greed of another life : 1-3

In the boundless multiverse, there exist infinite worlds, each with its own laws, inhabitants, and destinies.

Sometimes, due to chance or someone's malicious will, beings find themselves in a world alien to them.

"Transmigration" is a common phenomenon in the multiverse.

However, everything changes when a universe already has an alternative version of the transmigrant. Since two identical entities cannot exist in the same universe, a "fusion" occurs in such cases — a process in which the memories, powers, and experiences of the transmigrant are transferred to their double in the destination world.

On a rather steep slope, far from the enormous city visible on the horizon — the Capital — a young man sat. His snow-white hair, reminiscent of fresh snowflakes, was tousled by a playful wind.

A bright orange scarf danced in the air currents, mirroring the golden glow of his eyes. The young man's face, despite its modesty, bore refined beauty. His name was Regulus Corneas.

"Ah, if only I could mess with her right now," Regulus lazily thought, smirking. "The main thing is to come up with a plan."

However, his peaceful mood was interrupted by sudden pain. The young man's eyes widened, and he clutched his head as vivid and strange images flashed through his mind.

Before him flickered his own face, though it appeared different: a prim young man in a dazzling white coat styled after ancient Greek fashion. All the memories of his alternative version from another world flooded his mind.

This other Regulus was not just an ordinary youth. He was an Archbishop of the Witch's Cult, embodying "Greed," over a hundred years old, and wielded the "Authority of Greed" — a power that made him terrifyingly invincible.

Among the other archbishops who inherited the witches' powers and factors, he was the most dangerous, the most twisted manifestation of greed.

His primary ability was "Lion's Heart" — a gift that allowed him to stop time for his own body.

In this state, he existed not in the present but in the past, becoming an anomaly untouched by any law of physics, should he so desire.

The wind didn't stir his clothes, water didn't wet his skin, and blows capable of obliterating entire cities left not even a speck of dust on him.

All of this was because Regulus, in effect, existed in the past; therefore, the present couldn't affect him.

He didn't need air, food, water — nothing. Time held no power over him; he didn't age, suffer, or change.

But his invulnerability was imperfect: using Lion's Heart was accompanied by unbearable pain.

He could endure it for no more than five seconds. Yet even this he circumvented — his cruelty knew no bounds. Regulus created "pseudo-hearts" — tiny hearts placed in the bodies of other people, connected to his own.

The heartbeat of these "hosts" kept his Lion's Heart in a constantly active state, allowing Regulus to feel no pain. At the same time, the hosts also felt no pain, because these weren't their primary hearts, and they might not even have known they were connected to him.

These people became his wives — more than fifty unfortunate women. He broke their wills, killing their families, wiping their settlements off the map. Eventually, they agreed to marriage, where even showing emotions was forbidden.

As long as all his wives were alive, Regulus remained invulnerable.

But it wasn't just his defense that made him a monster. His attacks were equally merciless. Lion's Heart had a second phase — "Temporal Immobility of Objects."

Unlike the first phase, where time was stopped for his body, here he froze time for external objects and could use them, ignoring any barriers.

Sand, turned into a frozen whirlwind, pierced enemies, turning them into a bloody mist. Water, air, metal — everything became a deadly weapon in his hands.

This alternative Regulus was absurdly greedy. His avarice defied comprehension.

He wanted everything — and he got everything, stopping at nothing, not even the slaughter of thousands. "If he grew bored of something, he destroyed it."

Any triviality, even a misplaced glance or an untimely word, could be a reason for brutal punishment.

A "conversation" with him wasn't a dialogue. It was Regulus's monologue, where he answered his own questions and then killed his interlocutor for "violating his rights."

"Any attempt to contradict or interrupt his speech was perceived as an insult of the highest order."

He was a man who would kill anyone for a stolen crumb of bread and call it the ultimate crime.

To take anything from him was to violate his law, his order, his greed.

Regulus Corneas sat on the slope, trying to calm his wildly beating heart. His hands were still trembling, and a deafening silence filled his mind, as if the world itself awaited his next words or actions.

"What the hell was that?" he exhaled, his words almost breaking. "Is that me? Or… not me?"

He stared at his palms, as if trying to find an answer to a question that refused to fit into his consciousness. Once again, images of his other self flashed before his eyes — the white coat, the gaze full of cold greed, and the horrifying power that made an entire world tremble.

Twenty seconds passed before his breathing steadied. Calm returned, but concern still lingered in Regulus's eyes.

"Another world… an alternative me… and these powers…" he murmured, shaking his head. "I always thought it was fairy tales, but how can you not believe now? Damn witches, Archbishops, a flat world… What a circus."

He couldn't help but smirk, though his smile came out nervous.

"Somebody pinch me."

With these words, Regulus took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cool air. Thoughts buzzed in his head one after another, but one especially stuck in his mind.

"What if that power became mine?" he thought, gazing at the horizon, where the majestic Capital loomed in the distance. "I could become… no, I would be a god. No one would be able to stop me."

This realization sent a chill down his spine. Inside, a strange feeling grew — a mixture of fear and excitement. Suddenly, Regulus extended his hand forward, aiming at a lone tree at the foot of the slope.

"What if I inherited not just the memories but also the powers?" the thought flickered in his mind. "You'll never know if you don't try."

His fingers twitched. He bent his middle finger under his thumb, ready to snap. But at the last moment, doubt crept into his soul.

What if he turned into the same monster as that other Regulus? What if this power consumed him, turning him into a merciless beast?

"Will I be able to keep myself?" he asked himself. "Can I use this power not to destroy everything and everyone?"

Before his inner gaze, the image of "sister" surfaced again. Her smile, her voice, her troll-like nature.

"No… I won't harm her," he decided firmly. "I won't let this power control me."

With these thoughts, he resolutely snapped his fingers.

A sharp, high-pitched sound, like the ringing of metal, echoed through the air. In the same instant, the space directly in front of him froze, touched by the snap of his fingers. The air hung unnaturally, suspended outside the flow of time. Regulus barely had a moment to register what was happening before the frozen air suddenly surged forward — straight toward the tree.

What happened next was nothing short of astonishing. The air, severed from time, moved with a speed 1,700 times faster than sound. It was as though the very fabric of space had been torn apart by its strike.

In the blink of an eye, the enormous tree, which had loomed like an unyielding giant moments before, was cleaved in two. The cut was unnervingly precise — smooth and flawless, as though the tree had been sliced by a razor-sharp blade.

With a thunderous crash, half of the tree collapsed to the ground, sending up a cloud of dust and leaves that danced chaotically in the aftermath.

Regulus stood frozen, his gaze fixed on the aftermath of his snap. His eyes widened, the golden hue within them gleaming even more brightly as the reality of what he had done began to sink in.

"W-what…" he whispered, his voice trembling. His chest felt tight, his emotions a tumult of disbelief, fear, and something dangerously close to exhilaration.

