Ric’s smile froze Uvrodon for a moment and before he recovers, Ric undid and drew the dagger faced on the guard’s belt buckle, plunging it straight through the Uvrodon’s chin and into his skull.

“Knife got your tongue?” Ric smiles and pulls the dagger out.

The blood comes gushing out, drenching Ric in red. After basking in the blood shower for a while, he commands the blood to break down. From minute particles to a gust of red hue. The blood complies as it congeals and vanishes without a trace.

Except for the blood-covered Ric, the hallway remained spotless.

In one swift move, he turns, placing his foot on the Uvrodon’s shoulder, slicing the snake’s throat open while stepping on his shoulder.

Ric used Uvrodon’s height and momentum of the fall to reach and slice Bart’s throat next.

As Ric was landing, he had already thrown the dagger, which ended up lodged in Claude's mouth.

Bart held his throat, desperately trying to hold the blood in, eyeing Ric's bones, which were visible because of Uvrodon’s initial strike.

“Such petty wounds won’t be enough to drain my reserves.” Ric frowned over at the wounds covering his body. With a heavy sigh, he takes Bart’s dagger, and in quick succession, stabs Bart several times, puncturing every vital organ.

Bart falls onto his knees, his bloodshot eyes wide and filled with terror.

“Hold on to life. I will be back.” Ric patted the guard, encouraging him, in hopes he would stop between the bridge of life and death.

Ric, unable to produce death energy, contemplated draining the abomination’s energy instead, hoping it could accumulate death energy. He slung the dagger backward, keeping his gaze fixed on the creature he had chosen to experiment with. To his dismay, the dagger missed its mark, stabbing between the crab’s legs, causing him to lose balance and stumble. As he fell, the dagger lodged deeper into his throat.

“What an utter moron,” Ric frowned, disappointed at losing a test subject.

The first dagger clamped between his teeth silenced any cry for help, but when Ric aimed for his head the second time around, the blow veered off course, striking the man’s foot instead.

“Damn my rotten luck,” Ric grumbled, unsheathing the sword from Bart’s side. The weapon’s weight nearly brought Ric to his knees, making him curse several other foreign words which shocked Claude. “Fuck my useless body,” he muttered, struggling to control the sword’s descent.

The crab resembled a tank, yet amid the struggles of choking on its own blood and vulnerable joints, Ric meticulously took his time severing and reattaching its limbs. With ample time at his disposal, he performed a thorough autopsy to unravel the mysteries of the grotesque creature before him.

Uvrodon convulsed with each sudden jolt as if a relentless barrage of lightning relentlessly struck him. The knife embedded in his brain disrupted the usual signals sent to his limbs, yet years of combat experience and ingrained muscle memory compelled them towards the potions concealed within a pouch. Despite numerous attempts, his hands only grasped at empty air, leaving his last moments immersed in the unsettling scene of a child experimenting on Claude.

In a final surge of defiance, Uvrodon’s desire for vengeance screamed through his body. If only the child were within reach, both could have faced suffering together. Channeling the last remnants of his energy, Uvrodon directed it into his tail, lashing out with all his might in a desperate attempt to reach the child.

The endeavor seemed utterly futile, but Uvrodon refused to succumb to this insult without a fight.

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As skin met skin, a surge of relief washed over Uvrodon, only to be disrupted by the unexpected presence of a massive bat’s head landing beside him with a wet thud. “What imbecile dared to obstruct my path?” Uvrodon hissed with frustration.

Before being blindsided by the snake, Bart regained his bearings. Though the scoundrel had pilfered his potions, Bart had expected such betrayal and stashed plenty of spares all over his body. These reserves were intended for their leader; after all, one never trusted a snake in their midst. Bart had been prepared for such treachery since the day they first crossed paths.

The high-grade potion worked wonders, halting the bleeding and replenishing his reserves with astonishing speed. Though it had cost him a fortune, every gold coin spent was deemed worthwhile.

Observing the kid cautiously testing the potions on Claude, Bart nodded in approval, recognizing the shrewdness of the act. “Smart,” Bart acknowledges, recognizing the likelihood of the kid being a hired assassin. It seemed unusual for an assassin to double as a healer, but Bart considered it a clever way to integrate into any group. After all, everyone needed a healer, and their weak attributes often rendered them overlooked as a threat. “Smart and cunning,” Bart concluded.

Despite these observations, the child remained just that—a child and a healer, no less. Bringing him down shouldn’t pose much of a challenge, were it not for this unexpected ambush. What puzzled Bart, however, was why the kid refrained from using the potion on himself.

With several crude strokes, he chopped Claude into bits, repurposing the unfortunate soul for some deranged experiment or twisted pleasure. The smile that grew on the kid’s face left Bart unable to discern the true state of his mind or the disturbing experiments he subjected a live patient to.

“Don’t healers have oaths preventing them from causing harm to their patients?” Bart questioned, his knowledge on the matter limited.

When he first heard about the oath, it only deepened his pity for the unfortunate souls bound by it. Who in their right mind would bear such burdensome power in this harsh reality? Given the choice, he’d opt for death if not for that other clause, prohibiting them from ending their own miserable existence or inflicting harm to life in any manner.

Pushing aside these futile musings, Bart resolved that the kid must die, regardless of the cost. The logistics could be sorted out later by hiring a mortician or perhaps consulting a witch, judging by the deranged smile on the child’s face.

As the potion mended his severe wounds at a noticeable pace, Bart intended to make his move before experiencing any potential backlash. But before he could act, a tail slammed against his head, cleaving it clean off. In his final moments, Bart’s vision was filled with the face of that treacherous serpent.

“Never trust a snake,” Bart uttered before falling into stillness.

Uvrodon’s eyes widened in shock until a voice yanked him back to reality.

“For fuck’s sake... I was using him,” the kid cursed in a foreign language, the crude words feeling more like an actual curse.

“A cursed healer? That makes no sense,” Uvrodon expressed his disbelief, surprised by the sudden return of coherent thought. Soon, he noticed a golden liquid seeping into his wounds, healing him at tremendous speeds.

The kid then hurled another dagger, lodging it into Bart’s head. Instead of hastening his demise, the strange act somehow revived him, or at least prolonged his demise, even though his head was no longer connected to his body.

“What kind of black magic is this?” Uvrodon gaped, viewing the golden liquid with suspicion, half-expecting it to be another trick orchestrated by the Nun.

Ric, on the other hand, just wove a string of mana around the knife and flung it at the grotesque bat. The gamble paid off as he channeled his life force through the thread and into the bat, prolonging his existence until Ric was done experimenting.

Satisfied with his last-minute plan and the potion he had left with the bat, now aiding the snake, Ric puffed his chest out with pride. He swung the massive sword upward, hoping to casually lean it against his shoulder and strike a pose to commandeer this moment. However, reality is never what one expects, and it certainly did not unfold as Ric had envisioned.

An enchantment activates on the sword, causing it to swell. The abrupt increase in weight disrupts Ric’s balance, thwarting his attempt at the heroic pose.

Like his comrades, Claude harbored a desire for vengeance before meeting his end. With the sheer force of his jaws, he shattered many blades, whether it be enchanted or solid steel. However, for the first time, a simple dagger caught him off guard, embedding itself into his throat before he could react.

There was little point in attempting to break the dagger now; the damage had already been inflicted. Only the most skilled of healers stood a chance of saving him from descending into the darkness of the tunnel now.

Little did he know that a bad wish presented to the worst interpreter is akin to making a wish to a poorly skilled genie.

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