Trap (4)
The moment he saw it, Aren knew instinctively. Silvena was being controlled by the bastard who'd lured him here.
—Kihihihit! How's that? A joyous reunion with your friend?
"...Fuck off and tell me what you want, you piece of shit."
His teeth ground together at the laughter that was more unhinged cackle than sneer, forcing the words out like bile from his throat.
If this guy's goal was to kill him, he wouldn't have paraded Silvena in that state. No doubt he was holding her life hostage to demand something from Aren.
—Smart cookie, aren't you? I figured you'd scream for me to release her right away.
"Guess that just proves how empty your head is."
His voice snapped back, but he couldn't even bring himself to grip his sword. All he could do was stare into the darkness where the bastard hid, his fists trembling.
This pathetic sight must have been hilarious to the creep. The laughter swelled, and finally, he got to the point.
—Simple. If you want to save this bitch, drop your sword right there and follow me meekly.
"...That's all?"
—Yeah. What I want from the start is to drag you back alive.
Sigh, if it weren't for that useless wench, I wouldn't have to dirty my own hands!
Useless wench? Who the hell was that? Well, one thing was clear—this bitch was a fucking pain in his ass.
To capture just him, he'd taken an unrelated Silvena hostage? Pathetic.
Aren barely swallowed a curse at the petty scheme, his hand tightening on his sword hilt as he moved to drop it to the ground.
"...Stay. Ah... me... "
"...Silvena?"
Still holding the blade to her own throat, a faint voice leaked from Silvena's lips. It must have been agony just to speak against the enemy's magic—her words came in broken, halting fragments, barely intelligible.
Aren bit his lip watching her struggle.
"...Kill me. Aren. Kill... me."
A spark of life returned to her vacant eyes. Her voice grew a touch clearer.
And that feeble plea wasn't begging for her own death. No—it was desperately urging him to kill her and escape alone.
—What's this? Resistance? This bitch has some guts.
This must have been outside the bastard's expectations. A voice laced with clear bewilderment echoed from the shadows.
"I'm... fine. Better than being... your burden. Right here... "
"......"
Of course. That was the choice of the grand duchess, the honorable swordswoman they called her.
Rather than lure her friend into a trap to save her own skin, she'd sacrifice herself to save him.
Aren understood her intent perfectly—and he'd honor it with this sword.
But Silvena, sorry to disappoint: unlike what you think, I'm pretty damn willful. I won't play along with your wishes.
And I sure as hell won't dance to that sleazy bastard's tune either.
"Silvena—if you can hear me, you don't need to answer."
He quietly placed his hand on his sword. The creep was probably watching every move.
Didn't matter.
"Just hold on a little longer, if you can control your body even for a moment."
If he couldn't save her and get out of here, he had no face left to show the people of this world.
Silvena probably felt the same.
And that was as good as death.
In the end, the only real choice the bastard offered was dying together.
So screw dying here miserably for each other's sake.
He'd take even a 0.1% gamble instead.
—I told you to drop the sword? Don't care if your precious friend dies?
Shut up, asshole. It's because I do care that I'm doing this. Because I don't want her to die.
Shiiik—!
With iron resolve, he exploded the condensed mana at his feet and shot forward.
The lightfoot technique he'd half-learned from Silvena during their training sessions: Yuseom.
—Tch...!
A tongue-click from the bastard. Silvena's hand trembled violently on her sword, a thin line of red blood welling at her throat.
Aren ignored it, accelerating.
Just a moment. Please hold on, just a moment.
Praying as he reached her back.
Slash—!
Blue Sword Aura flared, cleaving the pitch-black darkness.
Clang!
At the same time, something heavy thudded behind him.
He turned to see Silvena's beloved sword inexplicably slipped from her hand, rolling across the floor.
Thud....
Then, like a puppet with cut strings, Silvena's body went limp and collapsed.
Aren scooped her up lightly and retreated to a shadowed corner.
