Ruok scratched the side of his cheek, eyes narrowing just a bit.
"Are you helping me," he asked, "or is this a trap?"
Edgard let out a soft chuckle.
"Why," he said, lifting a brow ever so slightly, "would I expend the effort for a man as… insignificant as yourself?"
Ruok's eye twitched.
"…You really know how to talk, huh."
Edgard did not respond to that. Instead, he glanced at the book in his hand, then back at Ruok.
"Now," he added, almost casually, "do you intend to take it? My arm, regrettably, is not immune to fatigue."
He began to pull the book back.
Ruok reacted on instinct.
"Wait—"
He stepped forward and grabbed it.
"…Why are you helping me?" Ruok asked, holding the book but not yet lowering his guard.
Edgard's gaze lingered on him.
Then he smiled again.
This time, sharper.
"I am not helping you, boy," he said. "I am helping myself."
Ruok frowned.
"…So you want Lord Mephyst dead?"
The words had barely left his mouth when—
The air changed.
It pressed down on him.
Heavy.
Like something invisible had dropped onto his shoulders, forcing his spine to bend, his breath to hitch. His chest tightened. His legs felt weak, like they might give out at any second.
Ruok's eyes widened.
What—
Then it vanished.
Just like that.
The pressure lifted, leaving him gasping slightly, his body catching up to the sudden absence.
Edgard exhaled slowly, as if he had merely lost his temper for a brief second.
"My apologies," he said, tone returning to its calm rhythm. "I allowed myself a moment of… indulgence."
His eyes met Ruok's again.
"Killing Mephyst is off the table," he continued, voice firm now. "I am no kin-slayer. I do not seek his demise."
A pause.
"I seek his failure."
He let that settle.
Then, softer—
"Do we have an accord?"
Ruok stared at him, at the calm face. The relaxed posture. The way he spoke, like everything was already decided.
"…You don't feel like a demon," Ruok said slowly. "I thought you were just some old man."
Edgard stepped closer.
Then past him.
Slow steps, circling.
"Eyes," he said, almost thoughtfully, "are remarkable deceivers. They present us with beauty, simplicity… and we accept it without question."
He moved behind Ruok, voice drifting around him like smoke.
"I am no old—"
He stopped.
His body stiffened.
Then—
"Ah… ah—my back—"
His hand shot to his lower back, his face twisting slightly.
"Boy—quickly—assist me."
Ruok blinked.
"…What?"
Edgard winced. "Do not simply stand there—help me straighten."
Ruok hesitated for half a second.
Then stepped behind him and supported his shoulders, helping him stand upright.
A sharp crack echoed from his back.
Both of them froze.
Ruok blinked again.
"…You're really an old man."
Edgard let out a long, satisfied breath.
"Ah… that is considerably better."
He rolled his shoulders once, then glanced sideways at Ruok.
"I may be old," he said calmly, "but I am most certainly not human."
Edgard's expression shifted again—subtle, but firm.
"Time is not a luxury you possess," he said. "Decide."
As if on cue—
Voices echoed outside the tent.
Footsteps.
Closer.
Ruok's grip tightened around the book.
His mind raced.
Do I even have a choice?
He looked at Edgard.
At that calm face.
At that smile that never quite reached the eyes.
"…I'm in," Ruok said. "Partner."
Edgard's lips curved.
But there was no warmth in it.
"Excellent," he said softly. "Then let us proceed."
He lifted his staff.
Tapped it once against the ground.
The world twisted.
Ruok's vision stretched, then folded inward, like someone grabbed reality and wrung it like wet cloth. Colors smeared into each other. Shapes broke apart and reformed in the wrong places.
For a brief moment, he couldn't feel his hands.
Or his feet.
Or anything.
"…Ah," he managed, though he wasn't sure if he even had a mouth to speak with.
Then—
It snapped back.
Wind hit him first.
Cold and sharp.
It cut through his cloak and pressed against his chest, dragging him back into his body whether he liked it or not.
Ruok staggered half a step, boots scraping against loose gravel. He blinked hard, once, twice, forcing the world to stay still.
"…What the—"
He stopped.
They stood on a cliff.
The ground was dry and uneven, scattered with jagged rocks and thin sand that shifted underfoot. A few twisted trees clung to life at odd angles, their branches bare, like they had given up trying.
The wind howled past them, carrying a mix of scents—burnt flesh, damp soil, and blood.
Ruok swallowed.
Slowly, he stepped forward.
Then stopped again.
Below—
The battlefield.
It stretched wide, too wide, like something alive breathing under the dusk sky. The camps of the six armies looked small from here, reduced to patches of color and movement.
