The world had become one point of unbearable pain. Greg held Hilda's body, which felt both too heavy and too light, and something inside him broke.

Not broken cleanly or suddenly, but cracked like glass does when pressure builds over time until the structure can't hold anymore and everything breaks at once. Sadness came through the cracks.

Then came guilt. Then anger. The rage came last, but it was the strongest. It came from somewhere deep and primal that Greg had been trying to hide for his whole second life.

It was the Warhammer Saint's anger, forty years of making death into pure destruction. He thought he had left that person behind when he died and came back to life. He was mistaken.

"No... no, no, no..." The words came out broken, barely more than a whisper.

Greg's arms tightened around Hilda, as if holding her closer could somehow change what had already transpired. "Not like this...! Please! NOT LIKE THIS...!!!"

His vision blurred, and he realized he was crying. The tears streamed down his cheeks, landing on Hilda's skin, which bore marks of silver. Each drop felt like an accusation, a tangible reminder of his perceived failure that he could not escape.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, his voice cracking. "I'm so sorry, Hilda!"

"I promised... I promised I'd keep you safe. I promised everyone would make it home."

The sobs came harder now, shaking his entire body. His chest heaved with each breath, feeling like it was being ripped from him.

"You trusted me. All of you trusted me, and I—" His voice broke completely. "I couldn't even protect one person. Just one."

He pressed his forehead against hers, his tears mixing with the cold sweat on her skin. "You were supposed to go home."

"You were supposed to see your family again...!"

"You were supposed to have a future, and I—" A raw, anguished sound tore from his throat. "I took that from you! I brought you here, and I led you into this trap!"

"I should have known," he continued, the words spilling out in a torrent of grief and self-hatred. "I should have seen through Agatha's plan!"

"I should have been faster, stronger, smarter. I should have—" Another sob cut him off. "Gods, I should have been better."

His hands trembled as they held her. "I'm sorry I wasn't the leader you needed..."

"I'm sorry I wasn't the person you thought I was. I'm sorry for every choice that led us here, every mistake, every fucking failure."

The tears kept coming, relentless and burning. "You didn't deserve this."

"None of you deserved this. And I... I can't even..." He couldn't finish the sentence. There were no words adequate for the hollowness inside him, the crushing weight of knowing he'd failed someone who'd put their life in his hands.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice barely audible now. "I'm so, so sorry."

But sorry wouldn't bring her back.

Sorry wouldn't erase the damage.

"Sorry" was merely another term for failure, and Greg had never felt more like a failure in either of his lives.

The grief threatened to drown him, to pull him down into a darkness he might never escape, but beneath it, building like a storm on the horizon, something else stirred. Something older and far more dangerous.

The rage came last, but it was the strongest. It came from somewhere deep and primal that Greg had been trying to hide for his whole second life.

It was the Warhammer Saint's anger, forty years of making death into pure destruction. He thought he had left that person behind when he died and came back to life. He was mistaken.

"Greg," Marina's voice came from far away. "We need to move now, Greg! The Calamities are—

"No." Marina took a step back, her heart racing as his voice emerged flat and cold, starkly contrasting with his usual tone.

Greg carefully, almost lovingly, put Hilda's body on the ground and stood up. His movements were robotic, exact, and devoid of anything but purpose.

Agatha's voice came down from above, still making fun of her. "How sweet. The blacksmith is sad about his—"

Greg's head jerked up, and whatever Agatha saw in his eyes made her stop talking. The confidence in her voice wavered a little for the first time since this fight started.

Greg said, "You wanted to prove I'm still the Warhammer Saint," and his voice didn't show any emotion.

It was the lack of feeling, not the presence of anger, that made it even scarier. "Congratulations. You were correct."

His eyes got blurry, but not because he was crying. Golden text burst into his view, breaking up and coming back together, and error messages fell faster than he could read them.

[SYSTEM ERROR: EMOTIONAL THRESHOLD EXCEEDED]

[WARNING: PSYCHOLOGICAL PARAMETERS COMPROMISED]

[ATTEMPTING STABILIZATION...]

[STABILIZATION FAILED]

[ERROR: CORE IDENTITY CONFLICT DETECTED]

[WARNING: SAFETY PROTOCOLS DISENGAGING]

[ERROR ERROR ERROR]

[EMERGENCY PROTOCOL ACTIVATED]

[GRANTING TEMPORARY UNRESTRICTED ACCESS TO:]

[MENTAL FORGING - LEGENDARY]

[THOUGHTCRAFT MANIPULATION - MYTHIC]

[WEAPONS MASTERY (ALL) - TRANSCENDENT]

[MATERIAL SYNTHESIS - DIVINE]

[WARNING: TEMPORARY DURATION - UNSTABLE]

[WARNING: SEVERE MENTAL DAMAGE PROBABLE]

[WARNING: IDENTITY DISSOLUTION POSSIBLE]

[ACCEPTING RISKS IN 3... 2... 1...]

The world became so clear that it hurt. Greg could suddenly see everything clearly and understand it all.

The way the molecules in the debris around him are arranged. The magical ties that keep the Calamities together.

He needed to apply the right angle and force to separate the debris one piece at a time. And most importantly, he could feel the Thoughtforged technique as if the hammer were still in his hand, as if it had never broken, as if the skill had been burned into his mind.

He raised his right hand, and metal responded. It wasn't telekinesis that pulled the debris toward him, but it was his willpower that did it.

The pieces moved and transformed in mid-air, adhering to designs that existed solely in Greg's mind. Within three seconds, he crafted a sword—SSS level, perfectly balanced, and designed for one purpose: to kill.

Without thinking, he threw it at the closest Calamity. The blade flew straight and hit the construct's torso, going all the way through.

The Calamity let out a scream that resonated like a thousand weapons crying out in agony. It staggered back, and Greg was already in the process of crafting his next weapon. A spear, SSS level. He hurled it with precision. Then came an axe, followed by a club, a hammer, and finally, a halberd. Each weapon was of SSS rank.

Each one was thrown with perfect accuracy. Made to kill each one.

"What the fuck...?" Felix whispered as he watched from behind cover. "Is that still Sensei...?"

"I don't know," Marina said quietly, and her voice was full of fear.

Not afraid of the disasters.

But...

She was afraid of what Greg was becoming.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.