Isolde stared at the level-four Dual-Horned Rat Demon on the floor. Its hard scales and the stench of its guts made her stomach roll. She forced herself not to gag.
She looked up at Brennan, making her voice tremble. "Do you have a knife? I don't know where to start."
Brennan scoffed. He pulled a rusty iron dagger from his belt and dropped it at her feet with a clatter. Then he turned and walked out, slamming the door shut.
The moment he was gone, Isolde dropped the act. She picked up the dagger, her eyes turning sharp and focused.
She used her modern knowledge of anatomy. Instead of hacking at the tough scales, she found the soft gaps in the belly. With precise cuts, she avoided the foul-smelling glands and guts.
Even though she was weak, her technique was efficient. She managed to carve out the edible hind leg meat.
As for the rest-the bloody bones and offal-she quickly shoved them into her spatial inventory. It would make good fertilizer or bait later, and it kept the room clean.
Holding the slab of meat, Isolde stepped outside to find water to wash it. The freezing wind hit her like a wall. She shivered, looking around. The estate was large, but overgrown and ruined.
She walked along the eaves, avoiding the snow. Suddenly, her nose twitched. A smell cut through the cold air. It was thick, fresh blood, mixed with the scent of a dying beast.
Isolde frowned. She followed the scent to a half-collapsed woodshed at the corner of the estate.
The door was ajar. The wind howled through the cracks.
Gripping the rusty dagger tight, Isolde pushed the door open.
In the dim light filtering through the gaps in the roof, she saw a sight that made her scalp tingle.
A massive man was chained to the wall. His arms were stretched out, locked in heavy black-iron cuffs. He was shirtless. His body was a canvas of horror-whip lashes, knife cuts, and burns that went down to the bone. Fresh blood dripped from his ankles onto the snowy floor.
His head hung low, his silver-gray hair matted with dirt and blood. On top of his head, a pair of furry, blood-stained wolf ears lay flat against his skull.
Isolde's mind supplied the name: Humberto Brewer. The wolf beastman. As the name surfaced, a sickening wave of memories crashed into her-the crack of a barbed whip, the spray of his blood, her own cruel laughter. Her stomach violently lurched, bile rising in her throat as the sheer depravity of the original Isolde's actions washed over her. She swallowed hard, forcing down the overwhelming guilt that belonged to a monster she never was, focusing only on the desperate need to save him. The original Isolde's favorite punching bag.
Because he never bowed or begged, she had locked him in this shed and tortured him for half a month.
Isolde rushed over. She reached out and pressed her fingers to his neck. His skin was ice cold. His pulse was so faint it was barely there.
[Target life signs below 1%. Imminent death. ] The system flashed a red warning.
Isolde's heart skipped a beat. If Humberto died, her mission to win over the five beastmen would fail before it even started.
She dropped the meat and the dagger. Without hesitation, she pressed both hands flat against Humberto's cold, broad chest.
She didn't care that her own magic reserves were nearly empty. She forced every ounce of Life Magic she had left into his broken body.
A brilliant green light erupted from her palms, flooding into Humberto. The deep wounds on his chest began to knit together, the bleeding stopping as the flesh slowly regenerated.
Suddenly, heavy footsteps echoed outside the shed. Dangelo and Brennan had sensed the magical fluctuation. They threw the door open.
They stood frozen in the doorway, staring in shock at Isolde, who was glowing with the holy light of Life Magic, her hands pressed against their dying comrade. It was as if they were staring at the end of the world.
