Not the blind, raging panic of sothing that had lost all reason, the subtler, more dangerous panic of an animal that was strong and knew it and was suddenly not sure it would stay that way.
It let out another sound, lower this ti, less aggressive and more unsettled, and launched itself at him with everything it had.
It seed the creature had finally understood that whatever was happening to it, he was the cause.
Evan stepped into it.
He drew his sword, the silver blade, different from the dark one his clone carried, but no less effective, reinforced with mana and sharp enough to serve its purpose.
He t the charge not by dodging but by driving in close, beneath the range of its fire breath, inside the reach of its claws, where its size beca a disadvantage rather than an asset. It snapped at him with its jaws, and he felt the heat radiating from between its teeth even with his head pulled back.
He drove the blade into the joint between its foreleg and shoulder, one of the weak points he’d identified in the first few minutes of circling, and pulled it along the seam.
The salamander scread.
It reared back, sweeping him sideways with the motion, and he hit the ground hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. He was back on his feet before it had finished recovering, Death Sense tracking the shift in its vital signature, weaker now, asurably, the Mark and the wound working together.
[Target Vitality: 65.4%]
What followed was a grind.
The salamander was tenacious in a way that most of his recent prey hadn’t been. It kept coming even wounded, kept adjusting, kept trying new angles of attack. It breathed fire in short controlled bursts when he got too close, swept its tail in wide arcs that he had to either jump or take, and twice managed to catch him with its claws, opening shallow cuts across his forearm and left side.
He gave back more than he took.
By the ti the creature finally slowed, genuinely slowed, its movents growing heavy and uncoordinated, its fire reduced to guttering spurts, seventeen minutes had passed and the surrounding trees bore the evidence of everything that hadn’t connected. Scorched bark. Cracked earth. Two small fires that had burned themselves out against the damp undergrowth.
The salamander was on its side, chest heaving.
[Target Vitality: 9.4%]
Less than twenty minutes had passed, but the Death Mark had done its work, draining the creature steadily while replenishing his vitality, and the wounds he had carved into it again and again had worn it down to this,
a D-rank beast, fierce and powerful by any asure, lying on the ground, spent and bleeding.
Evan stood over it, his breathing elevated but controlled, and raised his blade.
He was ready to end the creature’s suffering, and his own, and finally complete that damned advancent mission. But just as he moved to strike, his senses caught sothing, and he was already moving before his mind had finished processing it.
Swish.
He cleared his original position in an instant, putting several ters between himself and where he had been standing. A heartbeat later, sothing struck the ground there. Hard. Hard enough that the earth shook faintly beneath it, and a small crater ford where he had just been.
A voice rang out through the trees.
"Oh, he dodged it? Guess he’s not as weak as he looks." A laugh, loose and unhurried. "Doesn’t matter. He just bought himself a little more ti."
Evan turned.
Several figures had erged from between the trees. Five of them. Three E-ranks at Early Stage, one at Mid, and two at Advanced. A small group, but by any reasonable asure, anything but insignificant.
He recognized one of them imdiately.
’That b*stard.’
Berthold. The sa man who had caused him trouble at the Association just that morning. Evan had figured he might try sothing eventually. He just hadn’t expected it to be this soon.
It didn’t take him long to piece together the logic. Not because it was particularly complex, but because the intent behind it was almost too obvious once seen from the right angle.
’So they found out about my mission,’ he thought. Killing inside the city was strictly prohibited, punishable by imprisonnt or death. But out here was a different matter.
No witnesses, no walls, no consequences worth worrying about, at least, that was what they thought. They had waited for him to be far enough from the city, far enough from anyone who might interfere, before making their move.
Berthold, catching Evan’s gaze settle on him, let out a short laugh.
"Hahaha, and where did all that arrogance go? You were so confident this morning." He looked back at the others, who were already grinning.
"Not so full of yourself now, are you?"
Evan looked at him for a mont.
"I’m not in the mood to deal with you and your little cheer squad," he said.
"Leave while I’m still giving you the chance."
He was aware the salamander was recovering behind him. Still too weak to act, but that wasn’t sothing he wanted to gamble on for long.
Berthold blinked. Then he laughed, louder this ti, turning to the others.
"Did you hear that? He’s offering us a chance to run. How generous." The laughter faded, and his expression settled into sothing colder. "You’ve got a mouth on you, I’ll give you that. Let’s see if you’re still talking once we’re done with you."
A blade appeared in his hand, drawn from what was likely a spatial ring or sothing similar.
Evan exhaled slowly.
"Don’t say I didn’t warn you."
Berthold opened his mouth to reply.
But he never got the chance to speak.
A presence flickered into existence behind them.
Before anyone could react, one of the Early Stage E-ranks was impaled through the chest by a black blade that seed to erge from nowhere.
No sound. No struggle. Just a single, clean strike.
And one of them was already gone.
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