"By Death without Death."

Those words sent a jolt of tension through all the neuronal links inside Vaela. She barely managed to suppress the unknown pressure creeping through her existence.

She drew in a deep, expansive breath, her heart clashing violently against her ribs.

Closing her eyes to calm its frantic rhythm, the Seer reopened them seconds later, her gaze steadier as it settled on Anthropologist's face.

His expression at that moment was strange, yet somehow irritating.

He was looking at Vaela with the kind of look one would give a friend who was now sinking into trouble after being thoroughly warned on how to avoid it.

Vaela understood the meaning behind his stare perfectly. Still, she allowed none of her irritation to surface.

Instead,

"How?" she began, then took another deep breath. "How does that work? And what does that even mean?"

"I don't know." Anthropologist's answer came instantly.

The Seer raised her left eyebrow, surprised by his admission of ignorance.

Her eyes shifted next, holding something close to… disdain.

Anthropologist's lips twitched sharply at that. "I do know more than all of you," he said, annoyed, "even combined. But that doesn't mean I know everything. And I certainly do not know what those words mean."

"Then how am I supposed to reach it?" Vaela asked, her voice edged with bitterness.

"Only those who reached that stage can guide you and tell you how." Anthropologist lifted his shoulders, then let them fall carelessly. "No one else can."

"And I must warn you, Seer, there are two major problems to consider if you intend to walk that path." He raised two fingers. "The first is finding someone who actually succeeded in the Gambit."

The Historian paused, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"I didn't specify earlier, but most of those who succeeded are either dead or in hiding. That makes the probability of finding one close to zero."

"Don't speak of probability with me," Vaela said irritably.

Anthropologist raised both hands in mock surrender, clearly amused by his leader's irritation.

Shaking his head to refocus, he continued calmly,

"But let's assume, by some miracle, that you do find one." He stressed by miracle. "Then comes the second major problem. Convincing that being to explain how to reach it."

"Not everyone is like me," Anthropologist said, staring unflinchingly into Vaela's eyes, "but I wouldn't tell anyone how to reach such a place. The World Navel is dangerous. Not only for the intruder, but for the world itself."

He stopped there, having said everything he could.

Anthropologist exhaled slowly, releasing the knot of stress and anxiety that had been pressing against his heart for far too long.

He observed Vaela, watching from where he stood as the well-oiled gears of her mind worked relentlessly, searching for a way out. Or rather, for the path with the lowest chance of all of them dying like dogs at the hands of gods… or even their own master.

Anthropologist was no fool. If Vaela died, then the Harvester would slaughter all of them…if the gods didn't do it first.

One didn't need to be a devotee of that gigolo god Cupid to understand there was something between them.

How deep it ran, however, he didn't know. And for once, he didn't want to.

He already carried enough knowledge. The burden was more than sufficient.

"You must know one being," Vaela said, snapping Anthropologist out of his wandering thoughts and dragging him back to the present.

He looked at her, confused. "What?"

"I said," she repeated, walking toward him, slow, steady, her steps scraping softly against the ground, "you must know someone who succeeded in the Gambit. Someone we could find. Someone we could talk to."

She stopped a few meters away, arms crossed over her chest.

"Spit it out."

Anthropologist stared at her for a long moment, then tilted his head slightly to the right.

"So you didn't know?" he asked, making Vaela frown in confusion.

"Know what?"

"You really didn't know," Anthropologist said, genuinely tempted to laugh. "You didn't know, yet you were already walking straight toward it. Is that the advantage of being a Seer?"

'Ah… I hate and love Seers' abilities,' he added inwardly.

"Stop the cryptic nonsense," Vaela scowled. "Who?"

"Seer," he said, his gaze drifting toward a distant direction, suddenly thoughtful.

Vaela groaned internally. She knew that look.

Anthropologist was about to launch into an hour-long history lesson.

And indeed,

"Do you know the beginning of the Wolves' Kingdom?"

