This chapter is only for readers 18+ and contains disturbing scenes. Please read it at your own risk.
With my victory now certain and confirmation that my hypothesis about the nanny's actual presence was incorrect, I decided to recover by gathering mana and reflecting further.
What until recently was a battlefield had now become something gruesome.
Mutilated bodies lay scattered, and the blood-soaked ground formed dark puddles. The air was thick with the acrid smell of blood and sweat, accompanied by the groans of the wounded and the gasps of the dying.
Despite this, I remained calm and began to reflect:
"Could the nanny really be here, but didn't intervene because she understood that the blow I took was just bait to lure her out?" I asked myself, observing the horror surrounding me.
"It wouldn't surprise me," I reflected aloud, "considering she has much experience in battle, she would certainly be able to perceive the flow of fights and recognize such simple traps. Moreover, she manages to escape my perception with extreme ease."
After that reflection, my eyes rested on the mutilated bodies of the people I had just defeated.
All of them were still alive, though severely wounded.
Deep wounds lacerated their flesh, broken limbs hung at unnatural angles, and their eyes were full of pain and fear, almost as if they wanted to beg me for mercy.
Mercy, however, that no one dared to ask aloud.
"Moreover... I have to decide what to do with them," I thought, as my gaze wandered over the prisoners still alive, but reduced to shadows of what they were.
The wounds I inflicted were brutal but not lethal.
Initially, I only wanted them to suffer, to remember my strength and cruelty.
But now, I was really undecided on how to proceed: would I kill them or not?
I knew that sooner or later, I would have to do it due to the rules and morality of this new world, and I had accepted and was aware of it, but was I really ready to do it?
Doing it now meant a further step in my transformation, a complete acceptance of my role in this world.
So I looked around again, the decision I had to make weighing on my chest.
Every breath was agony, an inner struggle between what I knew to be necessary and what remained of Earth's morality.
The need to adapt as quickly as possible to this new world and its new morality, along with my innate ability "Steal," was a strong enough incentive to start killing.
So, I approached a first prisoner, a man with deep wounds on his chest.
And while his eyes silently begged me, his mouth remained closed, and his body was a tangle of pain and despair, a living reminder of my destructive power.
After seeing him, I took a deep breath, trying to calm the inner turmoil.
"Am I ready to take this step?" I asked myself once more.
The rules of this new world were clear and ruthless: surviving meant becoming increasingly stronger, even at the cost of losing one's humanity.
And so, I raised my weapon, pointing it at the man's heart.
In that moment, everything stopped.
The noise of the battle, the groans of the wounded, even the beating of my heart.
With a swift and decisive motion, I drove the blade into the prisoner's chest.
I felt his life slip away, followed by a wave of vitality that poured into me, flooding me with extra life force that I hadn't had moments before.
I withdrew, observing the now lifeless body of the man.
I felt nothing.
No remorse, no joy, none of the inner turmoil that had tormented me moments before.
I was just... empty.
The wave of life force I had just absorbed was tangible, almost palpable.
I felt immediately stronger, more powerful, which made me feel good.
I looked at my hands, still stained with the prisoner's blood, but felt nothing.
It was as if I had become numb to the horror of my own act.
"Is it normal to feel this way?" I asked myself, confused by my own detachment. "Is this what it means to adapt to this world?"
The other prisoners stared at me with wide eyes, their terror palpable.
The air was thick not only with the smell of blood and sweat but also with the fear that now hung like an invisible miasma.
One of them, a young man with leg wounds, dragged himself towards me.
His voice was weak, a desperate whisper.
"Please... mercy..." he said, tears streaking his blood-and-dirt-covered face.
But I didn't respond.
I approached him with slow, measured steps.
Each step seemed to resound like a drumbeat in the oppressive silence of the battlefield.
My mind was cold and detached, my body driven by ruthless determination.
With a precise blow, my blade plunged into his chest.
I felt his life slip away, his life force pouring into me.
Once again, I felt nothing.
No emotion, only a growing emptiness.
The other prisoners began to moan, some praying, others trying to crawl away on the blood-soaked ground.
Every attempt was futile.
I approached one after the other, eliminating them brutally.
Each strike was swift and decisive, each life taken increased my power.
One of the men, a veteran with a scar across his face, looked at me defiantly.
"You are a monster," he spat in a hoarse voice.
"Everyone in this world must become one," I replied coldly, driving my blade into his heart.
His life force flooded me, and for an instant, his hatred seemed to leave an imprint on my soul, but it quickly vanished, swallowed by my growing power.
The remaining prisoners screamed, some begged for mercy, others cursed my name.
Every plea, every curse, bounced off me without leaving a trace.
My task was clear, my mission ruthless.
When the last prisoner fell, I found myself alone again among the corpses.
The silence was oppressive, the air heavy.
I looked at my hands, covered in the blood of those I had killed.
"Is this what it means to adapt to this world?" I asked myself once more, the emptiness inside me seeming to expand.
Maybe this was the true essence of my "Steal" ability: not just the life force of others but also my own capacity to feel.
Maybe one day, I thought, the emptiness I felt now would be replaced by something different. Maybe one day, I would even find killing entertaining, as a macabre form of amusement in this ruthless world.
As I looked at the lifeless bodies around me, I realized I was changing.
Every morality I had brought from Earth seemed to dissolve, consumed by an incessant need to survive and become more powerful.
This world left no room for compassion or remorse; only the strong could thrive, and now this was clearer than ever.
"Maybe one day," I said to myself softly, "I will truly find pleasure in this. Maybe one day, the emptiness will be filled with the satisfaction of knowing I am invincible, that no one can escape my strength."
At that moment, a tremor of something like pleasure crossed my mind.
It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. Maybe it was the first step towards that complete transformation, the first sign that I was truly becoming part of this world.
I turned, leaving behind the battlefield and the lifeless bodies, with the awareness that there was no longer any room for doubt or remorse.
I had chosen my path, and there was no turning back.
With every step that took me away from the horror, a new determination grew within me.
I was ready to fully embrace what this world required, to change and become what was needed to dominate.