The Hunted Regressor: My Heretic Saint System-Chapter 45: Betrayal

The night dragged on, thick with the smell of burnt crab as the adrenaline from the battle had faded, replaced by the groans of men waking up with mind-numbing headaches.

All the villagers—farmers and lost travelers who had been swept up by the Curse—were the first to regain their senses. They sat up in the tall grass, blinking confusedly and rubbing the lumps on their heads where Grom and the guards had "gently" subdued them.

"Alright, the show’s over."

Ignotus stood over them, clapping his hands.

"You were mind-controlled, you attacked us, we won. Now, go home before the crabs come."

He kicked a sack of supplies toward them.

"There’s dried meat, two waterskins, and a map drawn on a leaf."

It landed with a heavy thud at the feet of a bewildered old man.

"River’s End is easy to find. Walk fast and don’t stop."

Felix, standing behind Ignotus, let out a weird noise.

"Eeek! Young Lord!"

He clutched hard at his chest as if pained.

"That sack has three days’ worth of rations! And those are the good water skins! The ones with the double stitching! Are we giving them away? For free? To people who tried to stab us with damn pitchforks?!"

Ignotus responded without looking back.

"Consider it a... marketing expense, Spoon. If they die, they haunt the road; if they live, they tell people we’re nice. Trust me, we’ll need much of that in the future."

"’Marketing’ doesn’t fill my belly!"

"Urgh, just shut up and go."

Pushed away, Felix could only watch mournfully as the villagers scrambled to grab the supplies, bowed a hundred times, and bolted into the slowly brightening darkness.

"They’re gone..."

Ignotus dusted off his hands.

"Now for the main headache."

He turned towards their campfire.

While the villagers were sent off with gifts, the treatment for the Ironhead mercenaries was slightly different. Specifically, they were currently tied to a cluster of sturdy trees with enough rope to anchor a ship.

Gorm, who had woken up late and was currently sporting a lump on his head the size of an apple, struggled against the bonds. The other five surviving mercenaries tied next to him reacted much worse, looking both groggy and terrified.

"What is the meaning of this?!"

Gorm roared and glared at Ignotus.

"Though I despise it, I understand the others! You aren’t sure that they’re safe. But we fought together; I wasn’t Corrupted by that thing from Hell! Yet you dare tie me up like a dog?"

Lykos stepped forward, looking uncomfortable.

"Stranger... is this necessary? They were mind-controlled, just like the others. We broke the Curse, so shouldn’t we let them go?"

Ignotus walked over to the tree, grabbed a crate, and sat down in front of the prisoners.

He looked relaxed, like he was about to tell a campfire story to very willing listeners.

"Boss..."

Pointing a finger at Lykos, he asked:

"Remember your little sister? The one with the invisible hands?"

"The Curse."

Lykos corrected, shivering at the memory.

"But yes, I remember."

"Curses are sticky..."

Ignotus explained, holding up a piece of grass and twirling it.

"But they aren’t incredible hunters or trackers. A Lesser Curse traveling miles, targeting a specific person without ever touching them? That doesn’t happen, even if we consider ourselves extremely unlucky. It needs a medium... a link."

He looked at Lykos’s fluffy hair.

"It needs a piece of you. A fingernail, blood, hair. Something to lock onto."

Lykos instinctively touched his head.

"My... you mean we were betrayed?"

"Exactly..."

Ignotus nodded.

"Someone had to feed that Curse a piece of you to lead it here. Someone had to keep the connection fresh. And since none of your guards would betray you—Ulv would probably eat his own sword first—that leaves the new guys."

Ignotus’s eyes drifted to the tied-up mercenaries.

"Someone in this charming little group betrayed us."

"..."

"..."

"..."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Gorm stopped struggling, and his face went from red to pale white, now understanding why he was knocked out. He would’ve done the same if he were in Ignotus’s position... that didn’t mean that he still didn’t feel grim anymore, however.

And neither did it mean that he believed one of his men would betray them.

"No..."

He looked at them—men he had bled with, men he had vouched for—and shook his head.

"My men are loyal. We’re Ironheads; we don’t sell each other out."

"Facts don’t care about your branding, Egg-man."

Ignotus replied dryly.

"Six of you joined; one ’led’ the Curse here. That’s a fact. Now what I want to find out is who..."

Ignotus stood up, walked down the line, and scanned the five of them.

He stared into their eyes with that unsettling, dead gaze of his before stopping in front of the first man, a loudmouth that he didn’t bother to remember the name of.

"I didn’t do shit."

Ignotus moved on and stopped in front of the second, a crying man.

"I swear on my mother’s grave I didn’t betray you! You have to believe me!"

Ignotus moved on and stopped in front of the third.

"Hm."

It was the one who first disappeared, and a name he bothered to remember, Silas.

The quiet one... the one who rarely spoke. Who always took the last watch, who blended into the background, and who liked to stare at Ignotus with a cold look.

Ignotus smiled.

"Found you."

It wasn’t a nice smile.

"It’s not him!"

Gorm loudly shouted, rejecting the facts.

"Silas is the calmest of the lot! He wouldn’t hurt a fly unless I told him to!"

Ignotus chuckled and shook his head.

"I guess it’s right what they say about the quiet ones... yeah. It’s always the guy who you think is just shy but is really plotting how to sell your kidneys to the highest bidder."

He leaned in close to Silas.

"So, how much did they pay you? Was it worth Gorm’s life? Lykos’s head?"

Silas’s facade cracked.

"Worth it?"

His lip curled into a sneer that twisted his entire face.

"Anything is worth getting away from this losing cohort. Gorm is an embarrassment! ’Ironheads?’ We’re scavengers! Digging through trash for coppers! ’Honor’ this, ’loyalty’ that. Honor doesn’t fill a coin pouch, you old fool!"

Gorm looked like he had been slapped.

His mouth hung open.

"Silas...?"

He couldn’t even begin to believe this betrayal.