"Hey... there he is—our newest Soulbound warrior. You’ve been out for a while now. So I thought to make you a little celebration al of your favourite soup. And don’t worry, there is no rat in it."
Soren stared in shock. "What the hell is going on!? How are you here again?"
Machos paused. "Hey! That’s no way to talk to , boy. I’m here bustin’ my ass to celebrate you, and there you are, naggin’ at ." He dropped the spoon angrily and turned to leave.
However, Soren could only stare in confusion as Machos walked away.
"Where are you...?"
"—To the town’s madman. At least the old bastard would appreciate my existence. Unlike so useless kid..." He grabbed a rough coat from his workbench. "...Just because he beca a damn soulbound warrior," he grumbled as he left the house.
However, Soren stood there, puzzled beyond reasoning.
"No! No!! No!!! It can’t be. I must be delirious. Yes! Yes!! That is it. I did not just die and co back to life twice—on the sa damn day," he rambled as he walked around the workshop. "Yes. Yes. That is definitely it. There is no Eldritch in town that is going to eat us all." He swallowed hard at the thought.
"You know what? I’ll go out and see it for myself. All is well. All is well. Hahaha... I am just overthinking this. Yes. I am such a fool. Hahaha!!!"
He rushed out of the workshop. As he did, he saw them—again—the n in rags.
"Hey... Is that not the F-rank trash?"
"Yes! It’s him. To think he can still show his face in public. If I were the one, I would have gone back to that damn cavern and been lost for another week. No, I would have dug a hole and dove in as I cursed my ancestors."
"Hahaha... I always knew it. He is trash. Just like his useless Dungie father." Another one added.
’Sa words. how?’ Soren thought to himself. ’How are they saying the sa thing?’
"Hahaha... where is big brother? He always cos up with the best insults at tis like this."
"He went to hunt bats at the cavern, I think."
"Oh, he would have loved this..."
This... This cannot be happening.
Both fear and curiosity now arrested his mind. He hurried to the trash cha. Just as he arrived, he felt it.
Woooossshhhh... here it cos.
He dodged to the side, avoiding the flying shit.
"Boss Vass, you missed." A Goon pointed out.
"Shut up! I know." Vass retorted. "Hey, turdface."
Soren turned to him. There Vass was. New clothes. The sa ones.
’No! No!! No!!! I must be dreaming. Yes. That’s it. Let check.’
Soren approached and touched him.
"Who said you could touch ...?" Soren muttered at the sa ti as Vass, dodging to the side before Vass could push him. There was a bit of a difference this ti, since he actually touched Vass, but the result was the sa.
Vass stumbled and fell face-first. His anger flared, and so did flas.
"Erm...Boss Vass." One of the goons pointed at Vass’s ass.
However, before Vass could face Soren again, Soren turned and ran off.
How couldn’t he?
He had just figured it out. Sohow, he was in a loop. And if he was in a loop, there was soone he needed to check on.
Not Tommy. The last ti Tommy was fine. If this were a repeating day, didn’t that an that Pencil was in so sort of danger?
He rushed over to Pencil’s place.
Pencil worked on a farm at the edge of town. He grew up there.
The place was just like Soren had known it to be. A vast warehouse where the crops were stored, and workers slept.
It was longer than it was high, and its roof had patches here and there. This farm was probably the only other place aside from Machos’s workshop that took nding the roof seriously.
Soren could not help but rember the horror of a yesterday that supposedly never happened.
His breathing beca heavy again. He could feel it. There was an intense fear, like fingers holding him back from taking that step.
He swallowed hard. "I am a Soulbound warrior. F-rank. But still... I can do this," he comforted himself.
There was a rake at the side. He picked it up. A weapon at such a ti provided comfort.
Gently, he took his ti to approach the wide entrance. He could hear voices. He closed his eyes.
’For pencil.’
"AHHHH!!!" He rushed in, rake high—like beating the monster with a rake was going to be any help.
Everyone paused and turned to him.
Soren also paused.
The farrs were gathered. A few tens of them. They stood around one person. It was Pencil. He sat in the middle, face bathed with cake crumbs, each hand still filled with cake.
There were two empty pans before him and two more filled with cake, sowhat the height of a five-year-old, on the table.
"Soren!" Pencil’s big belly pushed against the table. He rushed over to his friend, his large tummy in full swing from left to right. "I’m so glad you are okay. I wanted to see you, but Madam Wawa wanted to throw a farewell party, and I couldn’t refuse. Here... You want so cake?" He offered the lump in his hand to Soren.
