Elion recounted what had happened after Farha fell prey to the Kral. He described everything in great detail, the mute girl listening attentively. He did, however, omit much of what had occurred during the encounter with the Class IV, not wanting to stir the memories he had buried deep. Eshrod didn't press for more. She too had been connected to it, albeit to a far lesser extent than the young cook. Even so, the experience must have been traumatic.
"That's about it. You didn't miss much," Elion said, his voice laced with sarcasm.
Farha's face remained expressionless, yet there was something in her eyes—something that almost betrayed what she was really thinking.
"Yeah, it was pretty fun," Eshrod added with a sly smile. "You don't know how much Eli had been worried about you. It was quite the sight, really."
Farha raised an eyebrow, an amused smile cracking her lips.
"Isn't it normal?" Elion coughed. "She's the one with all the weapons. Her survival is incredibly beneficial to us."
"Sure, whatever you say, Mister Pragmatic."
Kellta and Orm entered the room carrying plates of food.
It was good. Farha ate like she hadn't had a proper meal in days—which she hadn't. But Elion's troubled thoughts kept him from enjoying it. They would need to go hunting today, and this time, he would have to do the fighting.
After the meal and some idle conversation, it was time to plan the hunt. Orm went out to buy supplies at the market. His status as both shaman and sole doctor in town had made him quite wealthy.
Now, the four Unlocked gathered at the table, trying to determine the best course of action.
"Around the village, most of the easy prey has already been hunted. It's rare to find anything nearby anymore," Kellta said. "We'll need to venture further out—where the village hunters usually operate."
She paused, her eyes drifting to the three humans in front of her.
"But we're not the hunters of this village. I'm pretty sure we could take down a Weaver or a Horn, especially with good weapons." She looked at Farha.
The mute girl met her gaze silently, then sighed.
She reached into the void and began pulling out a myriad of blades and firearms.
It was impressive—astonishing, even—how much she had hidden in there. And there might have been even more she didn't show.
Six weapons were laid out neatly on the table. Farha didn't look pleased about revealing her personal collection, but that didn't matter.
Elion recognized the sniper rifle and assault rifle from before.
There was also the longsword she had used to finish off the faceless Class III. Elion peered at its guard, finally noticing the insignia he hadn't seen before. His eyes widened.
How does she have that?!
Carved into the guard was the insignia of Goreth—not just any symbol, but the Uru seal. The sword was darker than the hammer, which meant it had been made specifically for the Uru family itself.
It couldn't be a fake. The craftsmanship was too perfect. This weapon was a true masterpiece, forged by the finest blacksmiths and enchanters of Steel.
Wait, don't tell me…
He looked at Farha intently. She tilted her head, noticing his stare.
She does resemble a lot like Shera of Uru—the woman who welcomed us to Goreth. Could she be the bastard daughter of the family of War and Conquest?
She must be. If not, Elion would've recognized her. That might also explain the 'connections' she referenced back in S33 when he asked how she had acquired those rare ingredients.
If he remembered correctly, the Uru family had a child who supposedly died young. The incident had been covered up extremely well, and there wasn't much information—not that Elion had ever searched.
Maybe she's that child. Maybe she's been living in her family's shadow all this time.
These were assumptions, sure—but the hints were starting to line up. It didn't change much, practically speaking, but…
When Eshrod called her 'princess,' she wasn't wrong… did she already know?
He glanced at the Gremlin. She saw his expression and grimaced before laughing loudly.
Probably not.
He shook his head.
I can ask her about it later.
The weapons laid in front of him were the most important right now.
Among them was a curved sword with a thin, elegant blade that matched the design of the longer one. A war hammer forged of black steel. A combat knife that gleamed sharper than the swords—probably enchanted.
Kellta eyed the weapons, raising an eyebrow at the sight of the rifles. She ran her finger along the flat of the knife. Farha shot her a death glare.
"Truly impressive craftsmanship. Are weapons this refined common for Light-Walkers?" she asked, nearly cutting herself.
"No. These are masterpieces, even by our standards," Elion answered.
He picked up the one-handed curved sword and tested its weight. It was perfectly balanced. Farha reached into the void and pulled out its scabbard, tossing it at him with a mildly annoyed expression.
"Don't worry, I'll give it back," he teased.
Eshrod went straight for the greatsword, her eyes glinting like a child on Christmas morning. Kellta looked at the knife with envy.
Farha gestured toward it, her expression clearly saying:
Take it already if you're so set on robbing me blind.
Well, Elion added that last part himself, but he was pretty sure her thoughts weren't far off.
The fire-wielding imp grabbed the knife and stared at it in amazement.
With everyone armed, they set off toward the forest. Elion shivered. It was cold today, even more so without his jacket—Kellta was wearing it as part of her disguise. Shoulder-high and masked, she was fully embracing the Scorched persona she had crafted.
