Chapter 217: ...Autarch's Key (1)

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I couldn’t.

I just couldn’t.

This couldn’t be real.

I stared at Kyrian.

His blonde hair, usually perfectly curled, was matted with blood and sticking to his face.  One of his eyes was permanently closed.  The eyelid looked too sunken, because there was nothing behind it.  His limbs lay splayed to the side, broken beyond repair.  Like a ragdoll.

Kyrian… didn’t look real.

His body looked fake.  Like a prop.  A doll.

I went to a funeral once.  An open coffin one.  The person –no, the body– inside looked just like this.  Like it had shrunk somehow.  Like whatever made this person, move, laugh, dance and everything that made them alive had just escaped out of their body and whatever was left behind was the small bits of them that didn’t matter to them anymore.

Heart.

Lungs.

Liver.

Bones.

I reached, carefully taking his hand and placing them by his side.

His fingers were cold.

Something caught in my throat.

I let out a sob.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck–

“FUCK!”

My fist slammed through the first layer of obsidian, shattering it at the point of impact.  Some of the pieces lodged themselves into my fist, drawing blood.

Hot, fresh, blood.

Kyrian…

He wasn’t bleeding anymore.

My fault.  This was my fault.

If only I was more careful about investigations.  If only I did get [Paralyzed].  If only I didn’t decide to come on this expedition.  What the fuck did Oung’s plans and the Church have to do with me?  Nothing.

If only I’d been more…

If only I’d been better.

But I never had been better.

I’ve never won without losing a party member.

So… why’d I think it’d be different?  Why was I unprepared for this?

When I booted up my computer and started a new playthrough, I knew that I’d lose some party members.  I used to call them ‘Mules’.  Recruiting expendable members to buy time for me to get away.  That’s exactly what Kyrian had done, hadn’t he?  He was a ‘Mule’.  A character that I used to buy time for the main character, me, to recover.  

That had been his role?  Right?

From the start?

“I…”

I touched his body, sending mana into my [Dimension Ring] into collect it.

It didn’t work.

The [Dimension Ring] on his own hand glowed.

Right. 

Right.  Right. Right. Right.  A mule.  A mule always had Dimension Rings.  That was their purpose.  They were supposed to–

‘And that, is how you use mana to sort through a [Dimension Ring].  Trust me, Lock.  It’ll come handy in battle.  I’m sure you already are thinking of ways to use it.’

No.  No, no, no.  I don’t want to remember.  Please don’t make me–

I reached over and took off his [Dimension Ring].  Once more, I reached into my own and tried to gather Kyrian’s body.

‘What were you doing?’

Kyrian tweaked the ring on his finger.  ‘Nothing important.’

He’d gathered Borealis’ party’s body.

The man I killed… so that I could keep L’teya and Freier alive.  Who should prove helpful in healing my party when I needed it.

“A healer is a must.  They’re the backbone of the party, along with the tank.  They’re the lifeline, the blood, and the heart.  Without them, at higher levels, it’s impossible to do raids without getting wiped out.  A good… tank and a healer is…”  I mindlessly droned on words I wrote on a guide for a computer board a long time ago.

Back then, the words meant nothing.  They brought nothing to mind, no faces.  Just words on a page.

Now…

I looked at the body I had yet to gather.

It wasn’t nothing.  It wasn’t just a strategy.

It wasn’t some nameless tank.  And it wasn’t some faceless character on a computer screen that died.

Kyrian’s body was still.

And growing cold.

Oh my god.

I threw up on the side.

Bile rose up, unbidden and unwelcome, but painfully refreshing.  The acidic sensation of my stomach acids combined with my own self-revulsion, roiling together into putrid waste that escaped out my mouth.

Kyrian was dead.

My friend was dead.

The man who had shared about his mother–

“Wake up.”  I ordered suddenly, voice whipping through the silent cavern with a crack.

Normally, when I did that, Kyrian’s face would sharply turn towards me.  Knowing that this was an emergency.

His eyes were closed.

His mouth was slightly ajar.

