Stalling the puzzled archer with the abrupt words, Oren gauged whether he could win against him in a fair fight.
If the man was an Enlightened, his chances of success were low, just as they had been in the great battle.
Multiple Enlightened against a single mundane man should have been impossible.
It would have, if it was not Oren.
But since he had come prepared, with six wooden sticks in hand, he had somehow provoked them into abandoning their blades for such a feeble exchange.
The odds of winning, no, the fight itself, due to this agreement, had become less aggressive, and their being extraordinary did not help them either.
They seemed to have only just reached Enlightenment.
So against Oren, they were little more than children.
Even the eldest, the most odious and seasoned among them, was like a mere youth, one who would also falter beneath his prestige.
But he did not, because the elder had concealed himself behind the myriad forest trees, waiting for the right moment to strike, like a lion lying in wait for its prey.
Despite this, their defeat, or Oren's escape, was unavoidable, but truthfully, they had lost the moment they agreed to the wager.
And when they realised this, they reached for something else and cheated.
The bastards turned to a weapon even he could not fully comprehend, then came the fog.
But luckily, there was no more mist blinding his vision.
And to his luck, the archer was no longer enamoured by his image. Instead, he looked conflicted.
Oren looked up at the archer, something distant in his eyes, before lowering his gaze to the blood-streaked grass.
To the man before him, it might have looked like shame.
But he was only contemplating his next step.
I can't run or hide…
What can I do then?
The thought lingered.
As Oren thought deeply, his fingers tightened around the emerald dagger hidden inside his robe, a weapon he had carefully stolen in the midst of that scornful battle.
He let a calm, composed smile settle on his face before speaking.
"You must be that skilled archer. What a pleasure it is, meeting you here… after such a dreadful battle with those mindless Enlightened."
Oren chuckled sarcastically, his gaze drifting to the bow before returning with a knowing look.
"Well, archer… you have achieved your mission. You have wounded me, injured the 'Immortal Demon', and in the fog no less. Such a feat will give you a good name."
Oren smiled.
"So… should you not be thinking about heading back now? The fog has cleared, and you have completed your task.
The adversaries of Everdream will be searching for you. As night falls, their suspicion will only rise."
They would most likely search for him, worrying whether the Immortal Demon had injured him, or even taken him for his wretched experiments.
Hearing this, the archer stepped forward slightly.
After a short while, he looked down at Oren and spoke, stepping closer than necessary, laughing with a faint unease he could not hide.
"Hahaha… Adversaries of Everdream…? Searching for me…? Me…? Of all people?"
The handsome man lifted his gaze to the dark grey sky, a hint of concern in his voice.
"No, demon… you are wrong. They will be searching for you. Hunting you. Whilst I am the least of their worries… a mere archer. Hell, I am not even with them anymore."
He looked into the distance.
"But since you mentioned it, it is getting rather dark… I think we—"
We?
The word barely left the archer's mouth before Oren shot to his feet, and a fearsome squelch escaped the archer's mouth.
Despite the lingering exhaustion from the fight and the weeks spent traversing the mountains, the brief nap left him surging with energy.
He moved with the precision of an Enlightened. It took only a few movements to catch the archer off guard and slip behind him.
Even so, it felt as though he had been given permission to act, as though the Enlightened man had allowed it.
It was just too easy. There was no restraint, hindrance, or struggle.
Oren shook off the wariness as the emerald dagger glinted beneath the final rays of sunlight.
His left arm slipped around his neck, whilst he pressed the dagger to the archer's pale throat with his right.
As he moved to plunge the pristine dagger into his neck, Oren suddenly froze, his brows rising in confusion.
Does this human wish to die so hastily?
The man slowly raised both of his long, slender arms, each movement measured and deliberate.
"Wait. Wait… ah, I surrender. Do not kill me," he sighed with a resigned breath.
Despite surrendering, the archer did not sound ashamed or concerned.
Instead, he spoke in a somber whisper, followed by a quiet chuckle.
"Although I may be Enlightened, unlike those fools, I know I cannot win a battle against an immortal… a self-proclaimed demon at that."
Oren's grip loosened ever so slightly.
So he is of the Enlightened rank. A person able to sense the world's energy and feel its currents, though that was only the tip of the iceberg.
Wait. What did he mean by that… self-proclaimed?
The archer stared down at the blood-streaked grass, his calm grey eyes wandering the forest as though being held at knife point was ineffective.
