Power of Runes

Ash, who was already prepared to die, he who had accepted defeat for the very first time in his life, was completely stunned by the sudden appearance of a figure next to them.

That fragile hand—so thin and delicate that it almost seemed feminine—had effortlessly caught Dark Ash's descending hands.

And the moment that hand made contact, it was as if time itself had paused, for Dark Ash's hands completely froze in place, no longer moving an inch.

Ash, in his half-dazed state, actually thought the person who appeared was a woman, but that illusion shattered the moment he heard the voice.

It was definitely a man's voice, clear and composed, yet the tone it carried was unlike anything Ash had ever heard before.

It was soft, like a lullaby whispered across a quiet meadow, and yet it carried an undeniable authority that seeped directly into the soul. It was a voice that didn't scream or demand—but simply made you obey, not because it forced you, but because you wanted to listen.

There was something deeply forbidden in the tone, something that felt like it should not exist, and yet here it was—resonating inside Ash's chest. It had a strange and powerful charm within it, one that could enchant anyone who heard it, regardless of whether they were a man or a woman.

"Who knew it was me all along..."

Ash didn't understand what the man meant by those words, not at that moment, but he instinctively knew one thing—the unknown figure had saved him. That fact alone was more than enough.

This mysterious man wore a deep white robe that completely covered his body, reaching all the way down to the ground.

The robe looked heavy, but the way it moved made it seem light, like drifting feathers. Because his hand was still holding Dark Ash's, Ash was able to clearly see how fragile that hand was up close.

However, it wasn't the kind of fragile that looked sick or weak—it was fragile in a beautiful and noble sense. Like the hand of someone who had never been stained by the dirt of the world.