…

Meanwhile,

"Great Father, here the guilty." A man with black wolf ears, sharp canines, black fur, and a tail said to the wolf sitting in front of him.

The Capital of the Wolves Kingdom, Fenrir, was dead silent.

Wolfkin were surrounding a high platform where a wolfish old woman, around her seventies or so, was kneeling on the ground with chains binding all her limbs.

Beside her, on her right, stood the man who had just spoken.

All of them had their eyes on the grey wolf sitting leisurely in front of the woman, eyes closed as if deep asleep.

The people held their breath, afraid of even stifling out a single sound.

At the sound of the man's words, the wolf slowly opened its eyes, revealing mirror-like pupils — beautiful yet eerie.

It looked at the woman and saw her tear-soaked face, her mouth gagged by reddish tree bark that rendered her unable to speak.

"I recognize you." The wolf said, its voice sounding as though someone was speaking through it rather than it being its own.

"You worked as a servant for our family since I was a child. Yes, I remember you well. Very well, even. You used to gift me candies behind my royal parents' backs."

The old woman nodded vehemently.

'It was me!' she screamed inwardly, tears spilling from her wrinkled face. 'It was me, my King! I took care of you. I loved you as my own son! It was me, my King!'

'I never wronged you!'

She wished more than anything to say it aloud, but she was silenced. Still, she hoped. She desperately hoped that her King would believe her.

That he would remember the time they spent together, when he was upset with his family and she was there for him, taking care of him, lifting his mood.

She prayed. Yet the next words of her King sent all those hopes into oblivion.

"How disappointing." He said, his voice flat. "To think you, of all people, would do such a thing. But it can only be you. As only you would enter so deeply into my quarters. And you were there the day of the incident."

The people around drew in a sharp breath, watching the old woman — her skin ruined by years of hard work, eyes sunken from lack of sleep, back hunched from constantly scrubbing the floors of the royal castle.

None of them were blind.

All of them knew that such an old woman, who barely had the means to live and support her family, would never discard everything by angering the King.

They saw her trembling frailly, her eyes dilating as she cried while looking at the grey wolf — messenger of the King — hope draining from her gaze like a sun crawling back to sleep.

Most of the watching crowd bowed their heads, unable to witness what was about to happen.

"Kill her." The wolf gave the order of its master, then closed its eyes again.

'I AM INNOCENT!' she screamed inside her mind, struggling wildly to free herself, breaking her bones and tearing open her flesh in the process. 'I WAS CLEANING YOUR ROYAL HOUSE! I DID NOTHING! I DID NOTHING!'

She wept and wept and wept.

Yet no one cared.

The man drew a red sword that glimmered under the moonlight. He lifted it high toward the sky, beastly yellow eyes burning intensely.

The old woman finally realized the finality of her fate. Then, at last, she raised her head and looked across the forest of people watching her.

Most refused to stain their eyes with this public display, lowering their heads.

Yet some did not turn away, choosing instead to watch her die without even being given the chance to speak.

But it was not them she sought.

No.

Her eyes searched for her grandson. And there, she found him.

A young man around fifteen years old, grey-haired, with slit black wolf-like eyes, staring at her with tears streaming down his face.

His lips were bleeding, bitten raw in a desperate attempt to silence his cries.

Their eyes met. And somehow, as if the world itself wished to grant her one final chance to speak before her end… her last words reached her grandson.

And right at that moment…

SLASH—!

Her head was severed from her body, blood gushing like a fountain, scattering through the air and splattering the man who killed her.

Her head rolled across the ground like a stone in a field until it reached the sleeping wolf.

Sensing it, the wolf opened lazily its eyes, stretched its jaw, and swallowed the old woman's head in a single bite before drifting back to sleep.

All of this happened as the grandson watched, her final words, the last words of his only family in this world, echoing endlessly inside his mind:

"I am sorry for leaving you alone. I am sorry."

—End of chapter 397—

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