Savior in Shadow Slave

[You have received a Memory.]

Memory Name: Messenger

Memory Description: [It seems like you have broken our promise, The Star that Turned Back.]

Murphy slowly tilted his head toward the sky, the afterglow of [Kalpata] still simmering behind him. A faint smile curved across his face—not surprised, not alarmed.

"I wonder what you mean," he murmured aloud, eyes narrowing with amusement.

"Oh, Great Nightmare Spell."

But within, he was satisfied.

'You took the bait.'

He wasn't foolish. He knew the Soul Devouring Tree would push him to the edge. It was one of the toughest stationary terrors in the Forgotten Shore. To kill it, he'd needed to unleash nearly everything—[Kalpata], [Wings of Nirvana], [Rengoku], and even burn a slice of his lifespan through [Sacrifice].

But in truth?

The Tree itself had never been the real objective.

For someone like Murphy, it was almost harmless.

It couldn't move.

Its thralls—though numerous—were limited. Bound by the range of the [Enthralled]. If they left that range, the ability would unravel, and they'd collapse into mindless beasts once more.

And Murphy had planned all of this.

Because atop that cursed Tree, hidden among branches and cloaked by mental interference, was the real prize:

The Egg of the Vile Thieving Bird's Spawn.

And the reason to destroy the tree is because of promise of fate that he made with spell.

If he ever attempted to kill the Thieving Bird's spawn directly, the world itself would turn against him—coincidences, perfectly timed accidents, a random Unholy Titan appearing out of nowhere—all conspiring to stop the attempt before it even began.

That was why he allowed himself to be partially enthralled by the Tree's influence—playing the perfect pilgrim, swallowing every illusion it offered. After all, what did the will of a Soul Devouring Tree matter to the will of The Star That Turned Back?

And the soul of the Vile Thieving Bird's Spawn was extremely precious.

The loathsome Thieving Bird was an incredibly powerful being who was hated by the Gods and -Unknown-. However, it only cared about shiny things.

It stole not out of malice, but out of obsession—drawn to anything that glittered, reflected, or shimmered.

One day, however, it stole something it should never have touched:

The Weaver's eyes.

And what the Thieving Bird saw in those eyes shattered it.

Not because of a curse. Not due to divine punishment.

But because of what was reflected.

A projection of -Unknown- forever frozen in the weaver's pupil. And so it dropped the eyes into the mortal realm, leaving behind a drop of ichor.

And once slain, it dropped something everyone would try to chase, if he reveal its location—

A fragment of Forbidden Lineage. A drop of Weaver's ichor.

Not just any lineage.

But creator of Nightmare Spell's Weaver's lineage, although it comes with a flaw, a human would take nonetheless even if they know the flaw.

Murphy hadn't taken it for himself.

No.

He had no intention of using it. Instead… he wanted to bargain.

[Your memory has been destroyed]

[You have received a Memory.]

Memory Name: Messenger

Memory Description: [Speak what is it you desire, now.]

Murphy smiled.

"A promise. You will fulfill one wish of mine."

[Your memory has been destroyed]

[You have received a Memory.]

Memory Name: Messenger

Memory Description: [Not possible. I can't bend strings of fate to grant you something.]

Murphy chuckled lightly. "Oh, don't worry. It won't be anything so grand. Just something well within your authority. Something… easy."

A pause.

A long one.

Then—

[Your memory has been destroyed]

[You have received a Memory.]

Memory Name: Messenger

Memory Description: [This promise may be invoked only once—within a decade. I must admit… your plan is clever. Try as hard as you can to search for the 'True secrets' of this place.

Also don't think that this would work next time. The consequence is not something you would ever want.]

When Murphy heard the last line, a chill crawled down his spine.

Because indeed, the Spell held something he could never risk losing. Something more precious than everything he had.

'Kaenaria.'

