Menacingly

I reached the site of the skirmish to find it as gruesome as it had been just a few minutes before. Blood still pooled around the corpses scattered like discarded trash across the dungeon floor. The only change was the small figure rummaging through the mess.

The pallum girl froze like a deer caught in the headlights when she saw me approach. Her tiny hands tightened around the breastplate she had just pried off the dead human, her knuckles turning white. Her eyes were red, puffy from tears, and I could see the fight-or-flight response beginning to creep in.

She opened her mouth, probably trying to say something, but no sound came out. Years of training, of knowing when to shut up around adventurers, seemed to keep her silent. Her hand twitched but didn't move toward her hidden crossbow. Perhaps she knew it would lead to more bloodshed, or maybe she just wasn't sure she could reach it before I reacted.

"Carry on," I said flatly, not a hint of emotion in my voice. She tensed up even more at my words, but I didn't care. My eyes followed her every move as she slowly, almost reluctantly, forced herself to continue. She shoved the blood-stained armor into her oversized backpack, her movements mechanical and devoid of any grace.

Talking to her wasn't in my best interest, not when I was still so weak. But I couldn't ignore the fact that a so-called "stranger" had set me up in a kill-or-be-killed scenario. Showing any sign of weakness now would only invite more trouble if she got it into her numb skull that I was a tool she could use whenever she wanted.

There were other potential benefits too. If Liliruca brought more dregs my way in the future, I was decently sure I could gain something useful from them. It wasn't a factor I could just ignore.

So, I stood there, menacingly, letting her imagination run wild.

The fear in her eyes was almost palpable. Not the best diplomatic move, but sweet-talking her wouldn't have gotten me far. This wasn't the same thirsty bimbo she would become after meeting Bell. No, this was a self-serving street rat, her hands now bloodied, if they weren't already.

The seconds dragged into minutes. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she finished packing her bag.

She began to back away, her eyes never leaving mine. I was surprised to find a look of resolve in them. Where I expected to see fear, there was only cold steel. The straps of her bag dug into her shoulders, the weight pulling her down, but she stood tall, her posture tense like a coiled cobra. The meekness she showed while scavenging had vanished, replaced by a defiant glare.

She stared straight into my eyes as if daring me to make a move. I almost laughed.

'Heh, you're damn lucky the dwarf fought well,' I thought as the distance between us grew.

With one last wary glance, she turned and bolted, her short legs pumping furiously as she ran. I let her go, watching her vanish into the shadows of the dungeon.

But before she disappeared completely, I made sure my voice reached her, echoing through the stone corridors.

"Next time...tell me beforehand."

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Lili felt her nails digging deep into her palms, a sharp pain that barely registered as she ran. Blood pooled in her clenched fists, each step sending a fresh jolt of agony up her arms. But the pain felt distant, almost surreal, like it belonged to someone else.

She cast frantic glances behind her, her wide eyes darting through the dimly lit tunnels, half-expecting to see him—a shadow with eyes like knives, coming for her. Each time she looked, the shadows were empty, but it didn't stop her heart from racing or the bile from rising in her throat.

"Next time, next time, next time..." His words echoed in her mind, a haunting mantra that refused to leave. It made her stomach churn and twist, her legs wobble beneath her as if ready to buckle. But she forced herself forward, the instinct to survive overriding every scream of her exhausted body.

"I will survive, I will thrive, no matter what," she whispered between ragged breaths, her voice barely more than a strained gasp. Her throat burned from the effort, her lungs struggling to keep up with the frantic pace she set. Each inhale tasted of stale air and desperation. She pressed on, dragging her protesting body through the endless maze of the dungeon's caverns.

The sounds of her footsteps echoed off the damp stone walls, mingling with the distant growls and screeches of unseen creatures. She shot arrows blindly at any monster that dared wander too close, her aim unsteady but her desperation lending her strength. 

The caves seemed to close in around her, the oppressive darkness pressing against her from all sides. Her breath came in short, panicked bursts, her vision blurring at the edges. The smell of blood—hers and others—mixed with the damp, musty scent of the dungeon.

Her legs burned with every step, muscles screaming for rest, but rest was a luxury she couldn't afford. Not here. Not now.

She could feel her strength waning, the weight of her oversized backpack pulling her down with every step. But she kept moving, kept running, her eyes fixed on the faint sliver of light ahead—the exit. Freedom. Safety.

Her breaths came in ragged gasps as she finally burst from the dungeon's maw, the cool air hitting her face like a slap. She stumbled, nearly collapsing from the sudden change, but caught herself, shooting one last wary glance over her shoulder. Nothing followed. Not yet, at least.

"I will survive," she whispered again, more to herself than to anyone else. Her voice was raw, broken, but filled with a fierce determination.

"...no matter what..."