Twenty.

  Maybe more hidden amongst the others.

  Two mothers in the group.

  Faust analyzed in an instant, forcing his mind back to composure, even though his chances seemed equal to death.

  His crimson eye shone with a different gleam as he exchanged a subtle glance with the dogs right in front of him.

  Between jagged breaths and an aggressive stance, droplets of sweat ran down his face face. They passed his temples, then his cheeks, reached his chin, and fell in unison onto the cold stone beneath.

  As if marking the end of the stalemate, the dogs advanced at the same moment.

  Losing no time, Faust stepped forward as well.

  Quickly, the stone blocks that separated the two forces were reduced to mere steps.

  A first dog bolted toward Faust’s neck. Its head was cut down instantly with a clean slash. The second followed to death, its cranium rammed twice. The third, however, passed through Faust’s defenses and bit his leg, locking both of them in place.

  Darkness seemed to overtake the room.

  The dogs were a wave of pure aggression, surrounding Faust in an instant.

  Using his hand, he pierced through the beast’s eye socket, but before he could finish it, another rushed at him.

  Turning around by pure instinct, he counter-attacked. He missed as another creature bit his forearm in mid-air.

  Pain ran through his body.

  Gritting his teeth, he slammed the dog to the ground, freeing his arm and instantly killing the one biting his leg.

  Four killed.

  Given no time to recover, Faust had his back slashed by a rampant dog. He turned to counter-attack but was caught off guard again, his back slashed once more.

  Blood pooled on the ground.

  Damn it. My injuries are piling up. Only four dead.

  I… I can’t win.

  Another creature. Faust reacted instinctively, decapitating the dog with a clean slash, then driving his blade through the eye socket of the next until it burst from the back of its head.

  Yet there was no advantage. In the time he took to kill two, he was attacked by six. This time, they didn’t let go.

  Once they adapted to Faust’s rhythm, the dogs saw their chance. The door to victory was right in front of them.

  As if a single entity, they fortified each other’s weaknesses, aiming not for certain death but to slowly wear down their enemy.

  From this point on, the dogs suffered no more casualties. The motherly dogs observed from behind their children, waiting for their chance to finish the battle.

  Suddenly!

  Their enemy reacted poorly but luckily, his blade drove through the sternum of a comrade. It was killed, but the beasts used the chance to inflict even heavier damage.

  Blood seeped into the air, seeped into the ground, and coated all the bodies in this place.

  A contained battlefield of pure violence.

  Finally, after minutes of unrelenting aggression, their enemy fell to his knees.

  The boy with black hair and a crimson gaze couldn’t stand anymore.

  A light. Behind the door of victory, the dogs saw light.

  It was open.

  The dogs ran toward the light.

  Leaping and rushing at the puny human, they rendered the fight over.

  One opened its mouth, aimed at the neck. Another would bite off his arm. Another, his leg. The other leg. The other arm. The hands. The feet. The torso.

  Fiery death by a myriad of darkness.

  All of it, food for another day. Meat for another time.

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  Dogs?

  Dogs.

  What do they think of when battling? Do they strategize or move by instinct?

  Maybe both at the same time? Quite impressive, really.

  What if none at all—just stupid beasts with enough luck?

  Are we the same?

  On his knees, Faust thought of the answer.

  His vision was darkening thanks to the blood running down his forehead. That was it.

  In this place, second chances were rare. He had already had his. He could not trust his own luck anymore.

  Was he overconfident? Was he even weaker than he thought?

  Weakness. Such a sin.

  Sinner.

  Not a boy.

  Sinner.

  Weak.

  Useless.

  Loser.

  Death.

  In a pool of red beneath his feet, Faust saw himself.

  There were many scars on his body. Some on his face.

  Mana healed, but did not erase.

  His hair, long, disheveled, shadow-like like the fur of the dogs.

  Body weak, thin, frail. Had he not eaten enough? When was the last time he had even eaten? Hunger was friendly to him now.

  How had he not noticed?

  A human who does not feel hunger.

  Curious.

  Mana.

  Mana had failed him.

  He waited for it.

  For his power to come.

  For it to make him win.

  It seemed it was just luck after all.

  False promises, thunderous and loud promises that would not be fulfilled.

  Want to keep surviving? Foolish.

  Want to keep winning? Fool.

  Death.

  It was the thing that lay at the end.

  Death.

  The boat that would cross the river between the two worlds had arrived.

  Enter.

  Enter.

  …Enter.

  No.

  The answer was clear as glass.

  Destroy the boat.

  I do not want to keep winning.