Slowly, he lowered his hand, his fingers still tingling faintly from the act. His gaze fell back on the destruction he had wrought. A single, haunting thought surfaced in his mind.

"And now what?"

He stared at the split tree, his mind racing.

"I'm part of the revolutionary army, just like 'sister.' But if they find out about this power… they'll make me their main weapon. And after the revolution, when the Empire falls… I'll be a threat to them. Too dangerous. They'll eliminate me to protect their new world."

His fists clenched tightly, a faint tremor running through his fingers.

"I have to keep this a secret," he thought with grim resolve. "From the revolutionaries, from the Empire… even from 'sister.' At least for now. Maybe someday I'll explain it to her. But not yet."

A surge of memories hit him like a storm. The faces of his comrades from their group — Oarburgh — rose in his mind, vivid and piercing.

"If I'd had this power back then…" he murmured bitterly, his voice barely audible. "If this Authority had awakened earlier… none of them would have died."

The thought sent a shudder through him. Of all that once was, only he and 'sister' remained.

"…Just me and 'sister,'" Regulus whispered, lifting his gaze toward the horizon. In the distance, the faint outline of the Capital loomed, bathed in the fading light of the setting sun.

Long shadows stretched across the slope as the world around him began to darken. The wind tugged at his orange scarf, a quiet reminder that time marched on, indifferent to the chaos that had just unfolded.

The world didn't know what had just happened. The world didn't know about the new power that had awakened within it.

But Regulus did.

He knew one thing with absolute certainty: he was now the strongest being alive. Neither the Empire, nor the revolutionary army, nor anyone else would ever learn the truth of who he was. This power was his to bear — his burden and his weapon.

And only he would decide how to use it.

Regulus walked along a narrow path winding between sparse bushes. The air was cool, but the troubling thoughts in his head burned much hotter than he would have liked. Finally, he reached a hidden door — a massive steel slab embedded in the rock and concealed by thick branches. At first glance, it was impossible to notice.

"Stepped out for a ten-minute smoke break, they said," he muttered under his breath, brushing the branches aside and deftly turning a concealed mechanism. "Didn't even manage to light the pipe before heading back..."

The door responded with a heavy metallic creak. The dim light inside the corridor welcomed him with the warmth of lamps casting soft reflections on the wooden walls. The floor was rough stone, pleasantly cool underfoot.

As soon as Regulus crossed the threshold, he closed the door behind him and exhaled, as if shedding a heavy burden.

"Well, back here again," he muttered, glancing around.

His voice was no louder than a whisper, but it echoed dully off the walls.

The soft light provided some relaxation, but his thoughts wouldn't let him rest. He moved forward unhurriedly, his steps growing louder with each passing moment in the empty corridor.

"Interesting…" a thought flared up in his mind, seeming to push out everything else. "Is anyone even capable of defeating me with these powers?"

His golden eyes narrowed slightly, and his brows twitched faintly. Running a hand along his chin, Regulus continued pondering as he delved deeper into the corridor.

"If we're being honest, that other version of me lost purely out of stupidity. Dragging his harem along? Seriously? Ridiculous. There are no restrictions on pseudo-hearts. You could leave the hosts on another planet, or hide them in the desert. But no, he had to bring his wives to that city, Priestella... and died. It's almost laughable how absurdly Reinhard van Astrea and that Natsuki Subaru managed to destroy him."

The corner of his lips twitched into a faint, almost sinister smile. But as soon as the thought solidified, Regulus's face returned to its usual cold, detached expression.

"Reinhard van Astrea, also known as the Sword Saint…" He paused, resting a hand on the wall. "He's a monster. Another league entirely. Divine Protections… can anyone even compete with that? I certainly won't find enemies of his caliber here."

His face grew dark, and his gaze stretched into the distance, as if trying to perceive an invisible foe.

"Those Divine Protections… It feels like that guy is just… immortal. Dodges the first strike? And the second? And infinitely more? Poisons, diseases, even… death? All of it's a joke to him. And his list of protections seems to grow with every mention. Damn it. He must have a way of creating them."

He squinted slightly, recalling scenes from another life. How that other Regulus, his alternate self, had tried to kill Reinhard by slicing him in half.

And how the red-haired knight, completely unfazed, returned to life, mockingly declaring that he had been "just a little dead."

Reinhard achieved this thanks to the Divine Protection of the Phoenix, which allowed him to return from death.

Regulus ran a hand over his face, as if trying to erase these memories.

"It's almost funny to think about. That Reinhard grows stronger with every little thing: clear weather, storms, a field of flowers, dawn, dusk, being unarmed, even his own bleeding… all of it gives him an advantage, all of it enhances him thanks to the Divine Protections. And his attacks… several Divine Protections work on them too. The first strike lands. The second strike lands. The third, the fourth… infinity. He always strikes before his opponent. The whole world seems to work for him. That's not power. That's farce. That's something… beyond comprehension."

He sighed, the corner of his eye twitching as the final moments of his alternative "self" once again flashed in his mind.

Those phrases. Those grotesque monologues that seemed like mockery.

"And he killed you, didn't he?" Regulus muttered aloud, speaking more to the ghosts of the past than to himself. His voice echoed hollowly in the empty corridor.

He immersed himself in the last minutes of the other Regulus's life...

It can't be! It can't be! It can't be! What's happening? I don't understand anything. Why should I have to suffer through this?! Who do you think I am?! I am the Archbishop of Sin, "Greed," Regulus Cornias. I am the most perfect! The most self-sufficient!

"My existence is absolutely unshakable, both physically and spiritually! So why should I have to endure all this?!"

What a mockery!

"This isn't a joke. How can all these people accept such absurd injustice as normal?! Have they lost their minds?!"

This guy, this girl, this knight… they got cocky just because I showed a bit of mercy! If I had fought seriously, they would have been torn apart from the very beginning! Did they really think it was their own strength?!

"I hate interacting with people precisely because of such ridiculous delusions, which they shamelessly flaunt!"

Annoying, irritating, angry, disgusting, pathetic fools!

"I've always managed perfectly well. For many years, decades, over a hundred years, I was the most powerful and strongest Archbishop of Sin."

When I was first chosen by the Witch Factor and received this power, I killed my drunkard father, my eternally whining mother, and those filthy brothers of mine who were always eyeing my share.

Then I dealt with the villagers who looked down on me, the townsfolk who trapped me in that miserable village, and the incompetent rulers of the country who allowed such villages and towns to exist.

"I destroyed them all, rid myself of all of them, and finally found my own path! I didn't need anything."

Everything was just irritating.

"I was perfect."

I had no flaws.

"I needed nothing."

Those pesky scum, I needed nothing from them. But if they gave me something, it meant that outsiders — you — considered me incomplete, pathetic, in need of sympathy! I destroyed anyone who imposed unnecessary things on me!

