The thug... well, the would-be assassin. There was no need to sugarcoat it, nor was it possible even if he tried.

  He turned to face him, dagger in hand. There was no face beneath the hood, only darkness. So, to say he was "looking" was a stretch, but his focus and malice were evident nonetheless.

  "So fast," the assassin muttered.

  Fast to wake up, or fast to arrive here? It might have been the latter. He might have sensed him waking. In any case, he was going to end this right here.

  James lunged at the guy, brandishing his sword with both hands. The best defense was a good offense. Better to end this before he could mount a defense of his own. The dagger he carried wasn't even going to tickle him, not through his armor.

  Definitely. But his sword didn't do anything either.

  The assassin turned intangible for a moment and the sword passed right through him. Whoosh, nothing happened. Then, thanks to the manipulation of the same energy that had apparently helped him find the exit, the dagger expanded into a sword.

  Now he could actually match him blow for blow, but James would win anyway. He took a step back and lowered his stance.

  "I won't let you get in my way, brat. You should have stayed in bed."

  The swords clashed in the middle, sending sparks flying.

  "Your way?" James repeated. "You're nothing but a hired thug. There is no way. You start nowhere and you're going to end up in the same place as everyone else."

  The assassin clicked his tongue. He still couldn't see anything, but the sound was unmistakable.

  "You talk too much," the assassin said.

  "Maybe," James replied. "But I need you to know. I need you to feel fear and suffer before you die. Because an animal like you doesn't deserve anything else."

  The swords clashed again and again. More sparks flew each time. Even so, the girls remained asleep. They wouldn't wake up, he suspected, until they found their own exits. Or until James killed this guy. One or the other.

  James took a deep breath. It didn't matter. Everything else didn't matter for now. The point was, he had freed himself from the complicated part, the overwhelming and suffocating part: the time limit with barely any resources to defend himself. Now, even if it was a living shadow, he had an enemy in front of him and the only thing left to do was kill each other.

  It was simple, and he was in his element. It sounded wrong to say something like this was his element, but it was true. He shouldn't waste breath on anything other than swinging his sword, but he couldn't help but start talking. He felt indignant. There always has to be someone like you, parasites dedicated to crushing their own kind as if the boot weren't coming for them too.

  "What do you gain by serving men like them? Dirty rats trying to get away with it at all costs, no matter how many innocent lives they ruin along the way? And for what? Pure greed. This little world called Asfal had riches for everyone."

  That, precisely, was the assassin's answer:

  "Money."

  James jumped over one of his attacks while launching his own. Neither of the attacks in question landed anywhere. The verbal one least of all.

  "Nothing else matters to you?" he asked.

  "What am I supposed to say? Love? Honor? You can't take that to the bank."

  Wow. So the only thing that mattered was what he could take to the bank. If his physical form was a shadow, the shape of his soul was even less than that. He was completely lost.

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  Of course, "soul" wasn't in a literal sense. He didn't believe in that kind of stuff. And just as well. People like the assassin didn't deserve something like life after death. They didn't even deserve hell. There was nothing more terrifying than the idea that the same shit would continue.

  "I see you despise me, kid," continued the assassin. The most obvious answer in the world.

  A dozen attacks clashing against each other. Then, the bastard managed to screw him over. The sword transformed—that is, it instantly changed back into a dagger—slipping through his guard. A dirty trick. But there was nothing clean in a fight to the death.

  He thought it would just bounce off his armor, but the dagger must have been special. It pierced more than just his guard; it plunged into his shoulder.

  James gritted his teeth, taking a deep breath. Fuck, that hurt. His legs trembled, but he didn't fall to one knee. He was close, but he didn't fall. That was what mattered.

  "But the difference between you and me is that I can have what I want," the assassin went on. "What will you do for the rest of your life, aside from chasing butterflies and dying poor?"

  James frowned. The pain vanished from his expression in an instant. If you chased ideals, the only thing you could save were your own ideals. He wasn't stupid. It wasn't as if he hadn't thought about what the stranger was saying. However...

  "The rest of my life will be long. I can't say the same for you."

  He ended the fight with a single blow. That is, he cut off his head with a single blow.

  It flew and bounced against a wall, leaving behind, of course, a picturesque crimson red decoration along the way. On the floor, on the ceiling, a few drops on the bedsheets... Anyway, everywhere. The spray was like water spat from sprinklers.

  It was grotesque and gave a certain sense of unreality, which was almost funny because this person was only the second he had killed. It wasn't that he had dirtied his hands for the first time, but it still seemed surreal to him. Maybe no sane human being could fully get used to something like killing another person. Although he had no right to say such a thing when he hadn't felt anything, not even when feeding the corpse of his first victim to a monster.

  The fact is, he was satisfied. James looked at the headless corpse. Not for having stopped a tragedy, but for having been strong enough to kill someone who was trying to kill him.

  To destroy someone who actually could defend themselves properly. Not like that corrupt cop who had gone down with barely any resistance. Not like the other two who had fled with their tails between their legs.

  He felt satisfied. He couldn't deny it. And what did that make him? Well, he wasn't sure, but definitely not someone who had the right to speak of principles and ideals. About there being things that mattered beyond his own benefit.

  James slowly let himself drop. He ended up sitting on the floor, sword between his legs. Now that the assassin sent by Giuliani Davis had fallen, so too would the power that had plunged them into that eternal sleep. The girls would wake up without needing to face their worst memories to find the exit.

  Mary was the first to wake up. She rolled out of bed, legs a bit weak. She stepped over the corpse and crouched beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  "James, are you okay?"

  James nodded.

  "It's just a scratch, nothing more."

  He was telling the truth. The shoulder wound would undoubtedly heal right away. He had already gotten used to that, to regenerating outside of combat like the main character of an RPG. The armor would too. As if nothing had happened. No matter how special the dagger was.

  James also trusted in the special nature of his equipment. The enemy was defeated. Not the ultimate enemy, but a victory nonetheless. It was progress.

  "I didn't mean that," Mary said. "You had to fight alone. You could have died."

  His first instinct was to feel irritated. As if she were being condescending. He could answer that he was used to fighting his battles alone, but he had to admit she was being kind. Nothing more. He could go further. Admit that, in fact, he had been afraid. He had believed he wouldn't make it. Neither he, nor any of them. And all for not being up to the task at the last moment. That when the dagger sank into his shoulder, he thought his neck would be next and that would be it. Darkness and silence forever.

  He could answer in many ways. He didn't have the energy for anything. He just wanted to crawl into bed and go back to sleep. As he often did, he resorted to a little trick of his. He visualized the options before him like a dialogue tree in an RPG. He had earned a living with eSports, but he had ended up there due to his love for gaming, after all. All kinds of games.

  It was a silly thing he would never tell anyone. Something that would make them look at him like the weirdo he was. But, silly or not? The truth is it helped to take that step back. To distance himself from himself. It helped him see things more clearly. To get closer to the right thing to say. Just closer. This little mental exercise didn't mean he always hit the mark. Of course. He had many limitations. Being social, being normal, was one of them. It was one of the few things his short stay in Asfal hadn't changed yet.

  "But I didn't die," he finally replied. "I'm okay."

  He looked at her briefly, nodding.

  "Really, thanks."

  Mary nodded too. She didn't say anything else; he assumed she didn't believe him.

  The others woke up one by one. But in quick succession. And seeing the headless corpse... which, honestly, they took very philosophically. As if it were something they saw every day.

  Natalia said what he assumed everyone was thinking. Dry, tough, and straight to the point:

  "Well, one less problem."