The Perfect Path To Insanity-Chapter 45: A god’s Beloved

An exhausted young man stood atop a large beast’s ribcage.

Breathing loudly, and inhaling the hot dusty air, a large blue rectangle screen materialized directly above him. Its harsh glow illuminated his sharp features. Small circular runes rotated slowly along its borders as it announced a notification:

[Congratulations, Cyrus! You have won the Battle Game!]

Dark brown hair clung wet to his scalp, strands falling forward to stick against his scarred forehead, and temples.

Sweat carved clean tracks through the dust coating his face, leaving pale streaks down his cheeks and along the sharp edge of his jaw.

His eyes—hazel, pupils tight from the glare—stared at the Runic board notification, unblinking for long seconds at a time.

[Your resilience has caught our attention!] 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

[You have earned our affection!]

[Hence, a Path shall be granted to you!]

[You have earned a skill!]

Jaren gripped his sword tighter. The air pressed hot and dry against his skin. Dust hung suspended in every breath he took, gritty on his tongue, coating the back of his throat. "Ahh...." he exhaled, "I finally won."

The sky above was flat white.

Cracked earth spread out endlessly in all directions, broken only by shattered stone pillars and the sprawl of many beast’s corpses.

His clothes were torn at the sleeves.

A deep gash of wound in his left arm.

Blood slid down his forearm in slow rivulets, collected at his fingertips, then dripped slowly against the dead beast beneath him.

In his right unharmed hand he held a longsword, pointing and resting on the carcass.

Each exhale he took stirred a small cloud of dust around his boots. Thighs trembled faintly from the effort of holding position after forty minutes of continuous movement.

He shifted his weight to his left foot, and spat blood to the side. "Finally... I did it."

Footsteps approached him, and a man with visible eyebags in a black suit stepped between two broken pillars a few feet away.

He had no tie on, and the top button of his white shirt was undone. His dark hair swept back neatly. Hands clasped loosely behind his back.

He stopped just a foot away from the beast’s flank, raised both hands, and clapped.

The sound cut sharp through the heavy air.

"Very clean work, officer Jaren," Stolas said, voice calm.

"I see you’re learning fast from the higher ups. Your third raid was a quick success. What skill and Path have been granted to you?"

Jaren kept his eyes on the blue board until the runes faded and the panel dissolved into drifting motes. Only then did he turn his head.

His gaze settled on Stolas without softening.

"My Path is yet to show," he said. "My skill... It says ’Timeline sequence’. I have no idea what that means."

He hopped down from the beast’s carcass. His eyes blank and weary. "Grace would be happy with this, wouldn’t she?" Expectantly waiting for a positive answer, Jaren asked, "W-when can I see her again?"

Stolas inclined his head a fraction.

"She was buried last week."

Jaren sighed, his shoulders slumped. "I know, I know. It’s just... When you’ve seen someone you loved your whole life, it’s hard letting go of them. I just... I... If only she didn’t— ahh—"

He transferred the sword to his left hand, gritting his teeth against the pull in the wound, then wiped his right palm on his thigh.

Stolas replied quite dryly, unimpressed by the young man’s grief. "I’m sure she’s proud of your achievements—"

"Hah! What achievement?! She’s dead!" Jaren spat.

"And that killer’s still out there, breathing the same air as me. He killed Grace, and he’s just... walking free. How does the world sleep at night knowing he’s out there?! How can they just let him be?! No one does anything. No one cares. He’s just living his life, while I’m left with..."

Tears streamed down his cheeks. "... While I’m left with nothing."

Stolas remained still. His expression unchanged.

Jaren continued, gritting his teeth as he spoke. "I want him to suffer. Do you know, Officer Stolas? Every night, I crave the image of his bones crunching under my hands like twigs, his life draining away as I watch. I fantasize about carving my rage into his skin, making him beg for mercy, for death. The thought of his blood on my hands, his screams echoing... that’s what gets me through the night. I want him to feel the same gut-wrenching pain he’s left me with."

"I see," Stolas replied. "Now, you have the skill to do that." His eyes traced Jaren’s physique, down to the opened wound. ’He’s even more resilient than I thought.’

Then he clasped his hands together. "Let’s get you... treated. You’re bleeding."

Jaren slowly nodded.

"But, that anger you feel is fuel," he continued. "You’ve already shown you can direct it. This—" he looked at the carcass. "—was a B-rank beast. Yet, you dismantled it with a blade that wasn’t even yours and an arm half useless. Results matter more than motive. Still..."

Stolas bowed low. "... Your revenge matters to me as it matters to you. My earnest students will always be my top priority."

Jaren’s chest rose in a slow, controlled breath. Now, he managed to put in a smile. "Thank you."

Stolas studied him for several long seconds. Then he nodded.

"Fair. The Game arena would crumble if we don’t exit sooner. Please proceed to the exit."

Jaren turned to look at the Game’s exit, nodding in approval as he walked there, placed his hands on the exit’s structure, and was teleported out of the Game realm.

Only when Jaren fully left did Stolas turn toward the three officers waiting at the edge of the clearing.

Well," one of them said quietly. "That worked."

Stolas adjusted his cuffs.

"Yes," he replied. "Using his grief was the right call. I was glad I delayed till she was killed. How else could we get our hands on him?"

He clasped his hands behind his back again.

"But... he’s still unstable," said one of his officers. "If he knew we—"

"He’s supposed to be unstable," Stolas cut in. "With Misfortune and Him under our grasp to control, we’ll be 10 steps ahead of the Krats degenerate."

"And until then," he added softly, "we simply guide our... god’s beloved candidate where he’s most useful."

He glanced once toward the archway. "That way, fulfilling the true prophecy would be a pleasant delight."