"HOW CAN I PLEDGE my undying loyalty to someone I barely met just five minutes ago?" Christopher arched an eyebrow at him. "You won't even tell me your name."
"There's bound to be a negative effect if I tell you my name. I'd rather you found out yourself," the man explained. "But I can promise you that you've known me all your life, Christopher."
"I don't."
"Very ignorant, I see. Except that the gods have seized your memories, letting you off with only the ones they want you to keep—like the memories of your sister." The man sighed, shrugging as he shook his head. "They knew you'd get yourself killed if you tried to save her."
"Please, speak to me with words I can actually understand," Christopher begged.
The man paced around, running his fingers down the minotaur's sword. "There's no time for an explanation, neither is there time to sit around trying to convince you to pledge to me. So I'm gonna be direct."
He stopped walking, the sand crumpling beneath his sandals.
"When you finally awaken the curse, the gods will start to notice you on their chart list. They will come after you—try to kill you—but the bright side of it all is that there will always be an escape path prepared for you. The curse will not only protect you, it will make you stronger, even until you become immortal—and when you do, our contract will finally commence."
"What contract?" Christopher asked.
"I can't tell you that either, but you're going to find out soon."
Christopher was frustrated. How much information had he been fed with, and yet it still seemed like he didn't have enough? Who was this man? And why did he feel the sudden urge to trust him?
No. He shouldn't.
What if this was all a lie—a trick from the devil?
He wasn't foolish anyway. He couldn't just believe him.
"Alright then," the man sighed disappointedly, as if he had read his thoughts. "At least I tried to stop your one dying chance. We'd do this the hard way, I guess."
He was starting to walk away when Christopher clenched his fists. His sister. He had to save his sister. If anything, that should be reason enough for him to remain alive. And if this supposed "power" was promising his survival, then… just maybe…
"Wait!" Christopher stopped him. "This power… can it make me strong enough to save my sister from the Capital?"
The man turned to look at him, an offended look projected on his face—although his words hid it. "Yes, it can."
Christopher paused. He took a discomforting breath of the atmosphere. Resolve burned like a beacon in his chest, and he opened his mouth to speak.
"I swear to fight—"
Before he could finish, he felt a wide surge of air around him. The loud cries of the audience rang first in his ears, and in a nanosecond, a sharp rip sliced through his chest.
Christopher stumbled backwards, his blood painting the ground in crimson splatters. He rolled off as he landed, his sword clattering away from him. He barely registered the minotaur raising conquering arms in the air, the noises of his self-appraisal seemingly louder than the audience's cheer.
"Where are their gods?!" Lebion growled. "Are they asleep?… If not, can they not see I, Lebion—stronger than the might of a god—have slayed their kind?!"
The gods.
Christopher had the knowing feeling that they weren't going to answer.
[WELCOME PLAYER]
[CURRENT SITUATION: Body has been severely wounded by opponent. Blood level has risen due to desperation for survival.]
[POSSIBLE SOLUTION: Noradrenaline Rush will triple PLAYER STAT effect for a limited amount of time.]
[SITUATION QUEST: Destroy all the enemies.]
A system… of course. Christopher couldn't resist the sudden urge to let out a chuckle. But then, it only escalated to a laugh—and then to maniacal, forced laughter.
"How the hell are you still alive?" the minotaur turned at him, frowning with doubt.
But Christopher's reply was his continuous laughter. He cackled ferociously, rolling on the sand and holding his belly, as if something really did amuse him.
"What's so funny?"
Christopher suddenly stopped, and the noise of the crowd softened, as if they also wanted to know what was going on.
"To think that I was going to die back there," he said. "Now, that was a good prank."
"What are you yapping about—!" the minotaur was still saying before he registered a blur of motion. Christopher did not move, neither did he attack—he just appeared beside Lebion.
A cold line burned down his bull-ish neck. A drop of blood seeped down, burning against the daylight. His heartbeat stuttered.
When he turned, he saw Christopher—his blood dripping off the demigod's sword. He swung with force, but the boy only dodged.
Christopher reappeared behind him—and by then it was already too late. Lebion felt a sword slice through his back, impaling through to his guts. His body stilled, unable to react, unable to gather his last resolve.
Christopher pulled out the sword almost immediately, and with a clean cut, he sliced through the minotaur's head, leaving only a fountain of blood sprouting from his neck.
[YOU HAVE DEFEATED AN ENEMY.]
Silence stilled the atmosphere for a while, everyone staring in doubt at the last remains of the minotaur. Then came the whispers—which were soon followed by a loud, angry noise.
"Stop him!" he heard the imperial commander yell, and it wasn't long before other imperial soldiers surrounded him, approaching with swords and spears.
Christopher didn't wait—he attacked. There were only five of them currently. He would get rid of them and make his run for it. He attacked the first, slamming his sword out of his grip and slicing his neck. He moved to the second, redirecting his own weapon into his chest.
Then the next.
Until an arrow—moving so fast—pierced through his chest, right where his heart should've been. Christopher killed the last soldier and traced the attack, his eyes locking on the imperial commander, who just stood there with a bow, startled.
Christopher flung his sword toward him, and it violently twisted in the air as it aimed for the commander's face. The commander moved his head an inch to the side, and the sword sliced through another person's flesh. The evidence of women screaming proved just enough that his attack had landed—but not at his target.
He had to escape. Now.
And the only route was through the prison cave. Hopefully… just hopefully, the place would lead to a path in Daedalus's endless Labyrinth, where he could lose his enemies' sight.
His feet skiddaddled through the sand as he headed towards the caves, a new sword in his hand.
He had to hurry.