The Silent Pact of a Wolf Babysitter
Chapter 76: …She’s a Masochist

Chapter 76: ...She’s a Masochist

Jobina’s knuckles came screaming toward my chest.

I caught it, yanked her forward, and slammed my elbow into her face with enough force to hear an actual harmony of cracks. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

It was like music to my ears, seriously.

She staggered back, clutching her face.

Sheesh. That one’s gotta sting.

Kufu... kufufu.... Kufufufu!! (A refined fusion of Ruben’s evil laughs.)

This was the first time I’d ever seen a god-man bleed...

Or rather, I’ve never seen a god-man before, but still.

I’d heard—Platform told me—that god-men have tougher bodies than even dragons or high-ranking Principalities.

And that’s without any magical defense.

So the fact that I drew blood with just a casual elbow jab?

Yeah. I’m awesome...

...But it’d be one hell of a problem if she ran back to her father to testify against me.

I have a strong feeling his elbow jab would send me to the afterlife.

Let’s prioritize survival here.

(Platform, she’s holding her face and trembling weirdly. Is she okay?)

{M... Master... She’s...}

(What?! She’s what?! Talk to me!)

{She’s perfectly fine, Master. She’s a god-man, after all.}

(...)

I dunno... Maybe Platform secretly enjoys watching me suffer.

...But she panicked when Sarvest was upon me formerly, right?

...Then again, she did abandon me when I fought Levi.

What a strange little ability I have.

I’ll uncover all her secrets soon enough. For now, I only think quietly else you’ll read my thought. Scary.

Anyway, back to Jobina—

Apparently, she was trembling from delight.

From the hit I gave her.

"That... That felt soooooooo good," she murmured, a flustered blush warming her cheeks.

Ah.

I see.

...She’s a masochist.

*

JOBINA

Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve always wanted to be among the strongest.

My father—the head and founder of the Uz Clan—was my role model.

He was the strongest person I knew.

But as I pursued strength for myself, I left my peers behind.

One by one, they faded from my level.

I got...too strong.

And with that strength, came distance.

A thorny, invisible bridge grew between me and the other Uz kids.

But... who needed them, anyway?

On the path of elevation, you inevitably leave people behind.

It’s only natural.

Only Mother—Father’s first wife, among his many—would indulge me in duels and training.

The elites of the Uz clan? Wimps.

Soft warriors who feared death, as if death was the end.

Also, whenever Father returned—he drops by once a century to check on the clan—he’d play with me too. Spar a little. Praise my grip.

Even call me a hard worker.

Those were good times.

But still... It bothered me so.

Why couldn’t the others understand?

Why couldn’t they see the beauty—no, the wonder—in taking a fist to the nose, in eating dirt from exhaustion and fatigue, in tasting your own blood as it rings inside your skull?

The glorious crack of your bones bending where they shouldn’t. The honey-sweet sting of failure, followed by the euphoric high of victory?

We’re supposed to be warriors, aren’t we?

We were born for pain.

Pain is our friend, not something we run away from.

I once proclaimed this truth to the village.

But I was immediately branded a masochist, and something bordering on heretic.

Strange.

But it made me sad... Being looked at like that.

Parents began warning their kids to avoid me.

I was basically banned from the training grounds.

And every time I walked through the village square, the whispers grew louder—stacking untold lies and fear like stones on my back.

I began to wonder... maybe I shouldn’t have spoken so honestly about my feeling?

About how much I relished standing one inch from death’s jaws.

About how I’ve come to appreciate intimacy with pain.

Then... one day, I snapped.

In a burst of rage and frustration, I charged at all the Uz Clan village chiefs in their respective villages and snapped their necks.

(Don’t worry—they didn’t die. It takes more than that to kill an Uz elder.)

If they already thought I was a monster—then fine.

Then I’d be one.

One of my own making.

I became infamous across the villages of Uz.

I challenged every elite and left them writhing near-death—not out of cruelty, but hope.

Hope that maybe they’d taste the enlightenment of pain, and embrace it as warriors.

They only learned greater fear of me, as I preached the gospel of pain-pleasure to them mid-pound.

So left with no other way to feel any tangible pai—pardon me.

Left with no other way to get stronger, besides half-killing my Clan members, I turned to another path.

To something colossal.

I turned to the ancient sea monster—Leviathan.

The very horror whose songs are still sung in hushed tones,

The creature who nearly stopped my Father from reaching apotheosis.

Around 10,000 years ago, Father endured centuries of torment from the devils—including Leviathan.

When he neared godhood—on the verge of becoming the first mortal in eons to do so—Satanas himself stirred, bent on preventing it.

But it wasn’t Satanas who made the first move. No.

It was her—Leviathan—the enforcer. The abyssal terror. The devourer of champions.

I went to the coastal sea to rile her.

She ignored me at first.

So I did what any well-mannered warrior wouldn’t.

I laden her with strange insults.

Her shape. Her taste in aquatic nourishment.

And, most unforgivably—I sullied her waters with waste, occasionally.

Then, I got her attention.

And she responded.

She beat the living daylight out of me.

Pounded me into the sand until my soul nearly slipped free.

I truly thought I was going to die.

But somehow—I escaped.

I trained harder and harder, then returned a year later.

It made no real difference.

She simply showed me new layers of pain I had never known.

I kept learning new techniques, spells to reinforce my combat power, refining my martial arts and slightly more common sense... but the pain only continued.

She beat me every time.

Each year, she introduced me to new definitions of agony. The best.

Still, I had way more fun fighting my father’s enemy than I ever had with any member of my Clan.

I felt alive whenever I fought Leviathan.

I grew stronger.

Each rib cracked was another lesson mastered.

Every time I knocked on death’s door, I took notes.

But for many decades I tried to defeat that oversized seaweed, but I couldn’t even scratch her.

And unlike the cowardly elites of my Clan, Leviathan never feared me.

Never scorned me.

She merely broke me to pieces—and by doing so, forged me.

And now, about two hundred years have passed.

I’ve revised and (nearly) perfected my techniques.

So I went again to pay her my annual visit, but...

I didn’t find her in the sea.

Leviathan was missing.