The Insane Regressor: Throne of Pride

The intruder slipped into the tent, and Ravian felt the night air drift in with him.

From beneath the blanket, he caught a glimpse of the figure out of the corner of his eye.

A man with a fairly massive build, two short swords hanging at his broad waist, and an appearance that looked entirely unfamiliar. He wore a long robe that revealed nothing of his body, a mask covering his face, the hood pulled low over his head—every detail adding to the mystery of him.

The figure entered the way someone does when they’ve done it many times before, then moved straight toward Ravian’s cot.

Ravian’s heart began hammering against his ribs.

An unknown person had walked into his tent in the dead of night, dressed in the single most suspicious garment one could possibly choose, approaching him in his sleep with unknown intentions. His strength—unknown. His identity—the same.

If this wasn’t the person who had killed him in the previous loop, then Ravian had no idea who the hell it could be.

And it seemed the intruder sensed the shift in Ravian’s physical state, because he stopped halfway through his next step.

”So you’re awake?” the figure said in an extremely deep voice—one that was almost unpleasant to hear.

’Damn it—I’ve been made!’ Ravian was about to throw himself off the cot; the voice barely sounded human. But then something came to satisfy his curiosity.

[Ding!]

[A target whose Records meet the devouring requirements has been detected.]

[Target identified: Xavier Meyer.]

Ravian’s eyes widened, and he launched himself off the cot the instant he saw the notification, landing quickly and putting distance between himself and the figure, who simply stood there—calm, as though he had all the time in the world.

Ravian used the moment to analyze the man before doing anything reckless.

This was supposed to be Tom, Claria’s assistant. But the figure in front of him didn’t share a single trait with the Tom he knew.

Tom was a short young man—shorter than Ravian had been before his awakening—with an average build at best and the calm air of a physician about him. The figure standing here was the opposite of all of that: tall, massive, wrapped in an aura of mystery and... hunger?

”Hello, Ravian. Do you remember me?” Xavier said in a booming voice, approaching slowly.

”Who the hell are you?” Ravian asked.

”Me? You really didn’t recognize me? It was obvious you were expecting me, so I assumed you already knew who I was.” Xavier lowered the hood and pulled off the mask.

What Ravian saw sent fear creeping through his chest.

Gray skin—literally gray. Completely black eyes with no discernible pupils. A mouth full of terrible teeth. A few protrusions on either side of his forehead. He looked like something out of a horror film—and yet there was no shortage of intelligence and sharpness in his face.

”What in the hell are you?” Ravian asked again, unable to keep the shock off his face.

”Hmm. How strange. Did your foolish teacher really not tell you about your greatest enemy on this front before sending you here? What a fool he is.” Xavier smiled, and his sharp, frightening teeth showed more clearly.

But the smile faded fast—because he saw no reaction from Ravian to the insult against his teacher.

”Hmm—don’t tell me. Did you think I’d come charging at you like an idiot just because you threw a few worthless words at my teacher? It seems you’re not as clever as I thought,” Ravian said, smiling as his eyes moved around the tent.

Xavier’s eyes twitched at being read like an open book—and at Ravian looking away from him entirely, as if the danger he represented were beneath notice.

”Fine, Ravian. It seems I’ll have to teach you in that old man’s place exactly what the Rassasian race is!” Xavier launched himself forward.

In barely a second, he’d closed the five-meter gap and was face to face with Ravian—who still wasn’t looking at him.

”It seems you’re even more foolish than I thought. Now—die!” Xavier drove his gray hand toward Ravian’s neck, aiming to punch clean through his throat in a single blow, taking advantage of his apparent inattention.

”Oh—am I really?” Ravian replied, still facing the other direction.

Something felt wrong. Xavier’s gaze snapped to where Ravian was looking.

Then he saw it, and his eyes went wide with horror.

A half-covered mirror stood in one corner of the tent—and in it, Ravian’s reflection was grinning at him, wide and mad-eyed, watching him through the glass. But that wasn’t what terrified Xavier.

It was that in the reflection, Ravian’s right hand was already reaching toward Xavier’s waist.

More specifically, toward the short sword hanging there.

”Damn you—!” Xavier shouted, trying to pull back.

”Too late.” Ravian turned his head in an instant.

