Chapter 3 Preview - How I Became The World's Strongest Warrior Book 2!

"What do you mean, 'gone'?" I asked, staring at Witch's tear-streaked face.

The inn had fallen silent, everyone watching our exchange with that uncomfortable mix of curiosity and awkwardness people get when witnessing someone else's tragedy. Mayra was already moving toward Witch, concern written all over her face.

Witch stumbled forward and collapsed into the chair across from me. Her hands were shaking. "Gone. As in forever gone. Dead. No respawn." Her voice cracked on the last word.

I frowned, trying to process this information. It didn't make sense. "That isn't how death works here. If Dartanion died, he should respawn with the standard three-level penalty and loss of a skill."

"You think I don’t know that?" Witch snapped, fresh tears welling in her eyes. "You think I haven't been praying to every god I can think of that you're right?"

Mayra appeared with a steaming mug that smelled of herbs and honey. "Here, drink this," she said softly, placing it in front of Witch. "It’ll help calm you."

Witch grabbed the mug and gulped down half its contents, seemingly indifferent to the heat. "I saw it happen," she whispered. "I watched him... disintegrate. Just gone. Like he'd never existed."

Something cold settled in my stomach. This wasn’t right. Death in this world was an inconvenience, not an ending. You lost progress, suffered penalties, but you came back. Always.

"You're not making sense," I said, keeping my voice even. "Start from the beginning."

Mayra shot me a look that probably meant I was being insensitive, but I ignored it. Facts were more important than feelings right now.

"Maybe we should take this somewhere private," she suggested, glancing around at the audience we'd gathered.

"No," I said firmly. "We need answers now."

I pulled out my communication crystal, the one linked to Dartanion, Witch, Peter, and Mayra. I focused on Dartanion's connection and activated it, expecting to at least get some kind of response.

Instead, an error message flashed across my vision:

[Error: Connection Failed]

[Target Not Found ]

I looked up from the crystal, my frown deepening. "The system can't find him."

Witch made a strangled noise, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "That's what I've been telling you!"

"Someone explain," I demanded, looking around the room. "Now."

Martin, the innkeeper, stepped forward, wiping his hands on his apron. "It's rare," he said quietly, "but it happens. Most times, yes, death is just a setback. You respawn, you keep going. But sometimes..."

"Sometimes what?" I pressed.

"Sometimes you don’t," Martin finished simply. "If you're transformed into something else, like a zombie or turned to stone, you stay that way until someone fixes you."

I thought about the zombies I'd encountered in the graveyard during my grinding sessions. "Those zombies were people?"

Martin nodded. "Once. Killing them actually helps. It resets them and sends them back into the respawn process. They won't remember being zombies, but at least they're themselves again."

That made logical sense. The system had parameters, exceptions, and special conditions.

I turned back to Witch. "What exactly happened to Dartanion?"

She fumbled with a pouch at her belt, finally extracting a small cloth bag. Her hands trembled as she placed it on the table and loosened the drawstring. She upended the bag, and a small pile of glittering dust spilled out.

"This is all that's left," she whispered. "He was... disintegrated. Completely."

I stared at the dust. It sparkled faintly in the inn's lamplight, almost like the remains of the Star Slimes I'd been hunting, but with an earthy tone unique to Dartanion's elemental affinity.

"That still doesn't explain why he wouldn't respawn," I said, trying to make sense of it. “Destruction of the physical form shouldn't matter to the system."

"Normally, it doesn't," Martin agreed, leaning against a nearby table. "But there are... exceptions. Certain kinds of death that the system treats differently."

"Like what?" I demanded.

Martin exchanged glances with several older patrons, who nodded gravely. "Soul destruction. Void imprisonment. Pattern disruption. Fundamental erasure." He listed them like items on a menu. "There are probably more, but those are the ones we've seen."

"And which one happened to Dartanion?" I asked, looking back at Witch.

She shook her head miserably. "I don’t know the technical term. Just that when it hit him, there was this... sound. Like reality tearing. Then he was gone, and this dust was all that remained."

I was getting frustrated with the lack of concrete information. I reached across the table and grabbed Witch by the shoulders, forcing her to look at me.

"Tell me exactly what happened," I said firmly. "From the beginning. Where were you? What were you doing? Why wasn't I there?"

The last question slipped out before I could stop it. I hadn't meant to vocalize that part.

Witch seemed to focus slightly, my directness cutting through her emotional haze. "We were gathering winterbloom in the Northern Frost Plains," she said, her voice steadying. "It’s a simple herb collection task, nothing dangerous. Level 10 area at most. I needed the frost essence for a project, and Dartanion wanted to test a new earth-shaping technique in permafrost conditions."

"Wait," Mayra interrupted, her face suddenly pale. "The Northern Frost Plains? Near the Glacier Rift?"

Witch nodded slowly.

