The forest was behind them, a dark memory fading into the distance. Reine moved with a rhythmic, blurring speed, his Isokinetic Torque pushing his pace to the very edge of what Argol could handle. Every few seconds, Reine had to consciously dial back his output.
He glanced back at Argol. A flash of the previous loop—the image of a heavy blade sliding through Argol's gut—flickered in his mind. The coldness in Reine's chest thawed for a split second. He's too weak, Reine thought, his eyes narrowing. If I don't make him stronger, the next time the Snap happens, it'll be because I was too late again.
He dismissed the sentiment instantly. Feelings were a luxury. Survival was a calculation.
"Reine," Argol whispered, his breath coming in ragged hitches. "If what you say is true... if there's a traitor this high up... who can we even report to? If we tell our superiors, we might be talking to the very person who sold us out."
Reine skidded to a halt, leaning his weight against a massive oak tree. He looked down at his hands. They were steady, but his mana felt restless, buzzing under his skin like a trapped hornet seeking an exit.
"We don't report it. Not yet," Reine said, his voice flat. "We're going to a nearby village."
Argol blinked, wiping sweat from his brow. "Why? We could go back to our unit. We should report to Commander Elena—she seems trustworthy. She's the one who gave us these artifacts in the first place!"
"No," Reine snapped. "We can't trust anyone. We aren't going back to camp. We lay low."
"But why would—"
Reine interrupted him, his tone sharp with tactical logic. "Think about the geography, Argol. The direction those Paekl scouts were coming from... they were heading straight for our camp. If they took any other route, they'd be trapped by the dense marshlands and the Great River. They were invited in."
Argol's face went pale. "So our Commander is... no. It can't be. Elena isn't like that."
Argol protested, his voice shaking with the weight of shattered loyalty. Reine didn't argue. He stayed silent, letting the reality sink in. He pushed off the tree and began walking toward the vast, open plains that bordered the forest.
Argol didn't move. He stood there, fists clenched, staring at the dirt. Reine looked back over his shoulder. He doesn't want to trust me, Reine thought coldly. Well, there's nothing I can do about that. In this world, trust is just an invitation to be stabbed.
Reine started to walk away, the distance between them growing. Then, the sound of boots pounding against grass echoed behind him.
"HEY! WHERE ARE YOU GOING WITHOUT ME, YOU IDIOT?"
Argol came charging forward, a huge, genuine smile breaking through his earlier fear. It was the smile of someone who had decided that even if the whole world was a lie, he'd bet everything on the person standing in front of him.
Reine, taken back by the sudden shift in energy, felt the corner of his mouth twitch. He waited until Argol caught up, then reached out and smacked him upside the head.
"OWW! WHAT WAS THAT FOR?" Argol groaned, rubbing the sore spot.
"Don't call your superior an idiot," Reine mumbled, though the coldness in his eyes had softened just a fraction.
They walked through the night, and as the first light of dawn began to bleed over the horizon, they spotted signs of life.
"Hey, Reine, look at this," Argol said, pointing toward a discarded, half-charred supply crate half-buried in the mud. "This looks like people were here recently."
Reine knelt down, inspecting the crate. It bore the insignia of the Kingdom's logistics wing, but the wood was stained with a strange, oily residue—mana-suppressing ink.
"Argol, a village is nearby," Reine said, his senses heightening. "Follow me."Reine broke into a sprint, Argol trailing close behind. They crested a small hill, and the village finally came into view. But it didn't look like a normal settlement. There were no children playing in the streets, no bustling market sounds.
The people they saw were moving like ghosts—gloomy, tired, and draped in worn-out rags. They didn't even look up as the two soldiers approached. The air in the village felt stagnant, as if the very mana of the earth had been sucked dry.
Reine gripped the hilt of Aurelian, feeling the sword twitch in his hand. Something is wrong here. This isn't just poverty. This is an extraction.