Undead Beast Master: Living Solely for My Desires-Chapter 196: No Going Back

The inside of his mouth had been pierced by a pillar of metal.

Maybe if Zaroth used all of his strength, he would be able to move with enough force to break free.

But then what?

Moving away would mean two things.

First, the three wounds he had recently received would begin to bleed. That, coupled with the fact that one of his arms was cut off, would cause him to lose too much blood too quickly, dying in the process.

And second, if he didn't die, let's say he used the last of his mana on firebreath or fireballs to close off his wounds, giving him more time—then what?

He would be damaged, without his beasts, without his arm, without his mana, and away from his opponent, who could just spam him with attacks from a distance.

Zaroth would not be able to do anything, and he would lose.

So, this wasn't an option.

If retreat wasn't possible, one had only one option,

To go forward.

So, Zaroth did that. He forced his legs to move as well as his torso, and he began to slide his body forward.

Since the metal pillars became thicker the closer he got, Zaroth widened the wounds on his body as he moved forward.

Thankfully, the pillar that had pierced his arm wasn't long, so he was able to move it back, giving access back to it.

As he did that, he moved as fast as possible, getting pierced by the metal pillar more and more with each step.

Moving his arm, he shifted it towards his opponent's head.

He had mana enough for only one more fireball.

If he shot it carelessly, he wouldn't damage his opponent enough, and he would lose.

His opponent sensed the attack and moved the remaining armor around him, protecting himself with two pillars of metal as they pierced Zaroth's arm.

They stopped Zaroth's hand about fifty centimeters before reaching his head.

That action caused the man to use all of the metal around him, making him armorless.

And naked as well.

His clothes had burned off due to Zaroth's earlier attack, leaving the man's body exposed.

Or what was left of it.

The skin on his body and the muscle underneath had been burned to a significant degree. In some places, even the man's bones were exposed.

This wasn't like the damage Zaroth had taken, it wasn't focused on a few points.

It was spread evenly around the man's body—face, chest, arms, legs, even genitals.

The man's blood was surely boiling at this point.

How much would this hurt?

This was the question most of the audience had while watching.

The man's eyes were dim, he was on the verge of dying.

But so was Zaroth.

While the man lay naked on the ground, his body cooling off as it emitted steam, Zaroth was above him, bleeding from his wounds.

Both of them had almost zero mana in their reserves, both of them were exhausted beyond belief.

But neither of them was ready to give up.

They wanted to win, this was the only thing that concerned them.

Being a winner was more important in their eyes than their own lives.

Was it pride, unwilling to accept loss? Or greed, refusing to let go of the wish?

Was it envy, unwilling to let another win? Was it wrath, resenting how far they had been pushed?

No one knew, and the two men certainly didn't care.

They were young, after all, and had yet to learn the importance of a one life.

Creating inhumane grunts, Zaroth pushed his arm further toward his opponent's head. Even with all the adrenaline in his system, the pain was unbearable.

And yet, he pushed regardless of that.

His opponent didn't seem to have much strength left as he was taking ragged breaths from his mouth.

Zaroth's hand got closer and closer.

His hand was centimeters away from his enemy's face.

Their eyes were locked on each other.

Was there a point in killing one another?

Certainly not. Zaroth's opponent could still speak, so he could declare that he gave up, meaning he wouldn't have to die.

Zaroth was the same, he could declare that he didn't want to kill and give up.

But neither of them did. They wanted to win that badly.

This wasn't like before.

When Zaroth had killed people, he always had some kind of grudge against them.

But this time was different.

He was against a man who was no older than him by just a few years.

It felt wrong killing him.

How would his friends react to him killing a student?

He felt alone, like everything was pointless.

In this situation, his mind went to the conversation he had with Vera yesterday.

Before, he had been skeptical of her words, but not anymore.

*****

"I am not going to take much of your time," she spoke as she gazed at Zaroth, though her eyes weren't visible, hidden by her white mask.

"You see, I can more or less can predict the future, as I am assaulted by all kinds of visions almost daily."

