Chapter 60 The Hero Awakens

Stelle felt sharp pain as the purple-red sword pierced her body, but instead of panicking, she became calm.

She closed her eyes, remembering her past experiences, especially the last time she saw Kafka.

"Listen to me."

That warm and friendly voice still echoed in Stelle's mind, bringing a comforting feeling. It was like a mother gently preparing her child for a long journey, offering advice and encouragement. But the woman before her, though she sounded just as gentle, had a hidden cruelty beneath her kindness. This was nothing like the Kafka Stelle remembered, and she knew right away:

"This woman isn't her."

The blade sliced through Stelle's body, but instead of agony, there was nothing—no sharp sting, no warmth of blood. She blinked, her brow furrowing in confusion. How can something that isn't real harm me? She wondered, staring down at where the sword had passed.

Stelle was sure that Kafka had never used such a sword. Although she wasn't sure whose memory this was, now that she understood what was happening, the illusion had no grip on her anymore. Drawing in a deep breath, Stelle gripped the handle of her baseball bat tightly.

Gathering all her strength, Stelle lifted the baseball bat above her head. A powerful energy built up in the bat, and she slammed it into the ground. Everything shattered—the ground, the woman, and the false starry sky—all vanished before Stelle.

"Crash!"

The sound of breaking glass echoed in the room as March 7th's hands trembled, spilling the coffee Himeko had given her onto the floor.

"I'm sorry, Himeko, I didn't mean to!"

March 7th was confused. Since returning this time, the Astral Express felt strange to her. She knew her favorite corner and how she liked to sit and drink her coffee, but now everything seemed unfamiliar.

"It's okay, March 7th. I'll clean it up," Himeko said with her usual smile, but March 7th couldn't bring herself to smile back. Something was off.

"Normally, someone would be scolding me by now."

In a daze, March 7th looked down at her waist, where her most familiar item hung—a camera.

She quickly checked the photos on her camera, but all she found were blank negatives. A wave of panic rose inside her. When she looked back at Himeko, the fear intensified.

The figure of Pom Pom, the train conductor, appeared in front of her, stiff and lifeless, like a broken doll.

"Passenger March 7th, because you damaged property on the train, I'm expelling you," Pom Pom said coldly.

"No, please! I can't go anywhere else!" March 7th cried out, backing away and collapsing to the floor.

Her deepest fear was being realized. March 7th was a girl with no memory. She had woken up on the Astral Express, and it was the only home she remembered. Being expelled from the train meant she had nowhere else to go.

Just as Pom Pom's hand was about to close in, an unnatural chill swept through the air. The temperature dropped in an instant, freezing the world around her. Ice crackled at her feet, spreading rapidly across the ground. The cold numbed her panic, sharpening her senses as her breath came out in visible puffs.

"Himeko's coffee… It's never tasted this sweet," March 7th whispered, her voice colder than the winds of Everwinter Hill. The lively, carefree tone she was known for had vanished, replaced by an icy resolve.

Her eyes narrowed. "Stop messing with my memories," she commanded, her voice like the crack of ice underfoot.

A crystalline shape formed beside her—an intricate, six-sided pyramid of pure ice, shimmering with an ethereal light. In a heartbeat, the world around her was frozen solid, the towering figure of Pom Pom locked in place, its monstrous hand suspended inches from her. 

Dan Heng stood among countless fallen soldiers and their weapons, cautious because of the person standing opposite him.

Blood-red eyes and a blood-red blade.

Dan Heng had tried to resist but couldn't win.

"Of five people, three must pay a price."

As the blood-red sword pointed at him, Dan Heng found himself unable to move. He wanted to escape but couldn't.

Everything was happening just as he remembered. "Blade" walked slowly through the carnage, step by step, toward Dan Heng.

Resigned, Dan Heng closed his eyes. If fate was set, why fight it?

The sound of a blade slicing through the air reached his ears, a sound he knew all too well. In another second—no, half a second—this blood-red blade would pierce his chest, leading him to the next cycle of reincarnation.

"Clang!"

The harsh clash of swords made Dan Heng open his eyes. The blood-red "Blade" was just as surprised as he was, startled by another figure and another weapon—a giant sword blazing with fire.

"No, no, no!"

Deep within the Stellaron's mental space, it sat on a towering throne surrounded by an endless void, the cold expanse of nothingness broken only by glowing screens hovering before it. Each screen showed scenes of struggling, fighting, and resisting.

"I know all the pathetic tricks humans rely on," it muttered, frustration creeping into its voice. "So how have they managed to see through my illusions so easily?"

In a sudden fit of rage, the Stellaron slammed its fist against the armrest of the throne. The void around it trembled slightly, but above the chaos-filled screens, a larger display floated, depicting a single, unmoving figure.

"Orion Astra."

Orion's form lay adrift in the emptiness, his dark hair blending into the surrounding void. His body was still, his face pale, as if suspended between life and death.

His very presence unnerved the Stellaron, yet at the same time, a wave of relief washed over it.

The stelleron sighed in relief. As long as Orion was stable, the others were just pawns in its hands. It could create thousands of similar illusions with a mere wave.

But before it could fully savor its dominance, a voice echoed through the void, cutting through the Stellaron's thoughts like a blade—familiar and unexpected. It sent a jolt of shock through the very core of its' being, freezing it in place.

"What's up, doc? Did you miss me?"