"Oh no," Mayra whispered. "Did the Frost Harbinger appear?"

Witch's silence was answer enough.

"Frost Harbinger?" I repeated, looking between them. "What’s that?"

Mayra sank into a chair. "It's a world boss. It's an ultra-rare spawn. Some say it only appears once every fifty years."

"It's a winter elemental," Martin elaborated. "But not like the ones you fought in the mines. The Harbinger is ancient, powerful beyond measure. It takes an entire guild of high-level adventurers to even stand a chance against it."

"And you two went alone?" I asked Witch incredulously.

"We didn't know it would be there!" she protested. “It was supposed to be a simple gathering trip. In and out in a couple of hours!"

I let go of her shoulders, trying to process this new information. "So this Frost Harbinger killed Dartanion. And because of how it killed him, he can't respawn."

"He sacrificed himself," Witch said, her voice breaking again. "It was coming for me. I was gathering essence from a rare winterbloom cluster, not paying attention to my surroundings. Dartanion shouted a warning, and when I looked up..." She trailed off, eyes distant with the memory.

"What did you see?" I prompted.

"It was beautiful," she whispered. "Terrifying, but beautiful. Like a storm given form. It towered over the plain, at least forty feet tall, made of living ice and freezing mist. Its eyes... gods, its eyes were like looking into the void between stars."

I waited for her to continue, understanding now why my usually precise friend was being so frustratingly vague. She was in shock.

"It raised its hand," she continued after a moment. "Pointed at me. I felt the cold from a hundred yards away, like my blood was starting to freeze. And then Dartanion..." She swallowed hard. "He used earth-shaping to launch himself between us. Created this massive stone shield. But when the Harbinger's attack hit, it didn't just break the shield. It... unmade it. Unmade him."

"And you survived how?" I asked.

"The disintegration created a shockwave of power. It knocked me back, through a drift of snow and into a crevasse. I think the Harbinger assumed I'd been destroyed as well." She looked down at her hands. "By the time I climbed out, it was moving north, toward the Glacier Rift. All I found was this dust."

I sat back in my chair, the implications sinking in. Dartanion was really gone. Not temporarily, not waiting to respawn with reduced stats and a missing skill, but permanently removed from existence.

Something twisted in my chest. An uncomfortable sensation I wasn't familiar with.

"You should have waited for me," I said finally.

"What?" Witch looked up, confusion replacing grief for a moment.

"You should have waited. We could have gone as a full team. Proper preparation, adequate research on the area." The words came out harsher than I'd intended, but I couldn’t seem to stop them. "This was inefficient. An unnecessary risk."

Mayra made a small, surprised sound, but I ignored her.

"You think I don’t know that?" Witch hissed, her grief suddenly transforming into anger. "You think I wouldn't give anything to go back and do things differently? He was my friend too, Chuck!"

Friend. The word echoed strangely. I hadn't thought of Dartanion that way specifically, but I realized it was accurate. He was one of the few people I interacted with regularly, someone whose company I actually found tolerable, even occasionally beneficial.

And now he was gone.

I stood up abruptly, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I need to check something."

"Chuck, wait!" Mayra called after me, but I was already moving toward the stairs that led to my room.

Once inside, I pulled out my status menu and navigated to the Connections tab. The list was short. Just Witch, Peter, Mayra, and Dartanion. Except now, Dartanion's name was grayed out, with a small symbol next to it that I hadn't seen before.

I tapped the name, and a message appeared:

[Connection Status: Unavailable]

[Target Entity: Not Found]

[Note: Data Fragments Detected. Possible Reconstruction Available with Sufficient Resources.]

I stared at the message. Data fragments detected. Possible reconstruction.

It wasn't much, but it was something. A possibility. A project.

I closed the menu and headed back downstairs. The inn had grown quieter, with most patrons speaking in hushed tones or watching our table with poorly disguised interest. Witch was still sitting where I'd left her, staring blankly at the pile of dust. Mayra had an arm around her shoulders, murmuring something I couldn't hear.

I reclaimed my seat and waited until Witch looked up at me.

"The system says data fragments were detected," I told her. "Possible reconstruction with sufficient resources."

Hope flickered briefly in her eyes before dying. "What does that even mean? What resources? What data fragments?"

"I don’t know yet," I admitted. "But it's something."

"Its false hope is what it is," she said bitterly. "There was nothing left, Chuck. Nothing."

"Except that," I pointed to the pile of dust.

Witch fell silent, considering the dust with a new perspective.

"Even if there is a way," Mayra said cautiously, "it would be incredibly difficult. No one's ever successfully brought someone back from that kind of death. Not that I've heard of, anyway."

"No one’s ever had me working on the problem," I replied simply.

Martin cleared his throat. "There are... rumors. Ancient rituals, legendary artifacts. Things that might help with reconstruction. But they're just stories, as far as I know."

"Stories have origins," I said. "Information sources can be traced."

