9. Rescue operation (4)

No, no, no, this is all wrong. What was I thinking, letting a terrified kid tail me? I’ll just gobble him up in a second if things don’t change. At least in this current state I’m in.

I still had Voracity activated on full blast. Or—I guess it would be more fair to say that I completely stopped suppressing it.

Sure, my hunger subsided drastically after eating six high-cultivation warriors, but it still doesn’t change the fact that I’m a bit of a threat right now.

"Say, kid, what’s your name?"

"Kid? Aren’t you younger than me?"

"Kid."

"…Yes, sorry. M-my name’s Nagi, sir. Nagi Ompha—"

I cut him off with a raised hand.

"Wait. I don’t care. Full names are hard to remember, so from now on you’re just Nagi."

His expression soured, and I shot him a dangerous look.

"O-Of course. I’m Nagi. May I ask what you’re called?"

"Hah, you know your manners. Aight, I shall now introduce myself!"

I struck a ridiculous pose—index, uhh, claw raised into the air—which looked more intimidating than funny, due to all the weapon-like junk surrounding my body.

"I am called Oreanthalys, the Seventh Talon. May my greatness be imbued into your dense skull for life."

"…"

He looked at me like I’d just wronged him.

"Ah, but since we’re close friends, you have my permission to call me Ori."

"Right…"

Why’s he gotta say that with such a gloomy face? Isn’t it the greatest honor to be on first-name terms with someone of my esteemed caliber? Whatever, if his responses continue to be this lukewarm, I might just drop the bit and be done with this shit.

"Aight, here’s the thing, Nagi. I need you to stand far away. A solid hundred meters away, preferably. I know it’s unfortunate to miss out on a chance to have a conversation with yours truly, but I’m currently… This fucker?"

The moment I told him to distance himself, he dipped before even hearing me out.

Even though I’m the one who told him to leave, his swift retreat, oddly enough, pissed me off.

It’s like he’s been waiting for a chance to get away. Tch, I'll have to give him a ‘gentle lovetap’ later.

My slightly down mood was quickly washed away, though, when I finally locked eyes with Lyrael. Really, the chance of her dying in that little entourage she went on was, from my guesstimate, a solid fifty percent. But she pulled it off.

"That’s my girl! Sup! How’re you faring, my dearest of friends, Lyrael?"

I waved my arm at her enthusiastically, and she returned the gesture—if only partially.

Well, that answers my question. Seems she’s still injured. Not a big deal though. After all, the solution is right in her arms, or pockets. Or is it in a purse? Wherever it is she stored the pill—that’s what I’m tryna say.

I stepped closer, a grin across my face. After all, it's been nearly sixty years since I last did any cultivation. Ahh, but such an active lifestyle is so tiring. I really did prefer living in the woods with no responsibilities. Then again, these very responsibilities are what ground me to humanity. Without them, I'm no better than a thoughtless beast.

Having somewhat consoled myself with that thought—even if I didn't entirely believe it myself—I crouched down where Lyrael was resting, waiting for her to explain how things went, as well as how many pills she'd managed to secure.

The words that came out of her mouth the next moment, however, were so unexpected that I simply froze in place, unable to process what I'd just heard.

"..Huh?"

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Lyrael was resting against a tree, by a campfire—probably set up by Ori and the imposing man clad in black that he brought along.

Thanks to Ori's intel, she managed to sneak into the Stone Cauldron Lord's quarters undetected, and things went even smoother from there. What she didn't expect, however, was to be recognized by a guard on her way out, two hours after successfully escaping with the pills. It was one of the men who watched over her and her sister’s cell—a complete chance encounter. Nothing more than bad luck.

And yet, that was enough to completely ruin the immaculately planned theft.

What followed was an arduous chase. Too tiring to even recall. One thing was clear, though: they were bound to catch Lyrael, given enough time. She simply ran for her life, ignoring any wound sustained with pure willpower—even if she saw no chance of survival at the end of the tunnel; truth be told, she was prepared to die for her sister the moment she learned of the imminent inhuman torture awaiting her.

But still… Still… How? How was such a dire force stopped by one third-tier practitioner and a single man hiding himself in a black cloak?

How did Ori manage to bring someone of his caliber to our side? His strength is incomprehensible...

Lyrael, of course, was thinking of Dren.

Though her vision had gone cloudy from some sort of injury she couldn’t even identify at this point, among the many, the man’s jet-black silhouette was easily discernible as it snaked through the crowd of silver ones.

