CHAPTER 158: [MAYBE WE CAN]

Eli and the rest of Kairo’s team had finally reached what could barely be called safety—a shallow ledge of stone tucked behind jagged rocks, just far enough that the octopus couldn’t see them, but close enough that its massive shadow still stretched across the flooded cavern.

The air here was thick and damp, carrying the heavy tang of salt.

Every breath felt weighted, as if even the air was holding its breath with them.

They didn’t speak. None of them did.

Zaira and Mel had taken a spot atop a large, uneven boulder, both drenched and pale. Zaira’s hand rubbed slow circles over Mel’s back, the gesture soft but trembling.

He was trying so hard not to fall apart, his shoulders shaking despite his silence.

His fingers clenched tightly around the edge of the rock as if grounding himself there might keep him from breaking.

Eli didn’t join them.

He couldn’t sit. His body was running on something sharp and restless—fear, guilt, maybe both.

He stood a few feet away, eyes locked on the distant shape of the creature that had almost killed them all.

The octopus loomed in the dark, unmoving except for the faint ripple of water around its massive head. It wasn’t thrashing anymore.

Its once-blinding crimson glow had dimmed, replaced by a faint shimmer that pulsed softly beneath the surface.

Its enormous tentacles hung slack, twitching occasionally like the aftershocks of pain.

But what caught Eli’s attention wasn’t the wound. It was the water.

Something clear and faint was rippling down from its damaged eye—mixing with the murk, catching the light of the cavern.

Tears.

The octopus was crying.

Eli blinked, barely breathing. It didn’t make sense. Monsters didn’t cry.

They didn’t feel pain the way humans did—not like this. They raged, they fought, they died. But they didn’t mourn.

And yet... here it was.

A creature large enough to destroy them all, curled over itself like it was grieving.

Eli felt something twist in his chest. He’d seen this before.

The memory surfaced before he could stop it—Kairo standing menacingly, his sword dripping red, the last of the ogres kneeling before him.

That one survivor had looked up, its eyes hollow, its massive hands shaking as it wept.

It hadn’t fought. It hadn’t screamed. It had just cried.

He remembered the way Kairo’s blade came down after that—swift, efficient, merciful.

’As far as I know... they don’t have emotions,’ Eli thought, his throat tightening. ’So seeing tears is...’

He let out a slow breath, the rest of the thought slipping away before it could finish.

’It’s... something.’

He didn’t know if it was pity or confusion clawing at him, but he couldn’t stop watching.

Maybe it was just his curiosity again. It always got the better of him.

He was built that way—his mind never stopped, even when it hurt to think. Especially when it hurt to think.

And right now, it hurt.

So instead of facing the ache of uncertainty, he let his mind wander—to logic, to theories, to questions that didn’t stab as deep.

Korenea had been changing lately. The patterns of mana. The tears in the air.

The way dungeons behaved. Everything was mutating—unpredictable. Even the rules of time and decay didn’t seem to matter anymore.

And then there was the S-Class dungeon. The one he’d cleaned as Lucien Kim.

The one that imploded. It was supposed to have days left—weeks, even—but it collapsed early.

He could still remember the sound—the implosion’s deafening roar as light folded inward, swallowing everything in silence.

’Exploded? Imploded? Doesn’t matter,’ he thought bitterly. ’It shouldn’t have happened either way.’

The System itself was acting strange, too. Too quiet. Too selective. It helped when it wanted to—but only when it decided.

Like it was choosing moments based on something he didn’t understand.

He pressed a hand to his forehead and let out a tired laugh. ’Curious. Everything’s so damn curious lately.’

Maybe he was overthinking. Maybe his brain just needed to latch onto something—anything—to keep from breaking over the fact that Kairo was still gone.

That silence in the cavern wasn’t just quiet anymore. It was absence.

’He should’ve been back by now.’

The thought struck harder than he expected, and Eli’s jaw clenched. His eyes darted toward the octopus again.

It was still motionless, save for the faint tremors running down its limbs.

Its body pulsed faintly—slow, rhythmic. But the pulsing at the top of its head had quickened.

The beat was faster now. Stronger.

A heartbeat.

’Its pulse is faster,’ Eli thought, narrowing his gaze. ’Which means it’s recovering. So it does have a heart... and it’s still alive.’

He swallowed, his hand falling to his side.

That was proof of what he’d said earlier—but there was no satisfaction in being right.

Just dread.

Because that meant once the thing regained its strength, it would attack again.

And Kairo still wasn’t here.

Eli’s chest ached. The realization pressed down on him, cold and suffocating.

’If only I hadn’t argued with him...’

He remembered the moment vividly—his own raised voice, Kairo’s sharp tone, the look in his eyes when he’d said Eli wasn’t strong enough.

The way Eli’s heart had burned at that—at being dismissed, again.

He’d just wanted to help.

And now...

Now Kairo was gone.

’If I hadn’t argued, maybe he’d still be here.’

The thought made his stomach twist. But even as guilt crept through him, another truth whispered back, heavy and cruel.

’Even if I hadn’t argued... it wouldn’t have mattered.’

The plan had been doomed from the start. The octopus had too many limbs, too much reach. The timing, the chaos—Kairo would’ve had to act alone either way.

Eli shut his eyes. The air in the cavern felt thicker now, pressing against his lungs.