Witch looked at me, really looked at me for the first time since she’d burst into the inn. "You're serious," she said, sounding surprised. "You actually want to try."

I considered why this seemed to surprise her. Did she think I wouldn't care? That I would just accept Dartanion's permanent removal and continue grinding as usual?

The thought was... uncomfortable.

"He's part of our team," I said finally. "Losing him reduces our overall efficiency."

It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was the part I could articulate.

Witch made a sound that might have been a laugh if it hadn't been so brittle. "Always the pragmatist."

"What exactly did the system message say?" Mayra asked.

"Data fragments detected. Possible reconstruction available with sufficient resources," I repeated.

"Data fragments," Witch mused, some of her usual analytical nature reasserting itself. "That suggests parts of his... pattern? Essence? Whatever makes us us in this world... it wasn't completely destroyed."

"And those fragments might be contained in the dust," I added, nodding toward the pile on the table.

Mayra leaned forward. "So if you could find the right resources, the right method..."

"Potentially restore him," I finished. "At least partly."

Witch carefully gathered the dust back into its pouch, her hands steadier now. "I need to run some tests," she said, a hint of her normal determination returning. "If there are data fragments, I should be able to detect them. Quantify them."

"Good," I nodded. "And I need to research this Frost Harbinger. Understanding the nature of the destruction might help identify the restoration requirements."

"I'll ask around," Mayra offered. "Discreetly. See if anyone knows of similar cases or has heard anything about reconstruction methods."

The three of us exchanged glances, a silent agreement forming. This was a new project. A new grind, but with higher stakes than mere stat improvements.

"What about Peter?" Witch asked suddenly. "He should know too."

"He's working with NatTheCat on my sword upgrade," I said. "But we can send him a message."

"Wait," Martin interrupted. "Before you all go rushing off, there's something you should know about the Frost Harbinger."

We turned to look at him.

"It's not just powerful," the innkeeper said gravely. "It's intelligent. And it remembers those who escape it. If you’re planning to go after it, for revenge or research or whatever, know that it'll be ready for you. And it never makes the same mistake twice."

"We're not going after it," I said firmly. "Not until we understand it. Not until we're adequately prepared."

"Good." Martin nodded approvingly. "Because the last guild that tried without proper preparation? None of them came back. Not even to respawn."

The implications hung heavy in the air. Whatever we were dealing with wasn't just a difficult boss or a rare monster. It was something different, something that could permanently remove players from the game.

"I need to get back to my workshop," Witch said, standing up. Her grief hadn't disappeared, but it had been partially channeled into determination. "If these dust particles contain data fragments, I need to isolate and analyze them immediately."

"I need to visit the library," I added. "Research the Harbinger. Find any historical accounts of similar entities."

Mayra looked between us. "And I'll start asking questions, see what I can find out about reconstruction possibilities."

We all nodded, a team with a mission. It felt different from our previous collaborations. More urgent. More personal.

As Witch headed for the door, I called after her. "Wait."

She paused, looking back.

"Dartanion," I said, finding the words difficult for some reason. "He saved your life."

She nodded, fresh tears welling. "Yes. He did."

"Then it was worth it," I said simply. "To him, at least."

Witch stared at me for a long moment, then gave a small nod before stepping out into the night.

Mayra was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite identify. "That was... unexpected," she said softly.

"What was?" I asked.

"You," she said. "Caring."

I frowned slightly. "I always care about team efficiency."

“Is that really all this is to you?” She looked me in the eye. That was… uncomfortable. “Efficiency?"

I didn't answer immediately, unsure myself. Finally, I said, "I need to go. "

Mayra nodded, not pressing the issue. "I'll have food waiting when you get back. And Chuck?"

I paused.

"It's okay to just say you miss him," she said gently. “It's okay to admit he was your friend."

I left without responding, stepping out into the cool night air. The streets were quieter now, and most shops were closed for the evening. A few adventurers hurried past, likely heading to night-specific quests or hunting grounds.

As I walked toward the library, I realized I hadn't checked my status window or calculated optimal grinding paths once since Witch had burst in with her news. My mind hadn't automatically converted every conversation into efficiency ratings or experience potentials.

Instead, I kept seeing Dartanion's face. The earth-shaper with his theatrical speech and ridiculous musketeer outfit. The man who had stabilized caves while we hunted elemental cores. Who had fought beside me against vampires. Who had, apparently, sacrificed himself to save Witch.

Friend. The word still felt strange, uncomfortable. Too emotional, too imprecise.

But accurate.

I walked faster, my destination clear. The library, then research, then a plan. If data fragments existed and reconstruction was possible, that was the new grind.

I would bring Dartanion back, not for friendship or sentiment, I told myself, but because it was the correct solution to the problem, the optimal path forward.

The fact that my chest ached at the thought of never seeing him again was irrelevant. Completely irrelevant.