The teenagers threw themselves at the enemy like starving wolves finally let off their chains.
Lily was the first to move. She pressed her fingers against her temples and unleashed an indiscriminate psychological attack that covered the entire area. A wave of confusion spread out, invisible to the eye.
The trio's emotions immediately spiraled out of control. Their rage burned even hotter, greed and hatred took over their minds, and every trace of reason was cast aside.
They kept chasing Achilles, completely unaware of the ambush.
Garen was next to strike. He swung his spiked club with all his strength, aiming straight for the cultist's head. He had recognized him by the distinctive black robe. He could never forget that black robe. The burning hatred inside him seemed to add even more force to his blow.
Reus acted only a split second later.
Following an assassin's creed, he chose to eliminate the weakest target first, aiming for the wounded adventurer. He gripped the dagger Grey had lent him, forged from an alloy of mithril, vibranium, and tenebrum, and drove it straight toward the man's throat.
Reus moved so fast that his blade reached its target only a moment after the wave of confusion washed over their enemies.
Sunny, Sheryl, and Allen launched the second wave of attacks.
Sunny thrust his spear without bothering to choose a target. Allen wielded Grey's personal sword as if it were an extension of his own arm.
As for Sheryl...
Well, Sheryl simply squeezed her eyes shut and wildly swung her sword from side to side, hoping she wouldn't hit one of her allies.
Although absorbing the beast essence had raised her strength to the level of a Legionary, her lack of experience was obvious. This was the first real battle of her life, and it would have been a miracle if she managed to hit an enemy even once without striking one of her companions instead.
Even so, Sheryl remembered Grey's instructions and immediately retreated after her first attack.
The other teenagers fought just as chaotically, yet they kept relentlessly hammering at the enemy.
The Centurion-level cultist and the two Legionaries were completely swallowed by the endless storm of attacks.
Although they were practitioners capable of strengthening their bodies with mana, they were still only at the first stage and were not much different from ordinary mortals. Even a Saint would bleed if stabbed with a common knife. They would simply last longer. So what chance did these men have?
They were overwhelmed in an instant and could offer no resistance.
The worst part was that the teenagers lacked the experience to strike vital organs accurately. Their attacks were savage but chaotic. Merciless, yet completely uncoordinated.
"STOP! THAT'S ENOUGH!" Grey shouted, trying to put an end to the fight. He realized immediately that the enemy was no longer the threat. His allies were.
Only a minute later did the teenagers finally hear the command and stop.
The two adventurers had been reduced to nothing more than a mangled, blood-soaked mess. Only the cultist who had reached Centurion (3) was still breathing, but one look was enough to tell he would not survive much longer.
Grey walked over to the man and looked down at him with a grim expression.
Junior continued controlling the body but let Senior handle the interrogation.
"How many people are in your cult? Who is your main sponsor? Where are the other search parties?" he asked in quick succession, hoping to get at least some useful information.
"Ahahahahaha..." The cultist burst into manic laughter, forcing back a bloody cough filled with bits of shattered organs.
Not only was he about to die at the hands of children who were still wet behind the ears, but those same children actually believed they could pry information out of him.
He found the whole situation pitifully ironic.
"So you're the leader here? Ahaha... Well done. Truly well done... But you're still far too inexperienced..." The cultist struggled for every breath, and each word cost him tremendous effort, yet he kept mocking Grey, trying to reclaim at least a shred of the dignity he had lost before death.
"I know my condition better than you do, and I'm absolutely certain I won't live another minute. So why would I tell you anything? I still hope my brothers will return you to the embrace of the Lord of the Merciful Flame and avenge me..."
Grey's brows furrowed, but not because the outcome had surprised him. A far fiercer argument was raging inside his own mind.
"What do you mean, 'we won't get anything out of him'? You want to just kill him?" Senior asked in disbelief.
"Let's end this quickly. He's our enemy, but his will is strong. I doubt he'll tell us anything. So why not put him out of his misery? Just look around. There's blood everywhere! I feel like throwing up myself. What about the others?" Junior argued.
