The Author Reincarnated As An Extra-Chapter 47: • River of Truth

Deremiah struggled against the vines, grunting as he moved his shoulders up and down, his muscles tensing in an attempt to himself pull free.

He was unsuccessful though as it became clearer that the vines only held firm, tightening with every attempt he made.

Frustrated, his name clenched and he let out a sharp exhale.

"The more you struggle, the tighter they become," Elora said, voice cold.

Deremiah exhaled again, frustrated but stilling himself. His eyes flicked to her, seeing that she was indeed not joking around. Her eyes showed anger and discomfort, perhaps in herself.

She must have berated her own intuition for not sniffing out his lies earlier.

She regarded him with a cold scan of his face before speaking. "Is Deremiah even your real name?"

"Yes," he answered impatiently. "Yes, it is."

She didn’t react immediately. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, still studying him. "Your surname?"

"Morcant," he answered without hesitation. "You’ve got this all wrong, Elora. I have not been lying to you."

"I’ll decide that," she silenced him.

Her expression remained silent and thoughtful. She narrowed her eyes, barely perceptible, but enough for Deremiah to notice. There was something in the way she looked at him — it was like she truly felt affected by the fact that he had been lying to her.

"This is crazy," Deremiah said, his voice edged with frustration. "Come on. Let me out of these things!"

Elora ignored him. fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

"How did you kill the NeonSquid?" she demanded.

"Ngh! Is that what this is about? I told you already," he snapped. "It was weak. You had already nearly destroyed it. I just finished it off."

She didn’t flinch. "That’s impossible."

Deremiah’s lips parted slightly, as if caught off guard by the certainty in her voice.

"A One-Marked participant could not kill a Gilded Paragon, no matter how sharp the sword," Elora continued. "And I remember clearly — the beast was weak, yes, but it was still standing firm. It was still slamming its tentacles down on me."

Her expression hardened. "I remember it was about to strike again. I remember the shadow looming over me... and then I remember it stopping. Abruptly. Right before I fainted."

She stepped closer, the tip of her blade almost touching Deremiah’s adam’s apple.

"I also remember something else."

Deremiah remained quiet, listening with tension.

"I remember a shadow behind me." Her eyes narrowed.

"That shadow was you, wasn’t it?" she asked, her voice now quieter, but no less forceful. "You covered that distance in seconds. You stopped that tentacle. How did you do that?"

Deremiah swallowed but didn’t answer.

Elora’s grip on her sword tightened. "I can see your Mark. Only one. And yet... your power doesn’t match it. I also have a hard time sensing your Soul Core. It’s like your energy is hidden — or too difficult for me to read." Her voice sharpened. "Who the hell are you, really?"

Deremiah sighed, his shoulders lowering slightly. He stared at her, then away, then back again.

"You are not a confused, scared child," Elora continued to press, her words gaining weight. "The way you learn so quickly. The way you suddenly appeared when I was fighting the Paragon the night we met." Her voice dropped lower. "Are you a spy from another Clan? Did you fake your number of Marks?"

She pressed the blade closer to his neck.

"Speak."

Deremiah flinched backwards and inhaled sharply, then he answered. His voice was soft like smoke, but heavy. "I’m a Voidmancer."

Elora’s breath caught.

"That’s why," he explained, trying to sound as careful as possible. "It’s because I’m a Voidmancer. I awakened with an alignment to the Void Path."

Elora hesitated. Her sword didn’t move, but her brows furrowed.

"That’s a lie," she said flatly.

Deremiah looked at her. He was quickly getting frustrated at how skeptical she was.

"You can’t be aligned to a Void Path with only a single Mark," she stated. "You’d need at least ten."

"That’s the issue," Deremiah said, his voice uneven. "I don’t know what happened to me. I don’t know why, but that’s the Path the Gates aligned me to." His breathing was heavier now. "And I’ve been struggling to survive it ever since."

Elora’s eyes remained unreadable, but her grip on the sword didn’t waver.

"If your Path is Void, then that contradicts your Threat Level," she said slowly. "Your Threat Level should be much higher than what a One-Marked would normally get." A flicker of thought crossed her mind. ’Although... that would explain why the Paragon was stronger than usual...’

Deremiah swallowed.

Elora continued. "If this is the case, your Soul Core is insufficient to hold Void energy. The Gates can’t make such a mistake."

Deremiah’s voice turned grim. "But I can increase my number of Marks and Soul Core’s retention capacity. I can do it... if I eat the liver of a Forsaken Paragon. Or kill a high-marked participant... and take their Marks."

Elora froze.

Her breath hitched. Her pupils shook.

Deremiah saw the realization settle in her eyes.

"I was going to kill you," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "Take your Marks. Increase my Soul Core in the process. That was my best chance of surviving this place."

He looked down, then back up. "So you see, I’m not lying. The Gates are messing with me. It’s like they ’chose’ me to suffer — or to be some sort of experiment." His voice hardened. "Giving me such low Marks with such a difficult Pathway." His tone turned resentful. "But I have to do what I must to survive."

He met her gaze directly. "That’s the truth."

Elora’s expression was flat, though her eyes were narrowed and there were muted quivering at the edges of her eye. How believable was this? A One-Marked Voidmancer? A walking contradiction?

Deremiah’s gaze flicked down to the blade at his throat.

She steadied it.

"Even if that’s true," she said, her voice low, "how can you expect me to let you go after confessing you planned to kill me?"

Deremiah shrugged. "Well, you’re alive, aren’t you?"

Elora didn’t move.

"I had the best opportunity to kill you back in the last Trial," he said, his voice calm but sharp. "And I didn’t. Not sure if I regret it yet. But I just couldn’t take your life after you helped me so much."

His gaze softened — just a little. "You’re a good person."

Her face remained steel. Her sword remained pointed at him.

Meanwhile, behind his back, Deremiah had managed to free his right palm.

The tension between them grew thicker, stretched like a bowstring at full draw. Wind howled, small waves moved, the boat creaked.

His eyes darted toward his sword which was a short distance away. Elora noticed. They both looked at the sword, then at each other.

Tighter. Tenser.

Then—

"Hey! Hey! Over here!"

Both their heads snapped toward the voice.

There was a girl, waving from another boat.

"There are people!" she called out. "Hey! Lady Dame with the sword!"

Elora narrowed her eyes, spotting the girl on another boat moving in the same direction as theirs.

Deremiah seized the moment. He instantly summoned the corrupted blade and it flew into his free hand. The blade sliced through the vines in that swift motion, and then he spun it around, severing all restraints and leaping to his feet.

Elora’s eyes snapped back to him, and she quickly dragged her sword into an attack.

Deremiah barely raised his blade in time, blocking her slice. She twisted, striking again. He blocked again.

Then, both of them lunged at the same time—

CLANG!

Their blades stopped at each other’s throats.

They stayed frozen.

Neither moved.

Their breaths were heavy. Their eyes locked.

The air between them simmered with tension.

Then, they heard a whistle.

"Whoo," the girl on the other boat said. "Oh my, why don’t you two just kiss already?"

Deremiah and Elora turned, slowly, giving her the same blank look.

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