CHAPTER 57: A REASON
Having accomplished his immediate goal, John finally left Princess Raven alone.
She fell asleep shortly after, though the same couldn't be said for him. The headache was still hammering against his skull like a blacksmith on an anvil.
To make matters worse, the "crazy woman"—as he now preferred to call her—had actually broken his nose with that ether-infused punch.
"Why the hell is she so aggressive?" he muttered under his breath, wincing sharply when he poked the crooked bridge.
Shaking his head, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small white pill. The moment he swallowed it, the sharp pain in his broken nose began to recede.
The pill was a painkiller of sorts—a habit he had picked up back when he spent endless hours in the royal library, right around the time his first severe headaches started manifesting.
They usually offered some relief back then, but right now, the pill didn't do shit.
I am definitely asking for compensation for this nose.
He reminded himself bitterly as he glared at the princess.
For the rest of the night, John tossed and turned in a maddening loop. One moment he was consumed by a sudden, irrational surge of anger; the next, he found himself calm, only for the irritation to bubble right back up.
He was caught in an exhausting cycle, completely unable to sleep.
Suddenly, a small wooden bottle flew out of the dark and hit him right in the chest.
John caught it on instinct. Looking across the dim cave, he saw Princess Raven turning her back to him, fast asleep again. He opened the vial and caught the sweet, medicinal scent.
It was a high-grade healing potion.
Swallowing it down, he felt the fractured bones in his nose instantly knit back together, bringing a slight improvement to his foul mood.
As he lay staring at the dark cave ceiling, his thoughts drifted back to the Obsidian Covenant and the cryptic conversation he had overheard while strapped to that extraction table.
They were hunting down something called a Dark Shard.
What the hell is a Dark Shard? he wondered, an uneasy feeling settling deep in his gut.
Whatever it is, if the Covenant wants it that badly, it can't be anything good.
A cold resolve hardened in his chest, and he concluded.
I won't let them get their hands on it.
The instant that thought fully crystallized, a familiar, mechanical ancient voice echoed directly inside his head.
The Origin Archive—which had been locked down tight ever since he entered this trial—suddenly flickered back to life.
[Trial Clear Condition Identified: Secure the Dark Shard. Prevent it from falling into any hands other than your own.]
[You have been granted access to the archive.]
John stared at the glowing interface before it faded into the background. At least now he knew what to do to pass the trial.
By morning, the overcast sky had cleared, leaving a crisp breeze through the trees. After a quick breakfast of roasted fish by the riverbank, they prepared to pack up and search for a path out of the woods.
However… it seems the lingering scent of grilled fish had drawn an unexpected visitor.
Out of the dense underbrush stepped a small, sleek creature resembling a wild cat, its eyes gleaming with unusual intelligence.
Princess Raven's cold and irritated expression instantly melted.
John had no idea what was happening; the crazy woman could actually make that kind of expression. To say he was shocked was an understatement.
It turned out the ruthless princess was a complete cat person. Kneeling on the grass, her expression softened as she offered a leftover scrap of fish.
To John's surprise, the creature didn't just take the food; it stepped forward and rubbed its head affectionately against her palm, radiating a soft, harmonious pulse of energy thought it wasn't ether.
Raven blinked in quiet surprise.
"What's wrong?" john asked having no clue what just happened.
"It offered me a companion bond," she said, looking up at a thoroughly confused John. "It's a member of the Beast race."
"A beast?" John asked, frowning. He had learned about a race called beasts, but back when he was with the Covenant, creatures like this were never shown to be companions; instead, they were lumped together with monsters, meant to be hunted, harvested, or slaughtered.
"Yes," Raven explained, gently scratching the creature behind its ears. "Beasts possess genuine intelligence. They can form voluntary bonds with companions to help both sides grow stronger, lending their strength in exchange for mutual growth. However, they cannot speak human tongues or take on humanoid forms until they complete their first trial."
The feline beast let out a low purr, then turned toward a hidden trail in the brush, looking back over its shoulder as if waiting for them.
Trusting the creature's direction, John and Raven followed it through the winding forest. After nearly an hour of walking, the dense tree line finally gave way to reveal the sight of actual civilization.
Stretching across the plain was a fortified, walled city. It wasn't massive compared to the grand capitals of the realm, but to them, the stone walls were a welcome sight.
They approached the heavy timber gates, but two armored guards stepped forward, levelling their spears to block the passage.
"Halt. Entry fee is ten copper pieces per head," one of the guards grunted.
John and Raven exchanged a glance. Neither of them carried a single coin.
Before John could try to talk their way inside, a senior guard leaning against the upper battlements looked down.