"Have you lost your mind?"
"Ah, right... I forgot about your split personality... But that doesn't matter..."
"Just think for a minute. Not only are we outnumbered, but we're far weaker than they are. On top of that, we know absolutely nothing about our enemy."
"Lily's discovery saved us once by pure luck, but what happens next time? Do you think the cultists will stop searching for our hideout just because this group disappeared? Or are you planning to fight them head-on?"
"But..." Junior wanted to object and list a few more arguments, but Senior had no intention of letting him finish.
"No 'buts'! We don't have time! You're going to gather information through torture, starting right now. If you can't do it, I'll take control myself. The battle is already over, so you can leave.
And remember, it's your soft heart that will put your subordinates in greater danger. The greater the risk, the greater the chance they'll die. And if that happens, finding our mother and sister will become even harder."
"All right, enough! I get it. I need to be tougher," Junior finally gave in. "What do I do?!"
"Take your knife and slide the tip under his fingernail. Let's see just how strong his resolve really is. I'll handle the questioning."
When the cultist thought the boy could not respond, Grey suddenly moved.
Grey smiled, slightly triumphant, as if he had just won an argument, and reached for the dagger.
The cultist was already on the edge of death and believed nothing could disturb him anymore, yet that cheerful smile still made cold sweat crawl down his spine.
"You're right! How foolish of me to forget something so obvious," he said, theatrically smacking his forehead. "I need to properly take care of your injuries first. But before that, let me disable you."
In the next instant, he delivered several short, precise stabs, cleanly piercing the cultist's kneecaps and elbows. The man screamed like a pig, but Grey did not stop there. He quickly pulled out a vial of the cheapest healing potion and smeared it over the mortal wounds, letting them begin to close.
Junior's movements were short and methodical, as if he had done this hundreds of times before. Even though he felt disgust twisting inside him, no one could tell, since Senior controlled his facial muscles.
The Earthling felt no disgust. He felt nothing at all. He was not the controller and saw the world through a filter, as if watching a horror film.
"Let me explain what will happen next. I will ask questions and give you ten seconds to answer. If you don't start speaking when the time is up, these knives will go under your fingernails."
He smiled an apologetic smile.
"You said yourself that we don't have much time, and I don't have that many weapons either. This time we'll make do with just twenty fingers and 200 seconds. Sorry for the roughness. I have to say, this is my first interrogation. I still have a lot to learn. So, first question: where is your base?"
Without waiting for an answer, he immediately carried out the threat, forcing the nearest knife under the cultist's index fingernail.
The cultist screamed even louder.
"Sorry, sorry..." Grey apologized again. "I told you, it's my first time. I'm really excited and I can't quite control myself. Let's call that a mistake and move on to the next question: who is the strongest in Thorn's Cloaca?"
The cultist lasted for five rounds, but he quickly realized that the boy had no intention of stopping. It seemed he was not even particularly interested in obtaining information; he was simply trying to get used to it, treating him like a lab specimen.
In the end, he could not endure it any longer and began to speak, spilling everything he knew, as if afraid he would not make it through the ten-second intervals.
At first, the teenagers watched the scene with stunned faces, since it was the first time they had seen their leader in action and they had not yet cooled down from the excitement of battle. But soon their faces turned pale, and they ran into the bushes to empty their stomachs.
The scene was too brutal for their still-unformed minds. Even their deep hatred for the Merciful Flame's Cult could not suppress their natural bodily reaction.
Grey's imagination was not endless. Even with two minds working together, it was difficult to come up with the last five questions. Still, by the time he finished, a preliminary judgment about the cult's main forces had formed in his mind.
Achilles ended the cultist's suffering with a decisive swing the moment the answer to the final question was given.
Grey carefully took a white handkerchief from his pocket, as if afraid of staining his clothes. He wiped the blood from his hands cleanly and looked at Achilles with an expressionless gaze. Then, without saying a word, he delivered a loud, forceful slap across his face.
To say Achilles was shocked would be an understatement.
His eyes turned into two saucers, and his neck continued to burn painfully.
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