Chương 57: Payments

Ophila chewed her lower lip as she stared nervously out of the lodge window. Through the grimy glass she could see a harsh orange glow rising from the direction of the Amberpulp fields, vomiting columns of black and thick smoke that choked out the dark spore-light sky. She could also hear the victims—a discordant chorus of screams growing unmistakably closer. She looked down at William, whose unconscious head was resting on her lap. This was clearly the work of Lio. Ophila shook her head.

She'd known Lio was capable. But… this? Had things gone bad, or had they gone exactly the way Lio wanted? She wasn't sure which option was even the better one. A piercing shriek suddenly pierced through the air, causing her to jolt with surprise. It sounded like a name— Larkspur? Lavigne? —screamed with such a raw, visceral fury that Ophila shivered, her blood turning cold. She looked back down at William. He was clearly not waking up anytime soon. Ophila scowled.

Then she carefully lifted his head, replacing her lap with a soft pillow. She straightened up, grabbed her coat, and headed for the door. Even if she'd told Lio that she was going to stay in the lodge, she didn't owe Lio her promise. He'd already broken plenty of his own already. She stepped outside and began moving toward the fire. ◈◈◈◈ Lio emerged from the Mayor's residence, only to find Trestfall in absolute chaos.

The fire in the Amberpulp fields was enormous, and even though it hadn't reached the settlement yet, half of the sky had already been painted a deep orange. People were running in every direction, some carrying buckets of water, some carrying the injured. Overturned carts and abandoned stalls lined the main street, their various contents scattered across the cobblestones. Lio fingered the Prosperous Mantle that had been fastened around his shoulders. Its effect really was remarkable.

The mantle felt strangely absent and weightless, like he was wearing something made of air. The temperature regulation had all but ceased any sort of discomfort he'd might be feeling from the weather. His body was now existing in a perfect equilibrium, insulated from everything. Lio gave an approving nod as he stripped off the masquerade mask and bed-linen cloak, casting them aside onto the mud. He understood now why the Mayor wore the artifact constantly.

Walking down the streets calmly, he surveyed the damage around him. Luckily, despite the screaming, the settlement was actually rather largely intact. There were a few shattered windows and burning buildings, but they are all minor costs for the prize now draped over his shoulders. Now for the second part. Lio followed the sound of the screams, drifting toward their source. He rounded the final corner into the town square, only to find a place of carnage.

The cobblestones were slick with crimson blood, and the ground was littered with deceased bodies—guards, Delvers, and civilians. Some were sprawled near the dry fountain, while others lay slumped against the burning stalls. Most of them all shared the same characteristic of death: their necks had been slit open. Lio stopped at the edge of the clearing, hands in his pockets, surveying the damage. The town square had definitely seen better days.

Then he glanced over, at the far end of the square, where a fight between two people was still ongoing. Lio immediately recognized the smaller of the two. Lamb. Up close and in the hellish light from the burning stalls, he was a truly disturbing sight. His tattered clothes were so thoroughly soaked through with blood that they were dripping with it, completely oversaturated. His small hunched frame seemed to be buzzing with a primal energy, while his face was twisted into an animalistic snarl.

The stiletto was still in his hand, slick with crimson. The larger figure was Erygn. The guard captain had only a standard issue sword, but he was keeping Lamb at bay by himself. His movements as he fought were like a beautiful dance, his body moving fluidly like water, every step and deflection exactly where it needed to be. And even more surprisingly, [Absolute Slaughter] wasn't affecting him. Lio chuckled. He knew what this was. Ergyn was using a special mental technique called True Mind.

It wasn't a rune, and it definitely wasn't anything supernatural. Instead, it was one of the most difficult combat techniques to master, developed centuries ago by a school of swordsmanship in the far eastern settlements. It let the practitioner essentially void their conscious mind during combat, leaving behind only their body and instincts. And because [Absolute Slaughter] needed the conscious mind to work its magic, Ergyn wasn't being affected. Lio watched appreciatingly.

He had encountered True Mind only perhaps a dozen times across his thousand loops. It was extraordinarily rare, requiring years of dedicated and almost maniacal practice to achieve. The boy really was something. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. Too bad he had such a hero complex. Meanwhile, Lamb was clearly getting more and more frustrated, his mental composure crumbling even more.

In just one day, he'd encountered two people that were completely immune to his rune, the same rune that was supposed to let him kill anyone he wished. He let out a growl, and charged forward, landing a few hits on Ergyn, while Ergyn retaliated with a few hits of his own. Around them, there was a loose perimeter of perhaps fifteen Delvers and remaining guards, who were doing their best to limit the collateral damage that Lamb was causing.

They were battered, several of them visibly having horrible injuries, but they were holding on. The tide had turned against Lamb. Lio smiled coyly. We can't have that. Not yet. He crouched and picked up a fist-sized chunk of cobblestone from the debris scattered at his feet. He studied it for a moment. This'll do. He activated [Isopolity]. The stone blurred, four identical copies materializing around his hand.

He selected one and sent it forward with his telekinetic control, hitting Lamb cleanly across the back of the skull with a sharp crack. Lamb staggered at the sudden impact, dropping to one knee, momentarily stunned. Ergyn could've ended Lamb right there, but he was also surprised, instinctively taking a half step back. Lamb's head came back, his bloodshot eyes sweeping the square, searching for the culprit. And found Lio. Lamb's eyes widened.

"LACKSPUR LAVIGNE!" He shrieked the name so loudly, and with such power and fury, that several people in the guard perimeter stumbled backward in fear. Lamb jumped to his feet, and started running towards Lio. Lio immediately whirled around, activating [Mach Heart], crossing just enough to open up some distance without losing Lamb entirely. Behind him Lamb's footsteps were horrifyingly fast, so fast that Ergyn and the guards were left standing dumbly in the town center, completely blindsided.

