Time flew by. Every time I got close to the Connector, a tight knot formed in my stomach and I ended up coughing uncontrollably. It was as if my body itself refused to take the next step—though it wasn't like I actually wanted to go to Cancer either.
I reflected on what I had learned. I was still a scrawny weakling, incapable of fighting on my own. At my level, carrying the silver knife felt more like emotional support than real combat equipment. Sure, between having it and not having it, I'd gladly take two knives, please—but still, thinking that my last opponent alone had a pistol, a rifle, and a machete, while I wielded a "mighty" silver knife, was downright depressing.
And unless my enemy happened to be the mythical werewolf of legend, it wasn't even that useful. I could only sigh from my bed. I followed Rachael's suggestions and stopped being picky; I asked the system for a jukebox with all my favorite songs—or at least the ones I could remember. Even though they all sounded like the humming of someone who remembered the tune but not the lyrics, hearing something other than screams and sobs was comforting.
As I hummed along to "Believe in Myself," a small axolotl that hadn't bothered to show up for quite some time finally made an appearance, emerging from the bubbling particles as if performing an eloquent bow. It lowered its head and proclaimed:
—Before you, the great Axio makes his entrance.
—You finally decided to show up —I replied without getting out of bed.
—How cold you are. I disappear for who knows how many cycles, and you can't even say "beautiful and beloved Axio, come to me."
—Maybe if you were "stinky and annoying," I'd have seen a slight chance of summoning you.
The axolotl, as if deeply offended, curled its tail and used it to wipe nonexistent tears from its large eyes.
—You're cruel, Tristan. I held you in higher regard.
—Tell that to "Those Ones."
At last, Axio stopped playing the victim and lay down in midair, just above my face.
—You know —he said, staring straight into my eyes—, they already released Paul.
I jumped up instantly, smacking the small axolotl, who was sent lightly flying through the air.
—Be more careful —he replied, rubbing his little head.
—Paul… I need to go see him.
—I wouldn't recommend it —Axio said, still dazed—. The Lord of the Axe didn't stabilize; on the contrary, the system decided that, as punishment, he'd be sent back to Aries.
He began explaining while gesturing for me to sit back down on my own bed. For the first time, I listened to the little creature. He gave me a faint smile and continued:
—"Those Ones" usually have the final say in these cases. Normally, depending on the participant's mental state, they end up getting expelled. You know—despite everything, the Nexus aims to keep things a healthy competition.
—Healthy? Seriously?
—Well, you humans used to practice flower wars or human sacrifices. Where do you think the system learned from?
I couldn't argue with that logic. Humanity has never valued its own life enough.
—Wars aside, the idea here is a sportsmanlike environment. Even though it's true that around 20 to 30 heroes are disqualified per cycle, that's a tiny number compared to how many enter—at least 100 participants per cycle. Past and future history will always have dissatisfied fools. I won't lie to you, though: the higher you climb, the rarer it becomes for a player to be eliminated, especially after crossing Silver.
—Because of the favor of Those Ones.
—What do you eat that lets you guess so well… oh right, recovery rations. That's exactly it, Tristan. Those Ones love games, and if they see someone interesting, they'll want them in their cycle forever. That's why most people who know them tend to be exempt from disqualification—like Bonaparte. I think you've already met him, right?
—Yeah. He said something like as long as he doesn't die before Cancer, they won't charge him for reviving.
—And that's not even the most unfair deal. Yours, from what I've been able to investigate, is a much more blatant case of nepotism.
He said this while lowering his little paw, revealing my system and the tree of interconnected nodes.
—I don't know how much the One watching over you loves you, but you have exponentially more stars than anyone else. The cost is your absurd resurrection fee—almost as if they're saying, "if this useless guy dies, he deserves to be ruined." Still, I have to congratulate you: over 100k credits. At least if you die in Cancer, you'll be able to revive.
—Something's better than nothing, but I don't want to challenge Cancer without at least leveling up.
—Would you listen to your axolotl friend?
—Only if you stop sounding so condescending.
Axio did a small flip, falling from above my head onto the keyboard, which felt solid to the touch. He quickly organized everything and found a small combination:
Level up to 3 for 10k and upgrade [Pause] with another 10k, leaving me with exactly 100k to survive in case of death.
—What do you think? This will give you a new stat increase, plus four extra seconds of mobility and something special… or so it says here.
I considered it for a moment. I really didn't want to drop below 100k, especially after how hard it had been to reach that number.
—Why are you thinking so much? It's the only reasonable option. Others spend their credits like Monopoly money, and you treat them like a minimum wage paycheck.
—Considering how expensive my rent is, I have to think carefully before making a decision. For now, yes—I'll take one.
Without further hesitation, I pressed the Level Up button:
[Cost: 10k CN, Level UP!][Level 3 reached: All statistics improve according to previous level-up actions. Effort points: 10 points.][ATK +2 / DEF +3 / SPD +3 / PRE +2 / SYS +0]
—SYS +0?
—Well, from what I can tell, nodes are unlocked with SYS. It seems that reaching level 3 didn't unlock new abilities for you.
—It'd be pretty broken if I got new tricks every level.
—I suppose.
Silence took over the room, with "It Doesn't Matter" playing in the background. At last, I opened Pandora's box.
—Axio.
—I know, you want me to fulfill my part of the deal.
—Axio, what did the encrypted message say?
The shameless axolotl grinned brazenly, cleared his throat, and, staring straight into my eyes, declared:
—It said that you would be "the father of all communications."