The loop lasts four days.
That was good to know—but Elion still had no idea how to break free of it.
Right now, though, there was a more pressing matter. He glanced toward Joart. It took real self-restraint not to lunge at the sharp bastard's throat.
The pretend noble shifted, uncomfortable under Elion's murderous stare.
Still, dealing with him would have to wait. Joart would only try to kill him on the first night they made camp. Until then, he could be useful—if only as cannon fodder.
The only real lead Elion had was the camp they'd spotted in the distance. But to reach it, they'd have to get past a High Lord.
"We head into the forest," he said calmly.
This time, he guided the group directly toward the camp, hoping that since they were a day early, the High Lord wouldn't be there.
She was there.
If Elion hadn't been paying close attention, he wouldn't have noticed Hela collapsed to the ground—a knife piercing her neck with surgical precision.
"We're under attack!" he shouted, unsheathing his sword.
She's here even when we first arrive?
The others dropped into defensive stances without hesitation.
"What is hap—" Talom didn't even have time to finish his sentence before his neck was severed from his body.
Fast…
Elion scanned the shadows, trying desperately to locate their assassin.
The next killing blow was aimed at Leonard, but the young cook managed to block it with near-perfect timing. The force of the strike still sent him staggering backward, and that moment was all it took for the High Lord to take down Alphons and Eshrod with inhuman speed.
By the time Elion rose, the killer was already closing in on Joart. He could have tried to save the bastard—but why would he?
Oops. Didn't see you there, buddy.
Joart was stabbed through the chest before he even saw the enemy.
"Everyone, to me!" Elion barked. Hoping that a tight formation would reduce the chances of getting picked off.
Kellta unleashed a torrent of flames, trying to block the assassin's path. Leonard fired bolts of lightning, hoping to catch her off guard.
None of it worked.
The High Lord shrugged off the crimson flames and dodged the electricity with unnatural ease. Still, something seemed to intrigue her.
She stopped—standing in front of the fire-wielding imp—tilting her head slightly. Perhaps she recognized the mask. Or the fire. Or both.
Farha and Lumos seized the opportunity.
The Mute Demon fired her sniper rifle while the sorcerer lunged from the other side with his sword.
The assassin sliced the bullet in half with her onyx blade, and with her free hand, plunged a knife into Lumos's throat.
Kellta tried to stab her in the shoulder, but the High Lord caught her wrist with the same hand she'd used to kill the sorcerer.
She dropped her black blade, gently removed the imp's mask, and scrutinized Kellta's terrified face.
Then she headbutted her, knocking her out cold and gently lying her on the ground.
What the hell is she doing?
The High Lord disappeared again, aiming to finish the job. She took out Leonard before Elion could see anything.
He moved to stand back-to-back with Farha. The Mute Demon now held her warhammer, bracing for a desperate defense.
When the young cook felt the tension in her shoulders—knowing she was about to block—he struck.
He plunged his sword backward beneath her arm, hoping to catch the enemy mid-attack.
Elion and Farha were thrown back by the force of the impact, but what he saw made him smile weakly. The High Lord's side was injured, but she did not bleed. Only dark shadows spewed from her wound.
He didn't have time to react before a sword pierced his skull, ending his life in one fell move.
Back to the beginning.
But now, he had a plan.
Elion made the group stop farther from the camp. A couple hours' walk from where they started.
"We'll rest here," he announced.
"Why?" Joart asked, condescending as ever. "We haven't walked much. We could go farther—"
Of course you have an issue with it.
"Well, if mister pretend noble wants to continue, be my guest. I'm staying here for the night."
Joart's goons exchanged confused glances.
"Why… are you talking to me like that?" the sharp bastard asked, clearly irritated.
"Like what?" Elion smirked, adding fuel to the fire.
"Did I do something to you?" Joart's tone now held a tinge of intrigue.
"Oh, you'd love to do something to me, wouldn't you? But sorry, I don't swing that way."
Elion channeled his inner Eshrod.
The Gremlin chuckled.
"Good one."
The young cook let a sly smile creep onto his face as Joart's expression became a mix of confusion, irritation… and maybe a little fear.
