They lived in a small wooden hut tucked near the valley, away from the Sect.
Amon chopped wood every morning while Airi fetched water from the stream nearby. They didn't talk much, but the silence was easy.
That morning, Amon was sitting under the porch roof, sharpening his blade, when Airi leaned on the railing beside him.
"Why did you attack the Sect?" he asked.
She didn't answer at first.
Then she spoke, "Because they killed my clan. They destroyed my home, and they called it righteous. My father told me… if I had the strength, I had to make them pay."
Amon paused. "And so… you came alone to fight the entire Sect?"
"I trained every day," she said. "I honed my blade, and I searched for every weakness they had. I thought… maybe I could kill just enough, or maybe scare them."
He sighed, "Even with all your training… you wouldn't have beaten Karou or me."
She looked at him. Her eyes narrowed.
"So what? Are you trying to say I should give up?"
"No," he said. "I'm saying you'd have died for nothing. They wouldn't have even remembered your name."
"And now what? You want me to hide forever?"
Amon didn't answer. He looked down at the white edge of his sword. It reflected the clouds.
Airi folded her arms. "Then why'd you save me?"
"Because I saw you," he said quietly. "Before any of this. You were there with me. So… I couldn't let you die."
A long silence followed.
Then she said, "Since I'm here anyway… why don't we destroy the Sect together?"
His hand froze.
"What?"
"You said I couldn't do it alone. But you're strong. Maybe strong enough to kill Karou. If we both fight—"
"Are you insane?" he stood up. "That's suicide!"
"You just said I'd die for nothing. So help me make it worth something!"
He paced, running his fingers through his hair. "I can't… I don't know. That place—it's more than a building. It's filled with monsters."
"Then we defeat them together."
"And what if we die?"
"Then we die."
"No—no, listen. Maybe if I had enough time… or if the death limit is high this time… then maybe—"
She blinked. "Death limit?"
Amon stopped.
You idiot.
He turned away. "Just.... forget I said that."
But she stepped closer. "Amon, what are you hiding?"
He didn't answer.
He looked toward the mountain.
If I really tried... if I looped enough... maybe it could work. But at what cost?
He sighed. "Give me time."
Airi nodded, quietly.
---
The door slammed open.
Dust drifted in the sudden silence. Amon turned from the pot boiling over the small fire. His body tensed before his eyes even focused.
Standing in the doorway was a man in black and red robes.
But the voice broke the silence.
"Amon."
The hat lifted. The face was familiar, yet wrong. His eyes were bloodshot, twitching, as if holding back laughter. His grin was wide, cracked, strained.
"Zai Ren?"
"I finally found you."
Amon didn't speak.
Zai stepped forward, one slow foot at a time, and Amon's hand shifted toward his blade.
"I searched..." Zai said. "for months all through Dai-Kuni. I asked the Sect and asked the cities. And they all said the same thing—'He's gone.'"
His voice trembled.
"But I knew you weren't gone. Not you... You don't die. Do you, Amon?"
Amon gripped his sword. "Why are you here?"
"To bring you home," Zai whispered. "But… then I thought… maybe you don't want to come home. Maybe… maybe you abandoned all of us. And when I thought that—when I really thought that—"
Amon drew his blade in one motion.
Zai lunged.
Their swords clashed mid-air. Sparks erupted.
Amon slid backward, his boots carving into the wooden floor, but Zai was already moving, his blade a blur of red steel and spirals. It danced like fire.
Amon ducked, sidestepped, struck.
Zai laughed. "Yes! That's the Amon I remember!"
Amon gritted his teeth. He couldn't go all-out.
Zai slashed upward and missed—deliberately—forcing Amon to stumble to the side. His laughter never stopped.
"You left us! You left me!" Zai roared.
"I didn't want to!" Amon shouted, finally pushing him back. "I had no choice!"
Zai's grin widened. "Then choose now. Fight me like you mean it."
Amon's blade glowed white.
The second cut came swift and heavy. It cleaved through Zai's arm, but the madman didn't stop.
Even armless, he kept laughing, charging forward, blood spraying the floor.
Amon stepped in.
His white slash curved.
The final strike was fast, quiet, and merciful.
Zai froze mid-step, sword dropping.
Then he collapsed.
Amon stood there, breathing hard, body trembling.
Then—
"Amon!!"
He turned.
Airi stood at the door, holding herbs in a basket, eyes wide with horror.
"What… what did you do?"
He dropped the sword.
"I didn't want to," he said.
Airi looked at the body. "Who… who was that?"
"Zai Ren."
"Zai…? Your friend?"
"He found us. I didn't know he would, I didn't—he changed. He reached Tier 3, but it twisted him into Principle of Madness… He wasn't—he wasn't the same. I tried to stop him."
Airi stepped back. "Is that what you're running from? That world? That power?"
"I'm not running," he whispered. "I'm hiding."
A long silence followed.
Then Airi dropped the basket. "We can't stay here."
"I know."
She turned and began packing.
Amon stared down at Zai's body. He didn't cry. He didn't speak.
But his hand wouldn't stop shaking.
They buried Zai Ren under the cherry tree behind the hut. They left nothing to mark the grave.
By morning, they were gone.
---
Amon sat outside with a brush in hand. The martial arts scroll unfurled on the low table held messy diagrams, footwork stances, and mana-flow patterns.
He had worked on it for a year.
Every day, every failure, every moment he remembered from past lives was inked into that scroll.
He called it The Path of the Idle Edge.
A fighting style built around stillness, minimal movement, and overwhelming bursts. The fruit of his Unemployment Principle. It was slow, inefficient, and unrefined. But it was his.
He would write and practice for days, then end himself afterwards. So he could write the new information he got and use it.
He would always wake up at the moment they found another hut in the woods, after they left Zai Ren and buried him.
Inside, Airi hummed while cooking. She didn't ask him what he worked on anymore—she already knew.
And though they never said the word love out loud, the nights they spent together didn't need it.
Still, it wasn't Lucian who loved her.
Lucian couldn't forget.
Guinevere…
Some nights, that name came out in a whisper when he thought Airi was asleep.
Some nights, he would wake up from a dream, reach out, and stop himself.
He couldn't tell her the truth.
But Amon—this version of him—had grown fond of her.
She gave up her revenge and smiled more. She even tied her hair with soft green cloth now.
She was no longer the vengeful assassin who attacked the Sect. She was just Airi, someone who cooked badly but tried hard, someone who laughed awkwardly when she tripped over rocks, someone who danced barefoot when the moon was full.
He tried not to think about what he'd lose. He tried not to think about how this life would end.
But the world was cruel.
He trained daily, with the same blade that once cleaved through Zai Ren. Now, it was heavier.
And finally, after one long, exhausting year, it happened.
He stood atop the peak.
Tier 3 – Willed.
He simply sat down, pulled his scroll to his lap, and began rewriting the first chapter with cleaner hands.
He wasn't proud. Others had soared to Tier 5 in days. Born blessed, born chosen. Amon was not.
But Lucian was persistent. That was enough.
That night, Airi held him a little tighter.
"You've changed."
"Have I?"
"You seem… at peace."
He didn't answer. Just closed his eyes and listened to her heartbeat.
I'm not at peace. But maybe… Amon is.
And tomorrow, he'd continue the scroll. In case he died again. In case the loop pulled him back.
He didn't know how many lives he had left until he would finish this.
But at least, now, he'd leave something behind.