Chapter 100

 

Opening my eyes, I can feel how exhausted my body is from how heavy my eyelids are. The rugged cave ceiling above me is an unfamiliar sight until I remember where I am. How I wish I was back in Ocean’s Rest right now, waking up every morning to the pleasant carved wooden ceiling in Azureview Manor’s private room. Now I wake up to a coarse stone ceiling inside a chilly cave at the bottom of a horrible pit, covered with dirty, stinky rags. Well, I guess it could be worse. I mean, I could be dead. 

 

My whole body feels weak and the only thing I can easily do is slightly turn my head from side to side. I didn’t notice before, with how groggy I was, but off to my left is a little girl kneeling down, tracing letters in the dirt with a jagged rock. Just by seeing the side of her face, I can see how serious she is and how much effort she’s putting into the tracing judging by her squinted eyes and scrunched forehead. Seeing how hard she’s concentrating, I don’t make a sound, afraid of disturbing her practice. 

 

Regardless, it’s disturbed a moment later when Hawthorne boisterously strolls into the cave, laughing, “You’re alive! I was worried you weren’t going to make it there. You’ve been asleep for three entire days, withering away and getting weaker with each passing day. I was afraid I was going to have to bury you with the rest of Corbin’s goons.” 

 

Hawthorne doesn’t seem to notice the hateful scowl Sylvia’s giving him for interrupting her tracing practice. Smiling at him, I respond, “It looks like I was lucky.” I’m surprised by how hoarse my voice sounds. Now that I think about it, my throat is really sore. 

 

“I wouldn’t speak too much if I were you. You did quite a number on your own throat there four nights ago with how desperately you were trying to scream. You should get back to sleep and focus on recovering.” 

 

Giving him a grateful nod, I shake my head a second later and ask, “What happened to me?”

 

Seeing me unwilling to rest, he shrugs his shoulders and says, “The bumbling brothers carried you over to my cave after you won your brawl, unconscious, bleeding heavily, and your pulse getting fainter every second. You’re lucky a village doctor was tossed down here decades ago and he taught me the basics of medical care after some… convincing from my younger, more abrasive self. Anyways, it looked like that stab wound hit something pretty important because blood wouldn’t stop leaking out. Remembering what he told me to do, I splashed some hard ale on your wound to clean it which seemed to jolt you awake. Then I heated up my knife with a torch and burned your wound shut. 

 

“But you had a pretty nasty fever after the burning and wouldn’t wake up. You were struggling around pretty hard in your sleep, constantly murmuring something about your mother and father. I honestly didn’t expect you to make it considering that old quack told me less than half of everybody he’s had to cauterize actually survived. That reminds me, what’s with the burn marks on your shoulder? They look fresh and unmistakably like cauterization marks.”

 

“I thought I told you before, when I was escaping Ocean’s Rest, I took two arrows and had to treat the wounds myself.” 

 

“Huh, you told me you treated yourself but not how you did it.”

 

Confused, I think back and realize I skipped over how I treated myself when I told him my story because I didn’t want to remember the horrendous experience. It was bad enough I had to do it to myself a few days ago but it happened again in such a short time. Fuck I miss my friends. None of this shit would have happened if they were here. Driving away the dark thoughts, I ask him, “How’d you get your hands on ale down here?”

 

“It varies, but once every blue moon, The Fold sends down luxuries like medicine, alcohol, or dried meat. Even a few nights ago, you remember how they sent down a bundle of torches? That’s just one of the possibilities. Everyone gathers around to see what’s being sent down that trip and depending on how valuable it is or how much they need it, they might just risk it all that night. If you ask me, those bastards up there do it just to watch us kill each other. I got myself a bit of hard ale some time ago and kept it ever since in case of emergencies.”

 

His last words fully drive out all the dark thoughts trying to invade my mind and a question pops up in my head instead. “Why’d you save me? That ale had to be pretty valuable to you, right? Why use it on me?”

 

He doesn’t answer immediately and only looks at me with a grin on his face. After a moment of silence, he finally opens his mouth, “Don’t know. I could spout a bunch of bullshit for you like how you remind me of myself when I was young. But that’s a lie, we’re nothing alike. There’s a darkness inside you that I’ve seen plenty of times while I was down here in the most ruthless, despicable villains who passed through here. I won’t sit on a high horse and tell you killing is wrong because I’ve had to get my hands dirty countless times and I will never apologize for any of it because I did it to survive. 

 

“But you enjoy killing. You take pleasure in it. It thrills you and it satisfies some sort of twisted desire inside of you. I watched how you fought bravely and skillfully against Corbin’s former men four nights ago while outnumbered and heavily injured. You earned some respect from me that night. But I also saw how you toyed with the ones on their last breaths, the delight you took in ending their lives. 

