Noa’s breath came out in jagged, uneven rattles. His right arm trembled, the nerves screaming in agony from the backlash of his previous thrust. The bones felt as if they had cracked from the deep marrow outward, and his muscles spasmed in tight, vicious knots every time he tried to force his fingers to tighten their grip.
Now… Lina should be fine now.
He had lost his sword, only a pathetic five percent of his aura remained, he had no allies to watch his flank, and his skill usage was somehow prevented. Yet, looking around the grand sanctuary, there were still far too many enemies left standing to allow for a moment's rest.
“Valvakile, I’m taking your sword,” Noa muttered.
He crouched, his boots scraping against blood-slicked stone as he forced his fingers to wrap around the hilt of the fallen knight's weapon. Straightening his spine, his dark purple eyes narrowed, coolly surveying the room and counting the opposition.
Apparently, five knights—including Valvakile—had been killed by the force of his prior thrust, but a solid thirty-five remained standing. Their heavy armor gleamed under the fractured, dust-choked light of the sanctuary.
“Anyone want to see the afterlife?” A chaotic, razor-thin smirk split his bloody face as he stepped forward to end what he had started.
Duke Viremont’s spine instantly stiffened. The cold chill that had been crawling up his neck since the boy entered the facility deepened into a profound, suffocating dread. The remaining knights’ morale had visibly plummeted after watching their strongest commander fall so effortlessly. Their defensive formation was tighter now, but their confidence had massive, glaring cracks.
Step—Step.
Noa’s incoming footsteps echoed like a steady death knell through Viremont’s mind.
The oracle cannot be continued now that the priests have died, the duke turned his gaze toward the blood staining the altar, a sudden, desperate sense of relief washing over him despite the carnage. And he even took down Valvakile…. There’s no choice other than capturing him.
“Knights… attack!” Viremont commanded, pointing a hand directly at Noa.
…
Clang!
The duke watched from safety, flanked by only three remaining knights, as the rest of his forces threw themselves into the meat grinder, engaging the young man one by one.
Noa barely managed to redirect the first blade that struck at him. Without a single second to catch his breath, another strike flashed from his side. He pivoted aggressively, the incoming steel grazing sharply against his shoulder. Immediately after, a diagonal slash came tearing toward him from another knight.
This fucker—
Noa lacked the physical flexibility and balance to entirely evade the trajectory, so he turned the disadvantage into a desperate gamble. He leaned backward as far as his spine would allow, aiming to make the incoming damage as low as possible. With a heavy, resonant swing, the sharp steel cut cleanly into his shoulder.
Just as the knight completed the momentum of his swing, Noa didn’t retaliate by striking the warrior's body. Instead, he targeted the weapon itself.
Driving Valvakile’s sword forward, the sharp tip stabbed directly into the pommel of the knight’s sword, sending a jarring shockwave through the hilt that caused the man to lose his grip for a few critical seconds.
In that brief window, Noa fully let go of Valvakile’s sword, knowing it would only slow his response time down. Moving with raw instinct, he lunged forward and suddenly grabbed the knight’s neck, slamming his bare hands around the gorget and placing both thumbs firmly in the middle of the throat.
“N-no…” the knight muttered hoarsely, realizing the lethal trap he had stepped into.
“Yes~!” Noa smiled maniacally.
With a brutal surge of strength, he drove his thumbs forward, deep into the knight’s neck.
Blood spilled over his hands, but the relentless assault wasn’t over yet. Snatching Valvakile’s sword back from the ground, Noa brought the steel up just in time to block an incoming flurry.
And so, the desperate, bloody fight continued.
He parried some strikes through raw reflex; some slipped past his guard entirely, mitigated only by his instincts; others he simply endured.
Through the entire bloodbath, he kept muttering words to himself like an absolute madman:
“If the aura is too much, it breaks… No. In the first place, my aura right now is too low, so it won’t cut easily…”
Viremont narrowed his eyes from the dais, his ears straining as he realized the intruder was actively talking to himself mid-combat.
“What if I channel it into my arm? No… that would break before the blade…” Noa muttered, his mind imagining methods to turn the tables using this new power called 'aura' like a child playing with toys. “What if I gather the floating Aether, mix it with the aura, suspend it in the air itself… no. Something else.”
Viremont’s expression shifted from dread to pure alarm as he leaned further forward, desperate to catch the boy's fragmented words.
“What if I condense every bit of Aether I can perceive, every trace of aura left, and then compress it into a single point… and then release it at that artifact fuck?”
“!!!”
Viremont’s pupils instantly shrank to pinpricks as the horrific realization dawned on him. He knew exactly what Noa was thinking about, and the most terrifying part was that the reckless teenager didn’t even know what he himself was about to trigger.
