The Author Reincarnated As An Extra-Chapter 44: • Way to Choose

"Fuck!"

Deremiah stood still for what was more than minutes, staring at Elora’s lying body. He had turned her the other way and now her face was up, her unconscious yet dainty face, and he was looking down at it.

On second thought, perhaps turning her around wasn’t the best of ideas. Now it felt like she was looking at him, and nothing made a person appear more human than their own face.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he swore out of frustration. He could do it. In fact, he wanted to do it. He wasn’t hesitating because he was scared to kill. Not anymore.

I mean, he’d just killed a NeonSquid and didn’t even throw up this time. So, just like the squid, she was just another character that didn’t matter. She wasn’t real.

So, killing her shouldn’t be difficult, especially now she was out and helpless. There was no moral argument as to why he shouldn’t. He was the only real person here.

Deremiah stepped back, still breathing hard. He raised his gaze from Elora’s body to the rest of the forest, wind whipping at his silver hair.

Ever since entering into his novel, he’d been struggling with this mindset that the characters were not actual, real people. Back in the forest, when they’d been slaughtered, he’d viewed them as actual people, seeing how realistically horribly they had died.

But then, in the Labyrinth of Mirrors, all of that had disappeared, and he fully accepted that all these people were below him. His products, his beings and creations. Why would he pity slaying them? ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com

He created them and he should be able to use them to extend his own survival. That seemed reasonable even though slightly villainous.

No one could argue that he didn’t have the right to do it.

But when it came to her.

Deremiah looked down at her face once again. His fingers clenched tighter around his hilt, his face squeezing as he lifted the blade, trying one more time.

But still he paused, and then lowered his sword. "Fuck!" He threw the blade away and sat on the muddy ground.

He needed to kill her, and yet he couldn’t. Why did she have to be so likeable? So moral and honorable?

He needed those Marks from here if he wanted to survive this place, and the only other way he could increase his Marks was kill a Forsaken-Ranked Paragon, and eat its liver.

Deremiah knew that there was no way he was killing a Forsaken Ranked Paragon. Even someone like Elora would not be able to do that.

Yet, all of this, all these reasons to kill her, and he still couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was almost certain that he could have done it if it had been anyone else, but unlike all the other extra characters he’d encountered so far, Elora had been the standout.

He swore once again and got on his feet.

Maybe for her, just for her, he would decide to look at her as a person, not a character he created. She’d treated him as such.

She wasn’t condescending and patronizing like Mist, and she wasn’t hateful like Alfis. Maybe he could find a way around this, work together, kill a Forsaken Paragon, and not have to kill her.

But the problem was; if he wasn’t going to kill her, then he had to make sure that no one else did. Elora was to stay alive until he ate that liver and increased his Marks, and also in case he changed his mind later on.

So not only was he sparing her life, he was defending it.

Deremiah sighed as he stood above her once again, watching her sleep. This was going to be his last act of benevolence in this place.

He was only doing it because it was her, and because he knew in the back of her mind that she would do the same for him.

The portal instantly appeared beside him, pulsing impatiently.

[This Corridor has been cleared and will self destruct in 60 seconds]

[Enter the Portal to continue to your next Trial]

’The next Trial,’ he thought, glancing at the portal. ’That’s the—’ His eyes widened. Now he truly had a reason to keep Elora Cassiel alive.

Deremiah took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his decision. His fingers flexed, hesitant, before he crouched down beside Elora.

Up close, she looked even more fragile — strands of dark hair clinging to the dampness on her forehead, the blood on her head now dried, and her breathing steady but faint.

Her body was limp, unmoving, her arms sprawled awkwardly from when he had turned her over.

He reached beneath her, sliding an arm under the curve of her back and the other beneath her knees. Her body was light but not weightless, and as he lifted her, she slumped against him.

The warmth of her skin pressed against his own, and for a moment, he stiffened. He stood like that for a while, staring at her face, feeling his heart beginning to pound inside his chest.

Realizing what was happening to him, Deremiah closed his eyes and turned his head in frustration, grunting. He couldn’t let that happen.

Adjusting his grip, he turned his head to where her sword had fallen. The obsidian blade of thorns was slightly dirtied from the fight but still sharp.

With careful movements, he bent down and grabbed it, tucking it beneath the belt at his waist. Then, he reached for his own weapon, wiping the mud off the blade before securing it back in its sheath.

The portal pulsed beside him, and the voice came again. [10 Seconds Until Corridor Self-destruct]

He shifted Elora’s weight in his arms, tightening his hold. Her head lolled slightly, her breath warm against his shoulder. Deremiah exhaled through his nose and hastened his pace forward.

This better be the right choice, he thought finally before crossing the threshold, the light swallowing them whole.

[Alert: As a One Mark participant, your Soul Core is insufficient...

’There’s that damned reminder.’

The source of this c𝐨ntent is fre𝒆w(e)bn(o)vel