Turning the tables!
Since Ash couldn't escape from these four harbingers of chaos, he decided to stop avoiding them altogether and instead make use of their presence.
And why not? Ash wasn't in any rush. Sure, this cross-realm expedition was a prime opportunity to escape the Blood Moon Nation, but he wasn't feeling the pressure. After all, the Void had practically guaranteed his success.
It was like going into an exam where the professor had promised you'd pass. You wouldn't hand in a blank paper, of course, but you'd also feel no guilt about skipping a question or two. The professor would make sure your participation points nudged you over the line.
For Igula and the others, however, Ash's status had skyrocketed from "disposable decoy" to "Grade-A Protected Species." Following Ash meant they too might escape the Blood Moon Nation. Protecting him was now their top priority—throwing him to the wolves was out of the question.
Or so Ash thought.
"Do you really believe everything mentioned in those destiny questions is guaranteed to happen?" Ronna said, his tone flat. "The only absolute truth in the fate domain is that nothing is absolute."
Ronald shrugged. "And even if the questions are real, how do we know you actually encountered them? I mean, betting on your credibility, Ash? That's like betting on a cult leader's integrity—which, spoiler alert, isn't worth much."
Harvey nodded thoughtfully. "Even if the Void did say you'd escape, it never said you had to survive the trip. I could just drag your corpse out and call it a win."
Then Igula delivered the final blow: "In fact, isn't it more efficient to kill you, chop you into four pieces, and pack you into boxes as good luck charms?"
Damn it, they made too much sense.
Ash's smug grin collapsed as he slumped in defeat. Meanwhile, the other four exchanged subtle glances, silently reaching a consensus.
"Huh?"
The tent flap opened, revealing a towering orc marksman.
One of his eyes was cybernetic, and his body bristled with firearm attachments on his shoulders, arms, knees, and waist. Each weapon was a masterwork of spell-powered engineering, requiring spirit energy to fire instead of conventional ammunition.
The Eight-Barrel Style—a devastating combat art fusing brute orc strength with firearm mastery. In frontal combat, these multi-barreled snipers were virtually unstoppable. Against any mage below three wings, no defensive miracle could withstand their focused salvos.
The orc's mechanical eye scanned the tent occupants:
Right bench: The dual act—untouchable.
Middle bench: Death radiated from the hooded figure, better to avoid.
Left bench: One tall, confident man sitting beside a dejected guy who looked like he had digestive issues.
In an instant, the orc zeroed in on Ash as the weakest link. He reached out to grab him.
Wait… Why do Rala Fei snacks taste so good? Should I get tea or coffee later? Damn, I need a bathroom break.
The orc froze mid-motion, lost in a whirlwind of trivial thoughts. Two seconds ticked by before he realized his mind had been assaulted—a mind domain attack!
He tried to move, but his legs were numb. A withering, deathly energy crept from his feet to his waist.
Necromancy!
Desperate, the orc prepared to unleash an indiscriminate barrage. But before he could, two steel marbles struck his cybernetic eye and knee, blinding him and forcing him to kneel.
Precision shooting? No—was it gunplay or martial arts?
Blinking through the pain, the orc caught sight of a leg sweeping toward him—a razor-sharp kick.
CRACK!
Before Ash could even process what was happening, the orc flew backward out of the tent, crumpling into a heap without so much as a scream.
Ash tilted his head, confused. "What just happened?"
"Nothing important," Igula said, patting his shoulder in an almost brotherly manner. "Listen, Ash, I've had a change of heart. You might be useless, but we've shared some history. Don't worry—I won't use you as bait. Stick with me, and I'll lead us to victory!"
Ash squinted at Igula, his gaze sharpening as a sly grin curled his lips.
"I see how it is," he said slowly. "So I am important, aren't I?"
Igula's smile didn't waver. "Ash, you're so… ordinary yet so confident."
"You're lying," Ash countered, his grin widening. "If I were useless, you'd be buttering me up, inflating my ego until I foolishly volunteered for a suicide mission. But if I were useful, you'd try to suppress my confidence, keeping me pliant and controllable." He gestured toward Harvey. "Don't forget—I saw how you tried that trick with him. It didn't work, but I watched every move."
Harvey arched an eyebrow but said nothing.
"Oh, you're getting cocky, huh?" Igula snapped. "Well, would you prefer a sexy dance or upside-down diarrhea—HEY, CUT IT OUT!"
Ash yanked Igula's hood back and ruffled his hair with gleeful abandon. "Come on, make a wish! I dare you! Go ahead, Igula—you chicken?!"
"Damn it, stop!" Igula swatted at Ash's hands, fuming. "You're lucky I actually believe you about the Void. Otherwise, I'd have already ordered you to do something suicidal!"
"See? I knew it!" Ash crowed, triumphantly dropping into his seat. "You trust me because sticking with me is the safer bet. Admit it—you'd rather take a guaranteed path to survival than risk the unknown!"
Igula glared at him, smoothing his hair back into place. "You do realize I can just wish for you to stay put after crossing the passage. Wait here 48 hours, then head back to the Blood Moon."
Ash froze, his defiance crumbling. He folded his hands neatly in his lap, looking as docile as a schoolboy. "I apologize for my arrogance."
As Igula seethed silently, Ash had the audacity to borrow Ronna's nail file, whistling as he casually trimmed his nails.
For a moment, Igula considered wishing for Ash to choke on his own intestines.
What infuriated him most wasn't Ash's antics but how easily the man could read him. A social incompetent on par with toddlers had completely unraveled his intentions.
Had Igula's schemes grown dull, or had Ash become unreasonably sharp?
Either way, Igula resolved to fix this oversight the moment they crossed the Void.
Ash's survival ends with the Blood Moon. Once we're out, he's finished.
As the five prepared in the tent, a few more adventurers approached, only to be sent packing. Soon, a goblin's voice boomed outside:
"Team formation is over. Random teams, step forward!"
Ash and the others emerged, joining the growing crowd.
On the platform stood three figures.
"Good. All teams accounted for," the goblin said with satisfaction. "Next is the blessing phase. To my left is Assistant Priest Cora from the Church, here to grant you the Blood Moon Blessing."
Cora, a tall woman in a gold-trimmed white robe, waved sheepishly at the adventurers. Her round cheeks carried a touch of baby fat, and a large wolf-like tail swayed nervously behind her.
"And to my right," the goblin continued, "is a familiar face for many of you—Gerard Westminster of the Inquisition's Enforcement Unit."
Ash and his companions immediately took a collective step back into the tent.