The surge of adrenaline faded.
In its wake came something far worse.
Weakness crashed over him like a collapsing tide, dragging agony along with it. Colin dropped to his knees, his body convulsing as he dry-heaved. His stomach twisted violently, but nothing came up—only bitter bile laced with the metallic taste of blood.
Pain flared from his arm.
The wound was deep—too deep. Blood still pulsed out in uneven spurts, soaking his sleeve, dripping down his fingers. His back throbbed, his skull rang; every heartbeat sent a fresh spike of pain through his nerves, like a hammer striking raw flesh.
At his feet lay two bodies.
Still warm.
Their eyes remained open, staring—silent, accusing.
Something inside him trembled.
Fragments of Colin's original soul recoiled in fear, instinct screaming, breaking apart—
—and slowly, steadily, another presence rose to the surface.
Lin Yue.
"Move… I have to leave…"
The voice that echoed in his mind was calm.
Too calm.
Cold, even.
He forced himself upright, vision swimming, and looked around.
Firelight flickered across the ruins, turning the destroyed tribe into something unreal—a ghostly wasteland. In the distance, human voices barked orders. Now and then, a scream pierced the air—brief, sharp, then gone.
This wasn't a battlefield.
It was a slaughterhouse.
And he was nothing more than livestock that had slipped the knife—barely.
His gaze shifted inward.
A translucent panel hovered in his mind.
His arm still bled.
At this rate, he wouldn't need enemies to finish him.
"System," he thought urgently, forcing clarity through the pain. "Use Kill Points. Stop the bleeding. Repair the injuries."
A cold voice responded instantly.
[Repairing current injuries requires 50 Kill Points. Insufficient points.]
[Basic Hemostasis available. Cost: 5 Kill Points.]
A bitter curse flashed through his mind.
Expensive.
But hesitation meant death.
"Do it."
[Command acknowledged. Consuming 5 Kill Points.]
A strange sensation crept over his arm.
It itched.
No—crawled.
Like countless tiny insects burrowing beneath his skin.
He looked down.
The torn flesh at the edges of the wound twitched, drawing together, knitting slowly. The bleeding lessened—slowed—until it became a sluggish seep.
Not healed.
But enough.
Enough to live.
For now.
His eyes flicked over the system again—Strength, Agility, Stamina, Spirit.
Strength… he had felt that already.
But strength meant nothing if he couldn't move.
"Stamina. Five points."
[Command acknowledged. Consuming 5 Kill Points.]
Warmth spread through his body.
Not relief—never that—but the crushing fatigue loosened its grip. His limbs felt… usable again.
Barely.
Kill Points: zero.
No margin for error.
Colin didn't waste another second.
He bent down, hands trembling, and pulled a dagger from the younger soldier's corpse. The blade was still slick with blood. Cold metal pressed into his palm.
It didn't make him safer.
But it felt like something.
"So… Lin Yue… or Colin…?"
The thought surfaced briefly.
Then vanished.
"Doesn't matter."
"Survive first."
The goal was clear.
Blackwood Forest.
To the east—vast, ancient, feared even by the tribe's hunters. A place where things lurked that no one dared name.
Now, it was his only chance.
He moved.
Not blindly this time.
The chaos in his mind had settled into something sharp, deliberate. He slipped through the ruins, hugging the edges of firelight, staying within the shifting boundary between brightness and shadow.
That line—
That thin, fragile divide—
was his shield.
His werewolf blood stirred faintly, granting him just enough night vision to make out shapes—fallen beams, broken walls, corpses.
Every step was careful.
Every breath controlled.
"Search carefully! Don't let a single werewolf escape!"
Voices.
Close.
Too close.
Colin's body tensed. He ducked instantly behind a collapsed hide tent, pressing himself flat, forcing his breathing into silence.
Bootsteps approached.
Crunch.
Crunch.
The smell hit him next—sweat, iron, ash.
"Chief… it's burned to hell. Think anything's still alive?"
"The Count wants them wiped out. Especially the young. Not one left breathing."
Closer.
Closer—
Then past.
So close he could feel it.
Colin didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Time stretched thin.
Only when the footsteps faded completely did he slowly release the air in his lungs.
He waited longer.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Then, cautiously, he peeked out.
Gone.
This wasn't war.
The thought came unbidden.
It was worse.
Twelve years of education—memories from another life—made it clear.
This was extermination.
Civilization crushing something it deemed lesser.
Genocide.
His jaw tightened.
Move.
He pressed on.
Sometimes crawling beneath shattered fences, dragging his body through ash and dirt.
Sometimes slipping along broken walls, clinging to blind spots like a shadow.
Instinct and logic intertwined—Colin's body, Lin Yue's mind.
Survival refined into something precise.
He was close now.
The edge of the tribe.
Freedom—
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
Then—
Light.
Dozens of flares burst overhead, flooding the ruins in pale, merciless brightness.
Nowhere to hide.
No time to think.
Colin threw himself forward, crashing into a pile of corpses. He went limp instantly, burying his face in mud and blood.
Still.
Dead.
Be nothing.
A gaze swept across the ground.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Like a blade passing over flesh.
It lingered.
On him.
One second.
Two—
Then moved on.
The light faded.
Darkness reclaimed the land.
Colin didn't wait.
He tore himself free from the bodies, ignoring the filth coating his skin, and ran.
One step.
Two—
Then—
Trees.
Darkness.
The Blackwood Forest swallowed him whole.
Behind him, fire still raged.
Ahead—
Only black.
Cold air wrapped around him, damp and heavy with the scent of rot and earth. Towering trees choked out the sky, their branches sealing away even the faintest light.
He couldn't see his own hands.
Sounds crept through the darkness—chittering insects, distant growls, things moving where he could not see.
Watching.
Waiting.
Another kind of hell.
But no soldiers.
Not here.
Not yet.
He staggered deeper in.
Ten steps.
Maybe twelve.
Then his strength gave out.
The borrowed stamina vanished like mist. Blood loss, pain, exhaustion—they surged back all at once, dragging him under.
His foot caught on a root.
He fell.
Hard.
The world spun.
Darkness deepened.
His consciousness sank, slow and inevitable, like a ship slipping beneath black water.
In the final moment—
His hand tightened around the dagger.
Clutched to his chest.
As everything went still.