Garina didn’t have the slightest idea as to what Vermil could have been planning when he grabbed Crone’s head. Even with Decras’ magic, there was no power he possessed that had a chance of causing any real harm to the Apostle.

    The moment Vermil tried to release an actual attack, Crone would kill him. The difference between their souls would be larger than the size of an ant and an elephant. There was simply no way to bridge that gap.

    Could Renewal possess some ability that Vermil plans to call upon to kill Crone? No. She’s no more powerful than Decras — and even if she were, Vermil wouldn’t be able to harness that magic. His other runes are too weak to resist the pressure of such strength.

    That means he’s planning on somehow outsmarting Crone?

    Garina’s fists clenched at her sides. That was not a smart plan. Crone wasn’t exactly the most intelligent Apostle, but he was no fool. He couldn’t be fooled by a desperate mortal with no plan. If Vermil was planning to somehow fabricate evidence in his mind, it would fail.

    And if he failed...

    Garina’s stomach churned in fury and disgust. Her fingers twitched at her sides. It would have been easy to stride forward — to drive her pointed fingernails through the other Apostle’s eye and kill him on the spot before he could react.

    But she couldn’t do that. Her honor would have died a painful death at the notion... and Crone knew it. She wasn’t sure if shame or honor would kill her first, but at the rate things were going, she was getting the sinking feeling that she was going to find out.

    Damn it all. How did I get myself into this situation? Why did I agree to let Vermil do this? How far have I fallen from what I once was that I’m willing to risk so much just so I can have some damn peace?

    Garina’s nails bit into her palms. Blood dripped down her fingers and fell to the ground of the burnt forest.

    Then her thoughts missed a beat.

    Something was wrong.

    There should have been concern in the faces of the other mortals. Even if they weren’t the ones that were about to be forced to humiliate themselves, they had to know that Vermil would not be making it out of this alive if he lost the bet.

    Crone was going to take him to the rest of the Apostles, and they would bring him to Decras. No mortal was going to survive a meeting with a god.

    But in the face of all of that, the only one of Vermil’s allies that looked concerned was the old man.

    And that didn’t add up in the slightest. Garina was not blind. She’d always prided herself on being observant. Vermil and Moxie were clearly more than just friends. But Moxie — the one that should have been the most worried — looked more relaxed now than she had when Garina had arrived.

    Lee shared a similar expression, and it wasn’t one that fit the situation in the slightest. It was not the expression of one whose friend was about to be killed.

    It was the one of someone who knew they had already won.

    What’s going on? Are they fools? They can’t possibly believe that Vermil is actually going to get the upper hand over Crone. There’s no universe that a Rank 4, no matter who he is, will be able to match souls against a Rank 7. r??

    That means they think Vermil was actually telling the truth. But that isn’t possible. He had to have been lying. Vermil is a mortal. Nothing he claimed could have been true. So what am I missing?

    Crone twitched in Vermil’s grip. His expression shifted, screwing up as if in agony, and Garina’s eyes went wide.

    A droplet of blood ran down from his nose. It traced across his lips as if in slow motion, continuing down across his face.

    “Pain does not scare me,” Crone said, taking his sword hilt in his hand. “Do as you will. You are only mortal. I am a follower of the Master. There is nothing you can do that I cannot.”

    Vermil lifted Garina’s blade in a wide motion, then brought it to rest at the side of his neck.

    “This should be fun, then,” Vermil said. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

    Then, without another word, he carved through his own neck. The long dagger sliced through it in a single clean motion, sliding free of the other side even as the strength slipped from his body.

    Garina’s mouth dropped open in abject disbelief.

    Across from her, the elderly man’s eyes bulged in horror. He took a step forward, dropping his staff as he reached out to stop Vermil but nowhere near close or fast enough to move in time to have stopped him.

    Vermil’s body pitched forward. It crashed to the ground, his head rolling and thumping as it bounced off his back and landed on the burnt ground beside the corpse, joining it in a growing pool of blood.

    Crone did not move.

    He stared at the corpse, the sword at the edge of his neck, lips parting.

    “What?” he breathed, then in a higher tone, “What?”

    Vermil had killed himself.

    Madman.

    Why would he do that? For the sake of his students? What level of conviction does it take to sever your own life like that?

    “Do it,” Garina whispered. She swallowed. Her gaze sharpened. “Copy him, Crone. That was the bet.”

    “I — I can’t do that,” Crone said, licking his lips. “What manner of fool kills themselves? That’s impossible to copy! I will not throw my life away for such a worthless task. What did he think he would get out of this? The deal was with him, not any of you. If the mortal is gone, then it—”

    “Gone is a strong word.” A voice echoed through the forest.

    Garina’s blood went cold just as her domain prickled in recognition. It should have been impossible, but her domain was not one that could be tricked so easily. There was no doubting what she felt — and she could tell by the look on Crone’s face that he felt it too.

    She, along with everyone else in the clearing, spun.

    Vermil strode out from the trees, as naked as the day he was born. He plucked a leaf from his hair and flicked it to the side, his eyes as cold as a dead sea.

    Garina couldn’t help herself. She took a step back.

    This didn’t make any sense. Vermil had definitely died. That hadn’t been an illusion. She’d felt him die... and she’d felt him return.

    “You know, you keep calling me a mortal.” Vermil strode over to his corpse and lifted his own head by the hair. He pulled his own severed head’s mouth up into a grotesque smile with two fingers and shook it in disappointment before tossing it to the ground, where it rolled to a stop at Crone’s feet. “I don’t think you know what mortal means. Now, get on with it. Copy me as you promised to — or admit defeat. Which will it be?”