The Poet's System
Chapter 72: A new Green

Chapter 72: A new Green

Not a word was heard from Rhea after the fight, but after a day of rest, they learned the city had been restored, and aside from the warriors who fought, there were no casualties.

"Your mother knew you’d come for her. Before she killed the Titans for their betrayal, they told her you knew where they were hiding," Artist said, lounging on the sofa.

"She thought you’d show up way sooner... what took you so long?"

Daylan let out a lazy sigh, massaging his forehead—half a day of sleep after the fight still hadn’t been enough.

"Tell us more about you guys. I think that’s a good place to start," Medora blurted, arms folded across her chest as she sat down.

"Uhhh... there’s four of us, and we were created solely to protect Master Daylan. I think I mentioned that already."

Medora shook her head, clearly annoyed and frustrated. "I mean, what are you? A human with a horn? And you look way too young to have been Daylan’s father’s accomplice."

Daylan barely registered anything they were saying. His mind was stuck on whether he’d made the right call in not at least trying to kill his mother—or if that decision would lead to something far worse. Each thought clawed at him, made him feel like tearing off his own skin. The frustration was unbearable.

"You called me a human," Artist laughed. "I’m actually part of a monster species that lives somewhere near Order City—an ogre."

She glanced down at her body. "Master Gerald took me in when I was a child and cursed me with his aspect. It changed me into someone Master Daylan could never mistake for anything—or anyone—else."

Her words snapped Daylan out of his thoughts, and he turned to Artist and Medora, who were seated to his left.

"What do you mean, cursed you? What exactly can the curse aspect do? And why do you all look like me?" His voice and eyes betrayed his frustration as the others watched him calmly.

Artist locked eyes with Daylan. "No one truly knows the full power of your father’s sword—not even he. He just believed it did everything he asked, so he kept using it."

Daylan let out an annoyed chuckle. "That useless son of a bitch."

Artist’s expression darkened but stayed calm. "I get your frustration, but you need to understand—your father had his own struggles. Whether he knew the full extent of his sword, no one really knows. He was the kind of man who told people everything, yet said nothing at all."

She narrowed her eyes. "Whether he knew or not doesn’t matter. Master Gerald was a very useful man."

Daylan simply turned to her, noticing the sting of pain flicker in her eyes. He said nothing, stood up, and made his way to his room.

The moment he got to his room, he hurled himself onto the bed.

Maybe I’m the useless one.

His feelings sank deep into the abyss of uselessness—like a hunter without his gun, or a writer without ink. What were they made of? Uselessness?

What if he made that decision because, deep down, he knew that killing his mother so early would leave him without a purpose? It was the kind of question that kept running through his mind, over and over.

Daylan lay on the bed for a while before getting to his feet and soaking himself in a cold bath. He wore a soft smile as he sat in the tub—not because his worries had vanished, but because he realized the decision was already made. Now, he just had to make sure it ended on his terms.

He soaked for minutes, and before he knew it, he had drifted off—while Medora and Artist were still chatting in the living room.

"I think Daylan already asked why you look like him. The captains looked like him too."

"Oh, about that." She tilted her head up, a nostalgic look in her eyes. "I don’t remember much—I was still a child and an ogre, so I didn’t really understand what was happening."

She continued, "The captains never actually looked like Daylan. It was Master Gerald who changed their appearances because he believed they would serve Daylan one day.

And... I think he was proud to be a father, so he wanted to see his face everywhere around him."

She smirked. "Funny how he shares almost the same features as Daylan, too."

Medora held her gaze briefly, noticing the nostalgia in her eyes before saying, "You really liked him, didn’t you?"

"I can’t deny that—he made me who I am today."

Medora rose to her feet and started toward her room but suddenly paused. "Wait... if your sole purpose is to protect Daylan, why set a trap for us? I mean, the worm."

"Well, I would’ve saved Master Daylan if things had gotten heated. And that wasn’t a trap—it’s the gateway to the headquarters."