He took in their fine, albeit slightly torn and dirt-stained royal garments; the captain's eyes widened.
He quickly came to the conclusion that they were wealthy nobles who had survived an unfortunate monster attack or ambush in the woods.
"Let them pass!" the captain called down to his men. "I'll cover their entry fees!"
The gate guards looked surprised, but once they realized why their superior had stepped in—hoping for a massive monetary reward or a favor from high-status nobles later—they grumbled in frustration, annoyed at themselves for not realizing it faster.
The captain jogged down the stone stairs, offering a polite, practiced bow. "You two look as though you've had a rough journey. There's a fine establishment down the main street called the Rusty Anchor. I'll inform the innkeeper to put your room on my tab and leave you a few coins for food."
He handed John a small leather pouch.
John and Raven accepted the coins, though neither dropped their guard.
Free kindness from strangers was a rare commodity, and both were naturally suspicious. Still, having no better alternative, they heeded his advice and headed straight down the main street toward the inn.
The main hall of the Rusty Anchor was loud, hot, and packed with mercenaries, merchants, and travelers.
John and Raven took a quiet table near the back. While waiting for their food to arrive, John's gaze drifted toward the center of the tavern.
And his mood instantly plunged straight back into the abyss.
A burly, greasy man stood beside one of the central pillars, a thick iron chain wrapped tightly around his calloused fist. At the other end of it was a young Bestiar girl, kneeling on the ground.
Matted, dog-like ears drooped pitifully from her hair. Her skin was a patchwork of sickening abuse. It had bloated, yellowing bruises overlap with raw, open welts that still oozed clear fluid into the grime.
She barely wore anything, only covering her front private part; nothing else, exposing her shivering frame. But her eyes were the worst part. They were completely dead, hollow pits of vacant gray, as though every drop of humanity and will had been systematically crushed out of her long ago.
"Step right up!" the man barked, his voice dripping with sleazy enthusiasm. He yanked the heavy iron chain violently.
The metal scraped into her raw neck, pulling her off-balance. Her knees slammed hard into the wooden floorboards with a sickening crack.
She didn't even cry out—she just swallowed the pain, staring blankly at the floor.
"Only five coppers for a turn!" the slave master shouted, a grin stretched across his face.
"A fresh, obedient hole for anyone with coin! Don't be shy, boys!"
Laughter erupted through the tavern. Men stepped forward without a shred of hesitation, greedily tossing copper coins into a blood-stained wooden bowl to buy their turn with her broken body.
The tavern carried on as if this was completely mundane, a casual afternoon entertainment. And in the very center of the room, a girl sat like livestock, chained at the throat while men openly debated who would take her next.
The headache behind John's eyes flared violently, feeding on the overwhelming repulsion.
A thick, oily wave of disgust welled up inside his chest, climbing into his throat like bile. The disgust rapidly mutated into a hot, suffocating surge of pure, violent hatred.
He knew what he was feeling wasn't logical. He knew slavery was a common, accepted practice in this world no matter how twisted it seemed, but his mind was already stretched to its absolute breaking point.
He couldn't stomach it. It made his skin crawl.
Beside him, Raven noticed the dark, volatile aura beginning to leak from his frame like smoke. She reached across the sticky table and placed her cold hand firmly over his trembling fist.
John took a shuddering breath, grateful for the physical anchor, forcing himself to try and pull through—to just eat his food and get out of this wretched place.
Just then, a waiter carrying a tray of steaming stew hurried past the slave master's table.
The greasy man deliberately stuck out his boot. The waiter tripped, sending the tray shattering against the floorboards, splashing scalding liquid and greasy meat directly onto the wood—and over their table's order.
"Watch where you're walking, trash!" the slave master sneered, kicking a chunk of spilled meat toward the waiter.
The waiter was livid, his knuckles white as he shook with rage, but he swallowed his pride and bowed low, clearly terrified of the slave master's brute strength and high-tier standing.
John stared at the spilt food on the floor. His headache shrieked against his skull, demanding blood.
I want to kill him, a dark, raspy voice echoed inside his mind.
I want to jam a blade right through his eye socket. No... I want to tear his limbs off one by one... castrate him, choke him on his own blood, turn HIM into a chained beast.
John stopped suppressing his aura entirely.
A suffocating wave of pure, unadulterated killing intent erupted from his body, rolling across the room like a sudden arctic draft.
The air in the tavern plummeted in temperature. The greasy man froze mid-laugh, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as a cold sweat broke out across his forehead. Slowly, he turned around, his eyes locking onto John.
