Single for Eternity
Chapter 119: Ouroboris

Chapter 119: Ouroboris

"A self-consuming and self-renewing force, representing endless transformation," Einar murmured, almost to himself, voice low as though reciting an ancient truth he barely recalled.

Seren tilted her head, a hint of confusion in her narrowed crimson eyes. "Ouroboros...? That symbol. What does it have to do with you killing that thing in one blow?"

Einar let out a slow breath, his gaze flicking to his palm. The glowing mark—the serpent devouring its own tail—still lingered there, albeit faint, like an ember struggling to stay lit.

He clenched his hand and continued, "Ouroboros is more than just a symbol. It’s transformation. Rebirth. Death and resurrection, locked in a perfect, eternal cycle. It’s the force of becoming and unbecoming. Of decay and renewal." He paused, then added, "Which... is fundamentally incompatible with the nature of undeath."

Realization dawned on Seren. Her brows furrowed as she began to understand. "Undeath... is stagnant. It defies the cycle. The undead don’t move forward. They don’t decay or evolve. They’re trapped in stillness."

Einar nodded. "Exactly. The creature Malthorn summoned—that thing... it was a blight on the cycle. A violation of the cosmic law Ouroboros represents. That’s probably why the Eye responded."

Seren’s gaze lingered on the fading mark on his palm, then drifted to the heavens, where the colossal golden eye still hovered in the sky, unblinking. Its presence was overwhelming—silent, cold, and utterly unmoved.

But suddenly, an enraged roar tore through the battlefield.

Malthorn, half-decayed and pulsing with venomous undead aether, screamed toward the heavens. "You foul being!" he bellowed, voice ragged and warped. "Do not meddle in matters that do not concern you!"

The eye gave no response. No reaction. It merely blinked—slow, deliberate, and utterly indifferent.

That disregard, more than anything, infuriated Malthorn. His skeletal hands crackled with violet necrotic energy.

He raised them and let loose a colossal beam of undead aether, a monstrous, spectral force that surged toward the eye like a cursed spear meant to pierce the heavens.

Seren flinched. The sky cracked under the pressure. The beam distorted the very space around it, screaming with echoes of the dead.

But Einar didn’t move.

He simply exhaled.

Then, raising his sword in a mirrored motion, he slashed downward with one clean motion. No flourish. No exertion.

A No arc of energy shimmered forth just a mindless slash—not toward the beam, but toward Malthorn himself.

The beam never reached the eye.

Malthorn never saw it coming.

One second he stood roaring in defiance. The next—he was cleaved clean in half.

His body split from skull to spine, clattering to the ground like a broken statue. There was no scream. No dramatic final cry. Only a soft, sickening thud as bone and rotted flesh hit the earth.

Silence fell over the ruined prison.

Not a silence of peace—but the kind that follows something irreversible. Final. Heavy.

Seren’s gaze snapped toward Einar, sharp and alert. She wasn’t sure what she expected—gloating, cold detachment, another cryptic monologue—but he simply stood there, shoulders slouched, blade lowered.

And then, the symbol on his hand disappeared.

So did the eye.

It blinked one last time, then dissolved into rays of light, vanishing as though it had never been there at all.

The ambient mana, once warped and corrupted, slowly returned to its natural state. The cursed winds stilled.

The flickering red fog lifted. The ancient prison, now cracked and crumbled beyond recognition, stood silent under the bleak sky.

Then came the light.

Golden motes rained down gently, gathering around them as the system’s familiar chime echoed in the air.

——[ Sovereign Trial ]——

Event: The Army of the Undead Lord Malthorn has been unleashed upon the realm.

Threat Level: Demigod

Location: Ruined Prison of Malthorn

Clear Condition: Defeat the Undead Lord and his minions.

Points Awarded: Variable, based on adversaries eliminated.

——[ Good Luck ]——

[ Event Completed ]

[ Congratulations!!! ]

[ Highest Scorer: Einar Sanguis – 12,756 Points ]

Seren blinked at the message, reading it once more just to be sure.

12,756 points.

That wasn’t a number. That was a declaration. An absolute slap to the face of everyone else in the exam.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but not in distrust. Curiosity flickered in them now—deeper than before. "You’re not normal."