However, Soren shook his head. He was still trying to wrap his head around what was happening. After all, he was expecting a murder scene.
"Co on. Try it. She made it with corn and harvested yeast from the Capital. This is what those nobles enjoy. It is even sweetened with..."
"Pencil! I told you ti and ti again. Stay away from that useless Dungie trash. They are bad luck." A round-faced woman with short black hair and a confident deanour walked out of the crowd. She was in her forties and dressed in a long gown made entirely of cotton fur. She had a lit cigar sticking out of her mouth. One look at her, and her gaze would tell you that she was not an easy woman.
This woman was Madam Wawa. A woman, many claid, had her looks to thank for the position she enjoyed in society. But no matter how hard Soren looked at her, he did not see it. She was what one would call a businesswoman and was never in town.
In fact, Soren had only seen her three other tis. This farm was just a part of her enterprise. Machos once told him that Madam Wawa only went where her nose could sniff money.
Pencil, being an orphan, had worked hard for her as long as Soren had known him.
She stepped in front of Soren and Pencil. "Pencil, how many tis have I told you to stop hanging around this Dungie Trash?" She looked Soren up and down. Took a drag of her cigar, "So you also beca a Soulbound warrior. Such a pity, F-rank." Her gaze was like she was looking at a disgusting pig.
"Hurry up and get out of here before I have my workers flog you and throw you out."
"Wait! Don’t do that." Pencil stood before his friend. His round tummy fought for space between them. "Soren is my friend, and I want him HERE!"
He STAMPED his foot on the ground.
Doom. The concrete underneath broke, and even the warehouse shook a bit. This was the strength of a Soulbound warrior who had barely learned any control of his powers.
Madam Wawa gasped in shock. A drop of sweat runs down her forehead. "Cough. Of course." A forced smile appeared. "Anything for MY... future Soul cha Pilot. Co this way," she motioned with a hand.
Soren was amazed. Madam Wawa was definitely not the kind of person who would be nice to him. He rembered that she was not even nice to Pencil or any of the other workers. The only reason she disliked Soren more was that she thought he was more trash than the trash that worked for her.
’So this is how power changes people,’ Soren thought in his head.
He was invited to the table, and a seat was hurriedly prepared for him. But he could see it.
There was that look in the other workers’ eyes—disdain, anger, jealousy.
He even heard one person’s stomach grumble in hunger. But they held it back, smiles on their faces as they watched and celebrated Pencil, encouraging him to eat even more, showering him with love and attention.
These were not things Pencil was usually favoured to have.
In fact, the boy’s massive size was not because he was continuously fed like this, but because food never discriminated, bringing him comfort whenever he threw it into his mouth.
And so Pencil ate anything his tongue deed worthy.
Soon, there was singing and dancing, and Pencil, the focus of so much love and attention, could not stop giggling. Even his dry jokes made them laugh.
Soren could only watch on.
Should he stop them? Should he tell his friend that his gut told him that their smiles and praises were all a lie?
No!
Pencil deserved this. Even if it was a lie, in his life, this was probably the happiest he had ever seen him. Soren could not help but smile.
The flavour of the mont was such that Soren had forgotten the reason he was here in the first place.
—But just when the singing was high, a man ran into the place.
"HELP ! SOE!!!"
He limped in. Blood staining his rags that barely covered his dignity. He was missing an arm from the shoulder.
At the sight of him, Soren’s heart froze. This was the brother of the n in rags who had gone to the cavern to hunt for bats.
His blood leaked like a running pipe from the wound; horror and hope blended in a scary mix on his face.
And behind, the creature showed itself.
This was it. This was the Eldritch. The sa one that had ended him twice already.
Its three heads opened their mouths as if to roar. But instead, a silence poured forth.
It was not the quiet of absence—but a silence so loud it hurt. Windows cracked, birds above fell from the sky, and Soren’s heart felt like it wanted to escape his ribs.
He couldn’t hear the scream, but his soul did.
[You Died]
——————————————-
Jolted awake.
cough. cough. cough.
The intense need to throw up assaulted his senses—again.
The ceiling—"One Day, I’ll Pilot the Stars."
It was confird. It was not a dream. Sohow, he was trapped in a loop, and that Eldritch Soul was not just his end but the end of the entire town.
He sat upright. "How... How do I STOP IT!?"
[Author’s Note: What woukd uou do in this situation, guys? Let know in the comnts.]
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