Chapter 4: The First Apostle

Chapter 4: The First Apostle

Sylen stared blankly at the card in his hand. He vaguely understood that he had already formed a contract with the "god" before him, and the card was presumably the proof of that contract. But what did these words mean? He... was the tide itself?

Meanwhile, Lyman had already noticed new words appearing on the *Book of the Evil God*.

"You have entered into an immortal soul contract with Seleren Moon Tide. He shall obey and serve you until his body rots and his soul is destroyed."

"As a reward for his loyalty, choose one of the following three Supernatural Abilities to grant your Apostle. Note: the gift cannot be revoked. Choose carefully and at the right moment."

"Supernatural Ability: Swift as the Wind (B-rank). Your speed and agility far surpass ordinary people. You are as light as a swallow and leave no trace as you walk. Long-distance running no longer exhausts you. When you move, time itself seems to slow down."

"Supernatural Ability: High-Speed Regeneration (B-rank). Any wound that isn't instantly fatal will heal rapidly. Pain is unavoidable, but as long as you can endure it, you'll have a nearly indestructible body."

"Supernatural Ability: Eagle's Eye (C-rank). Your vision far surpasses ordinary people's. You can see anything within the horizon, and when you concentrate, your sight can even see through obstacles."

Honestly, all three abilities were tempting and great for combat. If he could, Lyman would have given all three to Sylen. Unfortunately, the damn *Book of the Evil God* only let him grant one.

The answer was obvious. For Sylen right now, only one ability could save him.

"Seleren Moon Tide, I have heard your prayer!" Lyman declared. "I grant you this Supernatural Ability, 'High-Speed Regeneration,' as a reward for your loyalty. Fulfill your wish and your purpose!"

"Swift as the Wind" could also be used in combat, and "Eagle's Eye" was useful for evasion and concealment. But Sylen was badly wounded right now—if untreated, he'd likely bleed out and die. At that point, fighting or hiding wouldn't do any good.

"High-Speed Regeneration," however, could not only heal his wounds immediately but, if used properly, could also serve in combat.

A surge of knowledge that wasn't Sylen's flooded into his mind, like river water forcibly poured into his memories.

—The "god" had given him a Supernatural Ability. His wounds could heal fast, severed limbs could regrow, and lost blood would return to his body. Of course, if his head was cut off in one blow or his heart was crushed, he'd die. But as long as he still had a single breath left, he could repair his body.

The "god" had given him such a precious ability!

At that moment, the frozen time started flowing again!

The card in his hand vanished. Pain instantly overwhelmed the youth.

He couldn't help screaming in agony, but his wounds also began to heal fast. The skin torn by branches and stones healed visibly, and the blood that had soaked into the dirt flowed back into him.

The hound had bitten through his leg, but as the wound healed, the bones snapped back into place, locking the beast's fangs tight.

"Whimper..." The hound yelped in panic—it had never seen prey so weird!

Sylen groped around on the ground and found a big, sharp rock. He raised it and slammed it down on the hound's head.

Blood splattered!

Half the hound's skull was smashed to pieces, but the impact also shattered Sylen's leg bone.

The youth's vision swam from the pain, but his hands didn't stop. He roared and raised the rock, bringing it down again.

Again. And again. Until the hound's shattered skull pierced through its black fur, and white brain matter mixed with red blood—only then did Sylen stop.

He dropped the rock, shoved the hound's corpse aside, and pulled the broken fang from his leg bone.

His leg was twisted into a horrifying mess, but under "High-Speed Regeneration," the scattered flesh and bone fragments came together, reforged by an indescribable power into a brand-new leg.

The youth stood up, trembling. A chilling thought crept into his mind: as long as he didn't fear pain or death, no one could kill him—and he could kill anyone!

The sound of hooves came from the distance. The youth looked around and spotted a tall tree close by. He dragged the hound's corpse under it, then clumsily climbed up, hiding among the thick leaves and branches.

A horse galloped toward him. The rider was the red-clad young man named Will. He was stunned for a moment by the blood-soaked ground, his gaze landing on the hound's gruesome corpse.

"Damn it, Blackwind! Who did this! Fuck, was it that slave? I'll chop him to pieces and feed him to the dogs!"

He dismounted and approached to inspect the hound's death. Little did he know he had already fallen into Sylen's trap.

The youth leaped, descending from above!

The fang in his hand pierced the red-clad youth's neck.

The young man didn't even register what had struck him before he saw his own blood spurting from his carotid artery.

"You damned... fucking... slave!"

The red-clad youth cursed incessantly. He clutched his neck, trying to stem the bleeding. He knew he would die within minutes. Abandoning all other concerns, he only thought of escape, staggering toward his horse.

But Sylen was faster.

The youth hurled the fang at the horse's eye. Startled, the horse reared with a shrill neigh, its front hooves striking squarely into the red-clad youth's chest. He let out a muffled groan and fell, his vision filled only with the horseshoes beneath the hooves.

The hooves crushed his skull. He didn't even have time to scream.

Sylen barely had a moment to catch his breath, for a second hound was already upon him.

