Me, The Sovereign of the World? [Modern Evolution]

Zoe regarded the frenzied zealot with little interest.

Casually, she tossed the berry towards him.

The man's eyes brightened as he eagerly caught it, thinking he had made the right choice, that he might survive. But just as hope gleamed in his eyes, a dagger left Zoe's other hand, slicing through the air.

Her impressive coordination, now even sharper, turned the thrown dagger into a deadly missile.

It embedded itself into the man's throat with chilling precision.

Like a hot knife through butter, it encountered no resistance.

Zoe had infused a trace of her killing intent into the dagger's blade.

Unlike her quick, efficient handling of the others, she allowed herself a touch of theatrics for the ringleader.

The man, whose throat was pierced, didn't die immediately. Instead, he endured the agony of the wound, suffocation, and the relentless torture of her killing intent.

In that moment.

His body twisted in pain.

His fingers curled tightly, his nails digging into the flesh of his palms.

Veins stood out across his entire body, his skin flushed crimson, and blood gushed from the wound in his throat.

He curled his legs up to his chest, though his toes were stretched out rigidly, trying to press downwards with all his might.

He wanted to scream in pain, but with a dagger lodged in his throat, all that came out were ragged hisses, barely a complete sound.

The woman beside him, once so aloof and fearless, watched the agonized zealot and shrank away in terror.

She had lost all her former arrogance and aloofness, now trembling, moving backwards inch by inch.

She hugged her knees, burying her head between them.

She dared not peek at the world around her.

But some things cannot be solved by mere evasion.

Zoe's footsteps approached.

Although the woman had her head lowered, she could still see Zoe's shoes through the gap between her knees, now directly before her.

Those shoes were battered, as though they'd endured countless times of heavy trampling and abrasion.

A bit of delicate skin peeked through, muddied and worn.

Staring at those feet.

A sudden, bold idea rose unbidden in her mind.

She tensed up, mustered all her strength, and lunged towards Zoe’s feet without hesitation.

Her tongue extended from her open mouth.

It was clear—she intended to debase herself for a chance to live, willing to worship at Zoe's feet.

Zoe, who had just been about to say something, was startled by the sudden move, stepping back with a grimace before giving the woman a light kick, sending her sprawling.

It was a gentle kick, indeed.

But enough to leave her writhing in pain, unable to get up for some time.

“Who was it that ordered the arson...”

“No matter, I can't be bothered to ask. You’re not worthy of an answer, either.”

Zoe paused, as if to speak to the last remaining survivor, but after a fleeting moment of hesitation, chose to stay silent.

These questions were meaningless now.

Whoever had started it made no difference; they all deserved death.

Zoe moved towards the woman she had just kicked, preparing to end things.

Just then, the struggling zealot finally succumbed, breathing his last.

Zoe paid it no mind.

But the woman on the ground shuddered violently, her whole body trembling in terror.

Enduring her pain, she forced herself to her knees.

Driven by sheer will to survive.

She began stripping off her clothing without a moment’s hesitation, crawling on all fours like a small dog towards Zoe, extending her tongue.

Her intentions were plain for all to see.

Zoe looked at the woman who had wet herself in fear, her clothing slipping from her body, and found not a hint of interest.

Besides the fact that she was a woman and currently held no interest in such matters…

Just the thought of this woman previously engaging in debauchery in the cave, and the fact she had been part of a plot to kill her, snuffed any inclination.

Zoe's sense of cleanliness, along with her rationality, left her utterly uninterested.

Seeing the woman desperately trying to please her, Zoe spoke with indifference, “Alright, just go. I don't kill fellow women.”

The woman's actions froze.

A moment later, her face lit up with joy, and she crawled and scrambled to her feet, rushing for the exit.

Initially, she moved slowly, hindered by her injuries. But seeing the hope of escape grow closer, she pushed through the pain, forcing herself to stand and break into a run.

Behind her came the screech of something cutting through the air.

She refused to turn back, cared not for what it was, nor dared consider what it might be.

All she desired was escape.

Even though the storm outside the cave had begun to pour down in sheets, she rushed towards it without hesitation.

The rain-soaked entrance to the cave was just ahead, and beyond it lay the hope of survival.

That distance.

So close that she could feel the splashes of rain already cooling her face, bringing with them a refreshing chill.

Escape! She had to escape!

Once free, she would alert the authorities—then there would be nothing to fear!

The woman’s heart roared with hope.

But just as she was one step away, a fierce whooshing filled the air.

In that instant.

The running woman felt her body become inexplicably light, as if she had no body at all.

The world spun uncontrollably around her.

She tried to steady herself, but found she could no longer feel her body.

She didn’t understand why.

Not until, amidst the spinning world, she saw a familiar headless body still standing there—her own.

'Ah…'

'That’s my body?'

'So, I’ve lost my head…'

'Didn’t she say… she wouldn’t kill her fellow women?'

She pondered these thoughts as her consciousness faded away.

As her head hit the ground, bouncing and rolling a few times, her now-headless body collapsed forward.

Zoe retracted her hand from her throwing stance.

Looking at the headless woman, decapitated by a hand-crafted stone discus, her heart was unperturbed.

Feeling the confusion that must have occupied the woman’s final moments, Zoe glanced at the corpse of the zealot, curled up in death.

For cult leaders, they were surprisingly naive.

One took her offer to choose seriously.

Another took her offer to run seriously.

Clearly, their fear of death had overridden the cunning they had once used to deceive others.

The emotions they displayed in the face of death.

Zoe felt she now had a deeper understanding of her ability to perceive emotions.

She had only experimented with animals before; this was her first time feeling it so profoundly with humans.

Indeed, between life and death, there is great fear.

But Zoe felt that she herself would probably never get that kind of fear.

It proved one thing.

Killing brought no emotional turmoil.

Throughout the entire process of wiping the dirt off her legs, she was as calm as could be.

Completely unlike the panicked and disgusted protagonists often found in movies and books, experiencing their first kill.

The feeling she had throughout this process was akin to squashing an ant in her childhood.

It seemed that her current mindset had already ascended to a high plane, instinctively treating these people as insignificant… insects?

Reflecting upon this.

Zoe stood silently, watching the steady rain falling outside the cave.