Devising a plan would have been easier if Liam knew how to lie or pretend, but he was terrible at those. He had managed to trick the jailer earlier, but that had been nothing short of a fluke made possible by the very training he had undergone.
Lightning never struck twice, and the same went for miracles. Liam had pulled one off in the heat of the moment, but he knew he wouldn't be able to last an entire training session pretending. The jailer would simply find out.
So, the jailer had to die the next time Liam saw him. As for the how, there were many variables at play, but Liam felt no anxiety as he dressed and waited for the stone door to open.
Strangely enough, the fact that Liam now saw that challenge as a hunt brought him to his comfort zone. He pushed away any useless thoughts, focusing solely on his plan like he had done hundreds of times in the past.
Of course, that day Liam would hunt no boar, bird, or squirrel. His prey was a cultivator, but that made little difference in his mind.
As long as Liam saw that as a hunt, he could behave as the perfect hunter.
Hours passed in which Liam practiced sitting and walking. Even if only for a short time, he had to sell his act, and his memories were the perfect teacher.
So, when the stone door opened again, Liam slowly broke his cross-legged stance on the bed and stood up, calmly walking toward that entrance.
A familiar chuckle reached Liam's ears, making his right forearm itch, summoning unfathomable anger, even calling upon the usual auditory hallucination that the ancient hiss didn't hesitate to join.
However, Liam pushed everything away, steadily advancing, forcing his gaze to appear lost and fixed forward despite the jailer entering his view.
Usually, Liam's feelings would have exploded into a primal and desperate charge. Yet, that was a hunt. His calm walk was no different than the slow and methodical approach of a prey to avoid alerting it.
And the jailer believed Liam's act, only throwing a glance at him before turning without a care in the world, crossing the short stone corridor that opened into the familiar hall.
That was Liam's first time seeing the corridor while conscious, but he didn't dare to inspect it. He avoided studying the hall, too, keeping his gaze fixed ahead while following the jailer.
Meanwhile, the other four kids had already taken their place in the hall, sitting before wooden buckets full of soil, ready to thrust their fingers into it.
Liam captured the scene with the corner of his eye and adjusted his plan. He couldn't have known which training session would have awaited him, so he had kept that part fluid. Yet, seeing it allowed him to add the last touches.
Actually, Liam had already prepared scenarios for each possible training session, but nothing assured him that new ones wouldn't just pop out. Still, he knew that one and what to expect from it, so he prepared himself mentally.
"Stop," The hooded man said without bothering to turn, and Liam complied, halting his steps.
Meanwhile, the jailer headed for the hall's wall illuminated by the two blue braziers to unfurl the scroll hanging from it, exposing the intricate symbols glowing with similar but dimmer colors.
"I belong to the Divine Cult," The white-masked man's voice immediately resounded from the scroll, and Liam and the other kids echoed those words.
The four kids started thrusting their fingers into their buckets, but Liam waited. He couldn't remember exactly when that had happened, but his training drills had changed, becoming harsher due to his greater and faster development.
Of course, that harsher training was led by none other than the jailer.
"The Divine Cult is my life!" Liam shouted, echoing the scroll's words as the jailer approached him, a tough wooden tile and a cane in his hands.
"The usual, little beast," The jailer ordered, almost sounding bored, showing the tile to Liam.
And Liam swung his fingers at the wooden tile without hesitation, letting his fingertips slam on it to begin that painful conditioning.
"Not hard enough," The jailer commented, lying. In all of Liam's memories, that man always used the first blows to punish him, and that time was no different.
Obviously, Liam had bet on that.
"The Divine Cult's weapons know no fear!" Liam shouted, echoing the scroll's words while methodically lowering his hands and stretching his fingers.
The jailer prepared his cane and swung it down, aiming it at Liam's fingers. He had done that so many times that the action had become mindless, but his punishing tool ended up missing that day.
Liam had closed his hands into fists, narrowly dodging the cane, exploiting that window to jump at his opponent. His attacks always missed, so he threw something the jailer couldn't avoid: the entirety of himself.
But the jailer's reaction speed remained inhuman. He let go of the cane and tile while stepping forward, slamming his head onto Liam's chest as he crashed into him.
Liam tensed his chest and endured the blow while wrapping an arm around the jailer's neck, using the other to deliver a swing. However, the hooded man was faster once again, throwing himself down to slam Liam to the floor.
Liam hit the floor violently, a gasp choking in his throat. He couldn't breathe, but the jailer was already on the move, his hand swiftly going inside his robe to retrieve something.
Of course, Liam tried to struggle, but the jailer was on top of him, and he pressed his free hand on his face to keep him down. He even hid his head behind that same arm, protecting himself from the punches Liam tried to deliver.
Those failed attacks were all the time the jailer needed to pull his hand out of his robe and smear something warm on Liam's face.
"You recovered earlier than usual," The jailer chuckled. "You could have gotten me this time if you hadn't gone feral."
And Liam knew the jailer was right. He could have landed a good hit if he had opted for something other than a jump.
Instead, Liam was now forced to experience the drug's warmth once again while he watched the jailer lose interest and begin straightening up, even diverting his gaze to check on the other kids.
And that was precisely what Liam had planned because his left arm was still clinging to the jailer's neck. He let it slide down naturally, as if he had no control over it, until his hand grabbed the man's collar.
Before the jailer could realize what was happening and look at Liam again, pain spread from his neck. Liam had suddenly pulled himself up, biting as hard as he could at the hooded man's jugular.