Fortunately, her complexion looked fine. Consciousness was hazy, but she was alive.
That alone confirmed his judgment was spot-on.
"Ugh... Ah, Aren...?"
"You with us? Silvena."
Regaining awareness, she called his name in a weak voice devoid of her usual dignity.
He knelt, steadying her shoulder, and color returned to her face.
"Sorry. Because of me, you... "
"What're you talking about? If anything, you're the one who got dragged into my mess."
He shrugged lightly, tossing the apology back with a joking tone.
It wasn't wrong, after all.
But apparently, that wasn't enough to ease the weight on her heart.
"...I wanted to protect you, yet here I am, protected by you. Pathetic."
"What, like friends need to keep score on who protects who? We just protect each other."
"Each other... mutual...?"
Her eyes widened at his casual words. She clearly had more to say, questions bubbling up from what he'd just dropped.
Even Aren, not the quickest on the uptake, could tell.
Too bad time was short.
He settled her against the wall and stood.
"We'll talk later. After I deal with that prick."
"...Making me a burden again."
She muttered regretfully, but he brushed it off.
That's just how life worked. Sometimes you're the burden, sometimes the carrier. You carry each other, lead each other—that's living.
So with sword in hand, he flashed her a grin and stepped forward.
That smile said everything he wanted to say.
Fwoosh.
"Urk. Fucking sappy. Shooting a melodrama?"
In that instant, brilliant light flooded the training hall, the voice shifting from his mind to his ears.
Aren looked up toward the source: a familiar ugly mug clinging spider-like to the ceiling.
Reddish hair and dark purple veins spiderwebbing across one eye socket.
Disgustingly creepy face, plain and simple.
"Impressive patience. Must've been boring just watching from up there."
"Kihihihi! Last greetings deserve a spectator's virtue. As that one's loyal hound!"
"...That one?"
His brow furrowed at the loaded words.
He'd suspected more to this than just killing him—dragging him alive confirmed it.
But another shadowy figure pulling this creep's strings? Someone strong enough to command a skilled freak like her?
He'd rip that mouth open and wring out every detail.
"Too bad your last words are with me. Wanna spend some quality time?"
"Kihit! All talk, you brat. Think you can beat me?"
"Won't know till we try."
He swung his sword casually through the air. Blue Sword Aura gathered at the tip.
Clap.
Was that a signal? She clapped, dropping from the ceiling.
Her spin-and-land was less graceful dancer, more creaky jointed doll.
Ssssh....!
Dark purple mana leaked from her back, writhing like it warped space itself.
Still that nauseating mana—like thousands of spiders crawling up his arm.
Thud thud thud—!
Then more thuds from the ceiling, things landing like falling spiders en masse.
Shrouded in purple mana, their forms hard to discern at first.
But as it cleared, silhouettes emerged.
"...Puppets?"
Yeah, puppets. Or rather, it was hard to even clock them as such initially.
Grotesque abominations: wooden dolls slathered with slabs of human skin and flesh.
Just looking made bile rise.
"Kihihit, right! My masterpieces. Shame I couldn't bring the real gems, but..."
"...Plenty for me, huh?"
"Sharp one! After the ritual, I can't wait to crack your skull open!"
"Yeah? Sucks for you."
He exhaled a breathy ha, smirking darkly.
Precarious spot, yet his sword hand felt light.
That familiar sensation from before. Body's power, mana, stray thoughts—all loaded to the blade's tip, achieving nothingness.
From that void, he drew mana to the edge.
The hazy Sword Aura around the blade swelled.
It stretched like threads, overlaying a new sword atop it.
Sword Beam.
Confirming its manifestation, he swept horizontally without hesitation.
Shrrk—!
Space split in two.
Thud thud....
Moments later, the puppets' upper and lower halves separated, collapsing in heaps.
Her eyes bulged.
"...Looks like the skull-cracking goes the other way."
Aren looked up at her, slinging his recovered sword over his shoulder, lips curling.