The cultists swung their weapons at the same time, trying to stop the teenager. This wasn't the first time he had tried to break through their encirclement, and they knew exactly how to cut off his escape route.
However, this time, Grey acted with extreme decisiveness.
He blocked the two most dangerous strikes and twisted his body until it was almost parallel to the floor.
The movement looked extremely strange and unnatural, almost comical. With his body in such an awkward position, Grey could avoid the first wave of attacks, but he would leave himself exposed to the next, condemning himself to certain death.
No matter how relaxed the cultists appeared, they took their opponent seriously. In this brief exchange alone, the teenager had already proven his agility in combat. And did they really need to mention that the corpse of their comrade was still lying motionless on the floor, a grim reminder of just how dangerous this insignificant teenager was?
They simply hadn't expected him to make such a suicidal move, so they hesitated for a moment.
But only for a moment.
Seeing the opening, they swung their weapons without hesitation, directing their merciless strikes at Grey.
The blades tore through flesh. A large amount of blood splattered across the floor.
A massive gash stretched across Grey's back, from his shoulder all the way down to his waist. The second attack nearly severed his arm, while the third and fourth struck his thigh.
The boy was so badly wounded that he simply couldn't continue fighting, no matter how tough he considered himself.
He couldn't even hold the weight of his sword anymore. It slipped from his hand and crashed to the floor with a metallic clang.
Grey paid it no attention. He tumbled headfirst into a chest and immediately slammed the lid shut behind him.
"You little bastard! Trying to hide? I gotta say, you couldn't have picked a worse place. Ahahaha!" one of the cultists laughed.
"Ahahaha! Bitch, he must've realized we weren't so easy to deal with and decided he wanted to live a few moments longer. Maybe he wants to beg the Merciful Flame for forgiveness," the second one chimed in.
Their breathing was heavy, and their voices were filled with relief.
No matter how recklessly they bragged, the deaths of so many comrades had taken a serious toll on them.
They had genuinely feared getting into a fight to the death with a mere boy. His unknown methods were especially frightening, having already claimed the lives of so many of their comrades. Perhaps that was why they had failed to display their true strength, allowing the boy to hold out for so long in a one-against-four battle.
Meanwhile, the third cultist picked up the fallen gladius and examined it with a discerning eye.
"Good sword!" he exclaimed in admiration as soon as he felt its weight. "Excellent sword! Just the kind of weapon an expert like me deserves. I'll definitely find a better use for it!"
"Shut up, you bastard!" the fourth interrupted him. "Don't even think about claiming the spoils for yourself. You weren't fighting alone, so the rewards will be divided equally."
"Hey, you two, cut it out!" the first intervened. "Isn't it obvious that I contributed the most? I'm the one who dealt the heaviest blow to that little brat. I deserve at least two-fifths of the spoils."
"Then I'll take the dagger," the second added.
They weren't in any hurry to open the chest where Grey was hiding. Instead, they cheerfully began discussing how to divide their newly acquired spoils.
After all, the boy had just suffered extremely severe wounds and was bleeding profusely. By their calculations, he was close to death. Surely, only a few breaths separated him from the Yellow Springs.
Why bother finishing him off?
A wounded beast was the most dangerous kind. Especially when it had nowhere left to run and death was breathing down its neck. Who knew what trump cards the boy might play in his final attack?
The best course of action was to be patient, wait for him to bleed out, and retrieve his cold corpse afterward. The treasures weren't going anywhere, after all.
Yes, Grey hadn't shown anything particularly impressive during their battle, but he had somehow managed to kill the others. In such a situation, who would dare take unnecessary risks?
"Hey, stick the sword into the chest! If it's sharp enough to damage our weapons, it should easily cut through wood. That way, we can finish the brat off without putting ourselves at risk," someone suggested, coming up with a pretty good idea.
"Right. Right." The others all agreed.
But at that very moment.
The walls of the building shook once more. Shrapnel from the grenade Grey had thrown before jumping into the chest flew in all directions, shattering the windowpanes and tearing through the cultists' bodies.
The chest shook violently, and Grey slammed his head against its inner wall.
For a split second, all sound vanished, leaving a vacuum inside his head. Grey felt as if a herd of horses had trampled over his entire body. At that moment, he wanted to empty his stomach.
The chest lid creaked open, and the skinny figure of a teenager crawled out like a wounded gorilla. First, he collapsed onto the floor, unable to keep his balance. Only afterward did he manage to get back up and finish the job.
Grey breathed heavily, clinging to the last remnants of consciousness. His vision was blurred, and every movement sent sharp waves of pain through his entire body.
The cultists lay scattered around the chest like sacrificial lambs.
Some groaned like wounded animals. Others stared at the ceiling, simply clinging to their last few breaths. Some lay motionless, having died long ago. And some were still trying to understand how they had suffered such terrible injuries.
Just a moment ago, they had been discussing how to divide the spoils. The boy was gravely wounded and could no longer offer any resistance.
Then came a terrible explosion that ruptured their eardrums. A blinding flash of light left them all completely sightless. And now, they lay motionless, unable to even lift a hand, while a little boy calmly crawled out of the chest.
How had things come to this? They would never know.
Grey picked up his sword, finding it almost entirely by touch, and slowly approached his defeated opponents, moving at a snail's pace.
He had absolutely no idea which of them were dead and which were still breathing, so he struck each one. It took a great deal of effort, but it was better not to take any chances.
Limping, Grey headed toward the back exit he had discovered during his earlier inspections.
He remembered that he had to leave the building as quickly as possible.
The series of loud explosions and sounds of battle had undoubtedly attracted plenty of attention. It wouldn't be long before the locals reported everything to the patrol, if they hadn't already done so. Under such circumstances, staying here even a minute longer would be tantamount to suicide.
