There was a harsh silence. Or maybe there would have been, had it not been for the rumbling and thunderous howls of the Dungeon.
Runes flew about in a vain attempt to pick up and reform Thalrik’s body, but it was a failure. Sylas had thought that something like this might happen. After all, this Dungeon was apparently here for the sake of training, so there was a small bit of healing done after every battle—at the very least, just enough to keep them going.
But if the Dungeon wanted to save Thalrik from this state and return him to a form he could do battle in… well…
The Runes fell limply.
Sylas watched with an almost morbid curiosity, wondering when he had ever seen Runes be so… expressive before.
They worked together like a nurse, cobbling together Thalrik’s remains as though trying to truly save him. But when they realized it was impossible, they almost seemed…
Sad.
Sylas was sure that most others wouldn’t be able to pick up on this. Even Rune Soul Masters might not have sharp enough senses to see these Runes in the first place.
It had to be remembered that a long while ago, Sylas had to use a Unique Gene just to observe Runes, despite being quite the Rune Master already. But after he reached a certain threshold, he couldn’t recall ever needing to use it again.
Sylas shook his head, not allowing himself to get enamored by the movement of the Runes. He would need to find another chance to investigate why they were so expressive.
They were definitely F-Grade Runes, so there was no reason he couldn’t tap into something like that.
But it was odd… because it felt more like an application of Rune Vitality than Rune Spark. How much was he missing from the previous Rune Masteries he had just leapt over?
A sphere snapped around Sylas. The danger he was expecting to trigger immediately didn’t, but this made Sylas realize something very important.
The Dungeon was sticking to its rules. That was good.
But this also meant that whatever it did next time would try to ensure that he didn’t have a chance to kill anyone. That would make his next kill far more difficult.
Or would it?
Sylas actually hadn’t been sure just now if he could kill Thalrik. But he realized during the kill that he had actually been training the entire last year to do exactly this.
The Scorned Wraps had been teaching him—subtly or otherwise—to control his intention, restraining his thoughts even in the midst of battle.
When he first got them, he couldn’t even hold Treasures without destroying them. But now, he could do so casually so long as he controlled his intention to actually use them.
This Dungeon seemed to rely on two methods, both of which acted as counterweights to one another.
The first was the normal way. It sensed the vital status of its participants and how their reads and reactions were doing. This helped it predict just when someone had reached their limits and when it should step in.
The second was intention. It was a far cruder form of what the Scorned Wraps were capable of, but Sylas was pretty certain in his assessment.
By the time Thalrik’s feet were leaving the ground and he was starting his throw, Sylas knew the former was dead. If he had thought it clearly enough, the Dungeon would have stepped in. Even though Thalrik’s vital signs were just fine, the certainty in Sylas’ mind would have made it act to end the battle.
But because Sylas was able to control his intention until the final moment, it couldn’t react in time.
Sylas settled down all of his thoughts and then closed his eyes. There was nothing left to observe anymore. All that was left now was to execute.
He understood his opponents for the most part, and the things he didn’t understand, they wouldn’t display easily. What was most important was for him to maintain his best condition, to run through scenarios he could execute, and how he would react to them.
The gazes of the others landing on him didn’t move him in the slightest.
They, however… they could still hear Thalrik’s snide remarks echoing in the air. Sylas hadn’t said a word. He didn’t react. He didn’t get angry, or sad, or worried…
This version of Sylas—it was probably the one they should fear the most.
They had vaguely heard about a time Sylas had threatened Ulrik. The scene of an Oath being sworn was something that no one would forget, and it was the sort of thing that would spread far and wide, especially for those who wanted to know about Sylas.
It had made Voryx think that Sylas could be very hot-headed sometimes, and that could most definitely be taken advantage of.
However, there were two things he hadn’t realized—or rather, one thing he hadn’t realized, and a second thing he simply didn’t know.
The latter was that… Ulrik was already dead. It wasn’t an empty threat on Sylas’ part. The moment he had seen him, Sylas destroyed Ulrik, venting out all the frustration that had built in his heart.
And the first thing was that… this situation wasn’t enough to push Sylas to that brink yet.
That day was a very rare instance of Sylas coming up short. Had he been able to push Lorien just a little further, he would have never ended up so weak.
But now, he had grown beyond what these people could imagine. His strength wasn’t the same. His foundation of knowledge wasn’t the same. His ability to read and adapt to a given situation was on another level entirely.
Thalrik thought Sylas’ back was against the wall, when the truth was that Sylas didn’t feel that way at all.
In fact, to Sylas, the games were only just beginning.
He had already killed two True Chosen here. There was just one left.
Thalrik was a fool in Sylas’ eyes.
Why would he bother speaking to an idiot?