Einar chuckled dryly, wiping his blade against a torn cloak on the ground before sheathing it. "Took you this long to figure that out?"

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she walked over to the two halves of Malthorn’s corpse, staring at the remains. The ground around him still hissed from residual undeath, but it was already fading, banished in the wake of Ouroboros’s intervention.

"This... wasn’t supposed to be your battle," Seren said softly.

Einar looked up. "And yet it was. Because that thing... tried to eat the cycle."

Seren didn’t press him for more. Whatever had just happened—the glowing symbol, the divine presence, the sudden cleave that ended Malthorn—it was clearly personal.

And she wasn’t about to pry.

Instead, she simply exhaled and turned her gaze toward the grey-tinted sky, where the golden motes of the system still shimmered faintly.

"The trial’s probably going to end in a few moments," she said softly. "You’re definitely ranked first. So... what are you going to ask for as your reward?"

There was a pause.

Einar tapped his chin in mock contemplation, but there was no real hesitation in his voice when he finally answered. "The right to annul our engagement."

Seren blinked.

For a brief second, she stepped back, the air catching in her throat.

She had expected this—at least eventually. It wasn’t as though they were in love. The engagement had been arranged between their families, a political move more than anything else.

She’d planned to dissolve it too, but much later. Perhaps after the academy life was over. After she’d proven herself.

A part of her had even considered that Einar might make a decent partner. Not a romantic one—no. But as an equal.

Someone she could spar with. Walk beside. Build something functional, if not beautiful.

But apparently, that sentiment wasn’t mutual.

She stared at him for a long, quiet moment, trying to read his expression. There was no smugness in his tone, no malice in his eyes. Just the same neutral, distant calm he always wore.

Einar cleared his throat, noticing the shift in her demeanor. "I just want to be clear," he said, looking her in the eye. "I’m not annulling the engagement because of anything you did. This isn’t about you. This is about me."

Seren folded her arms. "Then tell me. Why?"

He hesitated for a beat, as if weighing the worth of honesty, then sighed. "Because I don’t want to be married. Not to anyone. I don’t like the idea of sharing my life. My future. My... existence with someone."

Her crimson eyes softened slightly, but her voice was still cool. "Any specific reason? Or is this just one of your cryptic Einar things?"

He gave a humorless chuckle. "What do you even mean by that? This is just the truth."

His gaze drifted toward the horizon, as if the words he was about to say were easier to say to the wind. "It’s because I know I can’t love someone. Not in the way people deserve to be loved. I can’t care for them—not in the way they need. That part of me... it’s just not there."

His tone wasn’t cruel or self-pitying. Just flat. Honest.

Seren looked at him with a strange, unreadable expression. The breeze carried her silver-white hair like drifting silk. She didn’t speak for a while.

Then finally, she nodded.

"I see," she said.

No accusations. No hurt. No bitterness.

Only understanding.

Because in her own way, she’d always known.

They were two people forged by duty and burden—molded into weapons by the expectations of others. Love had never been a prerequisite for their roles. Affection was something left to the weak, or so they were taught.

But in hearing him say it aloud, so plainly, so freely, Seren realized something else too.

Einar wasn’t heartless.

He simply knew himself. Knew his limitations. And unlike others who faked tenderness or made promises they couldn’t keep, he chose honesty—even if it was cold. Even if it left scars.

She let out a faint breath. "Then I’ll support the annulment."

Einar’s head turned to her, faint surprise flickering across his features.

Seren smiled slightly—just a wisp of a curve on her lips. "I wouldn’t want to be tied to someone who doesn’t believe he can care for me. I have enough chains of my own. I don’t need another."

For the first time, Einar looked away. A small silence lingered between them, but it was no longer tense.

It was closure.

And then, as if on cue, the golden light that had hovered above them brightened, signifying the end of the trial. The system would soon transport them back, their families would reward them, and display the final rankings.

But before it did, Seren glanced at him one last time.

"Still," she added, voice softer now, "for someone who says he can’t care... you didn’t hesitate to save me back there."

Einar didn’t answer.

He just gave her a tired look.

And then, as the trial began to fade around them, the two walked in silence—no longer bound by an engagement, but perhaps, for the first time, understanding each other as individuals.

Not as fiancés.

Not as heirs.

But as people who had shared a battlefield—and chosen truth over pretense.