Raven didn't stop him. She withdrew her hand, her crimson eyes turning frigid. Truthfully, the stomach-churning display also made her angry, though she was used to such sights and had long come to terms with it.
The greasy man puffed out his chest, trying to mask his sudden dread, and strutted over to their table.
"You got a problem, kid? Do I know you? Why are you glaring at me like you want to dig my grave?"
John sat motionless, his face an unreadable mask.
"You made him drop our food."
The man blinked, then burst into a loud, obnoxious laugh. "Oh! That's it? Fine, fine, I'll pay for your cheap stew. My bad, kid. I was just trying to mess with that bastard... people these days don't know their place, you know. It's a funny story what he did—"
John just stared at him, the man's blabbering fading into muffled background noise as the pressure behind his eyes spiked to an agonizing peak.
John knew he shouldn't meddle. But he didn't care. He loathed everything this man was. His head hurt so badly he felt like his brain was splitting open.
Slowly, John massaged his throbbing temple with two fingers. "Give me the slave as compensation."
The man's grin vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, arrogant sneer.
"So that's what this is about? You want the beast girl? I should have known from the start."
He leaned down, his greasy gaze sliding over Raven's figure before turning back to John with a filthy smirk.
"If you want her, pay up like everyone else. Though I don't get why you're eyeing a filthy, bruised beast when you've got a beauty like that sitting right beside you."
John's voice dropped to a terrifyingly flat, dead tone.
"Give me the slave... or I kill you. You have until the count of three."
The man stared at him in dumbfounded disbelief, then threw his head back and laughed aloud.
"Kill me?! In the middle of the Rusty Anchor?! Kid, do you even know who—"
A tavern manager tried to hurry over to defuse the situation, but the tripped waiter grabbed her arm, pulling her back into the shadows to keep her out of the crossfire.
John stared straight into the man's pupils.
"One…"
"Three."
Before the man could even register the missing number, a silver glint of steel split the tavern air.
With his connection to the Archive restored, John summoned his soul-bound weapon Evolstice Blade directly into his palm.
In a single, fluid motion, the jagged dark steel drove straight through the man's sternum, piercing his heart clean through.
THWACK!
The man's laughter died, replaced by a wet, gurgling gasp. His eyes bulged out of his head in sheer horror.
John gripped the hilt tightly, a manic, exhilarated smile spreading across his face. It felt as if his teeth had been itching violently for hours, and someone had finally given him something to chew on.
He didn't pull the sword out—he viciously twisted the blade inside the man's chest cavity, grinding metal against bone.
Yes... That's it. The headache... it's easing up.
John's mind raced with dark euphoria.
Why is the pain going away? It doesn't matter. All that matters is it hurts less.
The man grimaced violently, coughing up a thick, heavy clump of dark blood that splattered across John's knuckles and the table. His legs buckled, and he collapsed flat onto his back, twitching in a pooling crimson stain.
John casually pulled the blade free, stepping over the dying man. He leaned down and wiped the thick, warm blood off his steel using the dead man's fine silk collar.
The entire tavern descended into an absolute, suffocating silence. The stench of copper and stomach acid hung heavy in the air. People held their breath in sheer terror; some covered their mouths to suppress vomitive gags, while others ducked their heads, terrified to even glance in John's direction.
Even Princess Raven was visibly unsettled. She stared at the bloody corpse, then up at John's manic expression.
Is he completely insane?! Doing this in the middle of a city?!
If they were in her kingdom, public slaughter carried an immediate execution sentence. They had no idea where they were or who ruled this land, yet he had brutally gutted a man over a spilled plate of stew and a slave.
John knew what he had done was reckless. He knew it was stupid. But looking down at the butcher's lifeless, bloody eyes, he didn't feel a single shred of remorse. The agonizing hammer in his head had finally softened into a dull, manageable hum.
The bruised Bestiar girl stared at her dead master's corpse. A faint, trembling, disbelieving smile touched her cracked lips.
Dragging her chained legs across the blood-slicked floorboards, she quietly crawled over and sat directly at John's feet, taking the exact position she had been forced into moments before by the slave master.
John glanced down at her. She smelled foul—a nauseating mix of dried sweat, old blood, dirt, and rot. She was trembling violently against the cold floor.
John reached over, grabbed an empty wooden chair from their table, and dragged it beside him.
"Sit," John said quietly, his voice unnervingly calm.
The slave girl didn't hesitate. Without asking a single question or daring to look him in the eye, she scrambled up off the floor and sat on the wooden chair, pulling her bruised knees tightly to her chest.
John turned toward the frozen, pale-faced waiter as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.
"Could we get another order of that food, please?"