“NO! DON’T DO IT!” Viremont shouted at the top of his lungs, extending a hand as he broke into a dead sprint toward Noa. “You don’t know what you’re doing!”
The duke tried desperately to intervene, but it was already far too late.
At the fractured tip of Valvakile’s sword, the dark purple aura began to gather yet again, echoing the same terrifying phenomenon that had just taken the lives of the priests. Aether—normally invisible to the naked eye—began spiraling frantically inward toward the steel.
On the opposite side of the altar, the white radiance of the Oracle’s Anchor reacted instantly to the hostile presence, pulsing in violent, erratic waves of light.
Noa’s fingers trembled as he shifted his grip on the hilt. As a naturally left-handed fighter, Noa consciously forced his right hand to take the weapon this time, given that the backlash of his first move had already ruined the nerves in his left arm.
It was no art like the last technique; it was a completely normal, unguided sword throw. But unknown to Noa, its physical outcome would be infinitely heavier than anything he had unleashed before.
Clang-crack!
The tip of the thrown sword struck the center of the artifact dead-on. For a single heartbeat, all sound ceased to exist. Pure purple darkness crashed against the pristine white glow, the two forces fighting each other like tempestuous waves colliding in the center of an ocean.
The surrounding air folded aggressively inward under the immense pressure before exploding outward in a cataclysmic shockwave.
SWOOOOOSH—
Noa didn’t fully understand what had actually caused the volatile detonation in that moment—though he would figure out the exact mechanics of how Skills functioned in Mythara much later.
“Oh shit!” Noa blurted out, instantly recognizing the impending disaster as he spun on his heel and started running for his life toward the church exit.
“Protect the lord!” the remaining knights roared in panic, throwing their bodies forward to form a dense human wall around Duke Viremont.
---
KRAAAAAASH!!!
The parents holding their dying children in their arms, the quiet farmers working the distant fields, the young children playing together in the dirt—all of them watched from several miles away as the town church exploded.
Light reversed its direction across the horizon, the grand windows shattered outward like colossal wings made of glass, and the thick stone walls shattered and disintegrated. And with them, the corpses of the fallen became nothing but dust mid-air.
“W-what’s going on?!”
“The church—!”
“Not the church, my child! Someone help my child!”
---
“Huf-huff… heheh… I really am… pretty damn good at throwing swords…”
Noa lay flat on his back, half-buried under a heavy mound of smoking rubble. His body was covered in patches of severe burns, his skin torn and bleeding from the flying debris. His right arm was completely numb from the impact, and his left shoulder was cleanly dislocated.
“Uhhh…”
Forcing a painful grunt, he dragged his broken body upright, heavy chunks of stone falling from his shoulders as he forced himself to stand. He took one final breath as he surveyed the ruins around him, before disappearing into the rising screen of smoke just before the panicked villagers arrived.
…
Fuck… my head hurts.
The familiar wooden door to the small house he could actually call 'home' opened with a sharp, echoing creak, pushed open by his blood-soaked hand.
I hope I wasn’t late.
“Noa, you’re back!”
Hug!
Mara ran toward him the moment he crossed the threshold, throwing her arms around him as her eyes filled with unshed tears. The intense, radiating warmth of her embrace—standing in stark contrast to the freezing, unyielding iron he had been clutching—nearly caused his weak knees to buckle completely.
“Uh… Mom… I’ll really die if you keep squeezing me like that,” Noa muttered, squinting one eye in pain.
“Oh! Sorry!” Mara gasped, immediately letting go of him to inspect his horrific injuries with profound worry. “Are you okay?"
“Do I look like it?” Noa chuckled weakly, looking down at his trembling, bloodied hands.
“Haha~ I know you will be okay,” she murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead with a warm, comforting smile. “Because my son is really strong.”
“You’re back. I’ve been waiting.”
A new voice spoke from the corner of the room. It was calm, rhythmic, and refined—a voice that Noa didn’t recognize.
“Oh yeah, Noa, you have a visitor—”
“What about Lina?” Noa interrupted instantly, keeping his sister's survival as his top priority.
“She’s safe, don’t worry,” Mara reassured him, gesturing toward the side of the room where the guest sat. “Now about—Noa?”
She tried to introduce the newcomer and explain the situation, but the moment the confirmation of Lina’s safety registered in Noa's brain, his adrenaline suddenly bottomed out. His body went entirely limp, and he fell forward directly into his mother's hands.
Mara let out a soft, understanding sigh as she caught the passed-out teenager, her fingers gently cradling the back of his head as she lowered him to the floor.
…
Noa’s consciousness slowly drifted back into reality, and he heavily lifted his weighted eyelids.