"This world should be left with only those who accept me, perfect as I am, without saying anything to me. Everyone keeps butting in with their advice, damn it! No one has the right to pity me!"

No one has the right to make me feel pathetic! I won't allow it! I need nothing, I ask for nothing! My worthless drunkard father, who occasionally brought home gifts — to hell with you, die!

My mother, who constantly whined and talked about her suffering, as if that wasn't obvious — to hell with you, die! My disgusting brothers, who ogled my share but shared their food when I overturned my plate — to hell with you, die!

Stop being kind to me, you bastards!

Being kind means looking down on me, seeing me as beneath you! Those who look down on others are garbage, and those who look down on their own family are subhuman beings who deserve nothing but contempt!

They deserve death!

"I'm not at fault! I'm not to blame for anything! It's you who are at fault!"

You, you, you make me... me... pathetic. You pity me and leave me alone! You should feel what it's like to be the most pathetic creature in the world!

"There should only be those around me who don't pity me! All the reasons for pitying me should vanish from this world! I hear laughter."

They're looking at me. They're laughing at me. What's so funny about me? What are they laughing at?! All these smirking, chatty nobodies with not a shred of power!

Why should I have to suffer like this because of them?! Don't stand in my way! Don't interfere with me! Don't pity me! I'm not pathetic — you are! Weak, ignorant, yet "greedy!"

You, who have to grovel your whole lives to fill the emptiness within, are the ones who deserve pity, the truly greedy ones! I'm different! I'm not like that!

"I don't need anything. I, who need nothing, am above you, inferior ones! Don't pity me! In truth, you envy me, you're jealous, you admire me, but you can't reach me, so you just try to save face!"

Isn't that right? It is, isn't it?

"Wait, wait, wait! Stop! Don't look at me! Don't say my name!"

Don't talk about me! Not good, not bad! Don't pay attention to me! Leave me alone! If everyone were self-sufficient, our hearts wouldn't be trampled on, so why are you trying to interact?

We can't understand each other! You and I are different people! Risking something for the sake of benefit is illogical, irrational, wrong!

"You're all insane!"

If you calm down, you'll understand. Everyone except me is raving in a fever! Desiring someone is pointless, futile, meaningless!

All these words that you parrot like fools — love, romance, friendship, trust — are illusions! Reproduction is a disgusting process! I don't understand it. Why do it?

Even if you call it beautiful words — spouse, child, family — they're still other beings! What do I care if they're alive or dead? If they're alive and I die, I cease to exist. If they die and I live, I continue to exist. Love and romance don't unite people. A person is fundamentally alone.

I chose wives just so I wouldn't stand out among these fools who value illusions. I picked beautiful women because being despised by others is stupid.

I chose only virgins because there's nothing dumber than being betrayed.

"What else do you want from me? Don't spout nonsense! You've limited me so much already, and you still demand more?! After all that?!"

After I've met you halfway so many times?! You still make demands of me?!

"What do I have to do to make you stop pitying me?! The most pathetic in the world?!"

"I don't deserve to be called that by this vulgar woman obsessed with base 'greed' and the desire to unite with her beloved!"

Reinhard van Astrea, the embodiment of might and ruthless justice, delivered a crushing blow to Regulus Cornias, the Archbishop of Greed.

The force of the strike sent Regulus's body soaring into the night sky, as though hurled by a mighty wind.

When the steel fist of the Sword Saint struck his body, Regulus activated his ability — Lion's Heart.

By halting the beating of his heart, he entered a state of absolute invulnerability.

But despite the strike causing him no direct harm, the consequences were palpable.

The pseudo-hearts were destroyed, and as a result, with each activation of the ability, he felt immense pain.

"Kkh… kh…" Regulus gasped, coughing as though expelling hatred instead of blood.

Pain tormented him, his vision blurred, and a single thought pulsated in his mind:

"This is a joke…"

He clenched his teeth in helpless frustration, trying to regain clarity, while his body, propelled by incredible speed, continued to soar above the city.

From above, he saw Priestella, its water canals and plazas. The city seemed like an enchanting illusion, but now it was only a crushing reminder for him.

Regulus remembered how his heart had once leapt with joy — when the Gospel of the Witch's Cult mentioned the opportunity to fill the vacancy of the "absent wife."

At the time, he had been pleased. But now, all of it seemed like dust, swept away in an instant.

"Ahhh!" his scream was cut short as another attack struck him from behind.

It was as though a giant invisible foot stomped down on him from above, pinning him in place.

His flight came to an abrupt halt, his body freezing in midair.

"If this were a fair duel…" a voice, calm yet laced with overwhelming power, echoed. Regulus recognized that voice instantly. "I would have sheathed my sword as soon as my opponent lost the will to fight."

It was Reinhard. His curse. His death.

"You damn monster!" Regulus croaked, his words choked by fear and rage.

"Yes, perhaps," Reinhard replied calmly. "I am a monster who hunts monsters. And your time has come."

Reinhard lowered his hand like a sword directly toward the center of Regulus's back.

The strike, like a mark of retribution, sent his body hurtling downward, crashing into the ground with the force of a meteor.

Regulus, like a fragment of a shattered star, smashed through the pavement, breaking stone, soil, and rock.

His fall turned into a frenzied drilling; the earth tore itself apart before his body.

Deeper. Deeper.

As though the earth itself refused to hold him. And suddenly, an impenetrable, all-consuming terror seized Regulus.

"What if the earth has an end? What if I break through every last layer and find myself beyond the world? The Great Waterfall, where the waters fall endlessly… That's the end."

"No…" his breath faltered.

When he released the ability, his previously halted heart began to beat again, and the laws of physics returned with unrelenting force.

"G-ghah!" he choked on blood and dirt as his mangled body continued to tear through the earth.

Bones were shattered, internal organs turned into pulp.

His once-snow-white hair became a filthy mess, matted with blood.

His skin tore, muscles twisted outward.

The most horrifying part was that, even in this state, he remained alive.

His consciousness clung to life like a cornered beast.

"Just don't you dare… don't you dare rejoice… in my death, Emilia," he thought, gritting his teeth.

The thought of the one he despised celebrating his demise filled him with a revulsion akin to the agony tormenting his body.

Mud and stones filled his mouth, and he choked. In a panic, he activated Lion's Heart again to avoid death.

But it only delayed the inevitable. He choked.

Activated Lion's Heart again.

Choked.

And activated it once more.

Regulus opened his mouth. Water and dirt gushed in. As they filled his lungs and insides, Regulus screamed. A silent scream.

"Damn it," flitted through his dying consciousness as his lungs filled with mud and water.

He realized that no one would remember him except as a terrifying nightmare. No one would mourn him, no one would grieve. Even the memories of him as a nightmare would soon fade away.

