Chapter 86: Chapter 86

"How are you feeling?" I asked Seren.

"Like hell." Seren closed her eyes for a moment and placed her hand on her dantian. Then she opened her eyes and looked at me. "Did you save me?"

"I guess so," I said. Thɪs chapter is updated by novel⦿fire.net

"Thank you." Her voice softened. "I really thought I was going to die."

I glanced around. Charon, Evan, and Hector were keeping watch a short distance from the hideout. They hadn't noticed that Seren had woken up yet. If I wanted to talk to her alone, this would be the time.

I didn't hesitate and got straight to the point. "You foresaw this, didn't you?"

Seren didn't react with surprise, only staring blankly at the bush-covered sky.

"Foresaw..." she muttered.

"I suppose you could call it that."

It was an ambiguous answer, but for her, that was practically an admission.

"How much do you know, exactly?" I pressed.

"At the very least, I knew there would be a Demon King's Summoning Ritual," she answered.

"Why didn't I stop it?" Seren chuckled. "If a Goodspring like me had gone around claiming a Demon King's Summoning Ritual was happening at the Badnikers' training camp, who would've believed me? And even if they did, it could've sparked a war between the two families."

"Trust me," she continued, her tone weary, "I spent ages trying to find a way to prevent this. In the end, there was only one solution."

"Direct involvement?" I guessed.

Seren silently confirmed it

"Did you know anyone at the training camp?" I asked.

"Of course not." She scoffed. "Everyone I know hates the Badnikers."

"So you came here to save complete strangers?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"Among other things," she said evasively. "There's also something to gain in the forest."

The last part sounded like an excuse. We hadn't known each other long, but I could tell—she had a habit of downplaying her motives, even when doing the right thing.

"You're not the type to live long, are you?" I observed.

"What's it to you?" she shot back.

"So, the secret you had mentioned was the ritual?"

She hesitated. "Some of it."

"What's happening now?" she asked abruptly. "How long was I out? Where's my group? Don't tell me—"

"They're alive," I assured her.

She didn't seem to remember what had happened. She had propably fainted after casting the howling wind.

"We heard screams on our way to the camp and came to help," I explained. "The others fled to safety. You've been out about an hour."

"In any case, we're still heading to the camp," I said. "What about you?"

"Not like I have any other options. Let's go together." Then she glanced at me and asked, "By the way, are you alone?"

"No." I gestured to the scattered figures keeping watch.

Seren nodded. "You managed to rally these troublemakers?"

"They don't listen to words, but fists work just fine," I said dryly.

"I see." As I moved to call them over, Seren suddenly blurted, "Aren't you going to ask anything else?"

"You must have questions," she insisted.

I had plenty. But now that we were talking face-to-face, I realized they could wait

"It'd take a while, wouldn't it?" I mused.

"What would?" she asked.

She paused, then offered a bitter smile. "Ridiculously long. If I wrote it down, it'd fill volumes."

"Then I'll hear it later," I decided.

"You'd really wait?" she asked, almost disbelieving.

"We're not exactly in a leisurely situation."

"True," she conceded.

"Ah, there's one thing I must ask now. That power you used to wipe out the demons—what was it? A blessing?"

Seren replied, "Yes, it was a blessing, but not the usual kind. It belongs to a forgotten god."

"A forgotten god..." I muttered.

An unexpected term had surfaced.

I ran my fingers lightly over the Seven Sins Sword. "Then the altar you stopped at must be the Altar of a Forgotten God."

"Did Eddie tell you?" she asked. "That's right."

How had Seren discovered the altar's location, and what kind of forgotten god was it? Well, neither question mattered for now.

"Can you use it again?" I pressed.

"Probably once more," she admitted. "The risk is enormous."

Naturally, it wasn't a power to be used carelessly. It was a shame. If she could wield it freely, I'd have felt much more secure with a high-level mage as an ally.

In any case, it wasn't a situation that allowed for comfort, so the conversation ended there.

I raised a hand, signaling to the others in the distance. The wary ones returned immediately.

"She's awake," I informed them.

"Yeah," came the terse reply.

Soon, the atmosphere grew painfully awkward.

I'd gathered these people based on strength alone, ignoring compatibility. Now, their clashing personalities thickened the air with tension.

