Ch 43

Five minutes and 2,000 UBCs later, we stepped into our newly acquired territory—through our very first portal.

It was seamless. Like walking from one room to another.

The portal itself was a double-wide stone doorway—unassuming until activated. Once the destination was chosen, one side shimmered like rippling water, allowing passage.

Stepping through felt warm, almost fluid.

A little weird, but not unpleasant.

We had some customization options, like setting permissions and access restrictions, but Jared wanted to meet Ellison before tweaking those settings.

Placing the exit portal was surprisingly simple.

The system’s map interface let us pinpoint a drop location near where the Guildians were stationed. We placed the exit accordingly and—Stepped through. The placement was damn near perfect.

We emerged just a short walk away from where Mischief and the others were waiting.

“Well, that was fast.” Alex greeted us as we approached.

“Right?” I grinned. “When I told Jared about everything, he figured it made sense to connect our new territories with a portal. It's awesome—feels like taking a one-second shower. Except you’re not wet, and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t actually clean you.”

“Is it like Star Trek?!” Nick called out.

Jared answered before I could. “Yeah, I guess it was a bit like star trek.”

“You know,” I mused, “we probably have things handled here if everyone else wants to head out. We still need to track down the dungeons in the next territory.”

Most of the group jumped at the offer, eager for some action. Only Elise stayed behind.

“I think I’ll stick around,” she said, crossing her arms. “I’m glad we didn’t have to fight, and no one got hurt. I want to see how things go from here.”

I nodded. Elise had been gaining confidence over the past month, and I saw no reason to exclude her.

“Sounds good. Let’s head down.”

Jared and Elise fell into step beside me as we made our way toward Ellison and his waiting Guildians.

“Welcome back, Layton. This is Jared I presume? And forgive me, but I am not familiar with your name.” Ellison bowed slightly, indicating Elise.

“It’s good to be back. Hope we didn’t keep you waiting too long.” I gestured toward my companions. 

“Yes, this is Jared, our faction’s steward, and Elise, is one of our healers.” Jared had suggested on the way over that we offer help if they have wounded to help build trust. 

“Actually, I should’ve mentioned before—Elise and I are both healers. If you have injured, we’d be happy to help while you and Jared talk.”

I felt a small pang of guilt. Of course they had wounded. I should have offered before running off to get Jared. It bothered me that I hadn’t thought of it on my own. 

Ellison’s expression softened. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Jared.” He bowed again before glancing toward the injured. “And yes, we have many in need of aid. Your kindness is most welcome.” He turned to an older Guildian, murmuring a few words. 

The man—Jamus, I think—looked at me in shock, though I wasn’t sure why. Had he not expected us to actually help?

His surprise vanished in an instant, replaced by a polite nod of his antlered head and he gestured for me to follow. Elise and I moved after him, leaving Jared and Ellison to their discussion.

We found the wounded gathered in the grass—more than a dozen of them, wrapped in bloodied bandages, their bodies marked by deep gashes and bruises. I approached the closest one—a smaller female, unconscious, her thigh wrapped in blood-soaked cloth, another wound hidden beneath crimson-stained fabric on her head.

I knelt beside her and cast Weak Heal.

Light flared, washing over her body. The tension in her limbs eased, but it was hard to tell how much more she needed with the bandages in the way. I unwound them carefully, casting again as I worked, watching her wounds knit shut as if they had never been there.

Her breathing steadied. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open.

First, confusion. Then, fear.

Jamus knelt beside her, murmuring reassurances. She turned to me, hesitated, then dipped her head. A silent thank you.

One by one, Elise and I moved through the injured, restoring them to health. It felt good, even if it didn’t erase the deeper wounds—fear, grief, whatever losses they had suffered.

Then, we reached the last one.

He was young—maybe about the same age as me. His midsection was torn open, his fur matted thick with blood. But I didn’t need to examine him to know.

He was already gone.

Another Guildian sat beside him, cross-legged, hand resting on his shoulder. His eyes were puffy, fur streaked with dried tears, and as I watched, fresh ones spilled silently down his face.

How long had he been gone?

 If I’d gotten here earlier… if I hadn’t wasted time… would it have made a difference?

A voice in my head said no. It wasn’t my fault. I hadn’t struck the blow. I hadn’t forced them to fight. It didn’t change the gnawing ache in my gut.