Loneliness and hatred were his only companions.

Regulus Corneas, who had smashed through the pavement and disappeared underground.

Water from the city's plumbing system poured into the grave he had dug for himself. No one knew how deep he had gone.

But considering the limits of his ability, he likely didn't pass through the earth and emerge on the other side.

Most likely, somewhere deep underground, his ability deactivated, and he was crushed. Even if he wasn't crushed, the water would ensure he never surfaced.

The villain, drunk on his power, drowned in response to the destruction of the city.

Even those who should have sought vengeance against him immediately forgot about his existence.

"A truly horrific death for a truly horrible person," Regulus thought, staring into the void. "And yet… that wasn't me. A completely different person. Personality is determined by memories, and he and I have walked different paths, harbored different thoughts. Even if we were born as the same person, our lives were entirely different."

He slowly ran his hand along his chin, as if evaluating his own thoughts.

"This truth is even confirmed by the Archbishop of Gluttony," the thought crossed his mind. "His Witch Factor allowed him to erase people's memories… and their names. When a name disappeared, the person remained alive, and their memories stayed intact… but people's memories of them vanished. Even objects associated with them, like letters and belongings, would disappear. But if he consumed their memories, people remembered the person, but that person became a blank slate, losing the essence of who they were, losing their memories…"

Taking a deep breath, Regulus stepped forward, nearing the conference hall door.

Suddenly, the face of Natsuki Subaru — the boy who had stood alongside Reinhard at that fateful moment — came to mind.

"A truly strange guy," he noted with a crooked grin. "Unremarkable. No power, no fame, no extraordinary authority… only the Authority of Sloth, which he gained by killing the Archbishop of Sloth. And even his authority was much weaker than that of that fanatic, Petelgeuse Romanee-Conti."

Regulus closed his eyes, recalling.

"His Invisible Hand…" he continued to muse. "So weak compared to Petelgeuse's. It could turn intangible, but he could summon only one hand, and even using it caused him pain… since he wasn't compatible. He wasn't slothful. Petelgeuse probably went insane because of incompatibility, since he wasn't lazy either — he was always busy, the most hardworking Archbishop in the entire cult. And yet, even with that pathetic gift, this youth managed to unravel the secret of Lion's Heart. He paved the way for Reinhard's fatal strike… though, if you think about it, he only used it at the end."

The corners of Regulus's lips twitched in a faint smile.

"I suppose I should thank him. If not for him, the filthy, exhausted Reinhard would have likely left the battlefield, admitting he couldn't kill me. He would have focused on evacuating the city, leaving me alone. And then…" Regulus touched his chest, where his heart beat. "I wouldn't have received the Authority of Greed. Wouldn't have gained the memories and power of that Regulus."

Regulus pushed the door open deliberately and entered the hall. His face remained unreadable, but irritation flickered somewhere deep inside him.

Around the large table sat five others, but his gaze immediately fell on one of them — Mirzam.

A young girl of about eighteen or nineteen, her perfectly trimmed black hair framed her face beautifully. One of her eyes was a bright pink color, while the other was concealed beneath an elegant patch. Even her eyebrows matched the pink hue of her visible eye, lending her a peculiar, refined charm.

She wore a white shirt under a black blazer, with a pink plaid tie and a short skirt to match. Her playful, slightly provocative image was completed by her smirk and narrowed eyes.

"Oh, so you've finally deigned to return!" Her voice, dripping with mockery, struck his ears even before he could take his seat. Mirzam crossed her arms over her chest, as if to emphasize that he owed her an explanation, and leaned forward slightly, as though studying him. "You know, your smoke break seemed suspiciously long. Don't you think? You usually smoke for five minutes tops, but you were gone for ten this time!"

A light blush colored her cheeks, but instead of stopping there, she grew even more animated, wiping away an imaginary tear with a theatrical gesture.

"Or maybe… you weren't smoking at all?" Her eyes suddenly widened, her voice trembling as though she had uncovered the mystery of the century. "Were you, perhaps, entertaining some beauty? How scandalous!" She leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. "Come on, spill it. What was her size? Bust, hips, maybe waist?" She suddenly straightened up, pressing a hand to her mouth. "You pervert!"

She froze in anticipation, clearly enjoying the confusion on his face, like a predator circling its prey.

"Well?!" Mirzam finally grinned.

"I'm waiting for a detailed description," she added.

Regulus exhaled deeply, his expression a mix of exhaustion and restraint, while the corners of his lips barely twitched into a smile.

He knew these antics of hers inside and out. Mirzam was a master of teasing innuendo — the moment he was late by even a few minutes, she'd start playing detective, accusing him of spending time with some woman.

Sometimes, her intonations were so skillfully crafted that even Regulus, who was well-acquainted with her habits, would momentarily wonder: was this a joke or a veiled accusation?

"Yeah, sure," he sighed, waving her off without even looking at her, and sank into a chair. "Managed to satisfy five gorgeous ladies on the run."

"You scoundrel!" she exclaimed with feigned shock, covering her mouth theatrically and leaning back as if the revelation had struck her like lightning. "At least take me along next time, idiot!"

She shot him a sly glance from beneath her lashes, as if testing his reaction.

"Right, right," Regulus muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose, though the corners of his lips twitched again. "Next time, I'll bring you along to give advice."

"Deal!" Mirzam grinned, winking.

Regulus turned his head to the right, where Chelsea sat. Her long, light-red hair fell softly over her shoulders, her pink eyes sparkling mischievously, and on her head sat accessories resembling full-sized wireless headphones.

Her appearance was especially provocative, even compared to Mirzam.

She wore a long-sleeved white shirt with a collar tied with a red ribbon, over which she had a black vest. Her outfit was completed by a plaid skirt and black leather boots that stopped just below the knee.

A lollipop in her mouth served as her signature accessory. She lazily pulled it out just long enough to speak:

"Oh dear, it looks like our Reg isn't doing so hot," she said with a smirk, gesturing toward him. "Are you okay? You look... tired, or maybe you smoked too much."

Regulus exhaled heavily, glancing at her.

Chelsea was the one he called "sister." Of course, she wasn't a biological sister, nor even an adoptive one.

They had met in the Oarburg clan and bonded over their similarities.

At some point, Regulus decided to call her his "sister."

She possessed an ability granted by her Teigu: the power to transform into any living creature. Chelsea could become anything — from a tiny bird to Regulus himself. But that wasn't all.

She was an incredible actor, so talented that she could perfectly mimic not only someone's appearance but also their behavior, mannerisms, and personality.

Regulus, naturally, was also a skilled actor; he had a talent for playing any role, from an innocent boy to a cold-blooded killer, depending on the situation. This shared trait brought them closer.

"Why do I look bad? I'm fine," he grumbled. "You're like Capella on a budget," he muttered almost inaudibly.

