Northern stood there, confused and irritated.
Right now, he was wearing the Molten Vein armor—the powerful piece he had obtained after slaying a dungeon monster of the same name. It was formidable, layered with seething energy that pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
And Braham wanted him to hand it over.
That wasn't even considering whatever deal Braham had struck with Hao in the shadows, feeding off something Northern hadn't yet uncovered.
Greed aside, why did Braham need his armor?
That was the question Northern wrestled with in the fraction of a second he stood there, utterly silent in surprise.
"You seem quite baffled by my request… is it impossible?"
Northern's gaze shifted to Roma's motionless body lying within the coffin. Her face was pallid, drained of all vitality, as though life had long since abandoned her. He paused, studying her with an impassive expression.
Then, after a moment, he sighed. His eyes flicked back to Braham, and he slightly shook his head.
"No, not at all. Just give me a moment to part with it."
Braham's smile widened as he watched Northern take a step back.
A swirl of black sparks erupted around him, the Molten Vein armor dispersing in a dazzling whirlwind as if the very air was peeling it away.
Northern lingered in place for a breath, head slightly bowed, whispering something inaudible.
"Spirit Linen, I want you to take the form of my armor—to the very letter. Replicate its effects and strength. Can you do that?"
There was no verbal response. But he felt the mimic cloth's answer.
A second later, Northern stepped forward, now stripped of Molten Vein, and passed it to Braham without hesitation.
The healer wasted no time. Sparks swirled once more, consuming Braham as he summoned the armor onto himself.
Northern watched, his expression unreadable.
Spirit Linen might not perfectly replicate the Molten Vein's order ability, but it could mimic something close. Braham wouldn't even know the difference. Besides, Spirit Linen had something even Molten Vein lacked—a flawless, imperceptible defense.
And for whatever reason Braham wanted this armor, Northern had no intention of simply giving away such a prized possession.
Instead, he would use this as an opportunity.
Let Spirit Linen spy on Braham.
One way or another, willingly or not, the mimic cloth would serve as his eyes.
Yet that wasn't the only reason Northern accepted.
Northern had an undeniable inclination to copy Braham's ability. It would have been simple—one command, and he'd acquire it.
Because, deep down, he felt it would be useless.
Healing was valuable—perhaps even vital—but not in the way Northern needed. It lacked the overwhelming offense or versatility he sought in his talents.
So, rather than waste a slot on a power he deemed inferior, he had made a decision.
Within the past few minutes inside the City Hall, he had already scanned the talents of those around him—sifting through them like an unseen predator. Some were far more useful than Braham's nature-based healing talent.
He was going to choose one of those instead.
But that didn't mean he would erase his chances entirely.
His ability to copy was limited. With only one slot left, his choices mattered more than anything. So, he devised an alternative.
Spirit Linen would serve as his conduit.
If an opportunity arose after he evolved and Braham's healing abilities proved to be something beyond what he expected, then and only then would he copy them—using Spirit Linen's surveillance as a secondary means.
For now, he would bide his time.
He had no interest in abandoning control.
He had no intention of trusting Braham.
The armor looked just as it had on Northern—identical, seamless, unchanged.
Or at the very least, no obvious difference.
Braham's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he turned, admiring the way it fit him. His fingers ran along the plated sections, testing the weight, the feel of it.
"Oh, my forgotten days. It really is a Heroic item. How'd you get your hands on something this rare?"
"Had to defeat a really strong monster for it."
Braham was still inspecting the armor, tracing its patterns with deliberate curiosity. But when Northern spoke, he paused.
His expression shifted—just slightly.
A small dip in his smile. A faint shadow over his features.
"Oh dear," he murmured, tilting his head. "It must have meant a lot to you. And yet… you gave it away for her."
His gaze slid over to the coffin.
His smile widened once more. This time, it held something else—an understanding.
Then he nodded, as if reaffirming something to himself.
"Do not worry, my friend. I will make sure your girlfriend returns to you, as good as new."
"She's not my girlfriend."
"She's not?" he paused. "Then your sister?"
"No. She's not my sister."
Braham tilted his head slightly, confusion flickering in his eyes. Then his expression shifted—a wince of mild disgust crossing his face.
"Wait… the state she's in—that's not your doing, right?"
"No! No…" Northern exhaled sharply. "It's not."
Then, quieter, his voice lowered.
"She's… a very good friend. I consider her that, at least. And she doesn't deserve to die."
A shadow flickered across his features, a slight frown tugging at his brows.
"If she dies… that would mean I failed to protect her."
His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"What am I strong for, if I can't protect even one single person?"
Not with pity. Not with sympathy.
Then, with a slow shrug, he leaned back and said,
"...But you have to admit something as a Drifter."
Northern's eyes narrowed.
Braham's smile didn't falter.
"Being strong doesn't mean you can protect everyone."
His voice was light, conversational—but something beneath it felt colder than before.
"In the end, we are all human. Slaves to the selfishness of our own desires."
His eyes gleamed faintly.
"We function differently. Some people put their desires last. Others—" He tapped his chest. "—put themselves first."
"If there's room to accommodate more, then I do so… with a price. Because humanity doesn't appreciate anything that comes for free."
Northern stared at him.
Suppressing the emotions rising in his chest.
"…That explains a lot about you."
Braham's smile faltered.
For the first time, a faint crease of a frown appeared on his face.
Northern didn't answer right away.
Instead, his gaze drifted back to Roma.
Then he let out a small, pale smile.
"So… will she be okay?"
Braham followed his gaze, looking down at the still, lifeless girl in the coffin.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then, in a quiet breath—
"Oh, most definitely. She'll be more than fine."
His voice was calm. Assured.
"She'll come to you in a day."
Then, resting a hand on Northern's shoulder, he leaned in slightly.
"You just hang around and stay safe, friend. This place might look secure… but we are expecting our doom at any moment. It could be a minute away. It could be two months away."
"So be careful around here."
Northern held his gaze.
Then—subtly, deliberately—he stepped back, removing Braham's hand from his shoulder.
His tone was measured. Neutral.
Then, without another word, Northern turned and left.
Leaving behind the healer.
Leaving behind the coffin.
And stepping out of that strange, suffocating room filled with the air of sickness and nature.