Not dead? What an absolute unit!

  The stag was spasming on the ground. Its legs kept pushing up but slipped midway and flailed like a swimmer drowning on land. Its eyes were no longer burning with rage and determination; instead, the hollowness and dimness of life plagued the two sockets.

  Dakrua twisted the spear and pulled it out in a choral of hisses, grunts, and huffs from the beast. When the spear was just about to leave the beast’s body, dark flames appeared one more time and burned away the fur and its internal organs from the inside out. Patches of flesh, skin, and hair separated and dropped like corroded metals during a chemical experiment. Tick! Splash! And the continuity of shrieks.

  The hunter on its rear lifted the blade high, but in that precise moment, Zalanir’s memory screamed at him and projected the scene of a certain assassin transitioning from triumphant to a desperate state in a second.

  “Hey, don’t—”

  His shout failed to stop the man. The hunter’s blade sliced the intact antler and went into the stag’s head while the man was cursing and laughing.

  A green explosion centered on the stag went off, engulfing all four of them. His vision caught the sight of Dakrua retreating two steps before only the green color remained.

  Both the soul siblings in his mind jolted up and went berserk inside the cages, edging their bodies through the gap between the bars and snatching the remnant of the stag’s soul. Each got a sizable piece and gnawed at them as if it was lunchtime. Or perhaps it was indeed their meal, just that the time was difficult to determine. Could be morning or dinner as well.

  Distressed screams bombarded his ears, and then, when the green smoke of the explosions faded away — not really smoke, and more like intense light just flashed and temporarily painted his eyes with green powder, but his mind at this moment treated it as smoke — two hunters were banging their heads on the floor, their weapons lay far away. Dakrua was fine-ish, as the man was sitting in a thunderbolt pose with a shaking body and a downfall of sweat. Not going crazy was already a major win.

  The fates of the two hunters ended after their foreheads cracked under constant force. Zalanir diverted his eyes away from them immediately. Seeing that jumble of red, gray, and pinkish white oozing out would do him no good except pushing unnecessary substances up to his throat.

  That attack at the end was just downright stupid. First the birduomera with the crescent wave, and now a whole big ass explosion? If he didn’t have the elusive Lantern of Verizss’ia inside his head — he was sure everything related to soul affecting or not affecting him would track back to this skill and Soul Collection — he would surely be dead with Makin back at the bat cave already.

  “Hey, you’re good? Wake up!” Zalanir rushed over and pressed down his hands on top of the chef’s shoulders, hoping to stop the shaking. Though he failed. The man just didn’t wake up from whatever he was in. There might be a fight going on there at the moment.

  Zalanir stayed close. There was no cultists in the proximity, but Dakrua was defenseless right now. A stray attack could’ve taken the man down, so he needed to remain until the man was up. He was a good man, so he deserved to live.

  They won the battle and defeated one of the strongest enemies, but in the grand scheme of the raid, it actually didn’t change much. Sure, the stag now wouldn’t be able to roam and charge at other enforcers, but the fact that both the hunters had died, and he and Dakrua were glued to this spot at the moment meant that the relative strength remained the same.

  Which was obviously bad news. The archway was still okay. That narrow entrance had no doubt played a major role, but also, the cultists coming from that direction didn’t seem that strong. But that direction wasn’t the decider of this battle.

  The captain still hadn’t taken out the prophet yet. He kept gaining small advantages over time, injuring and pressing the cultist’s sole leader, and Zalanir believed that given time, he would emerge as the winner.

  But time wasn’t on their side. The ball of light floating up on the summoning altar had reached the size of an apple already. If his eyes didn’t betray him, that emerald sphere was even spinning slowly now. He had no idea how many phases that thing would get, but a change of state like that would in no case be good.

  And to make matters worse, about ten minutes later, a group of six cultists who had always been staying inside the ritual started to chant. It was the same monotone, meaningless melody.

  ***

  It was too slow. Why hadn’t the ritual completed yet was beyond his understanding. Almost three hours. These scoundrels were taking too much time.

  Oh, they killed that idiotic stag. That could do it. Went ahead and start the ritual already. Weren’t the bodies enough by now?

  It could be troublesome if more was being killed. He had to bring back at least some of them. Even he would be in a jam if the whole squad was wiped. Thirty would be too much. The general wouldn’t let it slide.

  Directing the sword to the side and cutting the man on the flank again, Putrieta smiled, thinking about the future. Once he was done here and got the soul, next would be farming another twenty-nine levels to reach late C-grade, and then he would be able to join the vanguard and go harm at the border.

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  Zerkshi or Vendona? He still hadn’t decided which force to associate with yet. Zerkshi would be great for all the killing, but the resources from Vendona were too good to ignore. Why didn’t the Clotserinn participate in the preparation? It would make everything so simple. The Second Ring. It was the fricking Second Ring that was at the stake here. Why didn’t they want it?

  Zerkshi or Vendona? It had to be Zerkshi. All the resources would mean nothing if one wasn’t strong. Climbing the ladder there, and he would be swimming in treasures and coins, after all.

