Skala didn't answer.
But his Divine Emblem suddenly emitted an excessively clear heat fluctuation, like a stone heated through on a fire, directly searing into his heart and lungs from his chest.
It wasn't pain, but a searing heat.
So searing that every cell seemed to scream, "Don't listen! Don't listen! Don't listen!"
Tuke, of course, couldn't see this heat current.
But he noticed Skala lowered his head and thought he was struggling.
So his voice became even gentler, like he was persuading a lost youth:
"Actually, you're a good child, Skala."
"You've always just wanted to protect them."
"It's just that this world is too chaotic, there are too many gods, the dreams are too deep… You're just lost."
Tuke spread his arms, his eyes benevolent, like a shaman elder about to embrace a young hunter who had just dreamed of loa's revival.
"Come, I will help you find your way."
"I know you're afraid. I'll bear it for you."
Then, Skala walked forward.
One step, two steps, by the third step.
The smile on Tuke's face finally stiffened slightly.
But he still didn't move.
Because the next second, Skala raised his bone blade—
No declaration, no divine art, no prayer.
Just like in the hunting ground, a single strike directly cleaved towards the neck opposite him.
Tuke's hands were still in the "welcoming embrace" posture.
The old swindler was even preparing his next line before he realized what was happening.
As a result, no lines came out, but his face bloomed first.
"Clang—"
With a dull thud, like a bone shell splitting, Tuke recoiled half a step, his cloak on his shoulder torn open by the blade, revealing a layer of wriggling purple tissue underneath.
"You—" For the first time, he lost that tone of controlling everything.
Skala pulled back his bone blade, stood firm, and said coldly:
"I trust myself very much."
Tuke's smile completely fell apart.
He looked down at the wound on his chest, which was already half-healed but still dripping black blood, and finally realized:
This person—he couldn't corrupt him.
Tuke slowly retreated, finally realizing his script had gone wrong.
Skala charged forward with his bone blade, his steps steady, his eyes cold, "You can't escape, die! Monster!"
And in the distant camp, the firelight flickered.
The curtain for the second "act" was quietly drawing open.
Skala didn't know how Tuke did it, but when he came to his senses, everyone in the team had arrived here.
He was still holding the bone blade, its tip dripping dark blood, which hissed imperceptibly as it fell onto the snow.
Everyone stood nearby, in twos and threes, some still rubbing their eyes, some with faces full of surprise.
But no one was wearing night clothes; instead, they were in full armor, as if ready for battle.
Toka was to his right, looking bewildered, with heavy dark circles under his eyes.
He looked at Skala and asked in a low voice, "Why are you so early…"
Siye was also there, but she didn't speak, only her gaze was wary and puzzled—but not panicked.
Then, Tuke spoke.
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