Iria.
Lythian didn't know she was Seven's personal maid—not even the faintest idea.
Crouching right beside the maid's lifeless body, Lythian's fingers dug into the blood-soaked dirt as his nails scraped at—struggling to ground himself against the nausea clawing its way up his throat.
The decision was easy.
Yet the act was anything but.
Lythian unsheathed the knife he took from under the debris. The edge was jagged but sharp enough to get the job done.
"I hate this…"
The maid's body was cold, and faint scents of herbs still clung to the tainted dress she wore.
Beside her was an empty cup.
Lythian didn't hesitate to grab the cup; it could be used to collect her blood.
"Un-fucking-believable…"
Lythian muttered to himself before turning his gaze back to Seven, who lay unconscious to where he had left him.
But survival demanded pragmatism, not sentiment.
"Fuck it."
He sliced the knife
But at the last second, his hands trembled and the blade slipped, cutting into his own palm. Lythian immediately clutched his hand out of pain, but seconds later, the wound healed.
Killing? Even as a reader, he could do that. But carving up a corpse like this?
"Hah…"
He took a deep breath as he prepared himself for another attempt.
Slas—
Howl.
Mid-slash, Lythian paused, caught off-guard by a sudden howl. Looking ahead, there he saw it—a wolf, staring right into him from the forest.
It was too big to be just a wolf pup, but not large enough to be called a full-grown wolf.
The only thing that set it apart was the scar on its left eye, which glowed gold as if it possessed Theia's artifact.
But that was impossible.
Seven already had the left eye.
"Fuck that."
Lythian smirked.
"A wolf is tastier than dead shit."
He gripped the knife as tight as he could, willing to use all of his remaining strength to hunt the wolf.
Despite his stomach growling, Lythian was still a two-gates aura assassin—stronger than the wolf.
Stronger than Seven.
But just as he was about to move, Lythian froze.
"This fucker…"
His eyes locked with the wolf's, a chill creeping up his spine.
"He's not alone…"
The forest behind the wolf shifted, a subtle rustling of leaves—something was moving. Something else was watching
As if summoned by his thoughts, three wolves emerged from the right of the scarred wolf, followed by another three on the left.
"Hah…"
Lythian's breath came ragged as his gaze swept over the seven wolves. The six newly appeared wolves carried pieces of raw meat in their jaws.
Howl.
At the sound, they dropped the raw meat before them.
The scarred wolf stepped forward, its sharp eyes fixed on Lythian. The other six wolves stood still.
Step.
It halted inches away before Lythian and the maid's corpse.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then the scarred wolf raised its head to the sky.
Howl.
As it howled, the six wolves beside him turned and disappeared into the forest, one by one, leaving the raw meat behind.
Growl.
Lythian's stomach churned. His trembling hand clutched the hilt of his blade, but his eyes drifted to the fresh meat lying on the ground.
Step.
Ignoring the scarred wolf, he walked towards the meat.
Another step.
And another.
Until he was standing over the pile of raw meat. Lythian covered his nose, overwhelmed by the scent—fresh, metallic, and primal.
It repulsed him as much as it enticed him.
Lythian knelt slowly, his hands shaking as he reached for a piece. But his fingers refused to touch it as he heard a low growl.
The scarred wolf.
It still stood there, inches away from the maid's corpse, watching Lythian.
"...?"
He tore his gaze away from the wolf and grabbed the meat.
Bite.
The taste of blood and iron filled his mouth as he bit into it.
Growl.
The low growl intensified, louder this time. Yet, the wolf remained still, doing nothing.
"Fuck…"
Lythian chuckled.
He wiped off the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. Staring at the remaining scraps of raw meat, Lythian's jaw clenched before shifting his gaze to Seven.
"...Even the wolf wants you alive."
Lythian picked the scraps of meat up and walked back.
Step.
Crouching, he brushed Seven's cold, clammy, and handsome face. It was clear Seven wouldn't wake up anytime soon.
Lythian's eyes darted between the meat and Seven.
His stomach churned—not from hunger this time, but from the sheer absurdity of what he was about to do.
"Fucking insane…"
Lythian gripped a piece of meat.
It was slimy and cold in his hands, as the blood was still fresh. Even he, himself, had no idea where the wolves got the meat from.
But Seven's lips were closed.
Feeding someone unconscious was dangerous. He remembered reading about it—choking was a real possibility.
"You'd better not die on me."
Lythian leaned forward and pried Seven's jaw open, careful not to force it too much.
Using his fingers, he tore the meat into smaller pieces and pushed one into Seven's mouth.
"Chew, fuck it."
Lythian muttered, knowing full damn well it wasn't possible.
"Fucking chew it!"
He massaged Seven's throat gently, trying to coax a swallow.
Nothing.
Lythian's frustration bubbled up.
He tore another piece of meat and chewed it himself, breaking it down before forcing it into Seven's mouth.
Then, he pinched Seven's nose shut and pressed his lips over the unconscious Seven's, forcing the mashed meat and air down his throat.
Lythian pulled back, coughing, and wiping his mouth.
"This is fucking disgusting…"
But because of it, Seven's throat bobbed slightly and swallowed the meat.
"It worked."
But the relief was fleeting. Seven's shallow breathing didn't steady, and his body still lay limp.
Sigh.
With a sigh, Lythian dug his fingers into the remaining scrap of meat. He tore another piece, smaller this time, and placed it in his mouth, chewed on it furiously.
Until it was soft enough.
Looking behind his back, the scarred wolf was no longer there.
He then closed his eyes and leaned over as he pried Seven's jaw open.
Instead of mouth-to-mouth feeding, he just pushed the chewed meat onto Seven's tongue and massaged his throat,
"Fuck. I ain't doing that again."
Seven's throat bobbed, but this time something went wrong. His body twitched, and his chest heaved unnaturally.
Lythian froze.
"Shit."
Seven coughed violently, his body convulsing as he choked on the meat lodged in his throat.
"Breathe, fuck it!"
Lythian slapped Seven's back to force it out.
Sigh.
There was no other choice; Seven needs force-feeding.
Lythian tore off a piece of meat and chewed it in his mouth. He leaned over, ready to force-feed him.
But Seven's eyes fluttered open.
"...?!"
"...!!"
Their gazes met.
Lythian, mid-motion, his mouth full of half-chewed meat. Seven, confused, his eyes wide-open.
"What the fud—"
Seven coughed, and the leftover meat that was still stuck in his throat finally dislodged and flew.
Lythian quickly pulled himself away, swallowed the chewed meat in his mouth, before wiping his lips with the back of his hand.
"Relax."
He said nonchalantly, though his face was slightly flushed with embarrassment.
"I had to improvise."
Seven groaned, propping himself up weakly on one elbow.
"Wh–What—"
He coughed again.
"What… the fudge are you doing?"
"Keeping you alive."
Lythian tossed the remaining piece of raw meat onto the ground beside him.
Seven wiped his mouth and stared at the meat, then at Lythian, before dragging a shaky hand over his face.
"I'd rather die than—"
"You're welcome."
Lythian stood up, brushed off his pants, and glanced toward the forest.
Seven scowled but said nothing.
Somehow, he felt relief as Lythian was willing to go this far just to save him—even if it was because of the oath.
But as he imagined what just happened, maybe it would've been better to lose one of his lives.
"Shut up."
Seven said, despite Lythian not saying anything.
Then, he groaned as he flopped himself back onto the ground. If there's one thing he was sure of, it was that...
...He could trust Lythian with his back