I Don't Need To Log Out-Chapter 303: Running Away

And Vlora knew why.

But before we get there—

We need to go back.

Back to when the last town had first been attacked. Before Arlon came. Before the Gamers entered the pit.

Back to when Vlora wasn't running.

He had been standing at the edge of the same town, arms folded behind his back, tail swaying lazily like a banner in the wind.

And beside him stood someone else.

Not a Demon. Not a Keldar.

He looked human—tall, unnaturally so, with limbs that seemed just a touch too long and a posture too composed.

He wore a dark suit, spotless, with silver-threaded cuffs and a face that gave nothing away.

The only thing that betrayed his nature was his presence.

It weighed on the air like gravity—cold, slow, and immense.

Vlora grinned at him, tilting his head toward the city below, where Trionian soldiers were scrambling to prepare their defenses.

"How many minutes do you think before we clear all of them?" Vlora asked.

The long man didn't even look up.

"If I go," he said simply, "one minute."

Vlora barked a laugh. "One minute? You? You really think you can kill all of them in one minute?"

The long man nodded once.

"There are over a hundred soldiers down there," Vlora said, smirking. "Some of them even strong. Even for you, that's not possible."

The long man didn't reply.

That was all Vlora needed.

"Alright, fine," Vlora said, eyes gleaming. "Let's make it interesting. If you do it in under a minute, I'll owe you a favor. If not—"

The long man finally turned to look at him. "If not, I'll owe you one."

Vlora's grin widened. "No backing out."

"I don't back out."

And with that, the long man vanished in a flicker of space.

Vlora didn't follow.

He didn't need to follow. He just waited, eyes fixed on the burning city below, listening.

The screams began thirty seconds in.

Forty-five seconds later, the sounds became less and less.

And then, the long man returned.

His face was unreadable—but something in his eyes had changed.

"I lost," he said quietly.

Vlora blinked. "Wait, seriously? You actually needed more than a minute?"

The long man nodded.

"I didn't expect one of them to... jump in the way. Took the full force of my first attack. Gave the others time to scatter. It didn't change the outcome, but..." He looked down, almost contemplative. "He knew it wouldn't save them. And he did it anyway."

Vlora was stunned into silence for a moment.

He had actually completed the challenge in a few seconds more than a minute.

So, if he told Vlora that it took exactly one minute, Vlora would accept it as truth.

Then he laughed.

Not mockingly—but in something close to awe.

"That's... insane," he said. "Not even Syme could do that in a minute. And she was strong."

The long man didn't respond.

Vlora didn't ask for his favor right away. He could've. But he waited. And then, the command came.

A warning.

From Lord Asef himself.

Run.

Leave the city immediately.

Vlora frowned when he heard it. Not because he feared the warning—but because of the question that immediately formed in his mind.

Why doesn't Lord Asef come himself?

He had always come if he thought Vlora could be in danger.

Back when he was on his way to visit the twins, Asef came himself to warn him that the twins were dead, for example.

But not this time.

He didn't dare voice it, though. Lord Asef wasn't an errand boy, he was their lord. He had only done what he did for his own purposes.

Instead, he turned to the long man.

"I need to leave. Fast. Carriage fast."

The long man's eyes narrowed, but he didn't refuse.

Not outright.

He exhaled once. His form shimmered—and then it shifted.

Wood, sinew, and magic twisted together as his body contorted into a shape resembling a massive, living carriage.

It hovered slightly above the ground, its wheels forming beneath him in spiraling runes.

"This is a disgrace," he said, his voice echoing from inside the frame. "I will take you. But that is all. If you're in danger—I won't fight."

Vlora swallowed.

He understood what it meant.

He had disrespected a being who could end cities in a minute.

But his life was more important.

And so, without another word, he climbed in.

That was how he escaped.

But that was then.

Now, he was running on foot.

No more carriage.

No more protection.

When the tide had turned in the pit—when the Gamers hadn't died like he expected—Vlora ran again.

He had left before they cleared the final wave. He knew his Keldars had failed.

And while he was powerful—especially without his beasts—he wasn't powerful enough.

Not to fight seven people at once. Not when they had trained like this. Fought like this.

Since the man had kept his promise, he wouldn't help Vlora once again. Especially after what he did.

So he ran.

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He exited the hidden tunnel at the far edge of the pit, bolted across the rocky plain, and vanished into the trees.

The forest was dense. Old. Twisting in ways that made navigation harder. But he knew the terrain. He had planned to lose anyone that followed him in here.

But he heard them.

The footsteps.

The crunch of leaves.

The faint voices were not far behind.

He was being caught up to.

His breath came faster now, and not just from exertion.

He'd run twice in one day.

And this time, there was no one left to carry him.