NOVEL'S EXTRA: I Will Die at the Peak-Chapter 87: The Table of Time.

"Son... Do you have time? Could you spare a moment for me?"

The old man’s voice was cracked—dry, but with an almost imperceptible rhythm to it. Neither fully soft nor harsh, it echoed in a strange way, leaving an unsettling trail in the ear.

For a moment, Corc couldn’t grasp what he meant. He felt there was something beneath the question, something deeper—but he couldn’t understand what.

When he looked into the man’s eyes, he thought he saw a strange light swirling within them. Was it a circular motion? Or just a flicker?

He frowned, then blinked.

"Must’ve just been a trick of the eye..." he thought and shook his head slightly.

Trying to suppress the suspicion stirring inside him, he turned his attention back to the old man. His voice, as he spoke, was cautious and laced with hesitation:

"What do you mean? Do you need help? Do you want us to take you somewhere?"

The man didn’t respond right away. His eyes slowly roamed over Corc’s face, and then he answered with a faint smile that curved only at the corners of his lips. There was no warmth in that smile. His trembling mouth was paired with a foggy darkness that floated behind his expression.

He murmured in a deep, almost sorrowful tone:

"Sweet child... I like this one... I really do... ssaa..."

That chilling response sent a cold jolt down Lieno’s spine. His instincts flared, and goosebumps spread across his arms. Narrowing his eyes, he wasted no time. In one swift motion, he dismounted.

Without the slightest hesitation, he drew the long sword from his waist and pointed it straight at the old man.

The rest of the group hadn’t fully grasped what was happening. They hadn’t figured out the source of the tension, and their captain’s sudden reaction caught them off guard.

Corc, acting purely on reflex, pulled his own blade and raised it—intercepting Lieno’s strike midair. The clash of metal rang out with a violent echo that shook the air.

"Captain! What are you doing?! You were about to attack an unarmed man!"

he shouted, stunned and angry.

Lieno turned to the young soldier, unable to suppress his fury. His eyes practically burned:

"Fool! Step aside! Can’t you feel it?! There’s something wrong with him!"

By now, the rest of the soldiers were starting to grasp the severity of the moment. They dismounted quickly, positioning themselves around the area. Even the scouts by the rear cliffs had gone on alert.

Just as Lieno’s words cut through the air, the old man flinched for a moment—then burst into a low, disturbing laugh.

"Hahaha... Ahahahah! So you’re not just some common bandit group, huh? No, no... more like knights. Tell me, who are you working for? Ah, wait... don’t tell me—you were sent by TTAO to find me?"

A few in the group muttered to each other:

"What’s this guy talking about? Is he insane?"

Another grumbled while wiping his brow:

"Who knows... Maybe it’s the heat getting to him. He’s old. Might be hallucinating in this damn drought."

Lieno still had his blade pointed at Corc. Gritting his teeth, he growled:

"You still don’t get it?! Lower your sword, Corc. He already figured us out. Our mission is compromised. You’ll answer for this when we return."

After a brief moment of hesitation, Corc finally lowered his blade. Lieno took a deep breath to calm himself and slowly slid his sword back into its sheath.

He began walking toward the old man, his steps deliberate and heavy.

"Listen. This is your final warning. Step out of our way. Don’t interfere, old man."

---

The old man slowly lifted his head toward the sky. The horizon had faded into pale orange, and darkness was steadily falling. His eyes were fixed on the distance, as though some unseen scene was playing in his mind—a different stage, a separate theater.

"Oho... Ohoo..." he mumbled silently.

"Second encounter since my awakening... And this time, TTAO sends a bunch of greenhorns? Foolish ones, no less... Shame on them. But that one in front... Hehehe... I really like him."

A smile crept back onto his face. His lips trembled, and the corner of one eye twitched.

When Lieno saw that expression, he couldn’t stop the rising nausea in his chest. The presence of this man—it disturbed something deep in his soul, something he couldn’t name.

He stepped forward and shouted:

"Hey! Enough! Wipe that look off your face and get out of our way!"

The old man tilted his head to the side. Then, he slowly turned his eyes across the gathered soldiers. From shoulders to backs, he stared at each of them one by one. In silence—almost like he was counting in his mind.