"What did you just say?" Chelsea turned sharply toward him, though her tone was more lazy than threatening.

"Nothing, nothing…" Regulus waved her off, turning his head away.

The red-haired girl gave him a puzzled look before turning away, settling into a more comfortable position.

The thought of Capella Emerada Lugunica, the Archbishop of Lust, flickered through his mind for a moment. Her Authority granted her a horrifying ability.

She could alter her body in any way: growing wings, transforming into a dragon, changing her shape at will. Her regeneration was so powerful that even a crushed heart and severed head couldn't kill her.

But the most terrifying thing was her ability to transform other people. With a single touch, she turned them into giant insects, animals, or — worst of all — formless lumps of flesh.

These creatures remained alive, fully retaining their consciousness, which made their existence a never-ending nightmare.

Potentially, her abilities could heal the most severe injuries and diseases, free people from addiction to tobacco, alcohol, or even drugs, and even regrow limbs.

But she never used them for benevolent purposes. Her satisfaction came solely from the suffering of others.

Regulus couldn't help but recall how his alternate self, alongside Capella, had obliterated some noble's convoy from the kingdom of Lugunica.

In the inky darkness of the forest, where only faint moonlight broke through the canopy, a convoy of carriages and wagons sped down winding roads, as if fate itself was urging them forward.

The forest trembled with the growls of their unusual "horses"—creatures resembling dragons, known as ground dragons. They were roughly the size of a horse, but far more impressive.

These creatures were humanity's pride, able to run faster and tire less than any horse, ripping through the terrain at speeds exceeding a hundred kilometers per hour.

But their sprint came to an abrupt halt. Standing in the convoy's path, as though emerging from the luminous shadows, was a man who seemed to embody the color white.

His figure was eerily serene, his hair gleaming with moonlit whiteness, and his half-lidded eyes radiated something that sent a chill through the soul.

"What the hell?!" raced through the mind of the lead driver, but the words never left his lips.

He reached for the reins, attempting to halt the dragons, but it was too late. The man made only a slight movement, narrowing his brow, and the world around the driver exploded into chaos.

His heart froze, then fell silent forever.

With tremendous force, an invisible strike tore through the air, scattering the convoy like toy constructions. The piercing screech of metal, the groans of men, and the terrified roars of dragons filled the forest.

In an instant, only one carriage and a lone wagon remained intact. All others had been obliterated, their occupants torn to shreds, their dragons reduced to lifeless heaps.

He had done all this with nothing more than a furrowed brow.

The surviving guards leapt from the wagon. Swords and bows trembled in their hands as the air thickened with terror.

The men cautiously advanced toward the immobile stranger.

"Who the hell are you?" One guard's voice cracked but retained a shred of defiance.

The man slowly opened his eyes. There was no anger, no joy—only cold disdain for human insignificance. His lips twisted into a faint smile.

"Ah, I see your confusion," his voice was calm, almost lazy. Hands clasped behind his back, his posture was relaxed, yet he exuded a pressure so immense it felt as though nature itself was bowing before him. "You have no idea who I am. But I know exactly who you are. Guards of that vile bureaucrat Ankeria, aren't you?" His gaze suddenly flared with fire. "How impolite to demand someone's name without introducing yourselves! That, you see, is a violation of my rights!"

He barely shifted his stance, and the stone beneath his foot vanished. In the same instant, the head of the guard who had spoken exploded into a gruesome spray of blood. The others froze in terror, their hands trembling, their hearts nearly stopping.

"What the hell is going on?!" a bowman gasped.

Suddenly, laughter erupted from somewhere behind the man—a light, ringing sound that echoed like a song but brimmed with madness. From the shadows of the trees emerged a girl.

She was petite, with golden hair adorned by a crimson rose.

Her outfit was provocative and almost mocking: a violet bikini top, short black shorts, and stockings. She appeared both innocent and monstrous at once.

"So much pathetic meat here," she sang with a chilling grin, fixing her gaze on the surviving guards. "I am Capella Emerada Lugunica, Archbishop of Sin, embodying Lust!"

The guards froze. Her name struck them like a bolt of lightning, shattering the tense silence.

"Lugunica?" someone whispered.

It couldn't be. Lugunica was the surname of the royal family, long erased from history.

"And I," came the man's voice, "am the Archbishop of Sin, embodying Greed. Regulus Cornias."

The men's eyes widened in horror. Two Archbishops? In one place? It was impossible. It was…

"You're kidding me!" the bowman shouted, drawing his string in desperation.

He loosed an arrow at Regulus. It struck his forehead.

However, as soon as the arrow's tip touched Regulus, it vanished—disintegrated as if it had never existed. The remaining shaft fell harmlessly to the ground.

Lion's Heart has two states: in one, Regulus can be touched without consequences, while in the other, any contact with him results in annihilation.

When his body is in the first state, any contact immediately freezes time for that object, preventing destruction. But when in the second state, touching him causes objects to be erased as if ripped from the fabric of reality.

Regulus's hand moved almost imperceptibly, and two guards collapsed: one was split cleanly in half, while the other's calves were shredded into ribbons.

Capella cackled gleefully. Her arm transformed into a monstrous claw covered in black fur. With the ease of a predator, she tore through the remaining soldiers, swinging the claw as if playing.

"You're all so pathetic… Just sacks of meat," her voice was soft, but the madness within it silenced even the forest. "All boys are fools, girls are whores, and humanity is a complete joke."

She crouched over a wounded soldier, her voice turning syrupy yet somehow even more terrifying.

"Tell me, do you love someone? Is there someone precious to you? Or have you just been jerking off to your dreams?" She laughed louder. "But you know, that's not love! Would you still love her if I turned her into a fly? No? Then it's just dirty lust!"

Capella bit into her own wrist, and purple blood began to flow. She allowed the drops to seep into the soldier's wound. The man screamed in agony, writhing on the ground.

His veins turned black.

"Let's see what I can turn you into," she said softly, smiling. "You'll become a fly…" She dragged out the words, pausing between syllables. "A fly!"

Regulus sighed heavily, slumping slightly as he sank deeper into his thoughts.

"Although that comparison is a bit crude. Capella's abilities and Chelsea's Teigu give their users completely different capabilities," he muttered to himself, reconsidering his earlier words. "But who cares? Calling her 'Capella Lite' is still amusing. Nobody knows who she really is anyway."

He tapped his fingers against the table lightly, as though the sound might ground him in reality.

"Hey, is everyone gathered already, or am I supposed to sit here like a fool waiting for you all to acknowledge this blonde guy?" a sharp, irritated voice rang out.

The voice was female, so cutting it seemed to tear through the atmosphere.

Regulus flinched at the unexpected sound and turned toward the speaker.

He immediately noticed her—the woman with long pink hair, which contrasted sharply with her stern gaze.

