Under the threat of W's grenade launcher, Viego regrettably gave up on his plan to fetch water to wash her feet.
"But you were the one who said you wanted me to wash your feet first."
"Shut up, Viego! That was just a figure of speech! A metaphor! Do you get it?!" W glared viciously at Viego.
Viego held up his hands. "You're right about everything."
Night fell quickly. The mercenaries sat in a circle around the campfire, talking and laughing loudly. W didn't join them. She just sat at the entrance of her tent, looking up at the night sky.
Viego walked over with a heated can of food and handed it to W. "W, why don't you go join them?"
"Why so many questions? It's none of your damn business whether I go or not!" W reached out to take the can of soup, but the moment she touched it, she hissed and pulled her hand back.
"So f*cking hot! Are you telling me you can't feel a thing holding this? And why is there only one can? Where's yours?"
Viego paused, looking down at the steaming can in his hand before it dawned on him. "I'm not hungry, so I only got yours. But you're right, why don't I feel that it's hot at all?"
"I told you your f*cking brain was scrambled." W stared suspiciously at Viego's head. Her mouth was truly foul.
This woman has such a filthy mouth.
Viego placed the can aside to let it cool and casually sat down next to W. He looked down at his own hands and finally realized, he couldn't feel changes in temperature anymore? Thinking back carefully, it seemed that even the pain in his body had disappeared at some point without him noticing.
Viego had originally thought it was just that this body had a strong recovery ability and that the injuries from falling from the sky had healed quickly, which was why the pain was gone. But now it seemed, was it possible the pain hadn't disappeared, but that he just couldn't perceive it? Thinking further, Viego discovered that even his sense of hunger had vanished. Even though he hadn't eaten all day, he felt no desire to eat upon seeing food.
Viego tentatively dipped the iron spoon that came with the food can into the soup and looked at W. "…W, how about I test it for poison for you first?"
"Viego, you'd better be," W sneered.
"Would you mind if I used this spoon? Or should I…"
"Enough with the f*cking chatter!" W snatched the spoon and shoved it into Viego's mouth.
"Is it poisoned?" W asked, crossing her legs as she watched him.
Viego took the iron spoon out of his mouth. "Doesn't seem like it."
As expected, he couldn't taste a thing.
Observing closely, the skin on his hands also seemed to have become grayer than when he woke up in the room, closer to the color of a dead man… Back then, although his skin was pale, it was still within the range of a normal person. But now, his skin had turned a deathly, ashen white.
Is this the consequence of losing the source of the Ruination's power…
Viego frowned. The Ruined King, Viego, was able to survive for thousands of years by relying on the power of the Ruination and the seal. And now, he was Viego. With the Ruination now unsustainable, this already ruined body would naturally begin to collapse.
—If he couldn't collect the fragments, he would die in a matter of days.
At this moment, Viego clearly recognized this fact. His gaze fell on W beside him, who returned his look with a questioning one.
The good news was, there was a walking fragment right beside Viego.
The bad news was, he didn't know how to get the fragment out of W's body. He wasn't the real Viego, after all. The Ruined King's memories had significant gaps due to the long seal, leaving the current Viego unable to just take the fragment as he pleased.
Perhaps the original Ruined King, Viego, no longer cared about anything else, and the only obsession he had left was just—to save Isolde.
Unfortunately, he did save Isolde, only to be met with uncomprehending blame and betrayal.
Isolde, what a hateful, bad woman!
Viego reined in his scattered thoughts, moved his gaze away from W, and said nothing. He wasn't a real f*cking idiot; of course he could sense W's wariness towards him beneath their playful banter. Viego thought of the mercenaries' guarded gazes and felt that perhaps everyone here was like this; it seemed very difficult for anyone to truly trust another completely.
Therefore, Viego would not make a rash request, even though he might turn to dust and return to the earth in the next second.
The nonsensical words and strange, numerous questions during their journey were just a way for an ordinary visitor from another world to hide his own nervousness and unease. W did not fully trust Viego, and Viego did not fully trust W either.
His long life as a corporate slave had taught Viego one truth: no one will tolerate you for no reason, and no one will be good to you for no reason. Not to mention, he was now in a place like Kazdel, which seemed full of chaos, where no one trusted anyone.
Viego noticed that W seemed to have a very high tolerance for him.
—But she clearly didn't give off the impression of being a good-tempered person.
So, why?
Putting the question aside for now, Viego's current primary objective was still to figure out just how to get the fragment out of W's body. But he couldn't make an attempt because he and W hadn't truly built a bridge of trust yet.
So, he could only wait.
Nothing else happened for the rest of the time. The campfire died out, and most of the mercenaries returned to their tents to rest, leaving only the sentries for the night watch. The camp fell into silence. Viego lay on the ground inside the tent, a waterproof cloth underneath him serving as a mattress, with W's cot beside him.
The night was deep, but Viego couldn't fall asleep; he didn't even feel the slightest bit drowsy. The tent wasn't soundproof. He could hear the sounds of wild animals approaching and then moving away, the chirping of insects.
—And suddenly, the creaking sound of a shaking iron frame.
A realization dawned on Viego. So what W said when she cursed that mercenary was true; no wonder he didn't get angry or talk back.
But Viego still felt that something was not quite right. If he had to say what was wrong, it was the rhythm. A normal person would be creak-creak-creak, but this person was creak—creak-creak! It didn't sound like a shaking bed, but more like a fierce struggle with someone.
Viego sat up. Before he could wake W, he felt a hard object pressed against his throat.
"What is it?" In the pitch-black tent, W's deliberately lowered voice sounded somewhat cold.
Viego spoke in a low voice. "I feel like something's not right."
"Oh...?" W made an unreadable sound in the darkness. "What's not right?"
She didn't threaten him by saying something like "I'll kill you if you can't tell me," but Viego felt instinctively that W in this state was the W who truly had killing intent towards him.
As the saying goes, a dog that bites doesn't bark.
…Could it be the same for a killing cockroach?