—And then a voice, sharp and relieving. "Not bad for a mere F-rank. Let us take it from here."
Like a blur, a figure appeared before the Eldritch.
Even against the backdrop—the monster in flames that had refused to die—Soren recognized him immediately. One of the Mecha pilots who had come because of the ceremony many 'yesterdays' ago.
It was Boyed. One hand covered his nose with a handkerchief, as if afraid to smell the filth in the air. "Disgusting," he muttered, his voice low and annoyed. Even his dark eyes looked upon the creature with condescending irritation.
Then he removed them, as if vexed that any more sight of it would bring distaste to his early morning.
The Eldritch, enraged that a person had appeared before its prey, shrieked loudly, flesh folding in directions it shouldn't. Its claws launched like a released cannon.
But without looking at the creature, Boyed waved a hand.
GGGIIANNNN
It was like iron hitting iron. Soren could have sworn that he even saw sparks dance in the air. But Boyed had simply used his hands.
Surprisingly, the huge claw the size of a horse was swatted away like an annoying fly.
Soren's eyes beheld the spectacle. But it was not all. The monster still thrashed about the place in anger, trying again and again, but the result was the same.
"Such disgusting filth, to think Commander Jared would make me do such a thing," Boyed complained but still acted. Gently and without hurry or worry, he removed the glove from one hand.
Then he reached for the sword at his side.
With a leap in the air—slowly and deliberately—he laid the tip of the sword on the head of the Eldritch.
The contact made the creature shriek louder, as if it finally knew fear. It wanted to crawl away.
"First Form," Boyed whispered, red soul energy bathing his person. "Papercut."
The world folded. Or did it? At least from Soren's perspective, it did.
Thin, blade-like sheets of paper erupted from within the creature's flesh, shredding outward in perfect geometric symmetry. Each burst of white tore through its meat and bone with surgical precision, slicing the abomination apart like undone origami.
For a second, all that was heard was the sound of fluttering parchment.
The people looked on—silent.
The carcass collapsed on itself like dominoes—in a heap, hollowed and clean. The ground beneath it, which was littered with fluttering scraps, instantly dissolved into nothingness.
Boyed SPAT to the side in revolt, unimpressed. He wiped his hands with the handkerchief and threw it on the corpse. Then he withdrew another from his breast pocket and brought it to his nose.
By the time he turned around, he was met with eyes that looked at him like he was some kind of monster.
The people all stared, mouths agape in reverence. "So this is the power of a Soulbound Warrior."
"Did he even need to use his sword? it looked like he was toying with it." Another muttered.
Soren's mind was a mess.
I died nearly a thousand times because of this eldritch thing, cooking up ways and tricks to kill it again and again, and he just... he just 'touched' it out of existence with the tip of his sword?
The thought was gut-punching, but this was it. This was the difference in power between him and a 'true' Soulbound Warrior. This was what a Soulbound knight under the emperor could do.
At the moment, Soren felt like Boyed was at the peak of the mountain, and he was below it. No, he was not even worthy to make such a comparison. After all, he would have needed to die another ten thousand times, if not more, to reach that height.
WHOOSH... Green flames from the corpse. It formed a pair of diagonal eyes that looked past Boyed to the kneeling boy. "Interesting..." it echoed, fading into nothingness.
"Agredon," Boyed whispered with a frown.
"What... what was that?" Soren asked. But before Boyed could respond—
Cough. cough cough. More blood splashed on his face, pulling him from his thoughts.
"Don't worry, boy. You will reach that height someday. Cough cough," Machos encouraged, referring to Boyed's prowess.
Blood flowed down his mouth like the little branches of a river.
Soren's mind was pulled to the old man's condition. He checked the wound. That was a huge hole. He looked around. "Someone, please. Help him."
The other knights had begun arriving. One of them, with an armband of a red cross against a white background on his right arm, rushed to Soren. "Let me see him." He brought out a stethoscope to check the old man's condition. And then tried administering first aid. But when he saw the hole in the chest, he paused.
Soren could not figure out why the knight had stopped. He had a pondering look on his face. "What...what happened? Save him."
The knight shook his head. "The wound is too big and already infected by ectoplasm. It has seeped into his lungs and vital organs through his blood. Even if I cut the infected parts out, he is human. He cannot survive without his organs." He shook his head in disappointment. "I'm sorry. There is nothing that can be done."
"Wait... What... What do you mean nothing can be done?" Soren stammered, trying to get a hold of his thoughts. He placed a hand on the wound. "You just have to stop the bleeding... And he will..." The wound pulsed underneath his palms. It was wet, hot, and alive one moment, then fading the next.
The medical knight gave Soren a stern look. "He does not have long. Say your farewell."
"No! No!! No!!! He can still be saved. Try! Please try. You have not tried hard enough," Soren pleaded.
Machos coughed up even more blood; this time around it was stained green, flowing down his beard. The old man suddenly cracked a smile. A fatherly smile that made Soren's heart break. "You always did... worry too much, boy."
"Don't talk too much, old fart," Soren sobbed. The sight of Machos in this state arrested his common sense. His voice fell raw. "Don't worry. You will be alright... alright, okay—"
"—Soren." The old man's voice was faint, but it still cut through the noise. He lifted one trembling, grease-stained hand to the boy's cheek. His thumb brushed away a tear, leaving a smear of blood in its place. "Listen to me, you stubborn brat. All these damn years, you smiled through everything—the hate, even when they beat you up because of your dead father's sin." He coughed again, but it was harder this time, his ribs rattling.
"That smile... was your weapon, Soren. Now, it's going to be hard without me. But I sure as hell raised a good son. Don't let this rotten world take that from you." He chuckled a bit more to himself than anyone. "To think I actually saw you pilot a Soul Mecha..." His eyes were drowsy, but he still chuckled at the thought. "I wonder what Waterfell would have thought if he saw you now."
Boyed's eyes brightened. A response to that name.
"Go pilot the stars... my SON." The old man's hands fell.
Soren shook him, but Machos did not wake.
Soren had seen Machos die before. But that had been different. That time, fear had permeated his heart too much to have felt anything else. But right now, it captured his chest with so much pain that it felt like a chain with thorns had arrested his beating organ.
The knights ran around to render help to the people, but Soren could not hear anything else.
"Hey, kid! Are you alright?" A knight patted his shoulder. Soren turned to him, his eyes finding the man's sword at his side.
Yes. There was that. How could he have forgotten? There was so much going on that he had actually forgotten that he could do that.
The Loop.
He would have to face the eldritch again, but screw that. He had already done it many times.
It is just death.
With a swift motion, he reached for the sword. The moment he unsheathed it, he brought it to his neck.
However—
Dud!
Boyed delivered a jab to the back of his neck, knocking him out...
(Author's note: Please add the book to your library. And yes, gifts are accepted as well. thank you)