Her bright pink eyes drilled into the room with cold confidence.

She was tall—taller than the Archbishop himself—which added an air of majesty to her, despite her blunt demeanor.

She wore form-fitting clothes that accentuated her figure far too well. Regulus couldn't help but notice how she sat, her legs stretched out, her skintight black pants and boots emphasizing every curve.

His gaze lingered briefly on her ample chest, but as soon as he realized, he quickly looked away.

Her name was Difda. She sat with an air of arrogance, as though ready to punish anyone for the slightest disrespect at any moment.

Behind her rested a massive scythe, the kind of weapon she always carried with her.

"Can't control those filthy thoughts of yours again, huh?" Mirzam teased with a sly smirk, narrowing her eyes.

Her tone seemed playful, but there was a subtle undertone of tension that immediately drew attention.

Difda instantly tensed, her eyes narrowing further, and the veins on her temple began to throb as her inner irritation became visible.

"Calm down, Difda," came a calm, confident male voice, its tone so assured that it left no room for doubt.

Regulus turned his gaze toward the person who had spoken—the leader of their group. The man sat at the center of the table.

He looked young, yet his composed posture radiated a maturity that could only come from experiencing countless conflicts. His presence was steady, unshakable, as if no external force could rattle him.

His attire was simple but immaculate—black boots, gray trousers with a black belt, and a black sweater under a beige coat. The only striking detail was a large green bow tied at his neck.

His hair was brown, slightly messy, with locks sticking out in different directions.

His eyes were deep and green, like a lush forest, observing everything around him with a thoughtful, almost analytical gaze.

This man was Nemus. He was the leader of their team, and the team bore the name "Hyades."

Difda let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she reluctantly complied with his authority.

The woman continued to sit with an air of arrogance, her legs still stretched out across the table, defying all principles of proper etiquette. It was as though she knew her position in the group wasn't in question, regardless of her behavior.

"Would be nice to just lie on the couch and read manga right now," Mirzam thought, the idea flashing briefly through her mind.

The Hyades were an elite team of assassins, part of the Revolutionary Army.

Their mission was simple: to eliminate those whose existence interfered with the Army's plans — officials, spies, and minor military commanders.

Their targets usually had little security or sometimes traveled entirely unguarded, confident in their own safety.

The Hyades were masters of stealth. Most of their operations went unnoticed.

However, exceptions happened, and when they did, the Empire witnessed chaos in their wake.

Five assassins, like shadows, were both weapons and warnings to the enemies of the revolution.

Regulus and Chelsea sat directly on the soft, fluffy carpet in the living room, which warmly cushioned their legs.

In front of them stood a chessboard, its pieces already placed in position.

Time seemed to flow slowly, though not for Chelsea — her discontent was evident in every movement.

"This Nimbus is so annoyyying," she drawled dramatically, moving her rook. Her tone, full of mock suffering, hinted at the dread of a long, miserable day. "He's making me do all this paperwork again! So irrritating…"

Regulus stared at the board, but his gaze was unfocused, as if the chess pieces had dissolved into his thoughts.

"Uh-huh," he muttered absentmindedly, not lifting his eyes from his musings.

Chelsea frowned, her irritation becoming more obvious.

"What are you daydreaming about?!" she snapped, slapping the floor with her palm. "I'm complaining here, and all you can say is 'uh-huh'?! You could at least pretend to care, you know!"

Regulus lifted his head, his golden eyes meeting her annoyed gaze. He scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

"Ah, sorry," he said with a slight smirk. "Well, good luck, sis." The corners of his mouth twitched in a lazy smile, one that seemed more amused than sincere.

Chelsea huffed, her fiery red hair swaying slightly as she moved a pawn forward with deliberate annoyance.

"You're such a great supporter," she grumbled, glaring at the board as if she were trying to shatter it with her gaze.

On a nearby couch, leaning against the cushions, lay Mirzam. Her black hair spilled over her shoulders as she held a manga in her hands.

She was slowly flipping through the pages, as if completely unbothered by the events unfolding in the room. But suddenly, she looked up from her reading to chime in:

"Oh, come on, writing reports for a couple of hours isn't the end of the world," she said with a wide grin, as if Chelsea's frustration couldn't be less important to her.

Chelsea turned sharply toward her, her eyes flashing with irritation.

"If you were in my place, you'd just collapse and sleep immediately!" she retorted, pointing an accusatory finger at Mirzam. "And anyway, you haven't done your paperwork for a whole month!"

Mirzam didn't bother to argue. She just smiled even wider, placed her manga on the table, and stretched lazily, like a cat basking in the sunlight.

"You're probably right," she agreed nonchalantly. "That's why I prefer relaxing."

With that, she practically melted into the couch, like a queen fully content with her philosophy of life. Chelsea let out a loud sigh, her irritation now reaching its peak.

"You're absolutely useless, just lying there and spouting nonsense," she muttered, though Mirzam was already back in her manga world, paying no attention.

Regulus made his final chess move, pausing theatrically before announcing:

"Checkmate."

His voice was calm, but there was a clear note of triumph in it.

Chelsea froze, staring at the board, and finally, realizing her defeat, let out a dramatic sigh and collapsed onto the chessboard. Her head knocked over several pieces, which landed with soft thuds on the plush carpet.

"Great, I lost again…" she groaned, burying her face into the board as if there was no point in resisting fate any longer.

The bishop couldn't hold back a small smile — not a kind one, but more smug and self-satisfied. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, and declared with a tone of arrogant finality:

"You'd need a hundred years of practice to beat me."

His voice was dripping with so much vanity that Chelsea felt not just defeated, but humiliated.

"You're so cruel," she muttered, sitting up from the board. Her red hair was slightly messy, and there was a hint of wounded pride in her voice. "You could at least compliment me…"

Regulus just chuckled, looking down at her, though there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

"For what? Surviving a whole ten moves?"

Chelsea scoffed and grabbed one of the pawns still on the board, hurling it at Regulus as she said:

"Take that! Learn how to be a gracious winner!"

Regulus laughed, dodging the makeshift projectile with ease. The atmosphere in the room instantly softened.

"If you think about it, under Lion's Heart, I really do resemble the undead," Regulus mused, lowering his gaze to his hands. "My body, when this ability is active, is frozen in time… I don't need food, water, or air. Even sleep and exhaustion don't touch me. My heart doesn't beat, and every process in my body is simply stopped," he thought, his expression distant.

"If I applied time stasis to another person, they'd become the same. Invulnerable. But to do that, I'd have to hold them in my arms constantly… and that's impossible with the wives. Their hearts need to beat — that's the essential condition for me to remain invincible. Ugh, how inconvenient…"

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door opening. Lazily, almost as if against her will, Difda pushed it open. Her long pink hair swayed slightly with every step, and as always, her enormous scythe was visible behind her back.