Does he already suspect I've figured it out?
"Alright then. I'll go get some firewood. Joart, since you're still full of energy, you're coming with me." Elion said, deciding to bring him along for a fun session of questioning…
"No, I'm not," he protested.
"Come on, don't be shy. I don't bite."
Damn. I'm really going full Eshrod.
Still, she is good at getting under my skin and as much as I hate to admit it, the sharp bastard does share some personality traits with me…
And it's kind of funny.
After doing the same thing over and over again, a little humor to break the monotony was welcomed.
Before Joart could argue further, Elion grabbed his wrist and dragged him off.
Behind them, he heard Eshrod whisper to Leonard:
"I think they're going to fuck…"
Miss Lightning chuckled, but her tone remained serious.
"Seriously, don't you think Elion is acting a little odd?"
"It is unlike him," the Gremlin shrugged. "But he's always been weird, so I wouldn't worry too much."
Elion dragged the bastard deep into the forest. Joart had stopped resisting—resigned to gather wood with the madman.
"Why'd you really bring me out here?" he asked, tension in his tone.
Once they were far enough from the others, the young cook dropped the act. He tackled the pretend noble to the ground, pinned him, and drove his sword into his thigh.
He clamped a hand over his mouth.
"Shhh. No one will hear you scream," he whispered, sounding as maniacal as possible.
Judging by Joart's terrified expression and the way he writhed in agony, the performance worked. Or maybe it was the sword tearing through his leg…
"Let's cut to the point," Elion said, his voice cold. "Why do you want to kill me?"
"And before you lie," he added, "just know that part of my ability lets me detect lies."
It was a bluff—but he knew just the thing to sell it as true: fear.
"But please do lie."
He dragged his fingers along the blade of his sword, touching the sharp bastard's cold skin and digging into the mangled flesh. Joart squirmed violently.
"I just love a good old interrogation, the way it should always be."
Elion looked completely unhinged. He was really proud of his acting skills. Looking so far away from sanity was fun… and almost too easy…
No. This is just an act.
He locked eyes with the poor tortured soul beneath him.
"So. What'll it be, my good friend? Either way, I get what I want. There's the fun way…"
A twisted smile spread across his face.
"…or the boring way."
He slowly removed his hand from pretend noble's mouth, making sure he wouldn't scream his lungs out.
Elion half-expected him to deny it—but to his surprise, he didn't. The act he put on must have been quite convincing.
Joart, for all his cunning, was still an eighteen-year-old kid in the end. He wasn't immune to fear.
"I—I had to," he said, voice trembling.
Elion nudged the blade slightly—just enough to send a fresh wave of pain, prompting him to continue at a more acceptable pace.
"You're just too damn smart!" Joart shouted.
"Flattery will get you nowhere."
"You would've figured it out eventually. You already took control of my group. I had no options left."
"Figured what out?" the young cook asked, raising an eyebrow.
The sharp bastard squinted, trying to determine if he was joking, if it was a test. In response, Elion dug deeper in his mutilated flesh, forcing a sharp cry of pain from him.
"Figure what out, Joart?"
"I—I was the one who murdered the villager back with the Dwellers of the Depths."
So he really did it…
"And the other members of your group… they didn't all perish to Creatures of the Depths, did they?" Elion asked, his face turning dark.
Joart said nothing. But his silence was answer enough.
The young cook had a good idea of why he might have done something like that.
The feeling when you kill something; the soul being filled by someone else's.
The pretend noble must have slain a Dweller of the Depths to replenish his dwindling Soul Integrity.
Something Elion had almost considered when he was traveling alone with Farha…
The sharp bastard felt the same euphoric feeling and had the same thoughts on how a human's would feel. But for him, it didn't stay as a thought.
"Was it worth it? Is the feeling that good?" Elion hissed.
Joart looked at him utterly terrified.
"I guess I'll just have to find out."
He removed the blade from the pitiful thing that called itself human's thigh and pressed it to his throat.
"Wait!" he pleaded, "I didn't—"
But it was too late for pathetic excuses.
[You have slain an Unlocked Soul]
[Soul Integrity: 81%]