  I will win because that’s all I have.

  I cannot lose. How did I forget?

  Death. That’s no path for me.

  …

  Oh, such a shining light the door of victory was.

  The dogs were blinded by its intensity.

  In an instant—before they could react, before any of them could react—the two closest died. First, decapitated cleanly with a horizontal slash; the second’s head run through by Iron-Beak.

  What a faithful companion, to not leave its owner until the very end.

  Faust stood up forcefully. His own body was a mere subject of his will; denying the order was not an option.

  Then, his throat burned. A loud, forceful, shrieking scream tore from his lungs.

  In their hearts, the dogs felt hesitation. Why? The light was so strong… the door so close.

  Hesitation resulted in death.

  Another was killed—not by Iron-Beak, but by a kick that mashed its head into pulp.

  Seven killed.

  On his back, another beast aimed for the kill. Its bite was enough to reach that goal instantly. It was instantly killed by having its skull parted in two.

  Blood sprayed. Blood bathed everything.

  There was no mana.

  The boy died.

  The beast rushed forward.

  Another dog was killed. Then its companion fell as well. Their formation was broken.

  The creature killing them managed to escape the surrounding.

  Enough of children’s deaths. The mother advanced.

  Slow. Too slow.

  The humanoid monster advanced as well. Their clash was intense but short. In the next second, the mother of cubs was looking at its own body as its head spun in the air.

  It could not even properly fall to the ground, the killer laughed. His laugh was piercing, carrying such unstable violence it drove fear into those being killed.

  Whimpering, the creatures tried to fall back, shaken by the sheer insanity of the blood-soaked figure before them.

  Yet before they could retreat further, the reaper approached. With swift strikes that splashed blood across the walls, he killed another.

  Ten.

  Another strike—driving the blade down through skull and jaw.

  Nine.

  Desperate, a dog lunged; its neck was met with a severing slash.

  Eight.

  But it gave an opening. Another beast clamped onto the monster’s hand. If only he let go, it might have stood a chance.

  He didn’t.

  Instead, he drove two fingers into its eye. As it shrieked and loosened its bite, he struck—piercing through its neck.

  Seven.

  One retreated so far it found its back to the wall. It could not retreat further before its body was halved.

  Six.

  Four more pressed forward, unable to retreat. They rushed all at once. The first was swiftly cut down.

  Five.

  That opening let two close in. Before one could approach further, its forehead was pierced cleanly.

  Four.

  Another managed to sink its teeth into the enemy’s trapezius.

  The others caught the chance, biting both legs to lock the creature in place as the last would pop its head with a single bite.

  They growled with satisfaction as they tore deeper into flesh.

  But then, a cry.

  The one at the trapezius fell. Its eyes gouged out, followed by its tongue.

  Three.

  Iron met flesh. Brain matter and blood flew freely.

  Two.

  Thrown to the ground, the last sight of the beast was a foot stomping on its head with viciousness. The first stomp was painful, the second less so, the third nothing at all.

  One.

  It had already retreated. The mother of many had lost its opportunity while the reaper was locked down. It was too slow, after all.

  Darkness.

  That was all it could see. There was no more light in the door of victory. There was no more door of victory at all.

  Its children lay on the floor, its sister headless far away, its own body shriveling in fear.

  That was a new sensation. It didn’t know it could feel that.

  It had never felt so before.

  Attempting to retreat, the mother took slow steps back as the figure before it slowly followed.

  Their crimson gazes met. Understanding was not hard. Acceptance was.

  Prey had met its predator. Death incarnate had come for it.

  But it would not make it easy!

  The mother knew it couldn’t escape, so it rushed. Rushed with all its strength, jaw open, revealing layers of rotten, sharp teeth.

  In an unrelenting burst, the dog came close enough to the reaper’s torso. It was near—he couldn’t possibly dodge.

  He didn’t want to dodge.

  It was over.

  Black. Nothing. The mother’s vision vanished as metal ran from the top of its head to its tail, splitting the momentum-carried body open. Organs spilled to the ground.

  Zero.

  Breathing jaggedly and heavily, the reaper stood still for a couple of seconds. His mind was completely devoid of thought.

  There was no need to think. No need to strategize further.

  Not in such a situation. Instead, the answer was objective and simple: fight.

  Kill or be killed.

  The stronger one would win; the weaker one would lose.

  The greater sin would result in defeat.

  “I won.”

  Finally, Faust’s body lost its composure. He struggled to breathe as he collapsed unconscious to the ground while his body was enveloped by a pale white mist.