"Hey, blond idiot," she said sharply as soon as she spotted Regulus. Her voice was laced with irritation, as if she were already tired of dealing with him. "Let's go. Nimbus told us to head to the Capital — we're out of supplies."

Regulus let out a deep breath, followed by a heavy sigh, making it abundantly clear that his mood wasn't any better. He rose from the carpet, not bothering to hide his boredom, and reluctantly followed Difda out the door.

Mirzam, who had been peacefully lounging on the couch with her manga, watched the pair leave with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"She does have a great figure," Mirzam thought to herself, her gaze sliding over Difda's silhouette: the elegant curves of her hips, her slender waist, and the fullness of her bust. Almost unconsciously, Mirzam glanced down at her own chest.

"I wish I had a body like that…"

Her thoughts were interrupted by Chelsea's mocking voice.

"Thinking of more pervy jokes, are you?" Chelsea teased from a distance, lazily sucking on a lollipop.

Mirzam reluctantly tore her eyes from her manga and looked at Chelsea with an expression of disinterest.

"Nope. Just reading," she replied coldly, as if the very idea of explaining herself was exhausting.

Chelsea, however, clearly wasn't going to let her off the hook so easily. A playful smile spread across her face as she abruptly snatched the manga from Mirzam's hands.

"Let's see what you're reading," Chelsea said with a hint of cheekiness, flipping through the pages slowly. Her expression turned to surprise for a brief moment. "Romance? So, you're into romance, huh?"

Chelsea froze, staring at the manga's cover, then let out an exaggerated sigh of disappointment.

"And here I thought you were reading porn," she declared with mock gravity, as if her wildest expectations had just been crushed.

Mirzam instantly turned bright red. Her usually calm and unflappable face was now glowing with embarrassment. Before she could gather her thoughts, she leapt up, rushing toward Chelsea to snatch the manga back.

"Hey! Give that back… and don't you dare tell anyone!" Mirzam exclaimed, her voice trembling with a mix of irritation and shame.

But Chelsea, as if anticipating the attack, stepped back nimbly. Her movements were quick and precise, like someone who had spent a lifetime avoiding this very situation. Her smirk widened, and her eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Sure, sure, of course," she replied with a mocking tone, nodding sarcastically. "I won't tell anyone… maybe."

Her teasing tone only fueled Mirzam's frustration. The red on her cheeks deepened, and though she was naturally reserved, she couldn't hide her flustered reaction.

Mirzam, who was usually quick with dirty jokes and unbothered by anything, suddenly seemed completely out of her depth when it came to romance. Chelsea knew this weakness well and loved to exploit it.

"You're impossible!" Mirzam shouted, clenching her fists as if preparing for another attempt to grab the manga.

Chelsea, meanwhile, took another step back, narrowing her eyes like a tiger playing with its prey.

"Chelsea, you're the worst!" Mirzam yelled, her voice trembling with anger.

But the redhead only giggled, clearly enjoying the moment.

"Relax, I won't tell anyone," Chelsea finally said, waving the manga teasingly in front of her friend's face. "But only because I'm feeling generous."

Mirzam shot her a glare, full of silent promises of revenge, but didn't reply. She knew arguing further was pointless, though she silently vowed to get even for this humiliation.

Regulus and Difda exited the dark underground corridor of the Hyades' base. As soon as they stepped through the heavy metal door, they felt the stark contrast: the cool, damp air was replaced by the fresh crispness of the night.

The moonlight bathed the deserted road ahead of them, illuminating every stone and speck of dirt under their feet.

This time, Difda wasn't carrying her massive scythe on her back. She had left it in the armory, deciding it was unnecessary for this task.

But the absence of her weapon didn't diminish her intimidating presence in the slightest.

After walking about a kilometer along the deserted road, flanked by the ominous shadows of trees, they finally reached a wagon.

The horses shifted impatiently, their breath forming small clouds of mist in the chilly night air.

A middle-aged man sat on the driver's bench, his face weathered and his clothing carrying the scent of leather and hay. He looked up at the approaching pair.

"Where to?" he asked in a hoarse but calm voice.

Difda, taking her time, pulled a pack of cigarettes from her inner pocket.

Pausing deliberately, she took one out, struck her lighter, and took a long drag.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as the smoky warmth tickled her throat.

"The Capital," she said shortly, exhaling a puff of smoke that the night wind immediately whisked away.

Regulus didn't even bother to engage in their conversation. He climbed into the wagon without a word, sprawling across the bench inside.

Pulling his long scarf from his neck, he draped it over his face and muttered with lazy indifference:

"Wake me if something happens."

Difda smirked slightly, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, but said nothing. She was already used to his attitude, as if the entire world were beneath his notice.

As the wagon began to move, its wooden wheels creaked, and the horses clopped rhythmically along the road.

The sounds of the journey blended with the rustling of wind through the trees.

Difda gazed into the darkness ahead, silently smoking, while Regulus was already on the verge of sleep, his breathing slow and steady.

The wagon slowed and then came to a stop, its wheels creaking softly against the stone-paved road. The Capital greeted them with a bustling noise — voices, the clatter of hooves, and the distant hum of a marketplace. The air was thick with a medley of scents: warm pastries, smoke from forges, and a faint trace of dampness.

Difda was the first to jump off the wagon, shaking off the weariness of the long journey. She looked around briefly and noticed Regulus still lying motionless on the bench. With an exasperated sigh, she rolled her eyes.

"Earth to Regulus. I repeat, Earth to Regulus," she called mockingly, leaning over and shaking his shoulder.

Regulus responded with a barely coherent mumble, pulling the edge of his scarf down slightly:

"Mmm… five more minutes…"

His voice was so drowsy and indifferent that Difda visibly bristled with irritation. She let out a heavy sigh, filled with clear frustration.

"What do you mean, 'five more minutes'?" she said loudly, almost shouting. "You've already been asleep for twenty! Get up, you lazy bum!"

As always, her words had no effect on the Archbishop of Greed. He remained sprawled across the bench, as if the entire world existed solely for his comfort.

Realizing that words were useless, Difda frowned. Her patience was at its breaking point. She confidently placed one foot on the edge of the wagon.

"That's it. I've had enough."

Without giving him a chance to protest, she swiftly raised her foot and brought it down, firmly planting her boot into Regulus's solar plexus. The strike was quick and precise, forcing a groan from him.

"Ugh… wh-why…" Regulus exhaled painfully, clutching his stomach and opening his eyes wide.

"For pissing me off," Difda said with icy calm, withdrawing her foot and casually fixing her hair as if nothing had happened.

The Archbishop slowly sat up, rubbing the sore spot and looking at her with genuine reproach.

"You could have just called me, you know? Gently, softly… like a sister," he grumbled, coughing lightly.

