Eric's eyes were completely calm and indifferent. Elara had already translated the words spoken by Darothil to him.
That was what massacre meant, and that was also what one killing another meant.
There was never a right or wrong 'kill' in the world—it was just killing.
Justice and injustice are subjective; there were never such words written anywhere in the universe. Those who call themselves 'heroes' or 'good men' are just plain hypocrites—their justice is toward only the people they recognize as theirs.
If those people clap their hands, then the hero would feel he has done God's work by removing the 'evil' from the world. But what was evil? What was holy? It was just made-up bullshit from ignorant people's perspectives. If they were aware, they wouldn't call anyone bad, as there were no such things anywhere in the universe.
Did humans ever consider the feelings of their livestock? No, they didn't. They made delicious cuisine out of them. Beyond food as that was required to survive, they didn't even hesitate to chop down millennium-old trees just so they could live like someone else who was 'projected' as successful and wealthy in the world.
To live, one would inevitably clash with others in day-to-day activity—whether one realized it or not—even walking, breathing, drinking... Countless microorganisms and large species died.
For example, humans back on Earth had made their living maintenance so high that just to take care of a child, so many suffered—like needing five different shoes, ten clothes, and whatever else each year. And adults? It was better not to talk about them. They just wished to blindly believe they were doing 'good' by making hell out of every other living entity, including their own species' future generations.
Eric shook his head.
He got a little emotional, as he had seen too many things back on Earth. And since he lacked morality, he just laughed at everything—but he was also slightly pained, as he could see how the 'good' actions of humans were leading to so much pointless destruction and pain for every other life that was not human.
That being said, Eric felt goosebumps watching the blood soup with too many noodles mixed in front of him.
Since both Eric and his cutie Elven crush were too cornered previously, they didn't think or notice—they only focused on mowing down the dark wild grasses. Only when they were done did they realize that the beautiful green and brown field had transformed into a hell-like visual.
With just an image or with one's imagination, it doesn't really hit hard. But when one has a nose, skin, and—most importantly—a lack of experience, anyone would feel repulsed, not due to morality but simply because... It stinks! Also, it's disgusting!
But what surprised Eric greatly was that Elara was a lot more calm and stable than even him—the Ultimate Demon in the making!
She was surprisingly calm and focused, though he had a feeling that her focus was more on his handsome self than their hellish surroundings.
Either way, it was time to bully his defeated and devastated enemy—that's what a true demon should do!
Since the dark elf boy had said he was a devil or demon, then he should live up to those words—as that much he should do as an apology for killing so many of Darothil's people.
Eric joyfully hooked a single arrow and shot it straight toward the charging black bull.
Darothil's eyes widened.
He felt an immense threat from the arrow, but it was too late to dodge—the speed of the arrow was so fast that it appeared right in front of him in no time.
Darothil still tried dodging instinctively.
The arrow, which was heading toward his upper right chest, missed—but it blew his right shoulder.
"Ahhhh!"
Darothil howled painfully, and only now did he understand how those terrifying wounds on his fellow tribesmen were created.
The arrow had skewered right through Darothil's right shoulder and flown away elsewhere—and now his right hand was barely dangling, with only a little skin left to hold it.
"Ahhh… Ahhhh…"
Darothil kept howling with pain.
The attack power of the arrow was so high that he was forced into a neat 360-degree rotation before falling to the ground.
Feeling the excruciating pain, Darothil—who was previously nearly drowning in his own rage and hatred—woke up some sense within him.
But no matter—he must obtain justice for his sister, tribemates, and himself.
He couldn't afford to just lie down. Not yet!
With that, Darothil tried his best to stand up.
He must stand up for Lunaefyr! For everyone!
Eric felt deeply touched by how the poor blacky elf was struggling.
This dark elf hero nearly stood up even with such injury and pain!
Eric really wanted to clap his hands—but then he realized he was the villain here!
So, before the protagonist's power descended or awakened inside the pretty dark elf boy, Eric quickly nocked another arrow and shot right through Darothil's knee. e.
Darothil once again slipped and fell onto the bloody ground—then started shrieking with uncontrollable anguish.
Only now did Darothil realize the reality of his situation.
Not only would he be unable to take revenge, but he might also lose his own life to his lifelong enemy—who had brutally taken away all his happiness and everything he held precious in his heart.
Darothil tried to lift himself up, but his consciousness was already starting to fade.
