It's a cold, desolate night.
My newly acquired bastard sword's handle is warm against my palm. It's limp by my side as we trek through darkness, my mind scrambled—hyper-alert. Fearful as always. Better yet, I'm the only one who can see in this darkness.
Night Owl is very effective; my vision in the dark is akin to a normal person's during sunset. Slightly dimmed, but visible.
Valeria and Nicklas follow behind me. Both are surprisingly quiet, thankfully—no need to make a racket. Stealth is why we chose to leave during the night.
Endangered pains and occasionally flares along the way. But ultimately, nothing comes. For that, I'm incredibly thankful to my very high, hidden Luck stat.
It's strange. Usually, my Trait doesn't cry out in—potential—pain unless I'm in imminent danger. My theory is that it basically did a 'hot-cold' game with me, where the closer or 'warmer' I got to a potential sleeping Corrupted, the more it flared.
I was quite wary overall. There's just that feeling in the air—of fear and danger. It reeks. Honestly, it's quite a miracle that a Corrupted didn't eviscerate us. My gut was expecting a tree-demon to jump out at any moment.
As a self-proclaimed genius, my explanation for that is quite likely; that the Corrupted they shipped and dumped on this island are not only E-rank or less, but are also probably all diurnal.
For one, broadcasting fights during the night would be a pain. And having students get gutted in their sleep from sneaky, undetectable Corrupted would be quite the disaster; it would be far better to have both the students and the Corrupted sleep through the night.
Like "Sorry, dear viewer, but your favorite student died off-screen in the night" would be pretty bad television. Sounds like a ridiculous thing to care about, given the prestigious, pragmatic nature of the Dim, but capitalism gets its greedy paws on everything in the end. They want money to recoup costs on these expensive events.
The terrain has gotten progressively steeper. Lots of ups and downs. We've cleared the forest for the most part, now traversing over open, hilly fields of a vibrant green.
There are small remnants of civilization everywhere, ones that you can't fake, especially not for a relatively short-notice event such as this.
It's extremely old, but still within the millennium. The buildings are more medieval, which happened to be the stylistic regression that occurred after Humanity took a steep hit in their progression when Democracy fell, taking a vast majority of modern technology with it.
"This is it, I think." Valeria grogily announces.
I could've guessed. Dullard. Although, it'd be better to limit myself and not say any more unnecessary quips—believe it or not, I know when to hold my tongue.
"I can't see anything," Nicklas whines. "What am I supposed to be looking at?"
"A village."
This remnant of buildings, however, appears to be much more intact than the rubble I've seen previously.
It's only a handful of buildings, but compared to the wilderness and decrepitude of other structures, this is a fortress.
A mountain looms over the darkened village. Distant, yet close.
That's the island center—the convergence point. This village is a well-positioned forward base. Safe, but still in arm's reach of the central mountain.
"Are you sure these people won't kill us?" Nicklas whispers, for some reason, to Valeria. "How do we know they're friendly?"
"Gods, just shut the fuck up." Valeria chews him out, though she lacks any true hateful energy imbued in her tired tone. "Fucking rodent creature…"
"What she meant to say was that Leara is friendly. Everyone else will follow her lead."
"I don't think she meant to say that at all." Nicklas shrewdly shakes his head.
She would if she weren't such a dreadful communicator. Valeria is, for certain, the worst team player I've ever had the displeasure of being on a team with.
My team approaches along the village's dark road.
By the time we reach a stone's throw from the village bulk, a young man's voice calls out from the darkness.
"Who goes?"
"Valeria," she replies
"Are those your teammates?"
"No, just a pair of bums who follow her around in the darkness for fun." I quip.
He stays silent. It's really quite funny; he thinks this'll unnerve me—make me superscared, being ignored by an unknown voice in the dark and all.
He acts like I can't see him right now, standing at the side of the closest house with a bow in hand.
That's Evan of Cicily. Placed 102nd. A Viscount, and one of the best archers among the first-years, thought that doesn't say much; archery is a dying art, after all.
High-ranked, but a neutral-demeanored nobody. A good ally to have, but nothing more.
"Where's Leara?" I clear the silent air with normality, with Evan's psychological ploy evaded
Evan lights a torch and steps out into the gravel road.
"You must be Auren of Ovine."
"No," I reply. "I'm Nicklas of Adeca." I point at the runt next to me as we step into his torchlight. "This is Auren of Ovine."
"I'm… I'm not—"
"Very funny." Evan doesn't seem to appreciate my unfunny humor, but he does appreciate the art of talking over Nicklas.
"She's in the chapel down the road." Valeria takes directing into her own hands and shoves me along.
The two of us are in abnormal, almost reversed moods. I'll chalk it up to her being drowsy and me being bored.
"Wait…" Nicklas cries out like a sad, abandoned puppy, watching as we gently sail into the darkness once more. "You guys are leaving me here? With this… random guy?"
"No, no." Evan shakes his head. "Why am I being left with you?"
"Just don't hurt him."
And like that, I've finally gotten rid of Nicklas of Adeca. He's Evan's problem now. He'll throw him in one of these houses, give him a blanket and some soup, and I'll be mostly free of him.
Valeria and I head toward the chapel in silence. She's more or less been following my lead for the past few hours—I've begun to believe that she's an expert sleepwalker, but I haven't proven it.
The old door creaks open. We walk inside.
Leara sits on an aisle bench, staring up at a white light. Like a butterfly, an orb of pure light wisps around the high, pointed chapel ceiling.
Her wine colored hair glistens underneath her cast Light Spell. Deadened eyes glance at me through their corner.
"So…" I say.
"So," she echoes.