Yeah… something like that…”

•
A violent explosion shook the mountain. A deep roar echoed across the island. The ground trembled beneath them.
“Tiresias, Joan, and the idiot,” Ares ordered firmly, “return to the ship. I’ll stay here and wait for the main idiot and Alexbold.”
“This isn’t fair…” Yosa complained. “I wanted to have a little more fun.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Joan huffed. “You can barely stand.”
“When you actually learn to use a sword, maybe you can,” Tiresias said mercilessly.
“Shut up, old man.”

Edén took a step forward.
“Ares…”
“What do you want?”
“Can I stay?”
“Didn’t you hear me? I said go back with the others.”
“Please…”

Ares narrowed his eyes.
“Do you really think you could do anything if things go south? Seeing the state you came back in, it’s clear Tiresias and Yosa did all the work.”
“You’re right… but even so, I’ll stay.”
“I said—”
“I won’t stand by while someone I care about is in danger!” Edén shouted, raising his voice for the first time. “If you want to kill me, do it. But I’m not like you. I’ll protect the ones I care about.”

Without a word, Ares grabbed him by the neck and lifted him off the ground. Edén’s eyes, however, never looked away from his. Unyielding. Fierce.
“Go ahead… kill me.”
“Ares, I’d advise you to stop,” Tiresias intervened, his voice firm.

The general released Edén, letting him fall harshly to the ground.
“Don’t get in my way,” he muttered as he turned away.

•
The group walked back toward the ship, leaving Edén and Ares alone before the crimson horizon.
“Why didn’t you tell him to return?” Joan asked.
“Shun asked me to,” Tiresias replied without stopping. “It seems there’s something only that boy can do.”
“But he doesn’t look that strong…”
“Remember, Joan… your eyes can deceive you.”

She looked at him silently, doubt creeping into her thoughts.
What do they expect that boy to do? Is he really that special?

•
A few minutes earlier.
The echo of heavy footsteps resounded within the mountain. Blackbeard, drenched in blood and dust, descended a corridor adorned with ancient symbols. His eyes gleamed with greed.
“Finally… I’ve made it…”

In front of him, golden feet rested upon a pedestal.
“Are you… the Crown of the Abyss?”
A figure emerged from the shadows.
“Yes, that’s right,” Mammon replied with a disturbing smile. “What is your desire? Do you want eternal life? Power? Wealth? Ask for what you crave… and I will grant it.”

Blackbeard swallowed hard.
“I… I want…”

Footsteps echoed throughout the chamber.
“Well, well,” came a familiar voice. “Looks like I made it just in time.”

Shun appeared, wearing a confident grin, his eyes blazing with the fire of battle.
“So then… who wants to die first?”