Still, she could accept as much. There are—and always have been—countless hidden masters in the vast world, so it wasn’t too crazy to end up on the same team with one, even if somewhat improbable.

No, what shook her much more was something else. Someone else.

Ori.

A third-tier fighter, a threadripper, and a friend of hers. He held his own against an entire formation of first-tier warriors. That, by any means, was not supposed to be possible.

Sure, he had special powers, being a member of a rare inhuman tribe, but even inhuman entities like him can’t just bridge this wide a gap in cultivation levels—not against several enemies.

He mingled among the pursuit team warriors, his blurry figure weaving in and out of battle, but the constant headache forced her eyes shut.

Extreme light sensitivity and difficulty focusing. Looks like I’m concussed bad.

"That’s my girl! Sup! How’re you faring, my dearest of friends, Lyrael?"

As a few more minutes passed, she heard the very person she was thinking of—Ori—shout his usual nonsense in her direction. She smiled weakly and attempted to wave back, but quickly stopped after a jolt of pain spread through her arm.

Having rested for a tiny bit, she was able to open her eyes and meet his smile.

He crouched down near Lyrael, and only then—with him being close enough to make out the details despite her blurry vision—did his abnormal physique come into view.

What is this..?

Lyrael was stunned.

And understandably so.

His clothes were gone, save for a wrap around the waist, and in their place was a reflective skintight layer wrapped around his body like an abstract silver tattoo. The left arm was completely stripped of skin, the color of flesh and bone mismatched, as if constructed from several different parts mushed together into this amalgamation.

And of course, there was the massive blade, claws, and tentacles made of the same steel thread that hugged his body.

"This can’t be…"

Lyrael murmured under her breath, looking deeply disturbed.

"What’s up? Didn’t hear ya well."

As Ori tilted his head, confused, Lyrael bit down on her fingernail.

Why?

"Why? Why what? What’re you on about? Hit your head too hard?"

"Why on earth do you look so damn cool right now?! This makes no sense! Not you, of all people!"

"...Huh?"

Ori let out a dumb sound and froze solid.

Lyrael could’ve sworn she saw the tips of his ears turn red—but then again, her vision was faltering.

Right, maybe that’s why I had the delusional thought that an idiot like him could look badass. That has to be it. Mhm.

"What’s happened to him?"

"!!!"

"Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you. Might you be the one the kid referred to as a ‘deliveryman’?"

She let out a sigh of relief, realizing that the sudden voice behind her was from the man Ori had somehow convinced to join them.

Ah, I’m starting to get an idea of what happened here. He called me the ‘deliveryman’, right? There’s only one reason Ori would refer to me as that—the man must’ve agreed to work with us for some amount of pills.

"That’s right, I have your pay here on me."

"Good, good. Hand them over, then."

"No can do. I need this idiot’s approval first. Hey, Ori! You here?"

Lyrael waved her other hand in front of Ori’s face—the one not connected to the torn side of her upper back muscles—but it was like he’d become a living statue.

"You asked what’s going on with him, yes? I don’t know. We were just talking, and then he abruptly went still like this."

"Perhaps it’s a side effect of overusing his powers? Not much is known about how threadrippers live, outside of the stuff available to the public through children’s tales."

"I don’t know about that. Feels like there’s more to this than meets the eye. But, anyways, since he seems to be out of commission, can you carry the both of us on your back?"

"Do I even know you, to put so much effort into helping you out? Might as well leave you to rot here. I only need the threadripper kid for the contract, and as for the pill—I can take them by force. There’s no reason for me to take you as well."

"Well, my name’s Lyrael. The idiot’s named Ori. So, to answer your question—now you do know me. How about it, sound logic, isn’t it?"

Lyrael poked her chest with her finger and smiled smugly, as if she’d just said the smartest thing in the world.

"Hoooh. As per proper etiquette, I’ll introduce myself as well. Dren. Simply Dren. But, kid, Lyrael, I think I’ve finally figured out how someone as crazy as the threadripper kid was able to get along with someone close enough to call them a friend."

Dren spoke those words with an extremely serious tone, making Lyrael focus up and sit straight in spite of her injuries.

"Yes? What is it, then?"

"It’s simple, really. You’re both absolute goddamn lunatics!"

And thus, for the first time in a decade, Dren—the leader of the mighty Black Lake Syndicate, the taciturn commander of the ‘Black Immortal Squad’—lost his shit.