The Invincible Full-Moon System Chapter 1798: Crazy Man

Day after day, Haxel fled without pause.

He labeled it as mere travel, though it served only to soothe the heavy burden weighing on his heart.

By turning against Morgana, he turned himself into a wanted man, and he didn't hesitate to dash away as far as he could.

Should anyone inquire why he was fleeing, he'd claim it was due to his status as a fugitive, yet the real motive lay elsewhere. Deep down, he was escaping Rex. The menacing words Rex had uttered chilled him to the core, urging every fiber of his existence to bolt.

That's exactly what he did the moment Princess Davina arrived in an attempt to save him, jolting him out of his daze.

Right away, he took off the instant she appeared.

From about a mile distant, he glanced back once more upon hearing an agonizing cry.

Rex is gone.

The princess's wail surely indicated that the Immortal Slugs had pulled him into the depths of Hell.

All he had to do was steer clear of the officials, and he'd be safe.

Only the elite royal knights truly terrified him, and their numbers were limited.

Departing the empire posed no real challenge.

His intention was to slip into the adjacent dynasty, though he'd require supplies for the journey, and he knew just the individual who might assist. A shadowy presence seemed to trail him. Or so it felt, at least.

This sensation filled him with discomfort. Dread. Yet it was all in his head.

Just harmless illusions his mind conjured to stay vigilant.

Rex is finished, and that's the end of it.

No one has ever escaped the grip of the Immortal Slugs. Ever.

The instant he plummeted into that fissure marked his doom.

Yet the world showed Haxel otherwise, proving that exceptions always emerge eventually.

At a bubble transit point, sheets of leather parchment began falling like rain.

Inscribed upon them was an official royal edict regarding the traitor, accompanied by a enchanted sketch of a figure below.

A figure that instilled paralyzing terror in Haxel, even captured in mere illustration.

Rex.

He's still breathing.

Had he truly perished, Princess Davina would have confirmed it.

But this document left no doubt: Rex lived on vigorously.

’Flee to the farthest corners of the earth. Flee to distant realms if you must; it changes nothing.’

An ominous echo resounded from the depths of his mind, like a dire alert.

It belonged to Rex, those being the final threats he uttered before sinking below.

’I’ll track you relentlessly. I’ll shred your flesh... yank out your heart.’

"Can you speed this up?" Haxel demanded, yanking the driver’s shoulder—his gaze scanning the pitch-black void surrounding them. Now, he rode a sleek sled constructed purely from vital energy, slicing through the vast Black Rift.

From afar, it resembled a coiling serpent.

Rather than wriggling, it shot ahead like a projectile.

A novice Seeker offered this transport, the sole viable route to the target bubble. Drifting freely here was perilous. Swarms of voidal mosquitoes, each as large as a broad palm, lurked everywhere.

Not particularly formidable, merely Voidal Pawns.

Their hordes reached millions, however, and in sufficient numbers, their poison could overwhelm a Master Immortal Spirit—or even an Eternal Spirit under dire conditions. Sticking near the surface remained the securest path.

"What’s the hurry? You some kinda royalty? Can’t go quicker," the Seeker muttered irritably, already second-guessing his choice to ferry this oddball. "Ten minutes left. So chill out and quit yappin’. My grip’s occupied enough."

Haxel held the rank of esteemed knight.

Commanding charges on the front lines was familiar territory for him. Such tensions should feel routine.

But circumstances had shifted dramatically.

The mounting unease proved unbearable now; all he craved was escape from the empire.

Aooouuu—!

"What in the world was that?!" Haxel whipped his head sideways.

His stare locked onto a squat peak a mile or two off. Its peak bore a hollowed crater, as though some colossal beast had chomped its crown. Atop it, enormous curved spines pulsed with faint glows.

"That’s a bunch o’ Blind Voidal Wolves," the Seeker explained, waving off the concern. "They team up wiv the mozzies. Some kinda mutual setup. Pack scouts the prey, brings it low—bugs get their share. Now settle yerself an’ relax. All’s fine."

Similar disturbances occurred repeatedly during the trip.

Haxel demanded details on every sound, or he'd lose his grip on sanity.

It grated so much that the Seeker vowed never to deal with eccentrics again.

True to the Seeker's words, no threats materialized. Haxel reached his stop without incident. The place was a modest, detached bubble supporting scarcely ten thousand souls. Miners dominated the populace, and the foggy atmosphere hung heavy with fumes billowing from myriad smokestacks dotting the confined, vaulted skyline.

The Seeker snatched the payment from Haxel's grasp brusquely and spun away at once.

He longed to spend not a moment longer with Haxel.

Haxel paid it no mind, hurrying along the avenue while keeping his face shrouded beneath the hood.

He carried no belongings, just coin.

His hands and back remained empty.

Replacements could be acquired for most items, but his survival couldn't, so retrieving possessions from home never crossed his thoughts.

Given the bubble's tiny scale, the shimmering boundary loomed visible from the street's center. It rattled him deeply. His imagination conjured lurking, clawing forms in the warped murk outside, spurring quicker steps.

With the confirmed news of Rex's survival, every fancied horror in the surrounding gloom seemed all too vivid.

