The air around them was thick with the smell of blood, and the only sounds that filled the space were the beast's gnawing and the soft crackle of leaves. Samuel didn't move, didn't flinch. He just observed, detached, as if he were witnessing a particularly tragic play with a rather predictable plot.
"Senior sister, you're so kind… Sacrificing yourself for us," he murmured
"You'll be remembered. In the legends. I'm sure there will be songs sung about you. Probably a ballad. Maybe a .....dance also."
The beauty landed on the ground with a heavy thud, a plume of dust rising where her body struck the earth.
The wind seemed to grow colder.
It wasn't just the pain—though that was plenty. It was the sinking, suffocating realization that she was well and truly in deep shit.
Her eyes, once filled with superiority and contempt, now shimmered with disbelief… and the first hints of fear.
"You… treacherous bastard…" she spat through clenched teeth, face contorted in hatred.
Samuel stood a few paces away, calm and unhurried, brushing a leaf from his shoulder.
He smiled. Not kindly.
"Treacherous?" he echoed, as though amused.
"Don't tell me you didn't want to throw me in there. You hesitated—but not because of guilt."
He took a step closer, his voice dipping lower.
"Only because the timing wasn't perfect, right?"
She flinched. Not at his words—but at the truth within them.
Samuel's eyes glinted with something unreadable.
"Let me give you a little lesson," he said softly, almost like a mentor to a junior disciple.
"In this world, if you hesitate while betraying other to survive...."
He crouched slightly, tilting his head as if sharing a divine secret.
"…someone else will betray youfirst to survive."
The girl's lips trembled.
"You—"
"There's no room for maybes," Samuel cut her off, his tone colder now.
"You either kill, or you get killed. That's all there is."
Silence fell.
The burned girl clung to the twisted bark of the tree, her charred fingers digging into the wood as if it might anchor her to something sane.
She dared not speak. Dared not move. She only watched him.
Samuel.
He wasn't even looking at her. Not anymore. His gaze was somewhere far away, as though the world around him no longer mattered.
She felt her heart hammering in her chest—too loud, too fast.
This was his plan.
The thought slithered into her mind, uninvited.
He brought the beast straight to us. Whether by chance or on purpose, it didn't matter anymore. He knew. Knew how we would react. The fear. The panic.
The way we'd scramble like insects the moment teeth and blood entered the picture.
Her breathing grew shallow.
He climbed first. Forced the others to follow. Made us think we still had a choice.
But we didn't.
There was never a choice.
Someone had to be left behind.
And he made sure it wouldn't be him.
Her scorched lips parted slightly, but no sound came. Just breath.
He used the chaos… used us.
Cold sweat ran down her temple despite the heat in the air. Not from pain. Not from the wounds. But from the dawning, paralyzing understanding:
He planned this… while running for his life.
She swallowed.
How the hell do you think like that… while death is breathing down your neck?
Her eyes drifted to the girl on the ground—bleeding, coughing, betrayed.
She had thought Samuel was cold. Maybe cruel.
But this… this wasn't cruelty.
This was calculation.
This was strategy wrapped in a human shell.
She looked back up at him, standing still as a statue beneath the leaves.
And finally, the last wall inside her cracked.
This man… is terrifying.
Not because of his strength.
Not because of what he did.
But because of what he could do to survive.
Because he looked at people—and only saw pieces on a board.
***
The branches creaked.
Leaves trembled.
And then—
A blur of black and muscle and hunger surged from the shadows.
The beauty barely had time to scream.
In her final, desperate struggle, she summoned her sword with trembling hands, chanting something under her breath—some half-remembered rune from the temple's endless lessons.
Light flickered along the blade, a flash of fire trying to be flame… a whisper trying to be roar.
But the beast didn't care.
It didn't hesitate.
It didn't even pause to admire her effort.
It simply lunged.
And swallowed her whole.
There was a wet, awful crunch, followed by silence.
The kind of silence that leaves a scar.
Her sword clattered to the ground with a loud thun, the metal ringing against the roots like a bell tolling for the dead.
Her last breath had been spent cursing Samuel.
A waste, really.
Samuel, still perched above the scene like a god watching ants, tilted his head slightly.
A dry chuckle escaped his lips.
"Well," he muttered, "I suppose she really wanted to go out with a bang. Or at least a bite."
He exhaled slowly, almost thoughtfully, before adding:
"That's one way to make yourself unforgettable. Shame about the sword, though."
The burned girl stared at him in horror, unable to move.
Samuel's eyes flicked to her, calm and unbothered.
"What?" he said with a slight smirk. "I never said I was the hero."
The forest fell still.
The beast finally stopped thrashing, its heavy breaths fading into strained wheezes.
Samuel's eyes sharpened like blades drawn in silence.
"It's time," he muttered.
Without a sound, he leapt from the tree.
The burned girl didn't speak. She didn't even breathe. She just watched— as if witnessing something beyond her understanding.
Samuel landed with practiced ease, feet thudding softly against the bloodstained ground.
He didn't pause to admire the carnage. No breath to catch. No prayers to whisper for the dead.
His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around the sword still half-buried in the dirt beside the beast's mangled form—a blade that once belonged to the beautiful girl who had tried to well... throw him to his death.