Splurt.

He pulled one of the two short swords from Xavier’s waist—but he didn’t draw it clear. Instead, he dragged it horizontally across Xavier’s abdomen as he pulled, and a wet, tearing sound echoed through the tent.

”Agghh—!” Xavier screamed and yanked himself backward before the blade could dig deeper into his side, stumbling several steps as purple blood welled out of him.

”Hmm? Strange. You pulled away from the worst of it that fast? Not bad, Sassasian.” Ravian flicked the short sword through the air to shake off the purple blood.

”You bastard—! We’re called Rassasians, not Sassasians!” Xavier snarled, drawing the second short sword and rushing forward, purple blood streaming down his body.

”Didn’t I say? You’re not that smart.” Ravian kicked him directly in the wound on his stomach before Xavier’s arm could even reach him.

”Argh—! You—! Can’t you fight with any honor?” Xavier shouted, clutching his stomach to slow the bleeding.

”Honor? You came to assassinate me in the dead of night while I was sleeping and injured, and now you want to talk about honor?”

”Go ask your mother about it—she clearly didn’t teach you much,” Ravian said, barely holding back a laugh.

”Agaaaa—!” Xavier’s eyes went red with rage, and he charged, past caring now that his mother had been brought into it.

Ravian watched him come, and this time, his smile turned mocking.

”You never learn, do you?” He sidestepped the short sword with ease and drove his own blade back into Xavier’s wound—completing the swing this time, exploiting Xavier’s slowed movement to tear the opening wider and push the blade deeper.

Shlick.

This time, the short sword passed clean through his abdomen, cutting through everything in its path.

”Blargh—!” Xavier dropped to his knees, vomiting blood, trying to hold his torso together.

Ravian crouched in front of him and reached to take the second short sword from his hand. Xavier resisted—so Ravian severed his wrist entirely, sword and all, without hesitation.

”Agaaah—!” Xavier no longer knew whether to clutch his stomach or his arm.

Ravian took the sword from the severed hand and tossed the wrist aside like refuse.

Two short swords he had never once seen on Tom. They looked as if they had been forged from black iron, carefully polished for silent killing, with an unusual edge to them.

”Alright. I won’t drag this out for you. Who sent you, and do you have any companions?” Ravian lifted Xavier’s chin on the edge of one of the blades.

”Hehe—cough, cough! Kill me. I won’t tell you anything.”

”No—You know what? I will tell you. Because you’re dead anyway.” Xavier laughed, blood from his mouth breaking up the words, but the gloating in his eyes was unmistakable.

”What’s that supposed to mean?” Ravian frowned.

”Hehe. By now, the rest of my companions are already on your friends—assuming they aren’t dead already.” Xavier laughed hysterically in his final moments.

”I don’t know where that bastard Malrik slipped off to, but he won’t get far before one of mine catches him.”

”Today is the end of the Death Squad—forever—and with them, the disciple of Karius, the so-called hero of this damned city! Hahaha—argh!”

The laughter cut off as Ravian slit his throat with the same blade he’d used to lift his head.

The short blade carved through, and the laughter died instantly.

Ravian pulled the sword back and rose with visible irritation on his face.

[Ding!]

[The Host has eliminated the target. Absorbing Records...]

Ravian exhaled heavily and stepped away from the corpse as the notification appeared. He had held Absolute Focus from the moment Malrik fell asleep until now—it had been the only thing closing the gap between him and Xavier. Without it, he would have died easily.

’Damn it. Was this a carefully planned strike by that race to wipe out the squad? Did they use my arrival—Karius’s disciple—as the opening to land a crushing blow to our camp’s morale?’ That was the conclusion he reached, at least for now.

’But how in the Creator’s name did they disguise themselves like this? Is it one of their techniques? And if so, how do we have no countermeasures against something this destructive?’ He moved away from the body and tried to order his thoughts, but the more time passed, the more complicated everything became.

Then his ears caught it—many rapid footsteps closing in on the tent.

’Oh, hell. There are too many of them!’

Panic gripped him as he bolted toward the far side of the tent, intending to cut his way through the fabric—but the new intruders were already pushing inside without hesitation.

”Damn it—!” Ravian spun to face them.