His chest didn’t rise and fall.

“This isn’t fucking funny.  Wake up.”

Nothing.

“That’s an order.”

…

I don’t know how long I stayed like that for.

It took awhile but I finally put the body in my ring and stood up.

And I was alone.

Before I knew it, I was walking.  And in the same way, I walked my mind down a particular line of thought.

Kyrian was dead.

And the player [Cultists] had stopped chasing me.  Behind the [Cultists] had been their leader, Delas, Tanya, and Astelion.

I had made a deal with the [Player’s Guild] to kill Delas but spare Astelion.

Fuck that.

I kept walking.

No, I started to run.

Why had they stopped chasing me?

I got my answer a little later.

Metal hitting metal.

Men screaming.

The scent of iron.  Blood.

I rushed forward.

My footsteps led me into a clearing.  A wide open room, once again, surrounded in obsidian.  But this one was different from the others.

It was occupied.

L’teya dragged her axe-head out of a cultist’s head and the barbarian spat on the floor.  “Mindless.  No better than tools.”

Half a dozen [Cultist] bodies lay on the floor.  Some of them having being cut to pieces.  The others, having being shot to death.

Stole spotted me first.  “Mister!”

The moment she saw me, Stole leapt off of Freier’s [Mount] and ran towards me.  Freier gave me a cool nod, but stopped midway, frowning.  The elven priestess tilted her head to the side, like she was trying to listen to something.  Her eyes widened and…

She whispered, “Oh, I’m sorry, Slaveborn.”

I said nothing.

Stole reached me, slowing to a job, then to a walk then stopped completely.

Of course.  Her [Hearing] stat was just as good, if not better, than mine was.

Then…

She continued.

“Um… Didn’t you enter the portal with Kyrian, Mister?”

I said nothing.  Again.  Because there was nothing to say.

Stole’s a Pioneer.  The most talented one I’ve seen, both in the game and in the world of MSS I’m living in now.  Being a Pioneer means that you have a heightened sense of hearing, smell, and everything related to being a Scout.  Being a Scout means relying on those senses to make conclusions.  Gathering information.  It’s not limited to just finding a path.

You gather information.  You put the pieces together.  And you paint a picture.

Stole realized it.  Too fast.  Too soon.  Too early for me to do anything about it.

For a flicker of a second, her eyes widened and I saw something in the girl completely break.  Already, she had been on the verge.  Surviving on this island by herself for the last few days… and then meeting me, who brought Freier and L’teya to be our new ‘comrades’. 

The burden was too heavy this time not to change anything.

And just as fast, she changed her expression.

She smiled.

“Ah, you two must’ve gotten separated.  Let’s go find him then.”

Once more, I said nothing.  I had a mouth.  I had a voice.  I had thoughts.

But I could say nothing.

Because now wasn’t the time.

I just stood there like a statue, waiting.

Her smile faltered, and her lower lip quivered.  But just as fast, it was gone and she plastered another smile.

I saw the two elves whispering to each other.  More like Freier whispering to L’teya.

L’teya hissed and began to walk over.

“Come on, let’s get ready quick.  We don’t even need to loot the bodies.  Where’d you last see him, Mister?  Tell me.  I bet I can pick up his scent really quick!  Remember that time in the marketplace?  When I took you to the Black Market?  It’ll be like that, I’ll lead and you just follow.”

“Slaveborn,”  L’teya said when she was in earshot.  “I’m sorr–”

“SHUT UP!”

Stole’s shriek echoed around the cavern.

“Shut your FILTHY MOUTH!”  Stole screamed.

Freier closed her eyes, taking a step back and putting a hand on L’teya shoulder to drag her too.  “Oh, child.”  She said simply.

L’teya’s eyes narrowed.  Not in anger.  But in understanding.

And sadness.

She turned to me.  “...I’ll give you two some time.”  And the two walked away.

Stole bristled after them, breathing so hard that it wracked her tiny body.  The exhales turned to shuddering gasps, like something was wrong with her lungs.

And I waited.

