"So, I help you kill a god and in return you help me break my curse?"

"Not kill, actually. Cripple," Eliot corrected as they now stood perched on a huge branch, watching a large group of people below who seemed to be arguing about something.

"Cripple?"

"Yes. Cripple," Eliot confirmed before leaping onto the next branch with quick, efficient movements. With practiced ease, he continued moving through the canopy until he was standing close enough to make out what the group below was doing. This was as close as he dared approach—any nearer and someone would spot him. Though that wouldn't necessarily be an issue unless it was SOMEONE who specifically wanted him dead.

"Do you realize what you're asking me to do?" He glanced to the side to find the girl—or woman—Sheila, giving him an odd look.

"I do. I understand that capturing her alive would be far more difficult than simply killing her," he responded.

"Oh, it would be far, far more difficult. Those arrogant pricks would rather die than endure any form of disgrace, especially from creatures they consider 'lowly,'" Sheila explained, her expression darkening.

"You seem to have quite the grudge," he noted.

"Oh, you don't say," she replied sarcastically with a dry look.

Below them, voices rose in frustration.

"It's obvious half of us have to die before this whole thing ends! I'm so sick and tired of this place!"

"This is just ridiculous! What sort of sadistic, psychopathic loser created this hellhole?!"

Eliot squinted, picking up on the chaos unfolding before them.

Everyone in the gathered crowd seemed restless and frustrated about their situation—namely, being trapped in this mystic world for god knows how long. He could identify hunters, guardians, and numerous nobles based on their clothing. At this point, there was barely any hierarchy remaining. All anyone wanted was to escape this damned place alive. Rich or poor, commoner or noble—everyone shared the same desperate objective.

Though it seemed as though not much time had passed within this world, one couldn't say the same about the outside world. That was the thing with mystic worlds: their temporal flow varied wildly. Some had slower time progression where one year inside equaled a single day outside. Others had faster rates where one hour inside equaled a year in the real world. The uncertainty alone brought a truckload of problems, as people from the outside world might simply assume they were dead given how long they'd been gone.

This was a problem for Eliot as well.

He was supposed to attend the Festival of Light—one of his major opportunities to ruin Jason before Trinity Nevas arrived. But now that plan hung in the balance, with the time differential between this world and reality serving as the deciding factor. Eliot's original confidence had been based on the fact that Nora had entered this place and made it out in time before her brother returned to the academy for his final year. Based on that, he'd estimated at least a week before the festival. However, at this point, he wasn't so sure anymore.

Not that he cared particularly, anyway.

Right now, his mind was scattered in multiple directions. To say he wasn't confused about his next step would be the biggest lie he'd ever told. Previously, he'd been confident in his direction in life—the path had seemed so clear. He'd known exactly what steps to take, even ones stretching far into the future. But after realizing all those carefully laid plans existed within someone else's larger scheme, he didn't know what to do anymore.

Enslaving his targets had seemed like the best solution for all his future dilemmas. But with Sheila's explanation, it now felt like poisoned honey—the more he consumed, the more he craved, and the more he craved, the more he consumed. All of it only led to one inevitable end: being used and manipulated until he was finally positioned exactly where whatever entity was pulling the strings wanted him to be.

If he wanted to find out everything—what the system truly was, whether there was any truth in what that other version of himself had said, why he'd reincarnated into this world with his memories intact, what he ACTUALLY was—if he wanted to discover the truth, then he would have to deviate entirely from what was expected of him. He needed to find a way to outsmart even the forces he wasn't aware of that were nonetheless aware of him.

That was why he'd developed this new approach.

Instead of wasting pieces of his soul to enslave every heroine in the world, he was going to target only the most powerful individuals. Not just heroines, either—in fact, he would focus equally on villains. Key characters who would eventually become overwhelmingly powerful in the future. They would become the pawns that would help him survive this deadly game.

He wasn't certain how many he could enslave before he was weakened to a critical point, so he was going to risk it on ten. Ten carefully selected pawns who would serve as his legions. Their target? To join forces with Sheila when the time came and cripple the goddess enough to enslave her.

Why was he still set on enslaving her specifically?

Well, the truth was that this time it wasn't solely about revenge—though that remained a major motivating factor. No, Sheila's explanation had broadened his perspective considerably, and he'd come to a startling realization: he could actually escape this world entirely, thereby escaping the influence of whatever deity had originally gifted him the enslaving bloodline.

If what Sheila said was true, then there were jurisdictions and boundaries between realms. That meant the goddess's power and influence were limited to this world, as was any other god beneath her whose domain fell under her authority. Therefore, escaping this world equaled one thing: Checkmate.

This was the plan he'd formulated an hour ago.

It sounded more than a bit far-fetched, admittedly. But then again, it was the best plan he could devise given the circumstances.

The choice was simple: play into the hands of this manipulating entity, or fight against it.

And he was going to fight.

He was done being a pawn in someone else's game.

He'd had enough of that role to last several lifetimes. First, there had been his original life where he'd been betrayed and used. Next came this world where the same pattern had repeated itself, and in the blink of an eye he'd been discarded once again like a broken tool. He would sooner orchestrate his own death than allow himself to be used a third time.

"Can you blend in?" he asked, looking at Sheila's face. Even with just a single glance, her beauty was the kind that could charm a person effortlessly. Not even Eliot, with all his proclaimed dampened emotions, could claim to be completely immune to it.

"...You just had to ask," she said with a slight sigh. Then she manifested that translucent artifact from before, pulling it from her dimension ring, and carefully placed it over her features.

"Let's go."

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