Staring upward, he recognized the sight. It was the exact same wooden ceiling from four years ago, the same familiar pieces of furniture, the same scent of the burning wax candle, and the same familiar plush fabric of his bed beneath him.
“…You’re awake this early?”
“Huh?! Who the hell are you?!” Noa barked, instantly sitting upright.
He quickly looked down at himself; his shirt had been removed, and tightly wrapped bandages covered his wounds.
Sitting in a wooden chair right beside his bed was a woman who looked to be around Mara's age, possessing distinct, silken green hair and golden eyes. She wore a pristine white coat over a green long-sleeved blouse, the fabric clearly of an exquisite, high-grade quality completely foreign to a normal village.
“Did you… take my clothes off?” he asked, his brow furrowing in genuine uncertainty.
“That’s hardly the primary question here, now is it?” the woman replied, shaking her head with a light shrug. “Don’t worry. I didn’t do anything to you or with you.” She let out a small, teasing laugh at his reaction.
“How long was I out for?”
“For about forty minutes. Not long at all,” she answered, casually checking the face of her wristwatch. “Though… according to my experience, someone with that level of wounds is supposed to remain unconscious for at least three to four days. Let me check something.”
A watch? They have those things in this world as well? Noa thought, his mind racing. Wait… what the hell is she doing?
The woman reached out, her fingers gently loosening the bandage wrapped around the shoulder that had been sliced by the knight. As she peeled the fabric back, her eyes widened slightly. There was no wound left. The skin was flawlessly unbroken.
“This is… you regenerated this fast?”
“Get off me!” Noa snapped in irritation, swatting her hand away as he pulled back. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”
“Now that you're healed, let’s head downstairs first,” she said smoothly, rising from the chair and walking toward the bedroom door. “The princess is waiting for you. And put on a shirt first.”
Princess…? What now?
…
“Hey. How's your head?”
The exact same voice from downstairs echoed through the stairwell as Noa descended the steps. The moment the syllables hit his ears, he instantly recognized the accent and cadence—the speech patterns of a modern person from Earth.
He turned his gaze toward the dining table where the voice originated, and his breath caught.
A young woman around his own age, standing at a balanced height of about 175cm, sat casually on the simple wooden chair that stood in stark contrast to her royal aesthetic. Her legs were elegantly crossed as she sipped from a cup of tea that Mara had prepared for her.
Her silhouette was perfectly balanced—a slender, graceful waist flowing into natural curves that were neither fragile nor exaggerated, proportioned with a quiet, striking harmony. She possessed the kind of body that moved with effortless grace even when she was sitting completely still.
What the hell? Noa tilted his head, his eyes widening in appreciation. Wait! Her boobs… they're full but refined, not absurdly large, nor medium. Just the perfect size!
He thoroughly inspected the most critical visual details before their eyes finally locked.
Her shining white hair fell in long, silk-like sheets past her waist, with sharp bangs perfectly framing her facial features. She possessed piercing crimson eyes that held the dangerous amusement of a preying snake. Two distinct locks of hair descended elegantly from her temples.
She wore a stunning, high-collared halter dress crafted from a deep, rich black fabric. The dress was meticulously sculpted to her form, its sharp, severe silhouette defined by subtle crimson piping tracing the structural edges and an intricate, asymmetrical cut.
Her waist was elegantly framed by a crimson ribbon tied slightly off-center, one end falling longer than the other down her flank. It didn’t cinch tightly against her skin; rather, it guided the eye, adding a sense of fluid movement without disrupting the dress’s tailored control.
The black skirt of the dress was entirely asymmetrical, falling longer on one side with a deep slit that exposed her leg, while a softer, darker fabric was subtly layered beneath the opposing side, visible only when she shifted her weight. A thin crimson band defined her waist just above a central, silver filigree clasp.
The back of the dress opened daringly low, showcasing a stunning display of structured straps. An intricate lattice of slender crimson straps crossed and re-crossed in a precise, geometric web, creating a complex, harness-like design that seamlessly connected the high collar to her central back waist. The silver and red motif repeated here, integrating the straps over her hips.
Around her left upper arm rested a slim silver band, its metallic surface smooth and highly refined. Two delicate crimson chains extended from the metal, swaying faintly with her breathing. Her hands were bare, showcasing a delicate silver filigree bracelet resting on each wrist.
Noa crossed the room and sat down directly opposite her at the table. He looked down at her legs.
Sheer black thigh-high stockings followed the curve of her legs, topped by a fine, precise crimson edge. Her heels were sleek, sharp, and minimal in design, with thin crimson straps wrapping around her feet and ankles in deliberate lines.
As she noticed his glare, Noa instantly lifted his eyes to meet hers.