Now?
She didn't need it anymore.
He was just borrowing it.
Call it recycling.
The curved blade was still warm to the touch, slick with the residue of desperation and failure. One-sided, slender, and deceptively elegant—like its previous owner.
Samuel muttered dryly, "No point letting it go to waste."
It was a curved blade—sleek and cold. One-sided. Sharp like a whisper in the dark.
A katana? Maybe. Maybe not.
He didn't care.
The moment his skin touched the hilt, something shifted.
A whisper echoed through his mind—low, ancient.
[You have obtained: Rank 1 Relic : Moon Blade ]
A chill crawled up his spine, but Samuel didn't blink. He didn't even spare the weapon a glance.
He didn't have time.
The beast stirred.
Samuel moved.
With mechanical precision, he stabbed the blade into the beast's eye.
Once. Twice.
Again. And again.
Each thrust was desperate, brutal—carried not by technique, but by sheer will. The world around him dimmed, swallowed by the roar of blood in his ears. Time folded in on itself. The stench of gore and iron filled his lungs, but he didn't stop. Couldn't.
If he stopped now…
He would die.
A pathetic, broken end. Crushed beneath the weight of failure and flesh.
The blade slammed into the beast's eye again.
But then—
A twitch.
The beast moved.
Its massive head shifted slightly, like a sleeper disturbed by a nightmare. A low, guttural breath escaped its ruined maw.
Samuel froze.
His blood turned to ice.
No.
No no no no no.
With a snarl, half-mad and half-terrified, he stabbed again—harder this time. His hands slick with sweat and blood. He drove the sword in deeper, praying to no god in particular.
Just stabbing. Over and over.
Then—
A sound. A crack.
Something gave way.
The sword slid through with a sickening crunch.
The beast's single eye, now wide open, locked onto him.
It screamed.
A horrible, gurgling cry that shook the branches, echoing through the dying forest like a funeral bell.
Samuel held his breath.
And then… silence.
The beast collapsed with a final, shuddering exhale. Its limbs twitched once, then stilled forever.
It was dead.
Finally.
Samuel didn't move.
His chest rose and fell, slowly—each breath sharp, deliberate. His hands were trembling, blood running down his arms.
He stared into the hollow where the eye once was.
And whispered, dryly—
"…That was too damn close. Well, that was... anticlimactic."
His chest rose and fell in shallow gasps, the weight of the panic still clinging to him.
He had just nearly died, felt his soul slip right out of his body, and for what? So he could stare at a dead beast and laugh at how close he'd come to being its next meal?
Slowly, with exaggerated effort, he let his body go limp, the grass beneath him feeling like the most comfortable thing in the world.
"I really need a vacation."
The burned girl descended from the tree, her movements slow and deliberate as she took in the scene before her. She glanced at Samuel with an unreadable expression, her gaze flickering to the beast lying motionless on the ground.
After a moment of studying him, she spoke, her voice calm but laced with curiosity.
"Why did you do that?" she asked, her tone almost detached, as though she were analyzing a puzzle.
Samuel glanced at her, his posture casual, as if nothing had just happened. He let out a dismissive sigh and rubbed the back of his neck.
"Oh, please, don't lecture me. She was clearly trying to throw me --" he muttered, waving his hand, trying to brush off the tension.
But before he could say more, she cut him off sharply.
"I'm not asking about that. I'm asking why you didn't use your Abyssal energy to finish it," she said, her voice dropping slightly, but still direct.
Samuel froze for a second, his expression blank. He blinked at her, his mind racing, then stuttered out an awkward response.
"Umm... can we... use that?" he asked, genuinely confused.
There was a long silence between them.
The burned girl didn't respond immediately. She only stared at him, her gaze intense, as if processing his answer. Finally, she shook her head, a slow, almost pitying look in her eyes.
"Unbelievable," she muttered under her breath, too quietly for him to hear. But she didn't waste time on words. Instead, she drew her sword—its dark, sleek surface glinting in the dim light.
It was nearly identical to the one Samuel had stolen. The very one he had desperately stabbed into the beast's skull only moments ago. She focused, her grip tightening on the hilt.
Soon, dark flames started to flicker along the length of her sword, wrapping around it like smoke, swirling with a sinister energy. The flames crackled as they burned, deep, unholy, their glow pulsing with a rhythmic intensity.
With a swift movement, she thrust the sword into the beast's remaining eye, piercing its skull in a single, precise motion. The beast didn't even twitch.
She pulled the sword out, wiping the excess blood off on the grass, her face calm—unimpressed.
"See? It's not that hard," she said, her voice dry, as if she were discussing something trivial.
Samuel stood there, staring at her, a blank expression frozen on his face. His mind was a tangled mess of embarrassment, confusion, and something else he couldn't quite identify.
His heroic arc, his moment of desperation, had just been completely pissed on by this casual display of raw skill. He had been yelling, stabbing like a madman, convinced he was on the verge of death... only for her to do it with a single, effortless stab.
A bitter laugh escaped his throat, and he couldn't help himself. His face twisted into frustration as he turned on her.
"Why didn't you tell me this, bitch?!"