Heath chuckled, his lips curling despite the blood crusting at the edge of his mouth. "Oh, is that so? Then tell me, Leon—if you weren’t as strong as you are now, wouldn’t you have done the same? Used others like pawns to survive?"
Leon’s expression didn’t shift at first. He simply stared back, unblinking, cold.
"You think I was born with ★★★★ stamped on my back?" Leon finally said, voice low. "You think someone handed me this strength like a wrapped gift?"
Heath opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. He knew that tone. That weight in Leon’s voice wasn’t boasting—it was resentment. Grit. Pain forged over time.
Leon stepped closer, eyes narrowed.
"Don’t act like you’re some tragic figure in all this," he said. "You’re not miserable. You’re not a victim. You’re just a coward who found comfort in stepping on corpses."
Heath scoffed, bitterness leaking through his smile. "And what do you know about fear, huh? With how you act—calm, unshaken—I bet you’ve never been scared in your damn life."
Leon’s eyes flickered, and for the first time, a trace of amusement played at the corner of his lips.
"That’s funny," he said, almost with fondness. "You think just because I don’t cry or scream that I don’t feel fear?"
He took a step back, glancing up at the white sky.
"I’m terrified of dying," Leon admitted. "I’m scared of losing people who matter. And snakes—gods, I fucking hate snakes. Those slithering little bastards ruin my day every time."
Heath barked out a laugh, genuinely amused despite himself. "So... what? You captured us just to vent? Just to talk shit before killing us?"
Leon waved his hand airily, as though offended. "What? No, of course not. That’d be a waste of time."
He turned to Heath again, eyes sharp.
"I brought you here to make you understand. To make you feel what your victims felt. That helplessness. That betrayal. That pain... right before the end."
Heath leaned his head back and laughed louder, pain and irony dripping from his voice. "You really are a piece of work. A fucking hypocrite."
Leon tilted his head, genuinely curious. "How so?"
Heath locked eyes with him, blood still running down his chin. "You’re punishing us for killing others... but you’re doing the same thing now. You’re gonna kill us too. So what makes you any different?"
Leon’s expression dimmed into something unreadable.
"When did I ever say I’m against killing?" he asked.
Heath blinked. "What?"
Leon spoke again, calmly. "When did I ever say I oppose killing people?"
Heath’s mouth parted slightly, thrown off by the sheer bluntness of the response.
Leon crouched beside him, voice quieter now, almost casual.
"I don’t mind killing," he said. "But I do have standards. I don’t kill people who don’t deserve it. I don’t butcher the innocent for convenience. I don’t drag strangers into ambushes and use their bodies like meat shields."
He leaned in, his breath visible in the cold air.
"You... and the rest of your team? You made a game of cruelty. You made it your method."
He stood again, brushing frost off his knees.
"I’m not a saint," Leon said. "But I’m your punishment. I’m the consequence you all thought would never come."
Heath stared at him, eyes trembling, voice rising in defiance. "That’s bullshit! You’re no better than us!"
Before the sentence could finish, Leon’s hand moved.
A sharp crack rang out as the back of Leon’s hand smashed across Heath’s face. The impact was brutal—wet, decisive.
Heath’s head snapped to the side, his cheek blooming purple, teeth spilling from his mouth like gravel tossed to the ground.
The blow was so loud it echoed through the woods, and it stirred the others.
Vanessa jolted upright, coughing and gasping, her eyes darting wildly. "Wh-What the fuck?! Where—where am I?!"
From the side, Leon replied in a dramatic, singsong tone, "Ah, the sleeping beauty awakens."
Vanessa twisted around in panic, eyes locking onto him. "You bastard! What the hell did you do?! Why am I tied up?!"
Leon brought a finger to his lips. "Shhh. Vulgarities don’t suit a lady, Vanessa."
She screamed, voice shrill and feral. "YOU LITTLE SHIT!!"
From his bleeding position, Heath groaned. "Why the fuck wasn’t she gagged?"
Leon gave him a side glance, sighing. "Believe me, I’m regretting that too."
Vanessa kept screaming, incoherent now, and Leon rolled his shoulders, as though stretching before a performance.
