"Anyway... don't stress about it. We don't get to choose how we die. That's just how this world works."
She didn't want to press him about the look on his face. Instead, she tried to cheer him up, speaking with the same repetitive rhythm she always used—just like last time.
"Still," she added with a grin, "your little murder attempt made a lot of people happy. That bastard governor's been torturing slaves for years. You almost took him out."
She gave him a small thumbs up.
"Too bad he lived. I would've loved to see his guts spill."
This conversation... it was the same as before. His mind was blank, but the repetitive nature of it still echoed in his now broken thoughts.
"So since we're all dying anyway… I'm Amal. Also a slave. Nice to meet you." Amal said big cheer
"...."
He didn't respond.
"Are you... that afraid of death? Are you that... scared?" Amal asked, her voice soft with concern. She wanted to understand the look on his face. She wanted to understand him.
But there was no response.
"Well, I wanted to ask your name. Since we slaves are pretty much the only ones who call each other by our names. No one else does. Not the guards. Not the commoners. We either go by our slave names, numbers, or just 'slave.'"
She paused, then added quickly, "But you don't have to say it if you don't want to. It's okay. I don't want to push you."
"I just wanted to shake hands with the hero who almost killed that bastard... haha!" she said with a big, cheerful smile and a tone that could lift anyone's spirits.
Still—
"..."
Blank. That was all his mind could offer.
He was still trying to process the trauma. Seeing that, Amal quietly stepped back. She returned to her spot, turned her back to him, and faced the wall, choosing to ignore the others just as he did.
Then suddenly, he felt it. An intense gaze.
The Witch.
Her eyes widened.
She stared at Zad with something beyond suspicion. Her face had gone pale. Her hands trembled.
Like someone staring at a walking corpse.
"This is... impossible," she muttered.
She stepped forward slowly, voice low and shaken.
"You. Zad, right? Explain to me, right here and now, why you reek of death. Now."
Before he could respond, she suddenly grabbed him by the arm and yanked him. She wanted an answer. Zad, still trembling from what he had just endured, assumed everything would unfold the same way again. He had died, and as before, he reeked of death. Someone would notice. Someone always did.
The mysterious figure turned its gaze toward them, watched for a few seconds, then returned to stillness without a word.
"Ahem," the Witch muttered softly, her voice shifting into something quieter, more controlled.
"So, do you think you understand now? That card... the Shaytan Card. It's still in your hands. Did anything change in it?"
"You're definitely a Hexant. I can see it. I can definitely see it."
"Wow... this is the best."
Her eyes lit up with excitement, like she had just discovered something rare. She looked at him the way a collector might look at a one-of-a-kind artifact. There was fear, yes, from the scent of death clinging to him, but that wasn't all.
Zad felt it immediately.
Greed.
Twisting beneath her smile. Stronger than last time. And all of it aimed at him.
"...Why are you ignoring me?" the Witch asked, her expression tense with frustration.
...
"Shut up." He replied simply.
He said it plainly. A single, sharp word. She flinched, caught off guard. For a moment, she stared at him in silence, then stepped back and left him alone.
"I just don't care. I don't care. Not one bit."
Zad had given up. The world around him moved exactly as it had before. Leon started begging. Saifan tried to reason with the guards. Najma stayed quiet, refusing to stand out. The mysterious figure remained still. The third prisoner cried for his wife and children. The second said nothing. And the clown... smiled.
But none of it felt real to Zad anymore. None of it felt like it belonged to him.
So... what could he possibly do now with a broken mind?