Just as Darothil turned to glare hatefully at his approaching enemy, his face drastically changed.
Out of nowhere, a deep fear settled inside him—and before he could even register what he was doing, he suddenly found strength in his remaining legs and quickly pushed himself backward in a hurry, dragging himself until he hit his fellow tribesmen and stopped.
Darothil's eyes were filled with terror as he looked at Eric's figure.
He felt he was about to lose his consciousness due to some unexplainable horror deep in his mind and soul.
Eric was speechless.
He was just strolling toward the boy—and was still quite a ways away—so why did the elf boy run away from him like he was bringing AIDS to him?
Riya coughed and provided her guess:
"I think it's your ability. Otherwise, with how hateful and determined this boy was to kill you a moment ago—even ignoring such a severe right shoulder injury—and now, as if he was meeting his worst nightmare's monster... I'd say you have thoroughly broken his mind. I'm not even sure if he'll ever recover if left alive."
Eric nodded. He had once secretly gone to check on Jerry's condition personally, years after the tavern incident—and what he found completely shocked him, even horrifying him internally.
The poor guy had lost all his hair. His eyes were sunken into his sockets, his skin had dried up and sagged like an old man's, and the smell coming from him was as if he was always soaked in urine—while he kept mumbling in a dead-like voice:
"Demon... go away... Kill me..."
Eric couldn't even recognize Jerry at first—as Jerry no longer looked like a living human, but more like something between living and undead. In fact, if not for someone taking care of Jerry, he would have died long ago.
Even so, Eric felt Jerry wouldn't survive much longer—and there was a high chance he had already died, as Eric had last checked on him nearly two years ago.
At that moment, Eric had fully realized that his evil powers were a little too evil—and also overpowered.
When Eric had visited Jerry, he had also left behind ten gold coins for Jerry's caretaker—out of pity for the people taking care of such a disabled person. Of course, secretly. He had no interest in meeting or 'apologizing' to Jerry's parents, relatives, or whoever was taking care of him. But since Jerry's case was accidental on Eric's part, he at least left behind some money—since he never lacked any.
Eric was very spooked by his own evil achievements. He had no intention of inflicting such a high degree of psychological trauma and disability on Jerry—but he also didn't know how to pull it back or fix him.
After that incident, Eric was extremely cautious of his evil powers—and made sure to laugh and mock heaven at least twice a day! He was very consistent—and because of this, his ability remained calm until now.
'How did it get activated now? Is it because… I was in a coma for two days and missed the ritual?!'
Riya coughed once again and provided her thoughts:
"I think it's due to the current situation. It's your first time seeing so much bloodshed—with brutally murdered corpses all around. Inevitably, you've gotten too tense without noticing. It's not about anger, as I thought previously."
"I believe that when you become a Mana Wielder, even while tense, you can control your ability far better—and probably even avoid activating it if you don't want to. So, try your best to hold on until then by monitoring yourself. It's much better if you hold on until you reach the late stage of Rank 1, at least."
"...I understand. But Blacky is a Rank 1 Mage! While the great me is still just a mortal. How did this happen?" Eric asked in his mind, confused.
He remembered Riya's past guess that it only worked on those weaker than him—but a early stage Rank 1 Mage probably had the same stats or higher than him, and could also use Mana. In other words, they were naturally far stronger than him.
Riya thought for a moment—then answered while shaking her head:
"I guess my previous conclusion wasn't 100% accurate. But it's obvious that Darky is currently heavily injured—and probably couldn't even win against you. And you've also noticed that he possibly lacks Mana at this moment, as he never tried to cast Fireball or use Mana in any way. So maybe, with these things in place, it created a vacuum inside him—for your evil powers to penetrate deep into his weakened mind."
Eric nodded. He felt Riya was mocking him for becoming gay—but he was not! He would prove that to her someday. Just because he wasn't desperate didn't mean he didn't get horny! Ahem.
Riya had sped up Eric's thought process with Mind Space, so not much time had passed while both of them conversed.
Eric felt it was time to end Black Dicky. He had no hatred toward him or the dark elf tribe—it was just that both had crossed paths, and their interests collided too strongly. And since Lysandra wasn't the hero to save this tribe and take them away—it was kill or be killed between the two groups.
Eric swiftly notched an arrow and fired straight into those two horrified pupils of Darothil.
"Goodbye!"