She wasn’t dressed for physical warfare, nor was she dressing like a conventional, stuffy royal. She carried herself like someone who had already entirely decided her future.
And Noa could confidently admit to himself:
Holy shit… she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, both on the internet and irl.
“Let me introduce myself first, Noa. I’m Vionette Crimvane, the princess of Crimvane,” she paused, a slow, knowing smile gracing her lips as her crimson eyes narrowed into half-lidded amusement. “…Or, you can also call me Han Seoyeon.”
Noa’s eyes widened, the confirmation of her Earth name instantly validating her modern tone. A transmigrator? But why the hell did she reveal that to me so easily?
“…I’m Noa Ra—”
“Noa Shinra,” she interrupted seamlessly. “I have a proposal for you.”
She knows my past name as well? Well, looks like someone did their homework before showing up. Noa let out a bitter smile.
“A proposal?”
“Yes. You were itching to actually enjoy your new life here, weren’t you? I can give you wealth, a recognizable position, and anything else you might need further down the line.” She raised her fingers one by one to count the terms, before pointing a final index finger directly at Noa's chest. “In return, I want you to fight for me and help me rebuild my kingdom.”
“If you’re a transmigrator, why are you trying to rebuild a fallen kingdom?” Noa asked, leaning back. “Can’t you just run away somewhere nice with the money and live comfortably?”
…'If I'm a transmigrator, can't I just live happily, huh?' This guy… Vionette let out a quiet, internal laugh at his predictable response.
“Because this wasn’t just a simple transmigration.” She looked down into her teacup, the amber liquid reflecting the faint, lingering image of a woman with long black hair. “When I got here, not only did I inherit Vionette’s memories, but I also absorbed her raw emotions, her ego, and everything else she possessed. Maybe… Han Seoyeon was always Vionette Crimvane, and I simply regained the pieces of my past life.”
Han Seoyeon was Vionette Crimvane’s past life? Noa tilted his head back slightly, processing the theory. Well, that’s just a guess on her part for now, but I can at least understand the psychological motivation for why she wants to rebuild her kingdom.
“But why should I trust you? And more importantly, I don’t want to work under anyone. I want my full freedom.”
“You still don’t understand, do you?” Vionette laughed softly, covering her lips with a delicate hand. “Turn visible. Target: Noa Shinra.”
The moment the command left her lips, a transparent blue window materialized out of thin air directly in front of Noa’s face. It was the exact same type of interface his old Earth classmates had described, the same system construct he had witnessed on the assessment device four years ago.
[A Match Made in Hell (Unique)]
• Two souls written within the same forbidden paragraph of fate. Born in different worlds, shaped by different scars, yet aligned by a design that even the infinite world cannot ignore. If trust is given willingly, a pact may be formed surpassing the level of the soul itself.
• Before pact creation: Detect and locate your destined soulmate.
• After pact creation:
– If one perishes, the other follows.
– Enables communication and perception regardless of range.
– Allows compatible skills to be shared.
– Switch places with each other for every 24h.
• Pacts created: 0/1
A Match Made in Hell? Wow, I actually like that title. Noa smirked, nodding slightly to himself as he read through the unique prompt. This is… getting really exciting.
“So that’s how you managed to track me down,” he muttered, his eyes scanning the floating text. “And you got a system too…”
“Judging by the look on your face, I assume the trust issue has been resolved?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Noa nodded, dismissing the window.
“Let me clear up your past misunderstandings and re-evaluate the terms then.” She rose elegantly from her wooden chair, her dress shifting smoothly with her movement. “I will give you enough wealth to purchase anything your heart desires. I will grant you a position high enough that you can break laws whenever you see fit. And I will provide you with allies you can actually trust with your back.”
She extended her bare hand toward him, distinct flames of amusement dancing deep within her crimson irises.
“I’m not asking you to become my follower, nor am I asking you to be my knight. I want you to become my partner. A partner of life.”
Brilliant sunlight cut sharply through the windowpane behind Vionette, the golden rays falling across Noa’s face. His brows lifted, his mouth parting slightly, and his heart was racing with a sudden, surging wave of pure excitement as he pushed himself up from the table.
He recognized those amused, chaotic flames in her eyes.
Slowly, he reached out and took her hand.
“You hold the sword, and I’ll hold the pen,” Vionette murmured, her voice carrying a weight that echoed in his mind like a divine oracle. “Let’s build a utopia together. But not one we merely rule—one we can actually enjoy.”
In that moment, she looked far more like what Noa could describe as an actual 'god' rather than a mere mortal human.
“…Now this is exactly what I’m talking about,” Noa muttered, a smirk playing over his lips.
[Pacts Created: 1/1]
Thus, here in Mythara, a new story of a duo capable of shaking the world began.
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