Medora slapped her forehead.

"The worm was placed there by Giselle, just for Daylan—because she believed he would come. But you guys defeated it and ran off when the gate started opening."

Medora shook her head with a smile and went to sleep. Artist, however, stayed in the living room a while longer, explored the house, and finally went to train. With her sword summoned, she practiced until the sun rose in the east.

Daylan woke up, dragging his feet as he headed to the living room. To his left, he could feel the heat and intensity pouring out from the training room.

With a lazy sigh, he bypassed the training room and headed to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

Before long, his meal was ready, and they all enjoyed it together. He wondered how to spend the rest of his free time now that Zira wasn’t around. That’s when Artist’s words cut through his thoughts.

"Your mother is gone now. Do you want to see your father?"

Daylan turned to her. "Where exactly has she gone?"

"No one knows—except for whatever it was she spoke to behind her mirror."

Both Daylan and Medora turned to her, confused. "She spoke to someone behind a mirror?"

Artist nodded. "And I think that’s where she got her ideas—and why she even attacked the city."

The woman who despised gods—and yet spoke to something behind her mirror. Was she being manipulated?

Those weren’t answers they couldn’t reach out for yet, but eventually, as they walked the path, it was bound to come before them.

No words were exchanged about visiting the phantom headquarters, but somehow, each of them knew to get dressed.

The moment they were ready, they teleported straight to the edge of the forest. The area was still shrouded in dark mist, stretching toward the city—though slightly dimmer than it had been before they left.

Artist gestured for them to follow. Once they reached the desert, she headed toward its center. Daylan and Medora exchanged a glance, then followed after her.

Artist wore a mocking smile as she watched them approach. Instantly, the sand beneath their feet began to sink them. Still smiling, Artist dropped to one knee, grabbed hold of something hidden beneath the surface, and yanked it open.

It was a tunnel, and all the sand piled on the back of the cover made it clear—Daylan and Medora knew they had to jump in before the weight overwhelmed her.

The moment they jumped in, Artist followed, quickly closing the cover behind them. The tunnel was spacious—probably around seven feet high.

Artist gestured, and they followed her lead. It didn’t take long before they reached a safe distance from the main source of power. The scene was clear as day—the sun hovered above, lighting paths paved with greenery.

But the beauty was marred by the grim sight of human bones scattered across the ground.

Before them stood a Victorian mansion, nearly three times the size of theirs. The perfectly paved walkways were lined with standing street lanterns, and the mansion itself sat grandly, its red brick exterior giving it a commanding presence.

"Isn’t this place supposed to be underground? Where’s the sun coming from?"

"It’s not," Artist replied. "The tunnel led us just a bit deeper into the second mist. There used to be no sun at all—but Giselle’s experiments changed everything."

Artist turned to them. "Come on, let me show you around—and introduce you to the others."

The moment they entered, both Daylan and Medora’s mouths slightly parted. The mansion had many stories, but the ground floor was a massive training ground—filled with weapons, armor, books on martial arts and combat, and even dojo training uniforms.

No wonder they are this strong.

"Let me take you upstairs—that’s where your father is."

Daylan nodded, and he and Medora followed as Artist took the staircase on the left. At the top, she opened the first door on the left.

Daylan saw his father lying on a white-sheeted bed, with two people sitting by his side. One had a fox tail and pierced fox ears but otherwise looked just like him. She was dressed in a black jacket and trousers, with a black cloak draped around her waist. Her sword rested in its black case on her lap.

The other person also resembled him but was shorter, with features more like Artist’s. His horns weren’t as thick, and although both his hands were wrapped in bandages, it was clear they were covered in dragon scales. His bare torso, below the chest, was also covered in scales.

However, Daylan barely noticed him, his gaze fixed on his father—his body pierced by tubes, looking no more than a skeleton. As far as Daylan could remember, this was the first time he’d seen him, and this was how he met him.

He couldn’t hold it back—before he knew it, tears were streaming down his cheeks.

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