Apparently, Sheila was the reason Nora made it out of the mystic world.

That was the conclusion Eliot came to after she literally blew a hole in space—or rather, through the mystic world itself.

With that, the world collapsed on itself and Eliot woke up in an embarrassing position with Sheila holding him up in a princess carry.

"Can you drop me?" he asked calmly.

"Sure, but remember, now you owe me two favours," she grinned.

"…" Eliot just got down and sighed, realizing they had been on the rooftop of one of the numerous story buildings. From the distance he stood at, he could make out hundreds of people thrown haphazardly from the mystic world here—people impaled on poles, some wedged between things one would rather not see, and others just falling from the sky. All in all, there was an abundance of chaos.

The screams hadn't reached them yet, but they would. They always did.

"You said the quickest God Killer we can lay our hands on is in Trinity Nevas, right?" he asked with a glance to Sheila, who nodded slowly, suddenly pulling off the translucent relic from her face that altered her appearance.

Without the disguise, her features sharpened—the ethereal quality of someone who'd lived far too long, seen far too much. Her eyes held centuries of weariness that no amount of smiling could hide.

"It is. Do we head there now?" she asked casually.

"How much of a hurry are you in to die?" he asked with a blank look, to which she shrugged.

"I mean, I'm not in a hurry, just… I don't know, maybe a bit excited about finally lifting this curse," she grinned, though the expression didn't quite reach her eyes.

"You know some people would kill for immortality," he said, suddenly infusing his body with mana before jumping down from that height. The wind whipped past him as he fell, his coat billowing like dark wings.

"Those people would eventually realize immortality is nothing but prolonged suffering. Life is better enjoyed short, trust me," Sheila's voice followed him down, carried on the same wind.

On reaching the ground, he looked around.

There was a lot of blood and chaos everywhere, bodies twisted in unnatural angles, the air thick with the copper scent of death and the acrid smell of displaced magic. But for some reason, it just didn't bother him in the slightest. Perhaps he'd seen too much. Perhaps he'd lost too much to care about strangers' suffering anymore.

"The moment you realize death no longer exists for you, it would only take a while before life itself begins to lose meaning," she said, landing gracefully beside him. And for the briefest moment, he sensed loneliness—one so profound that for the briefest moment, it made him remember back then when he would sit at the cafeteria and just look at everyone else having fun, making memories, building relationships, and realizing how much of a coward he was for letting his past chain him to the point that being that alone felt natural. Being so disposable to those selfish scums called heroes felt obligatory.

He was living the shittiest life he could ever live.

Far worse than his first life.

A pawn.

A tool.

He accepted it all.

He played the part.

He became what was needed.

All he just wanted was one thing alone—one single thing in this cursed existence.

But even that was denied from him. After everything...

Suddenly, he stopped walking. It was Sheila who stopped him, and just in time for a lifeless human to fall right before him, hitting the ground with a sickening thud that sent blood spattering across his boots. Once again, it didn't bother him. He just walked around the person, stepping over an outstretched arm as if it were merely an inconvenient puddle.

"Maybe you're right," he said and she glanced at him, surprise flickering across her ancient features.

"Immortality could really be a curse," he continued, his voice flat, emotionless. "But what you forget is the basic instinct of all living creatures is to live. I REALLY hope you will have this same conviction the day death comes knocking," he said, and her expression grew complicated, something vulnerable breaking through her usual mask.

She opened her mouth, closed it, then looked away toward the distant screaming.

After a while of walking, he stood before a mansion stained with blood. It seemed people had plunged straight from the mystic world into the hard walls of this mansion, their bodies creating grotesque murals across the once-pristine white stone.

"What are we doing here?" Sheila asked, kicking a lifeless body blocking her path. The corpse rolled aside with a wet sound.

"I want to confirm something," Eliot simply replied, and on reaching the door he grabbed the knob and twisted it open, only to find blood on the ground leading inward like a crimson path.

But that was it.

The whole hall except the blood-soaked entrance was pristine, neat, and empty as well—as if someone had meticulously cleaned everything but that one telling pool of evidence.

The silence inside was deafening compared to the chaos outside.

"After that, what next?" she asked, her voice echoing slightly in the empty space.

"Do you have somewhere to be?" Eliot stopped and asked her a serious question, turning to face her fully.

"Why do you ask?" she inquired, suspicion creeping into her tone.

"Just want to be sure. If you do have somewhere, then I can adjust my plans and we can meet in Trinity Nevas during the next entrance examination," he stated calmly, to which she squinted, studying his face for hidden motives.

"And you, where would you be going?" she asked, and Eliot turned back and continued his march before replying, his footsteps echoing against marble floors.

"Vermillion," he said.

"Why?" she asked with a bored look, though her interest was clearly piqued.

"...That's where my slave is," he said and her eyes widened. "I intend to get into Trinity through Vermillion," he stated calmly, as if he hadn't just revealed something shocking.

"I see," was her response, though a thousand questions seemed to dance behind her eyes.

"So?"

"I will come with you. I can, right?" she asked, and then Eliot stopped for a while, considering.

"Are you sure? If the plan works, then you would die. This could be your last days in this world. Don't you want to savour it?" he asked, genuine concern bleeding through his usual indifference.

"No. I have been alone for too long. If these will be my last days, I'd better spend them with someone," she suddenly rushed up to him and hooked arms, then smiled—a real smile this time, small and fragile and heartbreakingly human.

"Don't play that teenage girl act with me. I know how old you are," Eliot responded bluntly, and a vein popped on her forehead again.

"I said this before, didn't I? We don't talk about my age," she suddenly pressed so hard against his arm it was like a vice hold, but he only smiled—and at that, for the first time, she saw something genuine in his expression, something that wasn't calculation or cold determination. It left her stunned, frozen in place.

He then ignored her protest and instead said, "You do realize coming with me means I will use you as much as is needed."

"...I do, actually," she said after shaking off the shock, her grip loosening slightly. "But as I said, for every favour you take from me, you owe me one in return," she said, meeting his gaze steadily.

He held her hand then, stopping their walk entirely, and looked her in the eyes with an intensity that made her breath catch.

"Then how about this for payment—I make your last days worthwhile."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.