Beyond them, mountains rose high, enclosing everything.
At a cluster of rocky mountain, dark clouds hung heavy above, rolling slowly, hiding whatever lay beyond. Faint blue lights flickered inside them, like something watching from behind a curtain.
The river cut across the land, flowing slow. Dark crimson blood mixed with streaks of blue, thick and unnatural, tainted the muddy river like an abstract painting.
Ruok's throat tightened.
"…This…"
His voice came out quieter than he expected.
He stepped closer to the edge, boots scraping against stone.
"This is where…"
He stopped.
Didn't finish.
Didn't need to.
Where he woke up.
Where he died.
Where he came back.
Again.
And again.
And again.
"…Why?" he muttered.
Edgard stood beside him, calm as ever.
Just watching, like this was a familiar sight he had long grown bored of.
"What do you mean, why?" he asked, tone almost light. "Is it not… magnificent?"
Ruok let out a small breath.
"I mean, yeah," he said. "It is."
His eyes stayed locked on the battlefield.
"I'm just asking…"
He hesitated.
Then said it anyway.
"…Why me?"
Edgard did not answer right away.
Instead, he walked past Ruok and sat on a flat rock nearby, adjusting his position with a quiet sigh, as if they were simply taking a break during a long walk.
He tapped the stone opposite of him with his staff.
"Sit."
Ruok glanced at him.
Then at the cliff.
Then back.
"…This better not be another trick."
Still, he walked over and sat—carefully, leaving just enough distance to react if needed.
Edgard rested both hands on the top of his staff, the crimson skull catching the fading light.
"What do you know about demons?" he asked.
Ruok sighed under his breath.
'Here we go again. His long monologue.'
He scratched his cheek.
"From what I've heard… demons eat souls," he said. "Or… devour them, I guess."
Edgard inclined his head slightly.
"Correct," he said. "Though 'consume' would be a more refined term."
His gaze drifted toward the horizon.
"Souls are not merely sustenance," he continued. "They are… catalysts. Elixirs of power."
Ruok shifted slightly, resting his arms on his knees.
"…That sounds worse than bad."
Edgard ignored the comment.
"Tell me," he went on, "what distinguishes demons from other beings?"
Ruok frowned.
"…Sharp teeth? Soul-eaters? Maybe wings?"
Edgard smiled faintly.
"An amusing attempt."
He tapped his staff lightly against the ground.
"It is perception," he said. "We see what others cannot. The deepest desires buried beneath pretense."
His voice softened, almost thoughtful.
"Greed. Ambition. Lust. Fear. Every hidden longing laid bare."
A pause.
"That is how corruption begins."
His eyes dimmed slightly, like he was recalling something distant.
"And how it ends… with consumption."
He exhaled slowly.
"Ah… I find myself recalling the taste of a well-corrupted soul. The layers of agony, regret, despair—each more exquisite than the last."
Ruok leaned back a little.
"…Yeah, that's not helping your image."
Edgard glanced at him.
Unbothered.
"That said," he continued, "yours is… unusual."
Ruok blinked.
"…Mine?"
"Yes."
Edgard turned fully toward him now.
"There is no hunger for power. No craving for recognition. No festering resentment."
His eyes narrowed slightly, studying.
"Only a singular desire."
Ruok scratched the back of his head.
"…Let me guess."
"Strong desire for peace, with faint regret," Edgard said.
The word landed heavier than expected.
Ruok didn't answer right away.
"…Yeah," he said after a moment. "That sounds about right."
Edgard watched him closely.
"Such an untainted desire," he murmured. "It is… reminiscent."
Ruok frowned.
"Of what?"
Edgard's lips curved slightly.
"A hero."
Ruok snorted.
"Yeah, no," he said. "I'm no hero. Don't want to be one either."
"I am aware."
That answer came too fast.
Too certain.
Edgard rose to his feet, brushing invisible dust from his cloak.
"Which is precisely why you interest me."
Ruok looked up at him.
"…That doesn't sound comforting."
Edgard stepped closer.
"Tell me," he said, voice lowering slightly, "do you wish to fulfill that desire?"
Ruok opened his mouth.
"No—"
He didn't finish.
The staff moved fast. A blur of dark wood and crimson light.
Ruok didn't even have time to flinch.
Something cold brushed against his neck.
Then—
Everything tilted.
The world shifted sideways.
His body didn't follow.
His vision dropped.
Fell.
Spun—
And then he saw it.
His own shoulders.
Still sitting.
Still upright.
"…Huh," Ruok thought.
His head hit the ground with a dull thud and rolled slightly, stopping on its side.
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
There's no pain…just confusion.
'What the hell,' he thought.
'I died again.'