As if a pursuer truly shadowed him.

"AAHH!!"

A shriek burst from his throat as he collapsed.

Gazes swiveled in his direction.

He jabbed a finger toward the edge, eyes bulging in terror, lips trembling wildly.

"There’s something outside! Something’s there! It’s Rex! Rex!!"

Crowds peered at his indicated spot, dreading an assault by Voidal Monsters, yet spotted nothing. Just endless, drifting shadows past the barrier. His outburst stirred pointless alarm among them.

"W-Where’s the leader of this bubble?" He clutched a bystander's arm. "Where’s the governor?!"

"Back off, you nutcase." The fellow wrenched free and shoved Haxel with a boot to the shoulder.

Haxel reeled backward, fury surging within.

"I’m an honorable Knight! How dare you handle me like this!"

"Sure you are. Keep dreaming, madman."

Like a beggar pleading for scraps, Haxel approached one after another, insisting the vision beyond was genuine. That a presence lurked. That a stalker dogged his steps. No one took him seriously.

In truth, his persistence only convinced more that he was deranged.

Even nearby guards approached, warning they'd expel him.

Only then did he halt, resuming his path with a bitter, mocking chuckle at the disbelief he faced.

"I truly spotted something..."

Mere weeks prior, he commanded respect as a knight, admired by nearly a hundred eager squires.

Today, he stood as an outlaw and a raving fool.

He grasped that fortune's cycle spun ceaselessly. Times of glory alternated with lows. Yet this plunge felt unnatural, like a brutal twist of fate hurling him from heights to ruin.

A bitter truth to accept, yet acceptance was his sole recourse.

Before a modest dwelling's entrance, Haxel paused.

His knuckles hovered by the wood, reluctant to rap and confront the occupant within.

’He’ll despise me for demanding repayment, but the debt remains his.’ Haxel exhaled heavily.

The fellow he sought was Arran, a former squire he'd mentored and nurtured. Now lame and barred from knighthood, the resentful Arran reinvented himself as an outlaw—and rose to rule the bubble's underworld.

A flawed existence, but better than idleness.

For that lingering obligation—the shelter, the lessons, the squandered opportunity—Haxel now sought aid.

In exchange for his past guidance, he required support today.

Begging assistance here shamed him, but it offered his best shot at vanishing from the empire undetected.

Upon his initial tap, the door groaned ajar unexpectedly.

Haxel scowled and nudged it broader, peeking inside to assess.

Silence reigned.

The passage lay dim and quiet, though faint illumination seeped from the kitchen area.

An inhabitant was present.

At this late hour, Arran likely lay inebriated and unconscious someplace.

Decades post his knighthood days, he no longer qualified as a warrior prospect.

Haxel's fragile dignity deterred further knocks. Instead, he masked his presence and crept indoors, advancing stealthily in search of sellable goods. Pilfering beat the degrading talk.

And truly, was it theft when reclaiming from a rogue to begin with? Hardly.

He proceeded to the kitchen.

Spotless. Impeccably so, for Arran's abode.

Haxel dismissed the oddity and scoured the shelves, encountering no one.

Arran's quirky nature meant treasures hid in unusual spots.

Yielding nothing, he pivoted toward the lounge but froze upon noticing a strange chest positioned oddly on the kitchen counter. Intrigued, he lifted the lid and jerked back at the revealed organ.

A heart.

Pristine, orderly, and startlingly new.

Not a trace of blood marred the container.

Haxel toppled utensils while fixating on the vivid organ.

Unease gripped him, prompting an instinctive sprint for the exit.

In the corridor, however, the doorway now swirled with inky void.

An unfamiliar force enveloped it.

He battled to break through—channeling his vital energy against the shadow, unleashing all his might. Yet the darkness formed an impenetrable barrier. Despite his desperate efforts, it held firm—timeless and steadfast like unyielding stone, forged over ages and resistant to his rage.

Bang—!

"Move, damn it!" Haxel roared in exasperation.

A heavy thump drew his swift turn toward the steps.

A presence stirred on the upper level, descending to the ground floor.

"Looks like we have an unwelcome visitor," a woman's voice resounded hauntingly through the home. Potent. Eerie. It locked every sinew in Haxel's frame rigid. "He never mentioned awaiting guests."

A dark silhouette appeared, gliding downward.

She halted at the base, regarding Haxel with an inscrutable expression.

"H-Hold on!" Haxel raised his palms defensively, her overwhelming presence crushing him beyond reckoning. She outmatched him utterly. Whichever foe Arran had provoked, seeking her out proved idiotic. "I’m just passing through. I’ll keep silent—I don’t know him at all. Let me leave."

His glance darted to Arran. Or his remains.

The woman hauled the body by its hair with one hand, accounting for the strange, weighty impacts rolling down the passage. Not strides, but the limp bulk of a corpse tumbling like a meat-filled bag.

Haxel bore burdens aplenty already.

Entangling further spelled disaster.

Yet the woman merely grinned.

"I didn’t come for him," she declared, hoisting the cadaver aloft. Her gaze then fixed on Haxel, malice gleaming within. "I came for you."