If only he were already an Awakened, he could have altered the weave—rewriting the threads of [Kaenaria], the Echo, and even [Kaenaria's Box] a bit. With that, he could have ensured the Spell could never harm it. Never touch it.

But he couldn't do that yet. Not because of knowledge but because of essence.

He exhaled slowly, pushing the weight of that thought aside. There were still other concerns.

'Akame and the others should have completed their task by now. I hope Elizabeth…'

His gaze softened for a fleeting moment.

'I hope she's managed to overcome her fear.'

He had left her with something—a thought guidance.

It wasn't much. But in a moment of true crisis… it might be enough.

***

About half an hour later, Akame, Lucas, and Elizabeth came sprinting toward the Ashen Barrow. Their steps pounded against the coral ground, urgency burning in their veins.

And then—they stopped.

Dead.

Like a carriage slamming into a wall, momentum jolting through their bodies.

Before them, the colossal tree that split the heavens now stood cleaved in two—cleanly, perfectly—its towering halves leaning away like broken pillars. Ash drifted lazily through the air, glowing faintly as if mocking the silence.

Akame's eyes widened, disbelief tearing through her composure.

"And here I thought nothing could surprise me anymore…" she muttered, voice trembling between awe and a thrill she didn't want to admit.

Lucas said nothing. His jaw was tight, his thoughts a storm.

"How am I supposed to keep you safe… when you keep proving you're the real monster here?"

Elizabeth, on the other hand, had an expression so blank it bordered on idiotic. She stared upward, lips parted.

"The stars… the moon… they're beautiful."

Which would've been fine—if there had been a single star in the sky. Or a moon.

But there wasn't.

Only darkness. And the faint, fading glow of wings.

The silence stretched. Only the soft whisper of falling ash filled the air.

Then they saw him.

Murphy stood at the base of the sundered tree—or what remained of it. His back was to them, shoulders rising and falling with each slow, ragged breath. The radiant wheel behind him, once blazing like a miniature sun, now flickered weakly, its glow unraveling like dying embers.

His wings—those impossibly bright, divine wings—hung low, feathers dulled and torn at the edges as if scorched by their own brilliance. Each beat of wind stirred the ash but could not lift them again.

His clothes were shredded. His right arm trembled as it held [Rengoku], its blade cracked and smoking faintly. Blood ran down his knuckles in thin, dark streams, dripping silently onto the coral ground.

For a moment, he looked like a fallen god—too strong to belong in their world, too broken to stand in the heavens.

Akame was the first to move, though her usual sharpness faltered. She took one step forward, her voice softer than she intended:

"…Murphy?"

He turned his head slightly. Just enough for them to see his face.

And he smiled.

Not in triumph, not in mockery—but in sheer, exhausted relief.

"It's… done," he whispered, the words barely more than a breath.

Then his knees buckled.

The wings shattered into motes of golden light, fading into nothing as his body slumped to the ground with a heavy thud.

"Murphy!"

The three of them ran forward—Akame reaching first, catching his arm before his head hit the ground. His pulse was there, faint but steady. His body, however, felt like a furnace—radiating heat as if he'd burned centuries in moments.

Lucas clenched his fists, jaw tight with something between anger and fear.

"What the hell did you do to yourself this time?"

Elizabeth just stared at him, trembling slightly, words dying in her throat.

While the world around him blurred and dimmed, Murphy had one last thought before the dark swallowed him whole.

'Hah… my acting worked, huh? Guess it was worth keeping the wings, the wheel… even [Rengoku] manifested to sell the image.'

A weak grin tugged at his lips—visible for the briefest heartbeat.

Then, finally, his body surrendered.

He collapsed fully into Akame's arms, unconscious, the last embers of golden light fading from his form. Her grip tightened instinctively, cradling him close as if afraid he might slip away.

Above them, the sundered sky was silent.

And in that silence, seven pairs of eyes stared at the man in her embrace—each filled with questions, interest, expectations, hatred, awe, love and warmth.