As he left the room where the final battle had taken place, Grey took a bottle filled with an incendiary mixture of gunpowder and fire cheetah blood from his bottomless pocket. He struck the bottom of the bottle and threw it straight onto the corpses.
He didn't dare leave any evidence behind.
"Don't look back," Senior's voice rang out in Grey's head, filled with relief.
"Why?" Grey asked tiredly. "Weren't you the one who convinced me to burn this entire house to the ground?"
"Cool guys don't look at explosions." Senior decided to crack a joke to lighten the mood a little.
Grey was feeling down, but he couldn't suppress a chuckle. The sound sent a dull ache through every organ in his body. At that moment, it felt as though someone had turned him inside out and given him a thorough beating with a club.
"You bastard, you weren't nearly this funny while I was fighting those scumbags. Why aren't you squealing like a pig led to slaughter now?" Junior shot back sarcastically, yet for some strange reason, he followed his companion's advice.
The flames spread through the building with unstoppable force. The fire quickly engulfed the entire room before spreading to the others. A fitting end for the hideout of a cult called the Merciful Flame.
Grey disappeared into a narrow, dark alley like a drop of water falling into the ocean. He moved farther and farther away from the scene of the crime.
"How about drinking a medium healing potion?" Senior suggested, his tone turning serious and concerned once again.
Grey gritted his teeth against the pain.
Now that the adrenaline from the battle had worn off, he could barely tell up from down, let alone find the right item in his bottomless pocket. All his attention was focused on forcing himself to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Even so, he tried to answer. Not because he considered Senior an interesting conversationalist, but because their conversation was the only thread keeping him conscious.
"We don't have that many left. We need to be economical."
"How many?" Senior asked, fully aware of Junior's condition.
He was asking precisely to give Junior a reason to exercise his brain.
"When I left the Village of the Abandoned, I had thirty minor potions. I've used sixteen. Five to treat Lily back in the slave camp. Three for myself. Another eight to treat the teenagers' wounds after they escaped from the cultists. That left fourteen, but after the battle with the Green-Toothed Hyenas, I gave away two more. So, twelve."
"What about the medium ones?" Senior pressed on, noticing how Junior's vision was rapidly blurring and his voice was growing quieter.
"There were only five. Three to treat Lily in that same damned camp. One for myself after the battle with the panther. That means there's one left."
"And the major ones?"
"It can regrow a limb. I'm not desperate enough to use that. I've only tried it on Lily. Before I gave away a drop of life."
"I'm still not sure that was the right decision," Senior commented.
"Neither am I," Junior replied weakly. "But I don't regret it, and that's what matters."
Senior swallowed hard, as he could no longer see what was happening. Junior's consciousness was fading, and Senior himself felt as though he had suddenly risen to the surface from beneath the water.
The next moment, Senior felt agonizing pain and realized he had taken control.
"Now!" he screamed inwardly, grasping at the fleeting thread of clarity he had instinctively sensed when he took control of the battered body.
His hand darted into the bottomless pocket and immediately grabbed the first vial it touched.
Without hesitation, Grey uncorked it with his teeth and poured the precious potion into his mouth. The cool liquid slid down his throat. For a brief moment, his body felt incredibly light, as if the purest fuel had been poured into a stalled engine.
Grey realized they had managed to survive another day.
"You're still here?" he asked Junior, hoping to test his theory.
"Yes," Junior replied in a rather displeased tone. "I thought I could hold on until we returned to our hideout..."
"Don't be too hard on yourself," Senior encouraged him, though he wasn't sure those were the words Junior wanted to hear. "You've done enough."
"Fuck off. You think I don't know what you're thinking? You're probably cursing me for being impulsive and stupid."
"I'm not going to deny the obvious." Senior nodded.
"It was my decision. What are you going to do about it? You did something stupid by getting involved with Lady Veronika. I did something stupid by attacking the cultists' base. Now we're even," Junior snapped. "Now hand over control. I'll make it to the brothel myself. My time isn't up yet..."
"Why try so hard?"
"…"
Junior had no intention of going into detail and pouring his heart out. What was the point of trying to explain his feelings to someone so cold and merciless? Could someone like that possibly understand how much he missed his mother, his sister, and Cassia?
Even if his efforts brought him closer to seeing them again by just a single moment, he would have no regrets.
The cultists were in his way, so he had eliminated them. End of story. There was nothing to discuss.
That brought their conversation to an end.
Now that his condition had improved slightly, there was no longer any need to keep talking for the sake of it.
Junior could still feel pain coursing through every cell of his body, but staying conscious had become easier. He had even started feeling an urge to scratch his wounds, which was a sure sign that they were healing.
He even quickened his pace, nearly breaking into a run, eager to return as soon as possible.
Grey was deeply worried that one of the workers at the Embraces of Venus might notice his absence. Of course, few people would suspect him of being involved in today's incident, given his status as a cripple, but it was better not to take any chances.
Unlike Senior, he was genuinely afraid of Lady Veronika's perceptiveness. He still couldn't gauge her true strength.
He didn't dare underestimate any servant of the Olympian gods.
Returning to his room through the window, Grey sat on the bed and began treating his wounds. He soaked towels in the clean water he had prepared beforehand and washed the blood off his body. Then he carefully applied healing potion to his wounds with a thin brush to conserve his supplies as much as possible.
The deep gash on his back caused him the most trouble. He had to use another minor healing potion. He soaked a piece of cloth in it, placed it on the bed, and carefully lay down on top of it, pressing it against the wound.
After finishing an hour later, Grey fell into a deep sleep almost instantly.
Senior didn't disturb him. He understood that their body needed rest, and he wholeheartedly agreed.
As their consciousness hovered on the boundary between sleep and reality, the door to the room creaked open quietly.
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