It didn't take long to find prey.
A Class III had made its lair in the narrow crevice of a cliff. Kellta devised a plan to wear it down so Elion could deliver the finishing blow.
The Weaver was a grotesque hybrid of human and spider. Its primary threats were venom and webbing. The plan was to draw it out of its cocoon and fight it in the open.
That would be Farha's job. Guided by Elion's ability, she would fire into the cave and lure the beast out.
Kellta would burn the webs, and Eshrod would draw its attention. Her reinforced limbs might withstand a venom strike if necessary.
The Gremlin was currently hidden near the entrance. Kellta waited on the opposite side. Farha, not yet fully recovered, sat farther back with Elion.
"Slightly lower. A bit to the left," he said, peering into the crevice. His vision blurred—his soul was nearing collapse.
Hopefully that changes today.
The sniper rifle roared, echoing through the trees. A flash of light pierced the cave.
A high-pitched screech shattered the silence. Chitin scraped against stone and a putrid stench assaulted their nostrils.
Come here, sweet Soul Integrity.
Calling it 'repulsive' was generous. It had a human-like head with pale grey hair veiling its eyes. Its cheeks were bloodied and split, revealing jagged teeth. Two shriveled, useless human arms hung below its shoulders.
Its chest was the real threat—lined with mandibles and guarding an exposed heart wrapped in silk. Its lower half was all spider: eight black, narrow legs that moved in eerie rhythm.
It stood about two and a half meters tall.
And that's what I have to fight… great.
Elion unsheathed his sword and advanced. Eshrod had already engaged the creature, with Kellta torching the silk that threatened to trap her.
The Weaver lashed out, mandibles aiming for the Gremlin's chest—only to be deflected by her magnificent longsword.
Its weak point was clear, but reaching it was nearly impossible. The mandibles were strong as steel, weaving a cage around its heart.
Elion waited, his ability active. Chromatic threads revealed its movements like a map.
When he saw an opening, he lunged.
With half its defenses aimed at Eshrod, just enough space opened for him to strike.
His sword plunged forward—but missed. The Weaver shifted, just slightly, and Elion's blade struck nothing.
Worse, some of its limbs were already aimed at him before he could recover. He blocked one, dodged the other, but the third… a bullet struck it, making its dark armor shatter.
Farha was covering him.
Elion fell into a rhythm, merging Eshrod's training with his ability. It was barely enough to keep up with the Class III.
Crimson flames danced across the Weaver's body—Kellta's fire. The air shimmered with heat, making the young cook sweat and slowing the beast down slightly.
But not enough to kill it.
The mandibles gleamed with yellowish venom. So far, Eshrod had avoided them—but her stamina was fading. He could see it.
The wounds also started to accumulate on the Weaver's body, but not enough to threaten its life.
Its human face hadn't even twitched. Only screeches escaped its broken mouth.
We have to end this.
Elion's sword scraped across a mandible, spraying a volley of sparks. He dodged another strike, then slid his sword forward using his previous momentum.
This time, the blade sank into its heart.
The silk enveloping it turned black, stained by vile blood.
He twisted his blade, making more blood spray until he heard a whisper:
[You have slain a Class III]
[Your soul is being replenished.]
[Soul Integrity: 64%]
That much?!
It made sense since it was a Class III and he was merely a newly Unlocked, his soul was far less significant than the Weaver's.
It felt as if his whole being was repaired, like a part of him had been patched up. It felt good—unbelievably so—yet foreign. As though part of his soul now belonged to something else.
A sliver of blood dripped from the gaping mouth above, landing in Elion's hair, making him recoil.
"Disgusting!"
He ran his hand through his pale hair, some of the vile liquid tainted his fingers.
Eshrod laughed tiredly. Farha walked over from the woods.
"You were pretty good with that sword," the Gremlin said. Oddly, no sarcasm laced her voice.
Kellta approached, catching her breath and extinguishing the carcass.
"Never thought I'd actually kill a Weaver," she muttered. "Only Dulan's father ever managed that."
She crouched by the corpse, grabbing her—well, Farha's—knife.
She pried the chitin plates of the Class III's armor, making the mute girl grit her teeth at the sight of her poor knife being used like that.
After a few minutes of gruesome butchery that didn't seem to bother her, Kellta pulled out a pulsing sack. At least she had the decency to remove Elion's jacket first to avoid soiling it with vile blood.
"That's the venom pouch. Orm once told me that it is incredibly valuable in Ithaka," she paused, observing the fleshy sack cautiously. "I'll give it to him, he might know what to do with it."
Eshrod looked like she wanted to give her usual crude observation about how romantic the gesture was, but she held herself back.