 

“It’s odd. When I saw those… villains in the past, I always stayed far away from them because I didn’t want to inadvertently set them off and become their target. But when I saw you, I couldn’t help but wonder how someone could become like that at such a young age. I don’t know. Maybe it’s my age catching up to me and I’m growing sentimental in my twilight years. Ehh, might as well just chalk it up to how much I despised Corbin and I’m repaying you for taking care of him so I didn’t need to do it myself. I guess we’re even then.”

 

Darkness, huh? Bertrand said the same thing to me months ago when we were infiltrating Jerome’s orphanage. I wondered what he meant back then and I guess even Hawthorne caught onto it as well despite me only arriving here a few days ago. I suppose I did notice it myself when I stabbed the man who was begging me on his knees to spare him and it filled me with joy. When did that start exactly? Is that what Bertrand was referring to as well? 

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At the same time, even though Hawthorne said we’re even, it doesn’t feel like it to me. I killed Corbin because I wanted to and nothing else entered my mind at the time. Hawthorne saved my life and I kind of feel that I need to repay that favor even if he doesn’t think so himself. I guess I’ll repay it when I get out of here and bring him up there too. 

 

“Regardless, thanks for saving my life.” 

 

He scoffs and says, “Like I said, you got rid of Corbin and that’s payment enough.”

 

When it seemed the conversation was about to die down, I asked him something that’s been on my mind for a while now, “If you don’t mind me saying, judging by everything I’ve seen and heard, you and Corbin didn’t seem to get along. How did you survive with him around?” 

 

Hawthorne scratched his beard in thought for a few moments before saying, “Even though Corbin clearly lost his mind years ago, strangely enough, he still lived by some code of honor and forced his goons to follow it as well. He wouldn’t use his number advantage in real fights and instead duel people to resolve conflicts. Every time he butted heads with me, we’d agree to a fistfight and I’d put him down with him swearing he'll beat me someday every time before slinking off to lick his wounds.”

 

“Wait, that doesn’t add up though. On my first night here, he ordered his crew to gang up on me.” 

 

“Yeah, that’s where his insanity plays a big role and convolutes the whole thing. Apparently, you’d need to question his pride and challenge him to an individual fight, otherwise he stands back and lets his goons do the work. One time, a newcomer used his previous experience in prison and demanded to fight Corbin himself for control of his crew. I guess he learned in prison that if you selected whoever seemed like they were in charge and fought them, you could at least earn some respect for yourself and protect yourself that way. Unfortunately for him, Corbin caved in his skull and kept pummeling him until he wasn’t recognizable anymore. 

 

“If you challenged Corbin to a fight when you first got here, he’d have given it to you, though I’m not too sure how you’d have fared in a straight up fistfight against him. You’re much better with a knife than you are with your bare hands. Admittedly, you’re alright with your hands but you’re too small to put up a real fight, especially against someone like Corbin who has been in innumerable brawls. By the way, how’d you get so skilled with a knife?”

 

“Am I skilled? I’ve never really used a knife in a fight before but it did feel pretty comfortable in my hands when I used it against Corbin’s crew. I am pretty good with a sword though. Maybe those skills transferred over?”

 

He mulls it over murmuring, “Mm, hmm? Mm, maybe. Well, we’ve talked long enough and you need to get some rest. Aside from that stab wound, your body is covered in cuts and bruises but those should clear up in a few more days. You can stay here for the time being but once you’re back on your feet, you have to find a cave for yourself.”

 

“Alright, thanks again Hawthorne.”

 

He only grunts back in response before walking over to inspect Sylvia’s practice. He critiques some parts of her writing and offers feedback on what to improve and how. She only nods in response without a word. I wonder if she’s like Paige and lost her ability to speak, traumatized by the awful things she’s witnessed. Before long, my heavy eyelids overwhelm me and I drift off to sleep. 

 

…

 

That night, I dreamt of growing up in a luxurious mansion where my older sister constantly nagged me about keeping my hair nice and tidy. It was a noisy childhood but one that I remember fondly from the bottom of my heart. When I became an adult, my father had me join the kingdom’s army as a common officer. Although the place I was sent to was a living nightmare, it was also the very first place in my whole life where I found people I could trust. Growing up in that mansion, I was taught since I was a child to be wary of others and their hidden, ill intentions. But the battlefield isn’t a place for any of that bullshit. 

 

In the battlefield, I learned the strong survive and the weak perish. That principle was ingrained into me after endless hardships and tears. However, I also learned it was the duty of the strong to protect the weak. Only by working together as one cohesive unit and watching out for each other could we truly conquer our foes and the battlefield. I met a lot of brothers there who would lay their lives down for me and I would risk my life for them in turn without a speck of hesitation. 

 

My brothers and I made quite a name for ourselves on the Nasaar/Ribier border and the kingdom’s capital even wanted to award me. I asked to bring my brothers along since our glory was a shared effort but was denied on account of their common blood. Still, I told them whatever my rewards were would be theirs as well. As I traveled from my hometown, Ocean’s Rest, to the kingdom’s capital, all I wanted was to quickly return and share a drink with my brothers back on the battlefield, where I belong. Hmm, is that someone following behind me on horseback?

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