"S-Sorry, Lady Liraeth! We... we just ran into someone and got held back!"
Stenya's cracked voice shattered the thick, violent silence Percival had been drowning in. Snapped out of his reverie, he pulled his hand just an inch away from his sword hilt.
Liraeth tossed her hair over her shoulder once she arrived. She looked down her nose at her subordinates and let out a petulant scoff.
"Someone?" She folded her arms. "Who could you possibly meet here that warrants keeping me waiting? Is it Prince Aethelstan?"
The Berserker, sweating profusely under his armor, shook his head. "No, Lady Liraeth. Even better. It's... it's the Hero."
Liraeth looked at him with a blank expression, as if the words he'd just spoken failed to compute. Then her eyes widened as she caught sight of the figure standing in the open path.
Percival stood in a half-turn, his body angled away as if he were already leaving, but his head was cocked back toward her.
His long, dark hair fell in messy curtains over his face, obscuring one side, but his visible eye—a dark, abyssal blue—pierced through the strands like a blade.
He wasn't dressed like an Awakener fitting to be in a Gate World Hall. He wore simple, road-worn leather armor and a ragged scarf that hung loosely around his neck.
His body was chiseled, tight against the leather armor, and his hand hovered near his hip, fingers curled dangerously close to the hilt of his greatsword.
Any sane person, seeing a figure radiating that kind of silent, predatory pressure, would have backed away slowly.
But Liraeth Windwhisper was not a sane person. Her pampered life had stripped her of the ability to fear anyone without a title higher than her own.
"You."
She stormed toward him, her heels clicking aggressively on the stone. The rest of her party parted like the Red Sea, watching with expressions ranging from worry to pure terror.
"Necromancer Class!" she muttered, stopping just inches from him and glancing at his crest.
"It is you!" she snapped, glaring him right in the eye.
It had taken every ounce of Percival's strength not to pull out his sword and kill her right then. He said nothing. He simply watched her, forcing his breathing to remain steady.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" she yelled shrilly. "You ruined me! I was supposed to be in the Hero's party! It was arranged!"
"I was destined to represent the Elf Kingdom, travel the lands, slay the Demon Lord. I was supposed to meet Prince Aethelstan!
"My future was written in the stars and you…" She jabbed a finger at his chest, "...you ruined it."
"We offered you everything! Gold, status, the finest gear the Kingdoms could craft! All you had to do was accept your role! But no, you refused. You selfish, arrogant peasant! You've left us to suffer, and you've made me a laughingstock. I am fateless now, all because of you!"
Percival's face could have been a test study for anger management. He was emotionless. Not even a twitch of a muscle.
To an observer, he looked bored.
But behind that plain, deadpan gaze, a storm of crimson rage was tearing at his sanity.
He wanted to kill her.
For everything he dared to desire in this second life, nothing came close at that moment to the desire to kill this sadistic bitch.
The thought wasn't a whisper; it was a scream.
Draw the blade. Use ⸢Severance⸥.
Right now, she was only a Level 10. A soft, pampered Mage who had never seen real blood.
With one strike, he could sever her head from her shoulders, he could kill her before she could even realize it.
His fingers trembled with excitement. He could feel the phantom sensation of the cut.
It would be so easy. So just. She was a parasite in this life and a murderer in the last. She deserved to die.
A quick death wasn't enough, was it? No. He wanted her to suffer, he wanted her to feel the pain he felt when they betrayed him.
To suffer emotionally and physically at the same time… where is the justice if she died without going through any of that?
"Hey?! Are you not going to say anything?!" Liraeth shrieked, stamping her foot. "Is this how you act after destroying people's hopes and dreams? I'm speaking to you!"
Percival remained cold, while his thumb brushed the guard of his sword.
Do it. End it.
His eyes shifted, scanning the room in a fraction of a second.
In the far corner, leaning against a pillar, was a Level 82 Elemental Mage. Near the exit, a fully armored Knight at Level 90. By the Gate booty, a Level 59 Druid.
And even more were the other lower-level Awakeners that were in the Hall.
The reality crashed into his rage like a bucket of ice water.
He wouldn't leave this place with his life if he dared kill the daughter of a Noble House here, in a Gate World Hall.
They would crowd and kill him and his Skeletons, even if he did manage to escape, he would find himself thrust into a political war and be hunted by both Kingdoms.
It would only make things worse.
The cold voice of logic told him to wait.
He would kill her, he swore he would. But not here.
Slowly, Percival moved his hand away from his sword's hilt. He took a deep breath, forcing the crimson tide of anger back behind the dam of his iron will.
"If that is all, Lady Windwhisper," he uttered with indifference then turned his back on her and walked away.
Liraeth stood there with an agape mouth and a face as red as her hair. "Who... Who does he think he is?!"
She looked at his Crest as he descended from the stairs.
Her eyes bulged. "How... How is he already Level 20?! That's ten levels higher than me! We Awakened on the same day! How is he leveling that fast?"
"That's what we were wondering, my Lady," the Knight murmured, stepping up beside her. "He also solo cleared two C-Rank Gate Worlds just now."
Liraeth whipped her head around. "What? Why didn't anyone tell me any of this?!"
"We tried to," squeaked Stenya. "But you... you confronted him."
Liraeth fell silent, staring at the open space where Percival had been, anger pumping through her.
"How exactly is he even doing it?" Stenya added, gazing thoughtfully. "It's been a year since most of us awakened and we only hit Level 15 recently. He's surpassed us in such a short time."
"He possesses a very strong aura, too," the white-haired Swordsman said quietly. "It was incredibly strong for a Level 20. When Lady Liraeth stepped up to him, I was almost certain I sensed killing intent."
Liraeth hissed, squeezing her hands into fists and stomping a foot on the floor.
"What are you guys standing here chatting about? Admiring him? We can't allow a peasant like that to outpace the nobility! Pick a Gate World quickly and let's start clearing!"
She stomped away to report to the Guild steward standing by the corner.
They all watched her go.
"I thought Elves were supposed to be soft-spoken and peaceful," the Berserker said. "She's... quite the brat."
The Swordsman remained calm. "Competing with the Summoned Hero, especially one with a Mythic Talent... it's surely a waste of time." He sighed, adjusting his sheathed sword. "But we get paid to follow, not to think. Let's find her a Gate World."
They headed to the stairs.