"Well, whatever," Boyle scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. "I was going to kill her anyway. What's the difference between dying now and dying a few minutes later? Dead is dead, right… mutant?"
His words hung in the air, sharp and mocking. Seth could barely hear them over the ragged sound of his own breathing. He was hyperventilating, his vision blurred with fear and rage.
"Tch, you're no fun," Boyle muttered at Seth's unresponsiveness. With an irritated grunt, he raised his sword once more, the edge glinting with cruel intent.
Like last time, there was no hesitation.
The blade arced downward, inches away from Seth's face…
'Defy your fate, and cut down all those who oppose you.'
The words echoed through Seth's mind like a thunderclap. His eyes widened, pupils dilating with sudden clarity.
And then… he moved.
Without hesitation, Seth shot upright, bringing his face even closer to the descending blade. Boyle's expression flickered- surprise, confusion but it was too late.
At the last possible second, Seth tilted his head with impeccable precision. The blade whistled past his cheek, missing by mere millimeters before landing squarely on his left shoulder.
But Seth didn't flinch. He didn't fall.
Instead, his face carried no reaction at all…
The sword sank in easily. The worn leather armor offered just enough resistance to keep it from severing bone, but not enough to stop the blade from biting deep.
Seth staggered but didn't fall. His breath came in sharp, ragged bursts. Pain flared white-hot across his shoulder, but it was distant- a dull roar compared to the storm raging in his heart.
Boyle stared, momentarily frozen. His shock lasted just long enough.
Without missing a beat, Seth's hand shot down, scooping a fistful of soil from the blood-soaked ground. In one swift motion, he hurled it straight into Boyle's face.
"Arghh! Damn it, my eyes!" Boyle screamed, staggering back, his hands clawing at his face. In his panic, he let go of the sword handle out of instinct.
Seth didn't hesitate.
He rose to his feet, slow but steady, his breathing shallow. His gaze drifted down to the weapon still lodged in his shoulder. Blood jetted from the wound in unsparing pulses, warmth trickling down his arm in thick, crimson lines.
'It hurts. God, it hurts'
But not nearly as much as everything else.
With grim determination, Seth wrapped his fingers around the hilt. He exhaled — once, shakily and pulled.
The blade slid free with a sickening wet sound. His vision blurred at the edges, the pain roaring back in full force. But he didn't waver.
He couldn't.
Not anymore.
Everyone present was utterly flabbergasted by what had just happened. The shock was so intense that a hint of fear began to creep into their minds, despite outnumbering the purple-eyed boy.
Without sparing Boyle a glance, he dashed toward the nearest person, giving her no time to react, he thrust his sword directly at their throat. The blade pierced through without resistance.
"Six left," he uttered coldly, his voice void of emotion.
Everyone stood frozen.
The girl's lifeless body hit the ground with a sickening thud, the dark pool of blood spreading beneath her. The metallic scent filled the clearing, sharp and unmistakable. She was one of the two individuals who wielded the unusual looking staffs.
No one spoke. No one moved.
It wasn't just shock anymore, It was fear.
Seth's breaths came slow and heavy, misting in the cold air. His purple eyes, once wide with panic, now burned with something far colder.
Something primal.
Something deadly.
"Six left," he repeated softly, his voice barely above a whisper- but in the deafening silence, it sounded like a war drum.
Boyle staggered back, still clutching at his eyes, soil still plastered on his face. "Y-You bastard… you filthy half-blood-"
Seth's gaze didn't even flicker toward him.
Instead, it locked onto the next closest person.
A boy with trembling hands, clutching his axe like it might shield him from death itself.
It wouldn't.
Seth moved.
Not with the clumsy, desperate swings from before. Not with the frantic gasps of someone fighting to survive.
This was different.
Controlled. Calculated.
The ground crunched under his boots as he closed the distance in an instant. The boy barely managed to lift his weapon before Seth was on him- one hand gripping the axe handle, the other driving the stolen sword deep into his gut.
The boy gasped, eyes wide. Seth yanked the blade free without hesitation.
"Five."
The word fell from his lips like a death sentence.
And for the first time…
They believed him.
Boyle, who had finally managed to clear the dust from his eyes, took in the scene before him.
"What are you waiting for? Fucking kill him!" he roared, his voice dripping with rage as he pointed a trembling hand at Seth.
Spurred by Boyle's furious command, everyone except Boyle himself charged at Seth
Seeing the group of five rushing toward him in a chaotic, disorganized manner, Seth brandished his sword, ready to strike. But before he could make a move, a sudden gust of wind slammed into him, knocking him off his feet and sending him tumbling several feet back.
Regaining his focus, he turned his attention to the source of the wind, which was from another person wielding a strange wooden staff of his own.
"[Aeris: Surging Gust!]"
The noble boy declared, his staff pointed directly at Seth. The staff itself appeared to amplify magic- a common but prestigious tool often possessed by noble magic wielders.
Seeing another gust of wind hurtling toward him, Seth rolled aside, narrowly avoiding contact. As he raised his sword to shield himself, another noble reached him, striking with his own blade. The clash of steel echoed through the air, ringing sharply across the clearing.
The difference in strength was obvious; Seth was instantly pushed back, unable to hold his ground. However, he used the momentum to parry the noble's follow-up horizontal slash before spinning sideways and driving the tip of his sword into the side of the noble's neck.
The boy collapsed with a dull thud, unable to even let out a scream.
"Four left," Seth muttered once more.