Zaroth raised an eyebrow. Why was this woman telling him something so ridiculous? He smelled trouble but didn't interrupt her.

"But you see, recently, these visions began to change. They became distorted… almost as if there was an anomaly altering fate, like something that shouldn't exist."

At this point, Zaroth was sure that the woman sitting to his side was insane, but he was too intrigued to interrupt.

"Due to this anomaly, the future has become uncertain."

Her voice got a bit shaky on the next part.

"I believe that anomaly is you."

Zaroth couldn't stop himself anymore, so he asked,

"What are you talking about? What is the point of this conversation?"

Vera's voice was firm as she answered, "I believe we have the same goals. As such, I will give you a word of advice."

Zaroth suppressed a scoff. Only Luna and Midnight actually knew what his goal was, there was no way this woman could know—

"Kill the gods, right?"

His body tensed as she effortlessly guessed what his goal actually was. Before he could question her, she spoke again.

"In the future, you will be forced to make decisions—decisions that you will not want to make. You will wonder if there's a point anymore. If you should do it. If anyone would even support you."

"But I want you to remember this—when you think no one will support the choices you make, I will. Remember, you have to make these tough decisions, because if you don't, you'll fail at what you're trying to achieve."

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked, his voice lingered with both confusion and wariness.

"Because I have to push you toward a certain outcome, which will benefit me in the long term, and I'm sure it will benefit you as well."

It seemed she wasn't willing to answer his questions as she stood up—but not before repeating herself.

"Remember, if you want to achieve your goal, you'll have to make decisions you won't like."

And with that, the strange encounter was over.

*****

If what she had said was right, it meant that if Zaroth didn't kill his opponent, he wouldn't be able to kill the gods.

It would mean that everything he had done up until that point would become meaningless

It would mean that all of his efforts were wasted.

It would mean that he wouldn't be able to avenge his mother.

So, he pushed his doubts aside and moved his hand even further.

The hand stopped as it entered the wide-open mouth of his opponent, who was just barely taking shallow breaths.

Killing that man felt wrong, like Zaroth was going to kill a part of himself.

Zaroth heard voices—one urging him to kill. If he did, he would surely gain a deeper understanding of his demonic skills. His opponent was just that strong, after all.

The other voice wanted him to dominate the arena. This was likely the work of Nightshade's desire. How she influenced him remained unknown, but it wasn't as if he could do much to stop it.

Zaroth didn't like those voices. It felt as if they were making decisions for him.

As if he wasn't in control.

But he had no choice.

A second later, his eyes shined green as he used fireball.

The inside of the skull of his opponent began to glow.

The man's eyes widened for a second as he felt what was coming.

This chapt𝓮r is updat𝒆d by ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom.

In that brief moment, he regretted not giving up. He regretted not visiting his parents one last time. He regretted never achieving his dream.

And then, his head exploded—sending brain matter and strands of white hair flying in every direction.

The spikes that Zaroth had been pierced by turned into liquid and fell to the ground.

The man was dead.

Zaroth collapsed to his knees as blood began to flow down from him like a fountain.

Silence. There were no cheers, there was nothing.

Zaroth didn't like the silence.

Had he done the right thing?

If there were cheers, he'd know he had.

If there were boos, he knew he hadn't.

But there was only silence, so Zaroth didn't know.

He didn't know if his actions were right or wrong.

He didn't know if he had gone against his core values.

He didn't know if he even had any to begin with, or if he had lost them somewhere along the way.

His gaze didn't shift from the corpse of the man.

The person who had reminded him of himself just a second ago was nowhere to be found—only a headless corpse lay on the ground.

And he was the reason.

Zaroth was thinking about something, but he wasn't sure what.

A part of him felt empty, a part of him felt hollow.

Zaroth didn't feel thankful to the emperor anymore.

The emperor had allowed a young man with incredible potential to die just like that.

A faint feeling of regret settled in Zaroth's heart, but it was too late.

There was no going back.