And still, he couldn’t look away from the creature. From its trembling form. From the faint, glimmering tear slipping into the black water.

"Can you tell me honestly?"

The voice came low, quiet enough that it almost got lost beneath the faint ripple of water.

Eli stiffened, his eyes still fixed on the octopus before slowly turning his head. Mio stood behind him, close enough that Eli could hear his shallow breaths. His silver hair clung damply to his face, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

’Why is he whispering?’ Eli wondered, but he didn’t ask. He turned back toward the creature, the rhythmic sound of dripping water filling the silence between them.

"I’m always honest," Eli said after a pause, his tone soft but tired.

"Mhm." Mio’s voice was quieter this time, threaded with something fragile beneath its usual calm. "Perhaps with the captain. But he’s not here right now to make sure of that." He leaned a little closer, his voice dropping to almost nothing. "So I need you to be honest—even if you don’t want to."

Eli hesitated. His pulse picked up, though he wasn’t sure why. He could sense the weight behind Mio’s question before it even came. The vice-captain wasn’t whispering for secrecy’s sake—he didn’t want Mel or Zaira to hear.

After a moment, Eli gave a small nod. There was no point lying anyway. Not now.

Mio drew in a slow breath, his gaze flicking toward the octopus before resting on the ground.

"Do you think the captain... Kai..." His voice faltered. Even saying Kairo’s name seemed heavy. "Do you think he’s still alive? You saw how he was thrown. And as much as I want to believe that the strongest hunter could survive that, I just..."

He trailed off.

Eli didn’t answer right away. The silence that followed was suffocating.

Mio’s eyes stayed fixed on the ground, and Eli could see his hands clenching slightly at his sides. He didn’t need to hear the rest to understand it.

It was hard to say out loud. Hard to admit that fear.

Hard to even think it.

Because Kairo wasn’t just their captain—he was the Captain. The one who made impossible fights feel survivable. The one they all believed in, almost blindly.

Eli’s throat tightened as he exhaled.

"I have no doubt that he’s still alive," he said finally, his voice steady but quiet.

Mio’s head snapped up. "But?"

Eli’s jaw tensed. "But I don’t think he’s completely fine." His eyes drifted back to the dark water, to where the octopus still loomed in the distance. "If anything... I think he might need medical attention."

The words hung there like smoke, impossible to ignore.

Mio was silent for a long time. The faint light from the cavern wall caught the edge of his face, the usual confidence in his eyes dimmed to something raw—something human.

"If that’s the case..." he whispered finally, his voice barely holding together, "then what do we do?"

Eli didn’t answer right away.

Mio took another shaky breath. "We... we can’t do this without him. I may be an S-Class, but my abilities—" His lips twitched into something that was supposed to be a smile but wasn’t. "—aren’t anything compared to his."

Eli understood what Mio meant. He really did.

That hollow tone—the way Mio’s voice cracked at the edges—it was something Eli recognized too well. The helplessness of standing in someone’s shadow.

But that didn’t mean Mio was right.

Mio was an S-Class hunter for a reason. His threads could cut through steel, hold back monsters twice his size. He wasn’t weak—far from it. He was just overshadowed. Because next to Kairo, everyone looked small.

The same went for Mel and Zaira.

Their whole team had been built around Kairo’s strength. Every plan, every movement, every strike—it all revolved around him. Kairo would charge in, tear through their enemies like a blade through water, while the others made sure the battlefield bent in his favor.

They weren’t just support—they were his rhythm, his tempo. Without them, Kairo wouldn’t move as cleanly as he did. But without him, they didn’t know how to move at all.

Eli’s jaw tightened as he glanced at Mel and Zaiira.

They were sitting quietly now, Zaira’s hand still rubbing Mel’s back in small, rhythmic motions.

Both of them looked drained—physically, emotionally—but the faint flicker of life in their eyes told Eli they still weren’t giving up.

Not yet.

’They still have fight in them,’ he thought, his gaze softening. ’They just don’t see it.’

Because the truth was, they could fight. All of them could. They just never had to—because Kairo was always there to end it before they needed to.

It reminded Eli of the brothers—Kairo and Caelen.

He had only seen them fight once, but it had been unforgettable. Kairo fought with raw power—his aura sharp and wild, blood bending midair like living flame.

But Caelen... Caelen fought with precision. Every move was thought out, calculated. His ability wasn’t nearly as destructive, but his strategy made him terrifying.

It was like watching two sides of the same coin—one built to break, the other to outthink.

And for a moment, Eli’s eyes widened as something clicked.

’Wait...’

The thought came sudden, clear, undeniable.

’All of our strategies depend on Kairo being the finisher. He’s always the one to deal the final blow, to take control once we’ve set things up for him. But now he’s not here. And if he’s injured—or worse—then...’

He stared out at the water again. The octopus was still trembling faintly, the light from its wound flickering beneath the surface.

’If Kairo can’t fight, then it’s our turn to make the move. We can’t just sit here waiting for him to come back.’

The realization sat heavy in his chest—but there was something else under it too. Resolve.

Eli’s fingers twitched slightly as he exhaled. "Maybe we can," he mumbled under his breath.

Mio blinked, his head turning sharply. "Can what?" he asked, confusion flickering across his face.

Eli didn’t look away from the octopus. His voice was soft, but steady. "Maybe we can do this without Kairo."