"Gently?" Difda repeated with a smirk, crossing her arms over her chest. "That *was* the gentle option. Don't make me resort to more drastic measures."

Regulus realized it was pointless to argue with her. He simply sighed, adjusted his scarf, and climbed out of the wagon, stretching his shoulders and sleepily surveying the Capital.

"Listen, Difda, I don't have any money… how am I supposed to buy you supplies?" Regulus said lazily, looking at her with an innocent expression. His golden eyes gleamed mischievously, as if he already knew how things would turn out.

Difda snorted, clearly unimpressed. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a few gold coins and tossed them in his direction without a word.

The coins glinted in the sunlight as Regulus deftly caught them midair. He smiled contentedly, inspecting the coins to ensure the amount was sufficient, before tucking them into the pocket of his baggy black pants.

"Thanks," he said with a slight nod.

But before he could turn away, her voice cut through the air, cold and threatening:

"If I find out you spent even one of those on yourself…" she said, pausing for effect and narrowing her pink eyes. "You're dead."

Her face bore an expression that would send chills down the spine of any sane person.

Regulus tensed, feeling a bead of sweat roll down his forehead. He raised his hands in mock surrender, his smile turning nervous as if trying to appease her for a crime he hadn't yet committed.

"Easy, easy, calm down," he said hastily. "I'm not going to buy anything for myself. Only supplies for our wonderful team," he added, as though trying to butter her up.

Difda crossed her arms over her chest, lifting her chin slightly and squinting even harder.

"I am perfectly calm," she retorted coldly. "Just consider this a warning."

Regulus shook his head slightly, silently reminding himself that arguing with her was futile.

"All right, all right, I got it," he muttered before turning away. But beneath his scarf, a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

After parting ways, the two went about their tasks. Difda headed toward the butcher's shop, her steps brisk and confident, as sharp and determined as her personality.

Meanwhile, Regulus strolled lazily toward the vegetable stalls.

"Vegetables, bread, sugar, salt…" he muttered to himself, yawning and scratching the back of his head. His gaze wandered over the market stalls, while his thoughts drifted. "I could use one of those coins for a pastry… just for the energy needed for the team, of course…"

But he quickly dismissed the thought, remembering Difda's warning and the threatening look in her eyes.

Having bought everything he needed and stuffed two bags to the brim, Regulus slowly exited the shop onto the bustling streets of the Capital.

He took a few deep breaths, enjoying the fresh outdoor air after the stuffy interior of the store. Rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension from carrying the heavy bags, his gaze wandered to a dark alley nearby.

From the first glance, it was clear the place promised nothing good: poorly lit, narrow, and seemingly designed for shady dealings.

"Hm. The most suspicious alley in the world," Regulus thought, narrowing his eyes. "Might as well test my abilities. A little practice wouldn't hurt."

With this in mind, he casually made his way toward the alley. With each step, the noise of the street seemed to fade, replaced by an eerie silence.

"As expected," he mused as two figures emerged from the shadows in front of him.

They were hulking brutes.

One had a buzz cut, muscular arms, and a knife that he lazily twirled in his hand.

The other held a pistol with practiced confidence, as though threatening people had become second nature to him. Both men were not only taller than Regulus but visibly more massive.

"Well, well, fresh cabbage just rolled in," the first one sneered, baring yellow teeth in the dim light as he cracked his neck and stepped forward.

"The night just got more exciting," added the second, glaring at Regulus with a heavy gaze. He nodded toward the bags in his hands. "Mind sharing your groceries, citizen?"

Regulus lazily lifted his eyes to them, his relaxed expression unchanged.

"Unfortunately, no," he replied with a polite smile, as if the conversation had nothing to do with robbery. "You see, if I give this up, that crazy lady with the scythe will kill me. And let me tell you, she knows how to make it hurt."

The first thug frowned, unsure how to react to his calm demeanor.

"What the hell did you just say?" he asked suspiciously, tightening his grip on the knife.

The second thug squinted, tilting his head.

"So, you're refusing, huh?"

Regulus, still casually adjusting his grip on the bags, shrugged as though the outcome didn't matter to him.

"Of course, dumbass," he said with a bored tone, as if the entire situation was beneath him.

For a moment, there was a tense silence, as though the world was holding its breath before the inevitable clash.

The tension was palpable. The man with the pistol flushed with anger, his fingers tightening around the weapon's grip.

"You've got some nerve, asshole!" he roared, flicking off the safety and aiming the gun directly at Regulus.

The instant his finger pulled the trigger, the Archbishop of Greed, as if anticipating the move, activated his ability — Lion's Heart.

Time for his body froze, and along with it, all internal processes: his heart stopped beating, and his blood ceased circulating. He became like a statue frozen in the past.

The bullet, whistling through the air at tremendous speed, struck him square in the stomach… but the result was shocking.

There wasn't a single trace of impact on Regulus — no blood, no wound, not even a tear in his clothing. However, something else was clearly happening. Gritting his teeth, Regulus dropped one of the bags and clutched his chest.

"Kh… kh… kh…" He coughed painfully, the sound heavy and strained. His face contorted with agony.

"What the hell?!" blurted the knife-wielding thug, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"Did I hit him or not?" muttered the man with the pistol, glancing nervously between his weapon and Regulus.

Still standing but visibly on edge, Regulus's golden eyes turned icy, cold as steel. He exhaled deeply and slowly, the carbon dioxide freezing in the air as his ability began to shift once more.

"Now it's my turn," he thought.

In the next moment, he used Temporal Immobility of Objects on his own breath. The frozen particles of air transformed into invisible, ultra-dense blades, rushing toward the two thugs at 100 meters per second.

"Huh?!" was all the first thug managed to exclaim before his body was sliced cleanly in two.

"What the—?!" The second thug didn't even finish his sentence before meeting the same fate.

Regulus stood motionless, observing the results of his attack. He had deliberately limited its speed to prevent the blow from reaching the buildings behind the thugs, giving himself enough time to halt the effect.

A stronger release would have meant he couldn't stop the strike in time, and his exhalation could have cut through several structures — something Greed couldn't afford.

When silence returned to the alley, Regulus allowed himself a moment to catch his breath. He collapsed to his knees, his breathing labored, his face pale.

"Damn it… this hurts like hell," he thought bitterly. "Lion's Heart — it's a cursed ability. Brilliant in its power, but this pain… it's like dying every time."

He stayed like that for about a minute before slowly rising. His movements were sluggish, as though his entire body ached. Regulus picked up the second bag and approached the remains of the two thugs.

"Well, let's see if you had anything useful for me," he muttered, searching their pockets.

Within seconds, he found a handful of gold coins, which glinted in his hand. Regulus pocketed them without much thought.

"I could go for a milkshake," he murmured, as though the recent skirmish hadn't even happened.

With that, he turned and walked back toward the main street, leaving behind an alley drenched in blood.