When the Crazy Heroines are obsessed with a Mob Character

QD

"So I help you cripple a god, and in return, yoDu help me break my curse?" Sheila asked, stepping carefully onto a massive tree branch beside Eliot. Below them, a large group of people were visibly arguing, their voices carrying the tension of their predicament.

"Not kill, actually, cripple," Eliot corrected, his eyes fixed on the chaotic scene.

"Cripple?"

"Yes. Cripple." Eliot moved quickly and efficiently, jumping to the next branch. Within moments, he was close enough to discern the subjects of the arguments, though any closer and he risked being spotted. He didn't fear being seen unless it was by someone specifically powerful who desired his death.

"Do you realize what you're asking me to do?" Sheila glanced at him, her expression a mix of curiosity and weary cynicism.

"I do. I understand capturing her alive would be far more difficult than simply having them kill her," he responded, his voice low.

"Oh, it would be far, far more difficult. Those arrogant pricks—heroes and nobles alike—would rather die than endure any form of disgrace, especially from creatures they consider 'lowly'," Sheila explained, her lips thinning into a dark expression.

"You seem to harbor a lot of resentment," he noted, his gaze returning to the group below.

"Oh, you don't say," she replied, the sarcasm dry and immediate.

Below, the frustration was boiling over.

"It's obvious half of us have to die before this whole thing ends! I'm so sick and tired of this place!" shouted one man in heavy armor.

"This is just ridiculous! What sort of sadistic, psychopathic loser created this hellhole?!" cried a woman in noble attire.

Eliot squinted, picking up on the chaos. Everyone was restless and frustrated about their situation, trapped in this mystic world for an indeterminate length of time. He could see hunters, guardians, and a lot of nobles, judging by their costly clothing. At this point, the hierarchy had completely dissolved. All everyone wanted was to escape this damned place alive—rich or poor, commoner or noble, they shared the same objective.

The passage of time was their biggest uncertainty. While it seemed as though only a short while had passed within this world, mystic worlds were unpredictable. Some could operate on a slower temporal rate—up to one year inside equaling a single day outside—while others were far faster, where one hour inside equaled a year outside. This uncertainty brought a mountain of problems, as people in the outside world may already have deemed them dead.

This was also a significant problem for Eliot. He was supposed to attend the Festival of Light, a crucial step in his plan to ruin Jason before the Trinity Nevas. Now, that entire plan hung in the balance. His original confidence banked on the fact that Nora had gone in and made it out in time before her brother headed back to the academy for his final year. He had estimated at least a week before the festival.

However, at this point, he couldn't afford to care about his old plan. His mind was racing, trying to find a new direction. To say he wasn't confused on the next step would be the biggest lie he had ever told. Previously, he had been confidently linear, knowing exactly what steps to take, even those far into the future. But after realizing all those steps were likely part of someone else's meticulous plan, he didn't know what to do anymore.

Enslaving his targets had seemed like the best solution to all his future dilemmas. But with Sheila's explanation, it now felt like poisoned honey: the more he consumed, the more he would be used until he was finally deposited exactly where the entity pulling the strings wanted him to be.

If he wanted to uncover the truth—what the system was, if the claims of the 'other him' were true, why he was reincarnated with his memories, and what he actually was—he would have to deviate entirely from the expected path. He had to find a way to outsmart even the entities he was not yet aware of, those who were certainly aware of him.

This was why he had devised his new idea an hour ago.

Instead of wasting pieces of his soul to enslave every single heroine in the world, he was going to target only the most powerful individuals—not just heroines, but villains as well: key characters who would eventually become overwhelmingly powerful in the future. They would be the pawns that would help him survive and fight back. He wasn't sure how many he could enslave before his strength was critically weakened, so he was going to risk it on ten: ten high-tier pawns that would form his legion.

Their ultimate target? To join forces with Sheila when the time came and cripple the Goddess enough for Eliot to finally enslave her.

Why was he still set on enslaving her? The truth was, this time, it wasn't solely about revenge, though that was still a major factor. Sheila's explanation had broadened his horizon, and he realized he could actually escape this world, thereby escaping the influence of whatever deity had gifted him the slaving bloodline. If what she said was true, that jurisdictions existed, then the Goddess's power and influence were limited to this world. Escaping this world equaled: Checkmate.

This was the plan he had settled on. It sounded ambitious, perhaps a bit far-fetched, but ist was the best, most disruptive strategy he could conceive.

It was either play into the hands of this controlling force, or fight it. And he was going to fight it.

He was done being a pawn. He had had enough. First, his initial life where he had been betrayed and used, and now this world where the same thing was happening, and he was once again on the verge of being discarded. He would sooner orchestrate his own death than be used a third time.

"Can you blend in?" he asked, turning to Sheila. Her face, even at a mere glance, possessed a charm that few could ignore. Not even Eliot, with his claimed dampened emotions, could claim to be immune to its quality.

"...You just had to ask," she replied, a faint, annoyed smile touching her lips. She then manifested that translucent, shimmering fabric from her dimension ring and slipped it on, instantly cloaking her features and form in shadow.D

"So I help you cripple a god, and in return, yoDu help me break my curse?" Sheila asked, stepping carefully onto a massive tree branch beside Eliot. Below them, a large group of people were visibly arguing, their voices carrying the tension of their predicament.