The youth lunged toward the red-clad youth's corpse and drew the sword from his waist.

The hound bit into Sylen's left arm, tearing off a large chunk of flesh, exposing the pale white bone to the air. But Sylen had been waiting for this moment. The instant the hound closed in, he thrust the sword forward—

The blade entered through the hound's wide-open mouth and exited through the back of its skull.

Sylen kicked the hound's corpse away and was about to pull out the sword when a sudden pain shot through his shoulder!

He looked down and saw a white-feathered arrow embedded squarely in his right shoulder, the fletching still quivering.

"Fuck... you little beast... you killed Will...!"

From the dim shadows of the woods stepped a young man holding a hunting bow. His sapphire-blue hunting attire was stained nearly black with blood, and his face was especially gruesome—his left eye was now a bloody socket, while his right eye was wide with fury, blazing with intense hatred.

"I'll skin you alive... I'll break every bone in your body and make you wish you were dead... I'll make you watch yourself burn black inch by inch..."

Sylen clutched his shoulder, seemingly cowed by the horrors Anthony described, retreating step by step until his back hit a tree.

"Scared? Good, you should be!"

Anthony grinned, the blood making his teeth even whiter. He discarded his bow, closed in on the youth, and drew his sword, thrusting it straight at Sylen's chest.

Sylen deliberately dodged to the side—the blade missed his heart but pierced his lung. He coughed up a mouthful of blood, splattering it across Anthony's face. A twisted satisfaction flickered across the young man's contorted features.

He wanted to laugh at the youth's futile resistance, but then he saw the youth suddenly raise his head and take a firm step forward.

Sylen let the blade pierce through his body, tearing his flesh. He saw fear in Anthony's eyes, and his own reflection—drenched in blood, like a reaper of Death crawling out of hell to pass judgment.

"This is for you, 'Master' Anthony!"

Sylen yanked the arrow from his shoulder and drove it viciously into the bloody socket on Anthony's face!

"AAAAAH!" Anthony's scream was heart-wrenching, startling countless birds from the forest.

Sylen then slowly pulled the sword from his chest, inch by inch, and swung it at Anthony's leg.

“Ugh! This... this can't be!” Anthony collapsed to the ground, scrambling backward on his hands and knees. “You... did you awaken a Supernatural Ability...?!”

He had heard that some superhumans awakened their abilities in desperate situations, but he never imagined that a mere slave could possess such power!

Not him—a noble, wealthy heir—but a lowly slave!

Sylen struck him again with his sword. This time, it hit his arm.

Anthony wailed in agony, losing control of his bladder and bowels and soiling his pants.

Today, he might really... die at the hands of this slave!

“Let's... make a deal, alright?!” Anthony shouted urgently. “You have a Supernatural Ability—you're not like those lowly slaves! I... I'll make you the head slave overseer, how about that? From now on, they'll all obey your every command...”

Sylen sliced off his wrist in one stroke!

Anthony screamed in agony, almost passing out. He didn't understand. He had offered such generous terms—what more could this slave possibly want?!

“I know! I can give you more! I'll give you money! And two pretty slave girls! I... I can grant you freedom!”

Sylen paused.

Anthony secretly rejoiced—just as he thought, an ignorant slave who could be bought with enough bribes. The moment I get back, I'll have someone break your legs...

“Freedom?” the youth repeated, suddenly laughing aloud.

Beneath his seaweed-blue hair, a pale, delicate face broke into a smile—half mocking, half resolute.

“I was born free. I don't need anyone to grant me that!”

With one stroke, he chopped off Anthony's head.

Everything fell silent. The forest held only the whisper of wind through leaves, birdsong, and the chirping of insects. The two horses snorted in confusion, as if nothing had happened.

“I did it. I killed them. I avenged my clan...”

He looked down at his hands. His muscles ached from the strain, and his hands wouldn't stop shaking. He wanted to see his card again—the thought alone made it appear in his hand.

Gazing at the words “I Am the Tide,” he suddenly understood. His fate had turned around in this moment. What was he meant to bring to the world?

Sylen's eyes grew moist. Tears for his homeland streamed down his cheeks.

The shadowy “God” appeared once more overhead.

Sylen knelt devoutly, pressing the card to his chest, his eyes fixed obediently on the ground, not daring to meet the “God's” gaze.

“Thank you, great God! Thank you for granting me power, thank you for giving me the chance to avenge my people! Um... I still don't know your holy name...”

Lyman didn't know either. He had been dragged straight from prison by the Book of the Evil God and hadn't had time to invent a “holy name” for himself.

“I have had many names,” he said with feigned profundity. “They are in languages from other worlds, unpronounceable with your organs. So you may call me whatever you wish.”

Sylen thought for a moment. “Our merfolk worship the abyss; we believe the abyss of the sea is the origin of all life. May I call you 'Lord of the Abyss'?”

“Sure!” Lyman was quite pleased with this “holy name”—it sounded concise yet mysterious.

Then, he noticed a word the youth had mentioned. “Merfolk?”