"Well, since everyone’s awake, let’s continue, shall we?" he said, his voice dropping in pitch, colder than before. "There’s still so much truth to uncover before we move on to the next part."
Leon squinted his eyes, turning his gaze toward Elia and Xin.
Elia had her eyes half-opened, trying to feign unconsciousness, while Xin was still completely out cold.
Leon tapped his foot on the frozen ground, voice dry.
"Okay... I take my words back. Looks like one of you hasn’t woken up yet."
Elia realized her cover was blown. Her shoulders tensed, and with a sheepish, almost pitiful expression, she fluttered her eyes fully open.
"Leon..." she whimpered, her voice trembling with a strange cocktail of affection, guilt, and fear.
Leon smiled faintly, tilting his head to the side. "What is it?"
He already knew what she would say. He could practically hear the words before they even left her lips.
Still, he decided to amuse himself by letting her play it out.
Elia’s lips quivered, and then—right on cue—she burst into her act.
"Leon..." she cried, tears welling in her eyes, her voice soft and broken.
"These people... these bastards used me. They threatened me... said they’d kill me if I didn’t help them. I didn’t have a choice, Leon! I’m not strong enough to fight them off... I—I had no other option!"
She looked at him with such faux sincerity, reaching out weakly as if hoping he would rush over and untie her, cradle her, protect her from the very justice she deserved.
Vanessa, who had been cursing and shouting like a rabid dog seconds before, went utterly silent.
Her mouth hung open, stunned by the sheer audacity of Elia’s shamelessness.
Even Heath, bloodied and bruised, managed a choked snort. His battered face almost seemed amused by the spectacle playing out in front of him.
Elia, seeing their reactions, thought she had played her hand perfectly.
Leon won’t hit a damsel in distress, she thought.
He’ll forgive me... he’ll save me... I’m different from the others.
But what came next wasn’t the soft mercy she prayed for.
Without warning, a jagged spear of ice formed above Leon’s palm and shot forward like a bullet, piercing Elia clean through her thigh.
Her screams shattered the frozen stillness, shrill and animalistic, echoing into the trees.
She writhed like a worm, thrashing against the vines that kept her bound to the ground, her blood rapidly pooling and staining the snow a dark crimson.
Vanessa’s already pale face turned ghostly white.
Heath visibly recoiled, instinctively trying to scoot away despite the vines biting into his flesh.
Leon scratched the back of his head, looking mildly annoyed, as if he had stepped into something dirty.
"Man, I really hate people like you," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
"Playing the victim... throwing your sins onto others like it makes you clean."
He shot Elia a cold, disgusted look. "You weren’t even sorry. You weren’t scared for anyone but yourself."
Elia sobbed, trying to form words between her screams, but Leon had already turned his back on her.
He faced the rest of the group—the pathetic collection of backstabbers and parasites.
"I guess the plan’s changed," he said, his voice dropping into something cold, merciless.
"No more truth-seeking."
He flicked his fingers lazily.
A cold, misty wind howled to life, swirling around the clearing like a ghostly tide.
The temperature plummeted. Thick, wet snow began to fall—not from the sky, but condensing directly out of the air, layer after suffocating layer.
Vanessa opened her mouth, trying desperately to plead for her life.
Heath tried to shout, to say something, anything.
But they were too slow. Leon’s face was impassive, his decision final.
The snow engulfed them.
Their screams turned into muffled cries, then into silence as they were buried alive beneath an unmarked grave of ice and frost.
Leon stood there for a moment longer, hands in his pockets, the wind brushing through his hair.
He watched as the last of the snow sealed the traitors’ tomb shut, leaving no evidence they ever existed.
Finally, he turned and walked away, his boots crunching softly on the fresh snow.
After he had put enough distance between himself and the massacre, the familiar mechanical chime echoed in his ears.
Leon glanced at the notifications dispassionately.
"So, they were all just ★★-ranks..." he muttered, shaking his head slightly. "Not bad... not great either."
He stuffed his hands deeper into his coat and disappeared into the dense, foggy woods, leaving behind only a frozen graveyard... and the whispering wind.