"Not kill, actually, cripple," Eliot corrected, his eyes fixed on the chaotic scene.

"Cripple?"

"Yes. Cripple." Eliot moved quickly and efficiently, jumping to the next branch. Within moments, he was close enough to discern the subjects of the arguments, though any closer and he risked being spotted. He didn't fear being seen unless it was by someone specifically powerful who desired his death.

"Do you realize what you're asking me to do?" Sheila glanced at him, her expression a mix of curiosity and weary cynicism.

"I do. I understand capturing her alive would be far more difficult than simply having them kill her," he responded, his voice low.

"Oh, it would be far, far more difficult. Those arrogant pricks—heroes and nobles alike—would rather die than endure any form of disgrace, especially from creatures they consider 'lowly'," Sheila explained, her lips thinning into a dark expression.

"You seem to harbor a lot of resentment," he noted, his gaze returning to the group below.

"Oh, you don't say," she replied, the sarcasm dry and immediate.

Below, the frustration was boiling over.

"It's obvious half of us have to die before this whole thing ends! I'm so sick and tired of this place!" shouted one man in heavy armor.

"This is just ridiculous! What sort of sadistic, psychopathic loser created this hellhole?!" cried a woman in noble attire.

Eliot squinted, picking up on the chaos. Everyone was restless and frustrated about their situation, trapped in this mystic world for an indeterminate length of time. He could see hunters, guardians, and a lot of nobles, judging by their costly clothing. At this point, the hierarchy had completely dissolved. All everyone wanted was to escape this damned place alive—rich or poor, commoner or noble, they shared the same objective.

The passage of time was their biggest uncertainty. While it seemed as though only a short while had passed within this world, mystic worlds were unpredictable. Some could operate on a slower temporal rate—up to one year inside equaling a single day outside—while others were far faster, where one hour inside equaled a year outside. This uncertainty brought a mountain of problems, as people in the outside world may already have deemed them dead.

This was also a significant problem for Eliot. He was supposed to attend the Festival of Light, a crucial step in his plan to ruin Jason before the Trinity Nevas. Now, that entire plan hung in the balance. His original confidence banked on the fact that Nora had gone in and made it out in time before her brother headed back to the academy for his final year. He had estimated at least a week before the festival.

However, at this point, he couldn't afford to care about his old plan. His mind was racing, trying to find a new direction. To say he wasn't confused on the next step would be the biggest lie he had ever told. Previously, he had been confidently linear, knowing exactly what steps to take, even those far into the future. But after realizing all those steps were likely part of someone else's meticulous plan, he didn't know what to do anymore.

Enslaving his targets had seemed like the best solution to all his future dilemmas. But with Sheila's explanation, it now felt like poisoned honey: the more he consumed, the more he would be used until he was finally deposited exactly where the entity pulling the strings wanted him to be.

If he wanted to uncover the truth—what the system was, if the claims of the 'other him' were true, why he was reincarnated with his memories, and what he actually was—he would have to deviate entirely from the expected path. He had to find a way to outsmart even the entities he was not yet aware of, those who were certainly aware of him.

This was why he had devised his new idea an hour ago.

Instead of wasting pieces of his soul to enslave every single heroine in the world, he was going to target only the most powerful individuals—not just heroines, but villains as well: key characters who would eventually become overwhelmingly powerful in the future. They would be the pawns that would help him survive and fight back. He wasn't sure how many he could enslave before his strength was critically weakened, so he was going to risk it on ten: ten high-tier pawns that would form his legion.

Their ultimate target? To join forces with Sheila when the time came and cripple the Goddess enough for Eliot to finally enslave her.

Why was he still set on enslaving her? The truth was, this time, it wasn't solely about revenge, though that was still a major factor. Sheila's explanation had broadened his horizon, and he realized he could actually escape this world, thereby escaping the influence of whatever deity had gifted him the slaving bloodline. If what she said was true, that jurisdictions existed, then the Goddess's power and influence were limited to this world. Escaping this world equaled: Checkmate.

This was the plan he had settled on. It sounded ambitious, perhaps a bit far-fetched, but ist was the best, most disruptive strategy he could conceive.

It was either play into the hands of this controlling force, or fight it. And he was going to fight it.

He was done being a pawn. He had had enough. First, his initial life where he had been betrayed and used, and now this world where the same thing was happening, and he was once again on the verge of being discarded. He would sooner orchestrate his own death than be used a third time.

"Can you blend in?" he asked, turning to Sheila. Her face, even at a mere glance, possessed a charm that few could ignore. Not even Eliot, with his claimed dampened emotions, could claim to be immune to its quality.

"...You just had to ask," she replied, a faint, annoyed smile touching her lips. She then manifested that translucent, shimmering fabric from her dimension ring and slipped it on, instantly cloaking her features and form in shadow.

"Let's go," Eliot confirmed, his eyes now hard with renewed focus. He was no longer reacting; he was taking the offensive.sd

"Let's go," Eliot confirmed, his eyes now hard with renewed focus. He was no longer reacting; he was taking the offensive.sd