  Yeah. I know. You are my biggest treasure. Putrieta whispered to the fuming sword, making it dance in the air and slash Wagenner with more fervor.

  No one knew about this yet, even his house. What a bunch of fools! As if it was just a normal sword. It was his bondmate. He had cost a fortune to find an epic sword of this quality. Like hell would it be normal.

  [Asylum of the Sacred Bond] — Epic: Grants the ability to sense and capture souls. The soul can be used to empower the bondmate. Only one single soul can be active on the bondmate at a time. Grants the [Gift of the Sacred Bond] skill.

  Essence: 34

  Mana cost: Very high

  [Gift of the Sacred Bond] — Epic: Grants the ability to assign a bondmate. Can only change the bondmate if the previous one has died.

  Warning: Such a death will result in significant damage to you. Think before acting.

  Essence: 0

  Mana cost: None

  This skill alone was very much worth the effort of his chasing after soul magic. It was perfect for empowering his first mastery. What would be a better bondmate candidate than a flying sword?

  Soul mastery. There was so much side-glancing from his house when he picked this up. His father had walked this path, so it was natural for him to carry on the mantle. What were even these fools thinking of preventing him from this? He would follow in his father’s footsteps and reclaim the role of the patriarch. There was no way he would let his father be the sinner of his lineage. In hell would he let that be.

  Ah, this chant again! What a magnificent piece of music! Whoever designed this must’ve been a genius.

  But finally, took them long enough. Except hiding and running away, what would they even be good at? He had wasted too much time tracking them and locating this lair already. Oh, that daughter of the blacksmith. Considered this a favor, then. She also helped lead him here, though, so maybe they were equal.

  ***

  “I’m sorry, but this is the best I could do.” Zalanir tapped Dakrua’s shoulder and ran back to the battle. That stag was pretty big, so its body could probably hinder the view of others. Who would suspect that the man lying there would be alive?

  The prophet and the captain had for the first time moved away from their fighting spot. Oh, nice, toward the center. Yes, that would bring attention toward the summoning ritual. Wait! Why did the captain let the enemy go? Oh, he helped Hiina and co.?

  Zalanir slowed down. Going for Hiina wouldn’t be that wise now that the captain was there. Staying near the captain could’ve been good in theory, but bad in practice. That spot would soon be the center of attention with the leaders of both forces fighting there. If he wanted to break in, better picked a better spot. Right there.

  He needed someone with good offensive power to punch a path through there. Dakrua would be a good choice, but wasn’t there someone else with even higher attacking prowess currently slaying the enemies there with her dual blue swords? There was also the +1 in terms of the hunter as well. Gota, wasn’t it?

  “Hey, do you have a minute?” Zalanir conjured a barrier and pushed away a cultist.

  “What?” Dunzhia frowned.

  “Oh, you are the one who killed that stag earlier. Nice work out there!” Gota jumped in. His white armor was now a mix of red, thick splashes and brown crosses here and there.

  “I’m sure it’s Dakrua who should take the credit. But anyway, to cut it short, that ritual. Someone has to do something.” Zalanir flicked his head and directed their gaze toward the center.

  “That’s right. I have been telling her the same. See?” Gota returned to Dunzhia in just a second.

  “And I suppose it’s … you?” Dunzhia ignored Gota and looked straight into Zalanir’s eyes.

  “Well, if no one is willing to do anything. I did have the experience of destroying one before, so …”

  “Ah yeah, you are the one with Hiina.” She lifted her head and looked at the center area again while Gota just ensnared a cultist kicked the enemy away. “So you want me to help you get there?”

  “Correct.”

  “Won’t be easy.” Dunzhia muttered while keeping on observing the battlefield.

  “Let me call my bud here. He is a beast.” Gota clapped his hands and ran off.

  “Eh … isn’t he—”

  “Stop. Don’t speak any words.” Dunzhia snapped. “While we are waiting, tell me about what you will do once we get there. I won’t risk it if you can’t give me a clear plan.”

  This was expected, so he just gave her a walkthrough of what he would do. Wouldn’t need to go into detail, since they had no time, and he doubted she could get anything out of it.

  “You have a way to capture a soul?” Dunzhia grimaced.

  “Yeah. It’s our path. Us villagers are trained to do that from a young age.”

  “I have never heard of such a place before.”

  “I can bring you there one day. It’s to the north of Bodylovo.” Even Djaxinz and the Gymer wouldn’t doubt his story, so he just needed to lean on this fully as his identity in this world.

  She didn’t look entirely convinced, but it didn’t really matter. He just had to sow a seed. In this situation, what would she do? Telling the battle to pause for her to go verify that? He was trying to help them win the raid, after all. Everything would click. Time was clearly on his side in this case.

  The return of Gota and a skinny man sealed the deal, as Dunzhia finally agreed to the plan. Zalanir nodded at the new addition to the team. He was also one of the hunters trapped inside the cell back at the previous chamber.

  With that, all their eyes were on the glowing tower-like structure at the center.