While Skadi was single-handedly slaughtering the bounty hunters, Grani and her companions slipped away amid the chaos.
"You said you weren't going to get involved in this mess, didn't you?"
Surtr asked, noticing that Grim was quietly using his Originium Arts to shield Grani's group.
"The meaning of travel lies in experiencing things firsthand,"
Grim replied calmly, his expression unreadable.
"Nutcase."
Surtr muttered. To her, Grim was nothing more than a fickle, unpredictable lunatic.
But Grim had no interest in explaining himself. His gaze never left the Silver-haired figure radiating Ishar'mla's aura, every muscle in his body taut with tension.
And yet, he realized that the figure showed no awareness that Grani's group had already slipped away. Instead, she continued her one-sided massacre of the bounty hunters.
'Strange… aside from that physical strength, there's nothing remarkable about her.'
Grim's doubts only deepened.
If she was nothing more than brute force incarnate, then why did Ishar'mla's aura linger on her?
"Let's go already. What's so entertaining about a one-sided slaughter?"
Surtr urged, completely unaware of Grim's unease.
It wasn't only Kashchey's flawless acting that masked his wariness—Grim's body itself possessed the Originium Art Existence Erasure. This ability didn't merely make a target "forgotten"; it could also force others to ignore a specific trait.
For example, a person holding a knife might forget that it was sharp—until they accidentally gripped the blade itself.
Grim had applied this art to suppress others' perception of his own abnormal vigilance.
After all, one who could experiment with countless Originium Arts would never neglect to explore their depths.
He kept his eyes on Skadi for a few more seconds before finally following Surtr to catch up with Grani and the others.
---
Meanwhile, back on the battlefield, more and more bounty hunters realized that their target had escaped.
When they looked at Skadi—still standing tall, completely unscathed, with their comrades lying maimed around her—their resolve began to crumble.
"Damn it! Useless trash!"
the Captain cursed inwardly.
'Don't they understand? If we don't crush her now, when our allies are already wounded, our chances will only get worse in the next fight!'
But the morale of his side had already collapsed. Even if he gave the order to continue, these hastily gathered hunters might not obey. Worse, forcing them could weaken what little authority he held.
After all, he was only a temporary commander to begin with, with little true standing among them.
Still, for the sake of future treasure distribution, he had to maintain whatever semblance of leadership he could.
"Damn it! The target's on the run! After them!"
he barked, rallying the remaining fighters. Before leaving, he spat venom at Skadi to save face:
"Consider yourself lucky, calamity spawn! If not for the chase, you'd be dead today!"
But in his heart, a shadow lingered:
'Not a single wound… if she's this untouchable, can we really wrest the treasure from her?'
With that, the Captain and the survivors quickly vanished from Skadi's sight.
'Trying to escape?'
Just as Skadi was about to follow after the others to track down the village chief of waterdrop Village—
A bounty hunter lying on the ground suddenly reached out and grabbed her ankle.
'Tch… troublesome.'
Skadi lowered her head, intending to kick away this "stubborn" bounty hunter. Their eyes met for an instant.
It was the very same man Grim had struck down earlier.
For a fleeting moment, Skadi thought she saw a black serpent slither within his pupils. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared.
'What was that?!'
With a sharp kick, she sent the man flying. His body slammed against a tree, lifeless in an instant.
Skadi stood still for a long moment, scanning the area. She felt nothing out of place.
'…Was it an illusion?'
Unable to make sense of it, she pushed the strange vision aside and continued toward Grani.
'Forget it. Finding that village chief takes priority.'
Unbeknownst to her, within the depths of her right eye, a black serpent quietly slithered across her pupil.
'Ishar-mla…'
Kashchey needed to know exactly what state she was in.
---
'This kin… feels strange.'
Deep in the abyss, the Seaborn known as Ishar-mla silently watched the one who called himself Ig, relaying signals to the lesser Seaborn.
Ishar-mla could not comprehend his actions.
'Deception, concealment, selfish precision, forming cliques, calculated predation…'
These were fragments of concepts Ishar-mla had gleaned from the will Kashchey left behind within it.
Yet it had never encountered such things before. The remnants of will were fractured, incomplete, and impossible to fully grasp.
Ig had even severed the links between some Seaborn and the collective. Still, Ishar-mla simply observed.
That he was Seaborn—this much was undeniable.
And until now, not a single Seaborn had ever betrayed the collective.
In Ishar-mla's eyes, cutting the link was nothing more than Ig experimenting with a new path of evolution—an adaptation that might better serve the collective in the future.
Thus, Ishar-mla had never interfered with his actions.
---
'Why is she still staring at me?'
Kashchey shivered inwardly, though outwardly he remained composed. His attempts to corrode the Seaborn's minds faltered under the weight of Ishar-mla's gaze.
The great one always loomed close—an indescribable abyssal behemoth, dozens of meters long, drawing near to his meager two-meter frame.
Kashchey knew Ishar-mla would not harm him, and yet, the sheer presence radiating unconsciously from the being made him feel as though he could be swallowed whole at any moment.
He had once thought of fleeing.
But during his time trapped within Ishar-mla's body, Kashchey had come to a grim realization: this species was far too outrageous. Left unchecked, it was only a matter of time before they encroached upon the land.
He could have chosen to do nothing.
Even burdened with the weight of a Seaborn vessel, Kashchey had endured the constant tide of the collective's will—and survived.
In truth, no Seaborn could truly extinguish him.
Yet still, he sought to hinder their growth as much as possible.
For a brief moment, images flickered in his mind: the first emperor of Ursus handing him the imperial scepter on his deathbed… the love of the Ursus people… the friendships of ancient beasts and immortals alike.
But none of these were the true reason he wanted to restrain the Seaborn's advance onto land.
It was simpler than that.
He merely despised monotony. He abhorred a life of endless sameness.
And the Seaborn threatened to twist the world into a chaos from which it could never recover.
Thus Kashchey resolved to play the spy—a secret agent of the land, deep within the sea.
Using his abilities, he would attempt to corrupt these so-called "pure" Seaborn from within.
'Infiltrating alone, disguised as one of their leaders… I must admit, it has its charm.'
He wasn't nervous. Not in the slightest.
Even if the day came when the Seaborn invaded the land, transforming all life into their kin…
Perhaps, in the long span of his existence, he might grow tired of meddling, and instead come to embrace such a life of placid monotony.
For Kashchey, now, there was only one constant: beyond his own survival, he held no firm attachment to anything else.