Chapter 9 - Bitter Price

"What about the other two?" Asked one of the crusaders in the hut.

 The young crusader looked at him with disdain, then adjusted her glasses and shifted her gaze to Leopold and he shook his head for her to continue.

 "The two we are not sure are unconscious and undergoing treatments, the white one is called Pedro and had a very unusual wound on his chest, which led us to think that he was able to partially heal himself before passing out. The green one is called Pan, we found him unconscious next to a fallen dead, we will have to wait to know if it was a stroke of luck or if he used the essence to improve his body even though he was a green, lucky or not, it's a shame he had to pay a horrible price to accomplish such a feat."

 "A price?" Asked Leopold.

 Then the young woman began to report on Pan's condition, making Leopold frown with every word.

 As for Pan himself, he woke up a few days later and apart from the slight mental exhaustion he felt refreshed, as he had never felt in his life. Blinking the drowsiness out of his eyes, he surveyed his surroundings.

 He was in one of the Order's supply wagons, the reason he was feeling so refreshed was leaning over him, a white crusader who had both palms resting on his chest while giving him vitality.

 'White people are really useful,' thought Pan.

 Realizing that he had woken up, the white crusader removed his hands and nodded.

 'He's the shy type, hm?' Thought Pan.

 Seeing that the crusader was taciturn, Pan just waved at him, he actually prefers it that way. The crusader leaned back and stared at Pan with a look that seemed to be… Pity.

 Pan didn't pay much attention to this, it is said that those fated to heal are often soft-hearted. He then raised his left hand and brushed his hair back, then brought his right hand to his waist to find comfort in the cold hilt of his sword. Holding the newly acquired sword was a comforting act that brought him a sense of security.

 Aaaaaaaaaa!

 Pan gave a muffled cry of pain, just as he was about to open his mouth to ask the crusader about the outcome of the previous night and how long he had been sleeping. His right arm hurt like hell, but looking at the focus of pain Pan realized it wasn't there, his arm was nowhere to be found!  All that was left was a shoulder with half-bloody bands.

 Pain brought to light the events of the battle, the first fallen being killed by Leopold, the bravery of the Crusaders, the breaking of the line, Ava's abilities and… The bitter price. Yes, he had to decide between death and maybe losing an arm, but being surrounded by so many white crusaders he figured he'd be able to keep the limb if he was lucky enough.

'When did I have enough damn luck? Hell!' Cursed Pan.

 "Don't try to move your lost arm young Pan, your brain still doesn't understand the loss and whenever you try to move you will feel agony, this is called "phantom pain". But with practice and time you will be able to get used to the loss," said the crusader, as he used the essence to ease Pan's pain.

 'I know what phantom pain is you asshole, and how the fuck does one get used to losing the shit out of a limb? Fuck you and the Order, I was so happy being a dock boy,' thought Pan.

 "I'll keep that in mind," was what he replied, after a few moments, the crusader was a victim of this wretched world just like he was.

 And Pan hated those who threw their burdens on others to drown out their anguish. Come to think of it, despite being green and having lost an arm, he woke up, he was more than a little nobleman now and the thought of never having to look at his boss's filthy face again brought a smile to his face.  Well he thinks he woke up at least, after all that "slow" event was anything but mundane.

 The question was how to explain that a green that was supposed to be basically "flowers and herbs" woke up as sensorial. A feature that if Pan is not mistaken, belonged to the extremely rare yellows.

 "Don't feel so bad, has much that a crusader can achieve with just one limb, our strength is in the essence of our soul and not our physique and even a brown with a focus on using essence for the physique can also shape the stone and act as a support," declared the young crusader, who soon went into a monologue about the many aspects of being a crusader.

 'He must have mistaken my smile for resignation,' thought Pan.

 But he was in no mood to clear up the misunderstanding.

 As the crusader tried to cheer Pan up, his voice became more and more desperate and he spoke more and more of the things one could do without an arm, as the smile on Pan's face grew wider and wider. He thought that Pan had gone mad from the trauma of the battle and the loss of an arm.

 But the crusader couldn't be more wrong. Pan was, in fact, genuinely happy.