Lio turned down a narrower street, activating [Mach Heart] to bound onto a roof of a nearby fungal building, landing in a roll. He sprinted across several more roofs until he saw his destination quickly approaching. Senna's house, easily recognizable by the pressed flower wreath on the front door. She was outside, on the front step, her face twisted with worry as she tried to make sense of the chaos erupting through Trestfall's streets.

Her Union uniform was disheveled, her ponytail had fallen apart, and even from this height Lio could see her conflicting expression as she debated whether to go back inside or run somewhere more safe. Before she could spot him, Lio dropped off the rooftop, landing in the narrow alley beside the building. He moved quickly, drawing his Adamantine knife. He didn't have much time before Lamb arrived. Raising the blade, he stabbed his outer thigh first.

It was deep enough to bleed, but it was clear of any nerves or valuable muscles. The second stab went into the soft tissue at his knee's outer edge. Finally, he stabbed himself on the left side of his abdomen for the third time. It was nowhere near anything vital but it would definitely look like a significant wound to anyone without proper medical training. Putting the bloodied knife away, he staggered out of the alleyway, stumbling towards Senna's house.

He pressed his hand against his abdomen where the blood was already soaking through his shirt, while another stream ran down his legs, dripping onto the cobblestone street. Senna turned at the sound of his footsteps, her expression faltering at the sight of his injuries.

"Lio—!"

"Senna." He coughed, his voice coming out strained.

"You need to run and get out of here. Hurry!"

"What happened?" She ran towards him, her face aghast.

"How badly are you—""Senna, please." He grabbed her wrist, forcing her to look at him in the eye.

"Listen to me. There's someone coming. A killer's following me here." He winced, a fresh spurt of blood dying his clothes even more red.

"You need to get inside!"

"I'm not leaving you out here—""No, I can slow him down." He drew his knife again, letting her see it. The blood had been wiped away in the scabbard.

"I can buy you enough time to get inside. So you have to go." Senna's eyes were filled with helplessness and terror.

"But you can barely stand," she weakly protested, her voice cracking with despair.

"I've been in worse situations." Lio gave a grim chuckle.

"No, I can't—" Senna's voice died in her throat, her gaze snapping past Lio's shoulder. At the far end of the street, Lamb had rounded the corner. With his silhouette wrapped in the orange haze of the distant fires, and drenched in the blood of his enemies, he looked less like a boy and more like the devil incarnate. Senna let out a shriek of fear, her hand flying to her mouth. Lamb didn't pay her any mind, entirely focused on Lio. He lifted his stiletto—still dripping with blood, and pointed it.

"Lackspur Lavigne," he mumbled, eyes bloodshot. Lio managed to stand up as much as the knee wound allowed, putting himself between Lamb and Senna, holding up the Adamantine knife.

"Senna." He readied himself for combat.

"Run."

"I'm not—""Run!" he ordered, his voice threatening enough for her to flinch. But even then, Senna didn't run, standing frozen on the front step, her hands pressed over her mouth. Her eyes widened, a fearful, cornered look to them. Lio glanced back at her. And in that momentary distraction, Lamb closed the distance between them in a burst of terrifying animalistic speed, the stiletto coming straight for Lio's throat. Lio watched the trajectory of the knife carefully.

If he'd wanted to avoid it, he could just easily sidestep it. The attack was obvious enough. Instead, he shifted his whole body slightly to the right. Just enough to avoid the throat, but not enough to avoid everything else. The stiletto punched through his left shoulder, sending Lio flying back like a ragdoll, blood spurting outward in a crimson arc in the air. Senna screamed, the paralysis of fear finally breaking. She stumbled off the step and dropped to her knees beside him, shaking violently.

"Lio." She was hyperventilating.

"Lio, Lio, Lio—" Lio himself was still conscious, but this act was necessary to bring Senna over the edge. And so, he let his eyes glaze over, letting his breathing turn shallower and shallower as his blood pooled around him. Senna's cold hands cupped his cheeks.

"No," she mumbled, her voice trembling.

"No, you can't die—you're not allowed to—" Lio coughed, specks of red landing on Senna's cheek. He reached out, gripping her hand. Then made himself go slack, hand slipping from her grasp. Across the street, Lamb's expression was one of morbid joy. His eyes twitching with maniacal glee, he turned towards them, raising the stiletto again. Senna looked up at the sound of the approaching footsteps.

She stared as Lamb walked closer, the strands of her hair having fallen across her face so that her expression wasn't visible. Her hands hung at her sides. She wasn't shaking anymore. She slowly stood up. Lamb came closer. With one hand, Senna pulled her collar aside, revealing the rune inscribed across her collarbone—a sharp V flanked by two lines running parallel to it. As her fingers brushed the ink, the lines ignited, turning a brilliant, blinding white light.

Lamb faltered, the animalistic madness draining from his face. He frowned. There was a sharp crackle of static, and the space behind Senna began to ripple like a heat haze. But as the distortion grew, it turned foul—an oily, ink-like blackness infecting the air. Lamb took a step back, bloodshot eyes widening. The blur behind Senna split open. Two hands emerged. They were translucent and ghostly, with inhumane fingers far too long. They reached forward with a strange, alien grace, cupping Senna's face.

A soft whisper slithered out of the crack.

"What will be your payment, child?" Senna looked up. As her hair fell back, her expression was revealed. Her face was wet. Tears were running down her face, moving silently down her jaw and dripping from her chin.

"I'll give you my sight," she muttered softly.

"For one hour."