"Ew, seriously, what's wrong with that look?" Amal asked, her face twisting in disgust. "Don't tell me you like children."
"H-Huh?! N-No!" Zad stumbled over his words, caught off guard.
Only then did he realize what expression he'd been making. A twisted smile. Delirious. Sinister.
"But you had such a creepy look! Seriously. Ew." She scrunched up her nose.
"Get off her, creep!" Leon snapped. "Amal, get away from him!" he shouted, visibly panicked.
"Seriously, both of you, calm down. You're misunderstanding. I was just thinking about something," Zad said quickly, raising his hands in defense.
"Thinking about something?" Leon narrowed his eyes. "That's so suspicious. You totally want Amal. I-I'll have you know, I might look weak, but I can still throw a punch!"
Zad blinked, stunned. "What—? No!"
She crossed her arms, tilting her head. "Well... I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, big bro."
Then she continued, the tone of her voice flipping back into her usual casual grin:
"Anyway, you look pretty messed up. That's normal. Most slaves freak out the first time they face death."
"Don't stress about it. We don't get to choose how we die. That's just how this world works."
"Still," she added with a grin, "your little murder attempt made a lot of people happy. That bastard governor's been torturing slaves for years. You almost took him out."
She gave him a small thumbs up.
"Too bad he lived. I would've loved to see his guts spill."
This conversation again... yep. I'm back.
"No worries, he was a bastard," Zad replied, trying to sound natural.
I honestly don't even know who that governor is, or why Zad—who's supposed to be the real owner of this body—allegedly tried to kill him.But I suppose it was for a good reason. According to Amal, he terrorized slaves.
Suddenly, Zad felt a grip on his arm—tight, deliberate. Someone was staring at him, eyes filled with a deep, focused intensity.
"You. Zad, right? Explain to me, right here and now, why you reek of death. Now."
It was the witch.
This again? I mean, she probably sensed something—since I came back from the dead.
"Move aside. The adults are talking," she snapped, waving Amal away without a second glance.
"H-Hey! You hag!" Amal growled. "He doesn't belong to you!"
Emil didn't even blink. Her gaze was locked on Zad.
"Calm down. I know what you're going to say."
"I reek of death, right?" Zad said with a steady voice. "And before you start talking about making a deal with a demon or whatever else you've got in mind, just listen. I need your help. We don't have much time."
"Huh?" Emil blinked, surprised. Her face shifted through expressions, landing on one of deep concern.
"It seems… you really were licked by a Shaytan," she murmured. "A strong one, at that. Ah… ahaha..."
"So this is why," she added cryptically.
"I assume you've got things to say, Zad?"
He felt it again. That same tension. That mix of fear and curiosity. She was afraid of him. But she wanted the card. He glanced at his hand. It was still there. The Shaytan Card. His instincts told him it belonged to him now, no matter the cost.
"Listen to me, witch—"
"Emil," she corrected. "Addressing someone by name is important. Especially to us witches."
"Fine... Emil," Zad said, slightly awkward.
"Ahehe… you're cute," she giggled.
"Eh?" Zad muttered, caught off guard.
The witch laughed softly at his reaction.
"Anyway, ahem," Zad continued, "we don't have much time. You need wine, right? You said it helps restore your energy?"
"Oh my! You even know that? How interesting."
Just then, the androgynous prisoner with cyan hair—the fifth in line—turned their eyes toward Emil with a sharp, unreadable expression. Their gaze was too intense, too focused. It made Emil visibly uncomfortable.
"You got a problem with me?" she snapped. "Stop gawking like a hawk."
"N-No... N-nothing," they stammered, retreating behind a nervous smile. "Just ignore me. Hehe... probably just misread you or something. Since you seem to know your stuff..."
"What—" Zad started to ask, but Emil quickly cut him off.
"Ignore them. Probably a dumbass. Anyway, yes, I do need wine. Just one glass is enough to restart my power. Even with these anti-magic chains, I'm resourceful. I still have a few tricks."
Suddenly, a jolt raced down Zad's spine. A feeling. A warning. Every part of his body screamed at him—
The cloaked figure.
He turned slowly. Behind him stood the mysterious figure, still and silent. They stared directly at Zad, and Emil too. Their presence was suffocating, like standing at the edge of a cliff you couldn't see.
Zad's heart dropped. That stare. It was the same figure who broke his neck like a twig in the previous loop. The one who remained silent in the first. And now—now they were watching.
Then, they spoke.
"Don't play too much."
Their voice was flat, cold. Without emotion. And then, just as suddenly, they turned away and returned to stillness.
Don't play too much? Who was that meant for? Him? Emil? Both?
But Zad didn't have time to dwell.
"So, your plan?" Emil asked. "Your plan to get wine?"
Right. His plan. He needed help. He needed the noble. So he turned his attention to Saifan, forcing himself to ignore the cloaked figure and the fear they brought with them. With a steady smile, he called out.
"Yo, Saifan, was it?"
Saifan looked over, unimpressed. "Are you addressing me, slave?" His tone was polite, but laced with condescension. "I may pity your cause, but don't mistake that for permission to speak casually."
So he's that type, Zad thought. Noble to the bone. Still, he remembered Saifan had tried to appeal for Amal's life before her execution. Maybe he had a soft spot for children. Maybe that could be used.
A tense silence followed. Saifan studied him. Between them stood Leon, trying—and failing—to break the intensity of the moment.
"You'll help me," Zad said calmly. "Because it'll help you too."
"Haaa? A slave helping me?" Saifan said, amused. "How funny. Care to elaborate?"
Zad took a breath.
Because the next moment would either lead to hope—
Or another death.