Chapter 23: Prey that mustn’t die
Veythor kept running, his strides unyielding, his eyes carved with nothing but grim determination. Hunger gnawed at his heart, not hunger for food, but for freedom. A freedom that could only be claimed through ruin.
He was an old fox, a soul shackled by three painful lives, transmigrated into this fragile vessel of flesh. Yet his will remained iron. In the end, he sought but a single thing.... rest. Rest... eternal, undisturbed, inviolable.
And to obtain it, he would burn this world to ash.
Behind him, Raika struggled to keep pace. His breath was ragged, his steps faltering. Veythor’s gaze flicked back, sharp and cold.
Ever since the moment of my first cry... whether in the first life, second, or now the third, the heavens never granted me mercy. I have seen nothing but torment. Hell itself became my home.
Every time, every single time... I reached for happiness, it slipped through my fingers. Each time I grasped light, I was hurled back into the abyss. The heavens toyed with me, laughed at my weakness, trampled my foolishness beneath their feet.
But no more.
In this life, I will not crawl as that naïve wretch again. I will not wear the mask of kindness, nor cling to the illusion that love could conquer fate. Those were mere lies... sweet poisons. Weakness disguised as virtue.
This world has no place for such delusions.
Here, only money, power, and time reign. Those are the true rulers, the only pillars that endure.
And with this third chance. I will claim them all. I will tear destiny apart, piece by piece, until not even heaven dares look down on me.
In this life, I will be the victor.
I will defeat fate itself.
Veythor finally came to a halt, his steps digging deep into the soil. Raika stopped a few paces behind, chest heaving.
"What happened?" Raika asked, narrowing his eyes.
Veythor was panting, his breath ragged. No matter how iron his will, carrying a body nearly his own size pressed against his back was no easy burden. Shimi’s weight dragged at him, and for the first time, strain edged across his face.
"Those masked men..." Veythor muttered between breaths. "They told us to go right."
Raika’s brows furrowed. His tone turned sharp, almost incredulous.
"And what? You’re planning to listen to them? Have you gone stupid?"
Veythor turned his head slightly, his crimson eyes cutting back at him. On his back, Shimi stirred faintly, her body trembling as though trapped in a fevered dream. Veythor felt the quiver against his shoulder and his voice lowered, cold but pointed.
"You really haven’t noticed yet?"
Raika blinked, tilting his head in confusion. "Noticed what?"
Veythor sighed, the sound more like scorn than weariness.
"All this time... while you were running behind me... you didn’t see her ankle swelling? Didn’t see the skin turning a deep violet?"
Raika’s eyes widened, shock slamming into him like a hammer. His throat tightened, words barely forming.
"What...? You mean—she’s poisoned?"
"But... how?" Raika’s voice cracked, desperation leaking through every word. He kept asking, searching for answers that refused to come.
"Those dogs most likely had venom in their fangs," Veythor replied coldly.
Raika froze, the words sinking into him like stones dropped into a river. His thoughts churned violently.
Venom? Does that mean... Shimi’s going to die? No... it can’t be. I don’t want to lose anyone. Not her.
His fists clenched, trembling.
"Veythor... what should we do? We have to save her. We have to!" His voice shook, cracking with panic.
But Veythor’s reply was merciless. "We can’t do anything. We’re too far from help. If Miasha were here, maybe she could have saved her but she isn’t. Right now, all we can do is hope we find help before it’s too late. The poison is slow, but it’s already spreading. If my guess is right, she has maybe fifteen to twenty-four hours before it kills her. That’s the window. Nothing more."
Sweat ran down Raika’s face. He raked a hand through his damp hair, his chest tightening.
"But... I don’t understand one thing." His voice was low, ragged. "Why are you so set on following the direction those masked men gave us? For all we know, they’re luring us straight into a trap."
Veythor’s gaze was steady, unshaken. "Even if that’s the case... it’s still our best bet."
Raika’s eyes narrowed. "Why? What makes you so sure?"
"Because," Veythor said flatly, his tone like ice, "those masked men themselves wanted Shimi to survive."
Raika blinked, dumbfounded. "What? Are you trying to mess with me?"
Veythor narrowed his eyes, his tone calm and steady as always.
"Why would I want to do that?"
Raika frowned, confusion and frustration twisting his face.
"Then why did you say those masked men wanted Shimi to survive? What are you trying to say? I don’t understand."
Veythor exhaled a slow, tired sigh, as though explaining to a child.
"It’s difficult for you to grasp, but I’ll put it simply. Forget the masked men for a moment. Imagine the pack still had Shimi, and somehow, we managed to steal her away. What would they want next?"
Raika thought for a moment, then muttered,
"To get Shimi back. They wouldn’t let their prey slip away so easily."
"Correct."
Veythor’s steps carried him toward the right, his pace unhurried. Raika followed, his eyes narrowing in thought. Veythor’s voice continued, cold and logical.
"Now, consider this, Shimi is poisoned. The venom is slow, but already working its way through her. The dogs would want to eat her quickly, before the poison takes her. But because we stole her away, she’s at risk of dying before they can feast. So, naturally, they would want her to survive... in order to consume her later."
Raika’s stomach turned at the cruelty of the logic, but he couldn’t argue. Veythor’s crimson gaze sharpened.
"That’s exactly the same case with the masked men. Their goals align with the hounds. Prey is only valuable when alive."
"I still don’t understand what you mean," Raika pressed, his brows furrowed. "Why are you mixing humans and beasts? The dogs wanted to eat Shimi.... that much I get. But those masked ones... they’re human. How could they eat her? Their own kind? What’s your point?"
His voice cracked with disbelief. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Of course he couldn’t— he was still just a boy, a child with a mind only slightly more tempered than his peers.
Veythor didn’t answer right away. His silence wasn’t hesitation, but dismissal. To him, some truths were wasted on the young. Even if Raika understood, it would change nothing. They kept walking, boots crushing the brittle leaves underfoot, until at last Veythor spoke.
"They are cannibals." His voice was flat, matter-of-fact, his gaze never shifting from the path ahead.
Raika blinked. "Cannibal? You’ve said that before too, in front of Miasha. But... what does it even mean?"
Veythor exhaled slowly, as if explaining to someone hopelessly naive.
"Cannibalism is when one eats their own kind. A chicken devouring another chicken. A dog gnawing on the bones of another dog. And humans..." His crimson eyes flickered coldly. "Humans feasting on humans."
The words landed like stones in Raika’s chest. His lips trembled. His stomach churned, threatening to rebel. His wide eyes filled with horror, the disgust raw and unfiltered.
A cold breeze slithered through the trees, brushing their skin as they pressed forward, carrying with it a chill that sank deeper than the air itself.
Raika didn’t ask anything more. The word cannibalism still echoed in his mind, heavy and foul, like rot seeping into his thoughts. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it. How could something so monstrous even exist?
Suddenly, Veythor halted. Raika, lost in his thoughts, didn’t notice until he bumped into him.
"Ouch... why did you suddenly stop?" Raika whispered irritably.
But Veythor’s hand shot up. "Shhh."
Before them, a snake slithered into view. Its scales were dulled, its movements sluggish. A crimson trail smeared the soil behind it the creature was wounded, blood dripping steadily from a tear along its body. Its tongue flickered weakly as it crawled, dragging itself toward the right side of the path.
Raika’s eyes followed it, unsettled. Shimi stirred faintly on Veythor’s back, a trembling shiver running through her poisoned body. Her ankle had darkened further the swelling now a grotesque, blackish-violet hue, as though her flesh itself was rotting.
The forest held its breath. Only the faint rasp of the snake moving through the leaves broke the silence.