Staring at Cressida, who was barely hanging on to her life, Thoren knitted his brow in deep thought.

"A cult," he whispered to himself.

This was the first time he had ever heard of a cult operating among the human awakeners. He had thought the Slave Trade Guild was already a vermin that needed to be destroyed completely.

But now, he realized he had been wrong. He had just stepped into puddle water with an unknown and treacherous depth.

And if he was not very careful, he might be swallowed alive without ever knowing why.

The more he thought about the situation, the more he realized this was no longer a simple skirmish between a few young human awakeners.

This was something far more sinister.

Something older than he could ever have imagined.

’Whoever or whatever they are, as long as I become strong enough, I will destroy them all,’ he thought, and his conviction to grow stronger burned like never before.

Apart from that grim realization, he understood something else.

’Now that my enemies are far more mysterious and deeper than I ever thought, I need a method of preservation.’

’I cannot solely depend on my undead servants for protection. I must find a way to protect myself when everything goes south.’

He was not delusional enough to think that he was untouchable or invincible.

With enemies all around him, he could not get complacent, nor could he give his enemies a chance to infiltrate his defenses.

’I think it is high time I used my two Skill Scrolls,’ he thought, and a firm determination flashed through his eyes.

Just then, he heard Cressida’s weak, rasping voice.

"Do not tell me the famous Grim Reaper is scared," she laughed, groaning with so much pain. Yet she did not seem to care about her suffering.

"You need to be scared. If you know what is good for you, I will advise you to plead your allegiance to the cult."

"Perhaps, only perhaps, you might keep your pathetic life. But I hope they destroy you just as you destroyed me."

"Then I can have my revenge in hell," her voice was now barely a whisper.

Her breathing was ragged and shallow.

Her blood had already clotted.

Dried.

The Bleeding Desert had already sunk its claws into her, pulling her deeper and deeper into its sandy grip.

Thoren stared at her, his expression difficult to read. No one could tell what was going on in his mind.

"What is the name of this cult?" he asked calmly.

"Do not ask me. When they come for you, you shall know," her breath ragged, and she gasped for a second before her gaze became vacant.

She was gone.

Dead.

Looking at her corpse, Thoren wore the same indifferent expression.

"To others, death might be the end. But with me," he whispered.

"Ghost Whispers," he activated one of his skills.

Instantly, the dead Cressida trembled for a second, and her illusory soul floated out of her broken body.

Her gaze was vacant and empty.

Just as Thoren prepared to question her, her soul began to tremble vehemently, and a soul piercing shriek escaped from her mouth.

Ahhhhhhhhh!

Before Thoren could realize what was happening, a terrifying violet fire appeared out of nowhere and began to burn her soul.

Everything happened in a single blink, and before Thoren could react, Cressida’s soul was burned into crisp, then swept away by the desert wind.

"Huh!" A sharp gasp escaped from Thoren’s lips, and his face filled with shock and confusion.

What is going on?

He stared at her corpse, unable to wrap his head around what had just happened before his eyes.

He had thought the Ghost Whispers skill could never fail, but now he had witnessed a failure.

No, his skill did not fail. He shook his head firmly.

Something far more terrifying was at play. Something beyond his current understanding.

How could a soul be burned to crisp from the inside? The question rang in his mind like a tolling bell.

He was a necromancer. This should be his area of expertise. Yet he was utterly lost.

Of course, he knew necromancy had many branches that could not be disputed. But for anyone to attack his target, at least they needed to be present in some form.

Right?

’What if the fire was already placed in her soul before I captured her?’ he murmured, his confusion deepening.

When he followed this line of thinking, he found it plausible.

Nothing would have happened to her soul if he had not tried to use the Grave Whisper skill on her.

But the moment he attempted to question her soul, the burning fire was automatically activated.

’That is the answer,’ he mused.

He believed this must be close to the truth. He could not think of any other explanation that could make a soul burn without an external attack.

Suddenly, he detected movement before him, and he lowered his head.

Cressida’s lifeless head had come back to life. Her eyes flung open and stared directly at him.

"Interesting," she spoke.

This time, her voice was completely different. It was as if the voice belonged to another person entirely.

Her voice was soothing and pleasing to the ear, but Thoren knew better.

Merely listening to that voice, his instincts screamed of imminent danger.

"So you’re the one..."

"Since you killed my host, I must take your body," the voice said.

"Wait for me. Wait for me..."

"I cannot wait to eat such a pure and strong soul."

"Hahaha. Hahahaha."

"You belong to me now."

With those final words, the head stopped talking, turning dull and lifeless once more. The Bleeding Desert sand moved slowly and devoured her body entirely, leaving nothing behind.

Thoren stood alone in the desert, staring at the spot where Cressida had been consumed. The desert howls fiercely in his ears but he seems not to hear anything. His focus was on the strange voice.

****

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