Still, even an Enlightened could not recover from having their neck severed.
The archer continued, cutting through Oren's thoughts. This time, not even the faintest trace of concern remained.
"My name is Selvar. I have come to wager with you, Immortal Demon. I apologise for what I did to you. I do not mean any harm."
Oren considered Selvar's words. He relaxed his grip around the archer's neck, released him, and pushed him away.
He did not come here to harm or capture me? Did this strange man really just want to wager?
If he did, Oren suspected it would not be about money.
Seeing an opportunity to obtain more information, he pressed the blade closer to his throat, making Selvar's eyes widen.
Oren spoke carefully.
"You wish to make a deal?"
After a long pause, Selvar faced him and continued, a faint grin playing at his lips.
"Yes… you are heading to Everdream, are you not? I happen to come from a distant village west of the wall of fog.
Seeing your wails in the temporary fog caused by the Enlightened in the battle, I know you cannot see through it as I can.
I could escort you to your destination."
Listening to Selvar, Oren fell into deep thought.
Everdream…? That was where he was heading. Yet those people in the battle had also known this.
He was a myth in the mountains, but even if he was part of some grand tale, they knew too much.
He dismissed the thought.
He did not know how he was meant to traverse the fog.
It was like a great wall, towering over the forest, clinging to the mountainside, in between Everdream Forest and Everdream City.
Many were lost in its depths, taking weeks to get out, only to find they had returned to where they started.
So the shortcut would be taking this archer with him. On the other hand, he would be vulnerable in the fog, despite having honed his senses.
Still, his nature was as unpredictable to himself as it was to others, especially of late.
Oren spoke.
"You've heard the stories of my name."
"Still, you would walk into the fog with me? Are you not afraid of what I might do?"
Selvar stepped closer without hesitation, stopping just short of Oren, his gaze steady yet strangely unlit.
"Hahaha… indeed I have. Who has not heard them? The gruesome stories of the Immortal Demon.
They speak of the faults that stained your life and turned you into a malicious beast.
You stole, starved, and killed dozens of men and women. And when that was not enough, you sacrificed them for your malevolent deeds, using them as tributes, as sacrificial pawns.
That was certainly the cruelest and most odious part of the tales.
Using people to create… using their lives to give rise to abominable life. Trying to force those creatures, erols, into existence using the world's energy."
Selvar's gaze sharpened slightly as he stepped closer, studying Oren with quiet focus.
"Despite this, I am not afraid of you. For some reason, I know you must have your own reasons, as I do. Reasons I choose to believe in, at least."
Those erols. That was what he had been doing, was it not?
He was slowly forgetting.
His own reasons… those erols… no.
He did want the erols. His reasons were far greater, but in reaching those goals, he needed what erols granted, what they would bestow to him.
But he could not find it. If only he could.
Yet all this time, he had not.
He looked away, staring aimlessly down the tree line, taking little pleasure in such beauty.
I am a fool. I've searched these mountains endlessly with nothing in return, since not even I can bear the fruits of my venture.
But if the world's energy gathered there, perhaps an erol… one capable of ending his immortality.
All he knew was this was his final destination, the peak of the fourth. If it was not in the fog or at the top, then… would he keep on searching?
Oren shook his head, unable to answer the question.
Even if he found it, it was impossible to know if it was the right one. He may have been immortal, but there was no differentiating what the erol was capable of.
Simply, no one knew what erols truly were, nor what powers they possessed.
The fog that had been in Everdream Forest a day ago was due to the use of one in the battle, what the adversaries had turned to.
The names given to them, and the abilities attributed to them, remained uncertain at best.
Their use was as vague as their existence, and yet they were as abundant as fruit upon a tree… that tree being the world itself.
Among the countless forms of life in the world, none were more peculiar.
Erols were life, and so they lurched from what had ceased.
Born of the world's currents and the remnants of death, forged from fallen creatures, from bodies… even their severed parts.
In other words, sacrifice must be made.
But to his knowledge, not even the trees swaying around him were safe.
They represented something far beyond the understanding of ordinary mortals.
Erols were a bad omen… a curse twisted into a blessing through acts of quiet horror.
To find one was rare.
To create one was nearly unheard of.
And those who possessed such knowledge would never dare walk that path, for it demanded destruction.
The deliberate ending of life to force something unnatural into being.
To walk it was to abandon honour, to become a demon.
And so, he was called... The Immortal Demon.