Chapter 10: Rage and analysis complete

"Profitable for you? That's an interesting word."

Lane was not viewed as a human being; instead, he was regarded as a tool, akin to a sword, a pair of gloves, or a pitchfork. Personality, dignity—everything that had once been taken for granted—had been crushed into insignificant fragments by this word.

He let out a soft laugh in response, but the coldness in his amber cat-like eyes resembled ice.

Bordon noticed this clearly, yet he felt no concern. He was dying; what else could possibly happen? He observed his apprentice, the one who had dealt his death blow, now seething with rage over his words, and felt a flicker of satisfaction.

At the end of his life, the demon hunter who had regained his emotions was surprisingly full of conversation. Each time he spoke, blood mixed with bits of entrails gushed from his mouth, tangling his beard into an ugly mess. Yet, he had no intention of stopping.

"So, what about you, Lane? Why are you here to kill me?"

Bordon's mouth, stained with blood, twisted into a mocking smile.

"Please, spare me the talk about 'getting rid of oppression and exploitation.' Just look at your fighting skills, Rann. Precise, swift, and stable. In the bear school's castle, Hain Kaveh, not many fully trained novice demon hunters can reach your level!

"Seriously, your rate of improvement frightens me."

"My oppression and exploitation may cause you suffering, but death? Hardly! The teaching and protection I provided far outweigh any negative impact I might have had. The risk of you fighting me is not worth it."

Bordon shook his head with a playful smile.

"I'm about to die, but you should at least indulge me by explaining why you want to kill me."

Lane tilted his head, smiling back at his mentor, the once formidable man now reduced to stuttering.

"Do you remember why you're wanted, Bordon?"

Two lives.

Bordon recalled it easily; it had happened not long ago, just before Rann completed his mutation. In a village tavern, two drunken farmers had dared to provoke a despicable and lowly demon hunter, only to have their necks severed in one swift motion.

It was hard for the farmers, with their thick heads, to understand that demon hunters endured their scorn not out of powerlessness but in pursuit of a stable income.

Bordon was nearing his limit, the blood loss fogging his mind. The only thing keeping him tethered was his need for a response from Rann.

"Because of those two farmers?"

A chill ran down his spine, but all he could do was laugh.

Two farmers.

He had received commissions from nobles in grand palaces and tasks from mages within the shadowy confines of Mage Towers. He had slain countless beings, and the roads he traveled and the sights he had seen surpassed the combined experiences of five generations of peasant families.

And now, the one who was ending his life told him he had lost it all for two farmers!

"B*llsh*t!"

It was absurd.

No matter how he looked at it, it was absurd!

But then, Lane smiled at him, locking eyes with a clarity that pierced through Bordon's anger.

"You just can't wrap your head around it, can you? They're just two farmers, scraping a living from the land, with cow dung under their feet. Dirty, rude, and despicable. Why should I risk my life for them?"

Rann stepped closer to Bordon, a grin spreading across his face.

"My teacher, before I completed my mutation and became the demon hunter everyone scorned, we ventured together into the countryside woods of Weilun, didn't we?"

"We met the venerable village elder," he raised one finger.

"We rescued a merchant from a horse-drawn carriage on the road," he raised a second finger.

"We asked in many villages if there were any monster-hunting commissions," he raised a third finger.

"But did anyone ever, just once, ask, 'Demon hunter, what is your relationship with this young man?'"

Lane retracted all his fingers into a fist, smirking at Bordon.

"None at all, teacher."

"Even though people freely slander demon hunters and non-human races. I know most of this slander stems from ignorance and fear. But when they actually saw the young man always with the demon hunter, no one dared to say a word.

"What if they had reported it to the local lord? Not even that."

"I understand, of course. No one wants to stir up trouble. Life is hard and dangerous. But..."

"Just as I was about to accept reality, two farmers asked this question."

Rann spread his hands, an expression of helplessness on his face.

But Bordon, whose eyelids had begun to droop, found strength in Rann's words and met his gaze.

The smile faded from Lane's face, his relaxed demeanor evaporating like water droplets sizzling on a hot iron plate.

