They found a safe place to rest in a small, protected hollow, miles from the serpent's grotto.
The rush of the battle had long since faded, leaving behind a deep, bone-wearying exhaustion and the ghost of a smell of venom and blood.
The psychic backlash from his puppets being destroyed had faded, but it left a lingering ache in Dante's mind, a sharp reminder of his own limits.
They were victorious, but they were also wounded, drained, and vulnerable.
Talia sat on a fallen log, her full attention on her prize. The Viper's Kiss Daggers lay across her lap, their snake-like, black blades seeming to absorb the dim twilight of Zone C.
They felt more like living things than sharpened steel. A faint, sickly green light pulsed from them, and Talia said she could feel a cold, predatory feeling humming within the metal.
When she gripped their leather-wrapped handles, she described a flood of new knowledge entering her mind. It wasn't just how to hold them, but the subtle arts of the assassin.
Feints that led to fatal stabs, pressure points that could paralyze with a single touch, and a dozen different ways to use their magical, unending poison.
She was no longer just a fencer. She was now a master executioner.
While Talia was lost in her new toys, a different kind of battle was being waged over Dante.
"You need to rest," Erica insisted, trying to press a damp cloth to his forehead. "You're still pale."
"He doesn't need to be babied," Lana countered, pushing Erica's hand away. She held out a piece of dried meat. "He needs energy. His mana is low. Eat this, Dante."
"He needs to be comfortable, not force-fed like an animal!" Erica snapped, shoving Lana back. "Get away from him!"
"You get away from him! Your reckless power is half the reason he's drained in the first place!" Lana shot back, her hand tightening on her staff.
They stood glaring at each other over his seated form, two lionesses fighting over a kill. 'It was pathetic. It was irritating. And it was incredibly useful.'
'Their rivalry made them predictable, their actions easy to manipulate.'
"Enough," Dante said. His voice was quiet but sharp enough to cut through their bickering. They both fell silent, looking at him with expectant, hopeful eyes, each waiting for him to side with them.
He gave his attention to neither.
His gaze fell upon Edgar. He was sitting nearby, carefully cleaning his glasses, his face still showing the stress of the battle.
He looked up and met Dante's eyes, offering a small, grateful smile. He was the picture of unwavering loyalty. 'He is the perfect lamb, waiting patiently for the slaughter.'
'But the time is not yet right. A sacrifice must be made at the right moment for the most gain, and that moment has not yet arrived.' The time was now to secure their next advantage.
"Talia," Dante said, his voice regaining its command.
She looked up from her daggers, her focus absolute. "Yes, Dante."
"You have the best eyes. I need you to scout the path ahead. We'll be heading toward the Manacore Pendant next. The route on the map looks dangerous."
"I need to know what we're walking into. Go a mile out, mark any potential threats or ambush points, and return. Do not fight anything."
"Understood," she said without hesitation. She rose, gave her new daggers a final, appreciative glance, and then melted into the purple gloom of the forest, disappearing as if she were never there.
'One variable removed. Now for the other two.'
Dante let out a soft, pained groan and pressed a hand to his side, faking a wince of agony. Erica and Lana were instantly at his side.
"What is it? Is it your wound?" Erica asked, her voice filled with panic.
"The water we have stored is stale," he said, his voice weak and raspy. "My body needs pure energy to recover its mana. Stale water won't do."
He looked from one to the other, a flicker of fake vulnerability in his eyes. "The map shows a stream a few hundred yards to the east, and another to the west. I don't know which one will be cleaner. Please."
It was all he needed to say.
"I'll go west! It's probably a mountain stream, it'll be purer!" Lana declared, already turning.
"The eastern one is closer! He needs it now!" Erica shot back, sprinting in the opposite direction.
They were gone, each one desperate to be the first to return, to be the one who quenched his "thirst," to earn his favor. Their rivalry had made them blind and foolish.
And now, he was alone with his loyal, unsuspecting teammate.
"Edgar," Dante said, his voice still weak.
"Yes, Dante?" He immediately came over, his expression full of earnest concern. "Are you alright? You look terrible."
"I'm just drained," Dante lied, leaning back against a tree. "The psychic backlash from the puppets… it takes a lot out of you." He patted the ground beside him. "Sit with me for a moment. Keep watch while I recover."
"Of course," Edgar said, sitting down eagerly. He drew a small knife and began to sharpen a stick, his eyes scanning the area. He was a loyal dog, guarding his master.
"You were brave today, Edgar," Dante said softly. "Your call-outs saved us more than once."
His face lit up with a proud, happy blush. "I was just doing my part. You're the one who saved us all, Dante. Your strategy… it was incredible."
"I've never seen anything like it. And saving Kael, even when we were so outmatched… you're a true leader."
"I do what is necessary for the team to survive," Dante said, his words a hollow echo of the truth.
"I know," Edgar said, his voice filled with a deep, unwavering sincerity. "That's why I trust you. We all do. We'll follow you anywhere."
He looked at Dante, his eyes shining with pure, unadulterated hero-worship. "I owe you my life, Dante. If there is ever anything you need, anything at all, you just have to ask."
"I know, Edgar," Dante said, a cold, empty smile on his face. "I know you do."
This was the moment. Talia was gone. The girls were gone. It was just him, his loyal puppy, and the silent, watching trees.
His heart beat with a steady, calm rhythm. The temptation was immense. A single, swift motion was all it would take.
His mana core, fattened by Dante's design, would be his. His power would increase. His path would be clearer.
But he held back. Not out of mercy. Not out of guilt. But out of pure, cold calculation.
Killing him now would be sloppy. The girls would return soon. Talia was an expert tracker.
They would find the body, and questions would be asked. Suspicion, once planted, was a weed that could choke even the most loyal team.
No, the harvest of his own teammates required more skill. It required a perfect opportunity, a moment of chaos where a death could be blamed on a monster, or an accident.
He would be patient. He would continue to play the part of the noble, burdened leader. He would continue to feed him, to nurture his loyalty, to make him feel essential.
He would make him believe he was a valued member of the pack, right up until the moment his blade slid between his ribs.
His life was a resource Dante had invested in. And he would not cash it in until it had reached its absolute peak value.
He smiled at Edgar, a warm, reassuring smile that did not reach his eyes. "Thank you, Edgar. I'm glad you're on my team."
Edgar beamed, completely unaware that he was sitting next to his own patient, calculating executioner.