Soon, Eldros was drenched in blood. It matted his hair and painted his face, making him look as if he had just climbed out of a pit filled with the dead. The bloodlust radiating from him was so intense that he seemed no different from the monsters he was slaughtering.
His left hand dripped with gore as he tore through creatures again and again.
More shocking still, he wasn't tiring. Each time his arms began to weaken, a cool surge flowed from the Wing Rune in his chest, flooding his body with renewed strength.
So the cycle continued. Fatigue crept in, the rune healed him, and he fought on.
Bodies piled around him, so high that he had to shift his stance constantly, adjusting his grip on his weapon as the blood made it slick. The ground beneath his boots had turned into a shallow, crimson pool.
And still, he fought.
"He's already lasted longer than Old Woman," Kat said in awe.
"Even I couldn't do that," Stepper muttered, staring at Eldros as if seeing him for the first time—not as a stray mutt, but as a wolf. "His speed's barely dropped, and it's been nearly an hour."
Kat only shook her head and returned to her own recovery. Stepper grunted and closed his eyes, conserving what energy he could.
High in the trees, Scar glanced at Jarek. They exchanged no words, but understanding passed silently between them.
The brat had earned his place in their squad.
Eldros fought for another thirty minutes before finally falling back, letting Scar take the line. His body still moved with power, but his head pounded, his mental reserves spent.
Still, he had lasted longer than anyone. …Thanks to that rune.
He wasn't truly tired, but the strain felt real. He dropped behind Kat, folded his legs beneath him, and began working to recover his strength.
Scar held the front for a long while, then Jarek took over. The rotation continued.
Between turns, they ate. They drank. They swallowed healing potions and tried to rest.
The harsh sun sank below the horizon, replaced by the cool glow of the moon. But the battle did not end.
Any forager passing nearby that night would have heard only the endless roars, howls, and shrieks of beasts. And if they dared to look, they would see five blood-soaked fighters holding back a tide that seemed without end.
Even with their short rests and potions, exhaustion began to sink its claws into them. Their turns grew shorter, their movements slower.
Only Eldros retained some measure of sharpness, though deep, dark bands had formed beneath his eyes.
Worse still, the corruption was spreading. The Noxium mark on his abdomen burned and crept outward, making it harder to keep his Hand of the Demon stable.
They were all at the end of their rope. Eldros knew he couldn't last much longer.
Should I run? The thought flickered in his mind. I don't owe them anything. But Jarek… she showed me kindness. I should repay that.
He gritted his teeth. Soon it would be his turn again. In his old life, he had lived by certain rules, rules that kept him alive until he broke one, and it got him killed.
Rule one: Do unto others what they do to you or what they would have done to you. No more. No less. And never leave a threat alive.
He had left a threat alive once. It ended him.
He'd never been a man of great importance, but he had managed to survive. At least for a while thanks to his rules.
Jarek had shown him kindness, and whatever hidden motives she might have, she hadn't acted against him. For now, that earned her something.
But not his life. Never his life.
Besides, in this state, how far could he really get from the monster tide?
When his turn came again, he hurled himself at the beasts, holding them off to give the others a chance to recover, though at this point, rest meant little.
Then, as dawn broke and sunlight began to spill across the battlefield, the monsters suddenly turned and fled.
Even after the slaughter, there were still likely hundreds more.
Had they continued fighting much longer, the squad would have been wiped out.
Kat collapsed with a loud gasp, her hands blackened from strain. The others were no better.
Even Eldros, whose body remained strong, felt his mind drowning in fatigue.
They said nothing. They simply lay there, breathing hard, surrounded by silence at last.
☆☆▪︎▪︎☆☆
Unseen by any of them, a woman with glasses stood above, her gaze fixed on one boy.
"How interesting."
Her robe bore the image of five majestic towers, one taller than the rest. A faint purple gleam lit her eyes. "Do you see that? Do you see him?"
Beside her, a man snorted. He had the bearing of a scholar, but none of the aura of a Magus. He was merely morta, save for his left eye, a strange, mismatched black against his natural brown.
"This is why you called me? I don't have time for this. So he's good at fighting. So what?"
She turned to him, her face bright with amusement. "Listen well, researcher. I have an eye for potential, and he has it."
"So? Are you going to take him as your personal student?"
"No." She recoiled at the thought. "Right now, he's nothing special. I've seen sixty-seven like him in this area alone. But I'll do what I always do."
She tossed him a book.
He caught it, his black eye darkening even more. "Wait....another one? You really are a madwoman."
Her eyes shone. The next instant, she vanished, reappearing only long enough to touch him before they both disappeared.