Now, only solemnity and seriousness remained on his handsome face.

That expression was nothing like the tale of two farmers. Even a ballad sung in a palace would not convey such solemnity.

Bordon's eyes widened in shock at this emotional shift.

"Two peasants, their feet caked in cow dung and mud, the cheap stench of home-brewed wine wafting from their mouths, their tongues twisted."

"But it was they—only they—who pressed your shoulder in the tavern in Orreden and pointed at me, saying, 'Cat's-eye, whose child did you steal? You must let him go, or we'll go to the magistrate.'"

The two pairs of cat-like eyes locked. Bordon had never felt anger so intensely.

A great anger!

The apprentice pronounced his teacher's death sentence word by word, with chilling seriousness.

"Then you chopped them up, so I decided to chop you up."

"I didn't know them at all; I didn't even speak to them. But they spoke for me and paid the ultimate price. So I will collect their debt. In our world, that is self-evident."

Bordon was stunned.

It was as if he had encountered a deity from ancient scriptures or a mythical beast long thought extinct. He was astonished by something he had never witnessed or believed in.

"What? Even if it means dying at my hands?"

Rann nodded, unflinching.

"I might hesitate before surviving the mutation, but after surviving death... yes, that's me."

Bordon slowly lowered his head, as if comprehension dawned upon him.

The movement was so stiff that Rann feared he had succumbed to excessive bleeding.

But suddenly, Bordon jerked his head up, locking his gaze on Rann's face.

"You're not from this world, are you, Rann? You weren't sent here by accident but through a celestial collision."

The young man was taken aback at first but quickly regained his composure.

"Why do you say that?"

There was no one else around, so Rann felt no shame.

Bordon's eyes were filled with intense emotion, and Rann couldn't discern its mix.

Hatred? Longing? Jealousy? Admiration?

It was all of these things, yet somehow none of them.

"Your world must be beautiful, like heaven. You must believe this twisted version of chivalry is a self-evident truth."

"Cherish life, value feelings, and cherish you. Have you never seen your kind kill each other?"

Bordon's voice was soft and drifting, as if he were exploring some unknown expanse.

Rann replied calmly, "We've only had peace for less than a century, four generations of time."

"Haha, I'm already 130 years old this year. Less than a century is enough to keep the bloody truth out of your heads. It's truly a world of beauty."

Bordon laughed dryly and slowly lowered his head again. This time, Rann could see the difference; he was genuinely bleeding out.

The questions just now had drained the last of the demon hunter's strength.

"The alchemy bag has a secret compartment. That's mine—some storage rooms, some money. Go find them, repair this armor, and it's yours."

The cat-like pupils began to dilate, and Bordon's voice grew as thin as a silk thread.

Rann nodded, signaling that he had heard. "Why are you helping me?"

"Helping you? Oh, this isn't about helping you, Lane. For enemies, our world always condemns them to hell. But for you, you have descended from paradise."

"Now... you are already in hell."

"Rann, I curse you. I curse my enemy to a long and safe life in this world. I curse my enemy with the strength of his morals and will."

In the end, a once-powerful man's voice faded to a whisper.

"Because you are alive here, you will certainly feel endless pain. Interesting, hehehe."

Rann had been watching his teacher calmly from beginning to end.

In this chaotic world, where magical forces intertwined unpredictably, the activation of magic was irrational. In areas of chaos, declarations of love or roars of hatred could manifest as curses, akin to fairy tales.

Did Bordon's curse hold weight? After all, nearby lay a fog thick with magic, the source of which remained a mystery.

Rann had not yet learned the intricacies, nor did he care to.

He lowered his head, noticing the pool of blood at his feet had grown deep enough to form a large puddle, reflecting shadows of people and light.

The young man gazed at his blood-red reflection and chuckled lightly, unbothered.

"Yes, teacher," he said.

"I'm already in hell."

Rann stretched luxuriously, then reached for the roaring bear head necklace around his mentor's neck and hung it around his own.

At that moment, a soft chime echoed in Rann's mind.

It was a neutral-sounding, intelligent voice.

"Sir, the analysis is complete."