Because…

Because I was the party leader.

“Mister, where is Kyrian?”  She said without looking at me.

I stared right at her without replying.

“I asked you a question, Mister.  Where’s Kyrian?”  Her voice snapped with more authority than I knew she had.

…She was growing as an adventurer.  As a leader.  One day, she’d lead a party and make a damned fine leader.

…I think Kyrian would agree.

But for now…

She took a step closer.  “Mister, answer me.  I fucking asked– WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?”  Her last words turned to an echoing screech that bounced off the walls.

And once more…

I said nothing.

“Where?  I saw you go in the portal with him last! I saw!  He, He was… He was fine! He grabbed you! Because, because something… something happened to you.  And your scent changed.  And then– and then–”

Her eyes were wide.  Too wide.

And I let her be.

Because I knew exactly what she was feeling.

She slammed into me.

But she was a [Pioneer]... and it wasn’t that kind of slam.

She started punching me in the chest.  In the chin.  Everywhere.

“The fuck? THE FUCK! DON’T JUST STAND THERE! SAY SOMETHING! TELL ME HE’S OK! THAT HE’S ALIVE!  THAT OUR PARTY’S MAGE IS OK! THAT KYRIAN IS JUST RIGHT BEHIND YOU! SAY SOMETHING GODDAMIT!”

And I finally opened my mouth.

“I’m sorry, Stole.”

She stopped.

The beastman girl backed up, shaking her head.

“No, no no.  Don’t you DARE apologize.  STOP! Why’re you saying sorry?! What do you have to be sorry about?! STOP!”

I took a step forward.  “I’m sorry, Stole.  It was my fault.”

“NO!”  She shrieked again, covering her ears.  “SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!”

She was breaking apart.

And so was I.

But I couldn’t break.  Not now.  Not in front of Stole.  Not…

Not right now.

Please, let me keep it together.

And Stole… please.  Don’t do this.

Please.

Because I don’t know how much longer I can take it.

I took a step closer to her.  “Stole… I’m sorry.”

“STOP SAYING THAT! STOP SAYING SORRY!”  She cried out.  She paused, tears running freely down her cheek and finally she wiped them away.  “Bring him back.  I know you know how.  You know everything.  Monsters, treasures, dungeons.  Tell me there’s a way to bring him back.  BRING HIM BACK GODDAMIT!”

“Stole..”

She turned away from me, towards Freier.  “You… You’re a healer?  Kyrian told me to be nice to you.  That you’re skilled.”

“Oh, child.”  Freier shook her head, repeating the same lines from before.

“He praised you.  Complimented you.  He was like that.  Always nice to people.  ALWAYS.  Bring him back.  Do something.”  She rounded on L’teya.  “And you.  You’re friends with that Clover girl?  She’s a healer too, isn’t she?”

L’teya hissed and looked away, unable to bear the intensity of Stole’s loss.

“No, someone… please.”  

Then Stole got on her knees and clutched at L’teya’s ankles.  “I’m sorry.  For what I said before.  Please, I’m begging you.  Please, please, please, p,p,p,pleassssss…”

And just like that…

She started crying.

No.  Not crying.  She was crying long before this.

She started to mourn.

The loss of a friend.  The kind Mage… probably the only Mage she ever knew.  And from the first party she was ever a part of.

And it broke my heart.

L’teya bent down and hugged Stole.  In a display of compassion I didn’t know the elven barbarian was capable of… she started stroking Stole’s hair.

“Hush, little girl.  Hush… It will be alright.  A warrior’s soul is never truly gone.  And he was that, a warrior.  Hush…”

I watched the two and turned around, walking away to a corner.

And immediately, I started touching the floors.  Scenting.  Trying to find out where we should go next.

Freier was next to me in a moment.

“...Are you alright, Slaveborn?”

“...Yes.”

“Truly?”

“It does not matter.”

I wiped the tears away with the back of my hand.  “I have a job to do.”

And I kept searching for where Delas went.

Stole's wails continued to go up, climbing the walls of the Spire where my best friend died.