I kneel and gently rest my hand on the lifeless body. It’s still warm.

I cast Weak Heal and watch the faint glow of yellow mana seep into the broken body.

Nothing. The young Guildian doesn’t stir. His eyes—mercifully closed—remain still. I study the young Guildians face. It looks peaceful, like he is simply resting. I focus on his untouched face to avoid seeing the horrible wound. 

They had come as a raid. The Guildian in front of me had thoughts, feelings, and hopes—just like Ellison. A vise clenched around my ribs, squeezing the air from my lungs. The other Guildian sat beside him, watching me in silence.

I’ve known—from the first dungeon—that there was more at play than just mindless NPCs or monsters.

Each fight, each kill I shoved every logical thought down into a deep corner–validating each and every kill with my own poorly constructed delusions. Now? My brain was desperate. Clawing and scrambling to hold on to the lie. The lie that I just hadn’t known. 

The lie I told myself to justify killing monsters. NPCs. I lied to myself because I wanted to kill. For levels. For growth. And to do that, the monsters had to die. 

The lie cracked open, and the broken bodies spilled out—dungeons, raids, slaughter—until my hands dripped red with the truth.

I cast weak heal again.

The body stayed broken and unmoving.

Gritting my teeth I keep going. The more I look into the young boy’s face the more my facade broke down. 

My shoulders sag under the weight of my decisions. Grief coils around me, heavy, and suffocating. I don’t stop casting. If I can just fix this—just this one—maybe the others would forgive me. 

Someone moved next to me. 

“Layton.” A hand touches my shoulder and I shrug it off. “Layton, you can’t do anything else here. You’ve done enough.”

“Layton." Elise's voice is quieter this time. Careful. Like she thinks I might break. Her words fall on deaf ears.

Again. Again. Again. I burned through every last drop of mana, let it replenish, then cast again. The spell lights up his body, but then fades each time with no effect.

This world bent to stats. To systems. To power. But no numbers could undo this.

My fingers curl into fists. My eyes burn, but I refuse to let the tears fall.

My justifications were dead, rotting in the grass beside this young Guildian. And without them? I had nothing. Just the truth. They wouldn’t be able to carry the weight of my decisions anymore. 

In their place? A storm of emotions. Anger bubbled to the surface. 

Anger was easier. It drowned out the guilt. I didn’t want to kill. The system made me. How was I supposed to know they were living beings? 

What was I supposed to do? Just die? If I didn’t level, if I didn’t grow—then I’d be the one bleeding out in the dirt. 

The world began spinning. 

Even the anger couldn’t hold. It cracked, crumbling under the weight of guilt.

At some point, I ran out of mana entirely. My hands trembled with exhaustion, though I barely noticed. I stared down at the boy’s still face, frustration simmering beneath my skin.

I’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. And when it did, it crushed me. The dam finally broke.

I was sinking. Drowning. The weight of it all was dragging me under. 

Then, like a whisper in the dark, I heard my mother’s voice.

"Layton, it doesn’t matter how fast you run. The truth will always catch you."

She is always right. 

Of course she is. 

“You can’t outrun it, you can only face it.”

The last thing I want to do is face this.

“It might beat you up a bit, but you’ll be stronger for it.”

This isn’t like when I was in highschool messing around and being dumb though. It doesn’t matter. I hate to face this.

Slowly I exhale. No more lying about what I fight. From the first dungeon I knew. It felt better to pretend, but that crutch was gone now. 

It is time I realize that this world is not the one I grew up in. I have been killing sentient beings, just the Guildian laying in the soft grass in front of me. 

And I am going to do it again. No more false pretense, I will kill, I will grow. Part of me even feels good doing it, the thrill–the experience. That is the truth.

From now on, no more hiding, no more pretending. 

Without words I climb to my feet.

For the first time, I notice the crowd around me. Dozens of Guildians, watching in silence.

They don't look at me with pity. Or judgment.

They simply bow their heads.

I turn away, forcing myself to move, each step heavier than the last.

Jared and Ellison were still deep in discussion when I returned. They were seated at a small table—Jared must have pulled it from his storage.

I stood there for a moment, watching them, the grief still pressing against my ribs.

This was never a game. And now, I had no excuse to pretend it was.