As the leader, I had no choice but to intervene. "Let's introduce ourselves and—"

Charon, Hector, and Seren snapped in unison, "Cut the crap."

Are they actually on the same wavelength?

It turned out that I was mistaken.

I believed that Charon, Hector, Evan, and Seren were the most promising hero disciples in this training camp.

Despite the twists and turns, seeing them together stirred something within me—it felt like I had assembled a dream team.

Seren moved with surprising agility for someone who had been on death's door.

With no one lagging behind, we progressed faster than expected. By the time the hourglass emptied—exactly three days after the special trial started—we reached the camp.

"A dramatic return," I remarked.

"Yes," they all agreed.

Up close, the camp exuded an eerie silence. I detected no signs of life, only an unsettling strangeness. The last time I'd seen this place, it had been filled with the shouts of instructors and the groans of hero disciples.

"It looks like something has happened," Hector muttered.

"Hmm..." Seren's voice trailed off thoughtfully.

"What now?" Hector asked.

I answered briskly, "We go in. But it might be a trap, so only two of us will enter."

Charon's face twisted in displeasure. However, he had no choice in the first place.

"The rest of us will wait here," Hector replied.

"Yes. If anything happens, I'll signal you."

"What kind of signal?" Hector asked.

"I'll scream really loudly," I said flatly.

"Got it," Hector replied.

Charon and I headed straight into the camp, first stopping at the instructors' building.

Before entering, Charon muttered in a low voice, "I sense a presence inside."

"A presence? Demons?" I asked.

"No, it seems like a human."

"Not sure, but probably just one."

Just one person? Something feels off.

Still, if someone were inside, concealing our presence was only natural.

We avoided the front door, opting instead to slip in through a window.

"Don't they ever ventilate this place?" I muttered.

Every entrance was locked. Breaking a window would've been easy, but that would've defeated the purpose of moving so secretly.

"It can't be helped. Let's go to the front door," Charon said.

It was dangerous, but I preferred that option over breaking a window.

I wasn't sure whether to feel fortunate or not—the front door was wide open. This was how we entered the instructors' building. Inside, where hero disciples were forbidden to tread, the space was more ordinary than I'd expected. Only the exterior shone; the interior barely differed.

"Hey," Charon muttered.

The moment we stepped inside, the stench of blood hit me.

It was strange. A scent this strong should have spread outside, yet the metallic reek filled the building as if trapped by an invisible barrier.

Are there no instructors?

Were they really dead? How was that possible?

The instructors' building housed elite knights and Great Masters from the Badnikers. According to Assad, even the Iron-Blooded Lord's brother was stationed here. Not even a priest could have slain them all single-handedly.

We followed the blood's trail down the first-floor corridor until I halted before a room. Its door was unusually large, but that wasn't why I stopped. Blood dripped from its frame.

"Is the person inside here?" I asked.

"No," Charon said flatly. "I sense them upstairs."

I didn't fully trust his energy detection. I had to check for myself, so I grabbed the doorknob. The door swung open.

A wave of blood stench—far stronger than before—assaulted my nose. I wrinkled my face and peered inside.

The conference room was drenched in blood, yet only one body lay against the wall—no other scattered corpses or dismembered remains. I recognized the face immediately. It was the Hunting Master, the instructor I'd spoken with most during training.

"Charon, search the room," I ordered. "I'll examine the body."

"Don't order me around," Charon grumbled but started searching the room.

Meanwhile, I approached Tanko's corpse.

The cause of death was a hole in the center of his chest. It was about the size of my fist, and the neatness of the cross-section suggested he hadn't even realized he'd been killed.

Killed in one blow? Someone of Tanko's caliber?

It made no sense. The sheer volume of blood splattered everywhere exceeded what a single body could hold.

Charon returned and called out, "Hey."

Does this bastard only know how to say "Hey" or "Ya" when calling others?

Charon couldn't know my thoughts, but he handed me something. "I found this."

It was a communication crystal—one of many placed throughout the building.

"It was in this room," Charon said. "It's heavily damaged, but it is still working."

"So, it might have recorded what happened here? Good job."

Charon scowled at the praise. Even compliments irritated him.

I infused mana into the communication crystal, and soon, the magical device displayed a grainy recording, replaying the events that had unfolded in the room.