The Three-Legged Dog
Looking back, I've always been a strange person. Though I often found life boring, I never once considered suicide. Boredom was just an emotion, but life? Life was more valuable than anything. Death simply wasn't a transaction I was willing to make. That thought was the only thing keeping me upright.
Or rather, keeping me moving.
I was crawling through the dark on three "legs." My right foot was a mangled mess, dragged behind me as I pulled myself forward with my hands and my left knee. If someone saw me now, they'd think of an abandoned dog with a broken limb. I knew that because it was exactly how I felt.
But the price of sacrificing my human dignity was sweet. First, the agony lessened because I wasn't putting weight on the injury. Second, I actually moved faster this way. Most importantly, I didn't have to worry about stepping on another trap—my hands would find them first. My elbows and knees screamed in protest, but it was bearable.
What wouldn't a man do to survive? I'd eat dog poop with a smile if it meant another day of breathing.
How many more steps?
["Bleeding" continues.] ["Bleeding" continues.] [WARNING! Health is below 5%. Death is imminent without immediate treatment.]
I'd come a long way with nothing but my own dark thoughts for company. The surroundings were gradually getting brighter. My hypothesis was correct: the entire floor wasn't a Dark Zone. If I could just reach a well-lit area, I'd find people. I could offer my mana stone for help. Surely someone...
Don't fool yourself, my internal skeptic whispered. They're busy. You think they'll save a life for a single loaf of bread? They'll just take your shield, steal your stone, and finish you off.
"Shut up," I wheezed. I had to keep moving. Seeing another face, even a hostile one, was better than dying alone in a hole like a rat.
"Heh... heh..."
I was losing it. My ego was splitting, fusing, and dulling. If my mind went blank one more time, I knew I wouldn't open my eyes again.
Suddenly, the passage opened up. A massive crystal embedded in the wall pulsed with a steady, blue light. At the end of the tunnel, I saw a silhouette. A person.
"He... help..."
My voice was a dry rasp. I crawled with a renewed, desperate strength. The figure seemed to jump closer every time I blinked.
[Achievement Unlocked: The Brink of Death] [Condition: Health fell below 2%.] [Reward: Spiritual Stats permanently increased by +1.]
A blond man knelt in front of me. He didn't panic or shout. He observed me with the cool, calculated gaze of a veteran.
"You're a rookie," he said.
Damn it, just help me, I thought. I held out my hand, clutching the goblin's mana stone. I wanted to tell him he could have it all—the stone, the shield, everything—if he just saved me.
"Grrr..." The only sound I could make was a wet gurgle. I sounded more like a monster than a man.
The blond man turned to his companions. "Priestess Ersina. Could you heal this man?"
I looked toward a woman dressed in white robes. She was beautiful, but her eyes were cold as she made eye contact with me.
"I refuse," she said simply.
What? Why? My heart sank. I wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. I survived nine kilometers of hell for a "no"?
"I understand," the blond man said, nodding as if her refusal was perfectly logical. Then he turned to another man. "Patzran, pass me a potion."
"I was saving that for when she runs out of mana," the man named Patzran grumbled, clicking his tongue. But he reached into his pouch and tossed a vial over.
The blond man caught it. "It's not divine magic, so this is going to hurt."
He uncorked the vial, pouring half on my mangled ankle and the other half down my throat.
Pain—pure, unadulterated lightning—seared through my body. It felt like my flesh was being knitted together by hot needles. In the game, you couldn't use potions during combat; I'd thought it was just a gameplay balance mechanic. Now I knew why. You'd be a screaming, helpless mess while the potion worked its "miracle."
[Body is regenerating rapidly: Recovery (Medium) effect.]
Minutes passed as the fire in my veins died down to a dull throb. I finally managed to sit up.
"Now tell me, barbarian," the blond man said. "How did a rookie get here before us? If you found a shortcut, I'll buy the information."
I breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't help me out of the goodness of his heart; he wanted something. That made him trustworthy. Good intentions without a motive were terrifying in a place like this.
"I... I was here as soon as I entered," I said honestly.
The blond man blinked, then sighed. "Dimensional instability. I've read about it, but I've never seen it in person. Falling into the deepest part of the outer section right at the start..."
"You've... never seen it?" I asked.
"It's a one-in-a-century event," he said with a pitying look. "It must have been hell. Well, since it wasn't a shortcut, don't worry about the cost of the potion. Consider it a gift for surviving that. Oh, and don't forget your shield back there."
He pointed about twenty meters back down the dark tunnel. It must have slipped off my waist while I was dragging myself.
"We're moving on. Good luck, barbarian."
They walked past me before I could even say thank you. In the Labyrinth, time was gold. I watched them go, then hobbled back to retrieve my shield. I had survived.
But I felt... strange.
Character Status Updated
Spirit: 36 (+1)
General Combat Power: 68 (+1)
The party of adventurers continued down the path.
"That barbarian was incredibly lucky," the swordsman, Patzran, snorted. "An idiot who steps into a goblin trap would have died eventually. He's lucky he ran into us."
"Drous was the one who used his potion, not us," the archer countered. "And he didn't do it just for the 'shortcut' info. He knew barbarians don't like taking charity. He was giving the guy a way to keep his pride."
Drous, the blond leader, scratched his head and smiled awkwardly. "Hey, you're giving me too much credit. I just thought his story was worth a potion."
"How much further does this blood trail go?" Patzran asked, looking at the floor. "We've been walking for a while."
"I'm not sure," Drous said. "But look at the willpower it took to drag himself this far. I don't think 'luck' is the right word for it."
They reached a dead-end alley where a stone monument stood. Drous placed his hand on it, and a sphere of light—the portal to the second floor—began to form.
"Wait," the archer whispered, pointing into the shadows.
There, discarded in the dark near the portal, was a blood-stained metal trap and a single, crude barbarian sandal.
"That's... that's where he started," the magician said, intrigued. He cast a light spell, sending a glowing orb back down the tunnel they had just traveled.
The blood trail stretched into the darkness, curving around the corner. No matter how far the light went, the trail of blood didn't end.
"Drous," the archer asked quietly. "How far is it from that trap back to where we found him?"
Drous went pale. "...Without shortcuts? About nine kilometers."
The magician let out a breathless laugh. "That beast... he crawled nine kilometers in total darkness? On a broken leg?"
Patzran, the swordsman who had mocked the barbarian, remained silent. He looked at the blood on the floor and felt a chill. Could I have done that? If I were alone, bleeding out, with no guarantee of ever seeing another human soul... would I have kept crawling for hours?
He remembered the barbarian holding out that tiny mana stone. He hadn't been begging; he'd been offering the only thing of value he had left. A trade.
"...Forget what I said," Patzran muttered. "That guy isn't just lucky."
Drous looked at the portal. "A lunatic like that doesn't die easily. I wonder what his name was."
"Bjorn," the archer said, looking at the trail one last time. "Bjorn Yandel."