"Forty men... I don’t have much time," he whispered so quietly it was barely audible.

And then—

Something changed in his eyes.

Golden rings began to appear within his pupils, layered upon one another in intricate motion. They resembled the inner workings of a clock—etched into the eyes themselves. At the same time, a sound echoed from all directions:

> Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The sound came not just from the air—not just from the ground. It came from the earth beneath their boots, from the sky overhead, from inside their heads. Everyone froze. Swords, once in motion, stopped in midair.

"What is that sound?!"

"You hear it too, right? It’s ticking... like a clock. But from where?"

"It’s echoing in my head... What the hell is going on?!"

Panic spread like wildfire.

The old man slowly raised both arms outward. His lips moved again:

"The Table of Time."

A tremor appeared in the sky. As if the clouds were parting. A circular radiance slowly formed and began to expand, emitting a thick, golden light.

At its center spun the shape of a massive clock—its dial rotating, the hands moving with heavy slowness.

Some tried to flee. Others raised their swords. Lieno drew his blade and leapt forward, but—

There was no time to react.

The ground shook. The earth loosened beneath their feet, grass quivered, though there was no wind. A translucent, wide wave descended from above.

The moment it touched the earth, it spread into a luminous veil covering everything.

All forty men were caught within its boundary.

There was no sound. No motion.

The horses had their hooves raised, but had not yet stepped down. Hands were frozen mid-swing. Eyes were wide open, faces locked in place.

Time had stopped.

And within this halted time, only one could move.

---

The old man inhaled deeply. He slowly spread his arms. The cracking of his joints tore through the silence—his shoulders shifted, his back arched.

"My second feast..." he said in a raspy tone.

As his eyes wandered across the frozen crowd, he examined each body one by one. His face bore a blend of joy and a soul-chilling curiosity.

"Which one should I start with?" he murmured.

Then he looked at Lieno. His voice lowered slightly:

"That boy who drew his sword... Those eyes were truly appetizing."

Lieno had been caught mid-lunge. His sword hung in the air, his body thrown forward. But now, he was completely still and defenseless.

The old man took a few steps, stopping in front of him. He bent down, bringing himself eye-level with the knight. He gazed long and hard into his face—studying the tension between his brows, the curl of his lips, the stillness in his pupils. Then he tilted his head and smiled.

Slowly, he extended his tongue. It was thick, gray, covered in cracks, and slick with mucus. As his saliva dripped toward Lieno’s cheek, the tongue slid across the skin—leaving behind a sticky, rough trail.

He brought his nose to Lieno’s neck and inhaled. With both hands, he loosened the collar of the knight’s armor. His fingers crawled across the bare skin, tracing the line of his throat. The muscles were tight. The skin was soft.

Suddenly, he lunged forward and sank his teeth in. The flesh stretched first—then tore. His jaws plunged deep into the muscle. As he chewed through the inner structure of the throat, his teeth reached the spine.

With a slight shift of the jaw, he clamped down. A sharp crack rang out—followed by another.

The spine snapped. The trachea, blood vessels, esophagus—all of it ruptured at once.

The head remained attached, but the neck was gone.

As the old man chewed, sinew mashed in his mouth, the meat sliding down his throat, mixed with saliva.

He leaned in again and clamped onto what remained of the throat. Tilting his head up, he tore through the last connections. The skin ripped open at the back, the final tissue gave way.

But the head still hadn’t fallen. The eyes were open. The expression remained intact.

With one hand, the old man nudged the skull aside. It slid slightly—but still hovered in place.

Then he turned to his next target.

Grabbing the leg, he pulled at the muscles around the spine, snapping the bone in half. The pelvic bone cracked. The kneecap popped out.

He crushed the bone and sucked out the marrow. As the thick, rich taste swirled in his mouth, his fingers ripped off the toes one by one.

He rolled another piece of flesh with his tongue, scraped off the tendon, and swallowed it whole. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

Each body was consumed in a different way.

Sometimes he tore out the heart.

Sometimes he removed organs one by one.

Every piece of flesh was chosen with care. Nothing was wasted. Every movement had a singular purpose: to violate the body.

And now, only one remained—Corc.