Tension hung in the air the mont Bartholow heard Jonathan humming the hymn of Blight.
"Please, leave. I have private matters to discuss with this man," he said with a calm smile that didn't reach his eyes.
The soldiers nodded without question. Bartholow glanced deliberately toward a specific corner of the room where he knew Kruger was hiding. A subtle hand signal followed, a silent cue only Kruger would recognize. He understood imdiately. This wasn't just so interrogation. It was serious.
Like Bartholow, Kruger had taken on a divine pact during the tutorial. His, with Lakarion, the God of Assassination. Bartholow's, with Blight, the God of Rot. The two factions weren't enemies. As long as they didn't interfere with each other's goals, there was no conflict. In fact, Bartholow often supported Kruger. He was family, after all. His cousin.
Once the chamber emptied and the last echo of footsteps faded, the mask dropped. Bartholow's smile vanished.
"Prove it," he demanded. "Prove you truly serve the sa one I do."
"I just sang the hymn," Jonathan replied, lifting an eyebrow. "Isn't that proof enough?"
Bartholow stepped down from the throne and rubbed his forehead, eyes narrowing in thought. He had only spoken to that being once. In a dream. The mory was vivid: a massive rotting head covered in writhing tendrils, like centipedes made of at. To hear that soone else served the sa god raised more questions than answers. He had accepted the pact, yes, but only because their goals aligned. The god wanted to prevent the tutorial from reaching its end. So did Bartholow.
"How did you co into contact with him?" he asked, curiosity sharpening his tone.
Jonathan stood up fully.
"I killed a creature in a cave," he said. "And I found an item there. A 'coin' of the great Blight. That's when it started... and I awakened a class mutation."
Bartholow nodded slowly. His own path had been different, triggered by a special orb and a hidden quest.
"What do you want? Why reach out to now? What deal did you make?"
Jonathan's face hardened. "I want revenge. And power. Nothing else."
Revenge?
"I know about the 51," he added, voice low but clear.
Bartholow's expression shifted. His eyes sharpened. He was close now, well within killing range. If necessary, he'd end this conversation with blood. Divine allegiance ant little if it conflicted with the greater plan. The deal with Blight had one rule: don't let the tutorial finish. Everything else was fair ga. Even killing his fellow followers. Not even the gods could touch him here. Within the tutorial, his will was law.
Mana stirred beneath his skin, the prelude to a spell already forming.
"I don't want 51 to happen," Jonathan said. "I don't care. I don't want this tutorial to end. I just want to finish my revenge."
He tossed sothing. Bartholow didn't catch it. He let it fall to the ground and studied it in silence.
"That's what I got from the cave," Jonathan said. "You can have it. I don't care."
Bartholow's gaze remained locked on him. "And who exactly do you want to kill?"
"A man who got away. Soone who ran," Jonathan answered. "A fugitive from the Haven."
Understanding clicked into place.
"Ah... you're talking about the one who killed Angelica."
The fugitive had been officially listed as a wanted criminal within the Safe Zone. People from the Haven had co in person more than once demanding his head. Even soone with the humble profession of sketch artist had managed to piece together a pencil-drawn likeness. His face, like so many others, was now plastered on bounty boards all across the city. There would be no peace for him. No return.
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"I want to kill him with my own hands," Jonathan said. "That's why I need your help. Your resources. The bastard's either hiding sowhere in the Wild Zone or maybe ran off to the orc territories. I don't know. But I have to find him. That's all I ask. Help track him down... and let be the one to end him."
Bartholow stared at him for a long mont, quietly amused at the irony. After all, he was the one who'd ordered Angelica's death.
"You know, a deal's only a deal when both sides gain sothing," he replied.
Jonathan glanced down at the object on the floor. "It's a familiar rune. You'll get the creature as your pet. Call it paynt."
There was a tremble in his voice now. Frustration layered with desperation. Bartholow bent down, picked up the stone, and activated Identify. After a brief sigh, he tossed it back.
"I have zero interest in owning a familiar."
Not when the Death Painting constantly hamred at his mind with images of beasts, strange animals... and always, the black panther waiting in the dark.
"I have an army of soldiers at my command. Killers who act with a snap of my fingers. Even a priestess on my side, Erza Grimhart" he said coldly. "You think I need what you're offering?"
Jonathan was cornered and it showed. The refusal shattered what little plan he had. His hope was unraveling fast.
Bartholow wasn't moved. "And besides... if you're planning to hunt soone, wouldn't a familiar be more useful to you?" He turned his back. "We're done here. Get out."
"No, wait!" Jonathan's voice cracked. "I'll do anything. Just help find the bastard!"
Bartholow didn't flinch. "And what exactly could you offer ? Don't tell you want to join my ranks. There's a long line of would-be soldiers begging for the sa."
He shrugged. "Maybe you've got a strong class mutation, sure. But an army... is still an army."
And why would he keep soone touched by Blight so close, anyway? Bartholow knew how dangerous that kind of devotion could be.
"I'll tell everyone," Jonathan snapped. "I know about the 51."
The air stilled. Bartholow stopped. The smile disappeared. He would kill him. Right here. Right now.
"And why, exactly," he asked slowly, "should I let you walk out of here alive?"
Jonathan dropped to his knees. "Luke killed the woman I loved. That's all this is. I don't care about the tutorial. I don't care if it never ends. Help , and I'll burn the whole Haven to the ground if you want. I'll spy on them. I'll sabotage them from the inside."
Bartholow didn't answer right away. A chill spread across his skin. The Death Painting had shifted. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Jonathan. He had activated his Rank Skill the mont their conversation began. Over ti, he'd discovered a secondary effect: the painting changed depending on his choices, on actions taken, paths followed. His death wasn't static. It evolved.
All he had to do was watch for the ripple. And now, as he stared at Jonathan, sothing flickered. The panther trembled. Helping this man might change everything. Might change his fate.
"Would you spy on the Haven for ?" Bartholow asked.
"I'd do whatever it takes," Jonathan replied without hesitation.
Bartholow narrowed his eyes. "Would you truly be willing to stop this tutorial from ever ending?"
"I wouldn't care if every last person here died. Even you. I don't want this tutorial to end. I want them all to rot in this place, trapped forever, just like Angelica, who never got the chance to live."
His voice shook with rage. Bartholow let out a quiet laugh. There was truth in it. And then it happened. The Death Painting shifted again. The black panther now bore a single white dot on its shadowy form. A drop of paint. Small, but undeniable. It was starting. The mont he'd been waiting for. The mont where the image began to change. And that's what he would chase now. More white drops, more disruptions, until the old painting was completely overwritten.
Of course, there were risks. A new path ant a new death. Maybe the panther's arrival was still decades away, and tampering with fate might summon sothing far worse, sothing faster. He could end up dead in a month. But he didn't care. That panther terrified him in a way nothing else did. It lurked in the dark corners of his mind, watching. Always watching. Like a predator savoring the mont before the kill. He couldn't stand being hunted like that, not even by a vision. He wanted it gone. Erased. Forgotten. And he would make it happen.
He reached out his hand. "Then we have a deal. I'll help you kill whoever you want, and in return, you help achieve my goal."
Jonathan gripped his hand tightly.
"Just rember," he said, eyes locked. "Luke dies by my hands. No one else's."
So the agreent was sealed. Bartholow ant every word. He would help Jonathan, guide him, feed his obsession, until he Death Painting changed entirely. And then he'd kill him. Too dangerous to be left alive with that knowledge.
Jonathan, anwhile, made a vow of his own. Quiet. Absolute. He would keep his promise. He would kill everyone directly or indirectly responsible for Angelica's death. Including Bartholow.
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