Chapter 7 - Desperate Measures

Bleeding drains the mind and the soul. I've seen it for myself. I am wounded and I'm losing fluids, heat and aether as I desperately limp back to the camp. It'll not be long before I lose consciousness and likely die. Things are looking bleak for me.

I feel like my body weighs ten times as much as it normally does, and each step pains me greatly. I have a terrible headache, my vision becomes blurry, and I want to throw up.

I do throw up, then I collapse on the ground again. The spell wound on my lower torso pains me too much; it's difficult to breathe.

"Ughh... Fuck..." I groan.

I try my hardest to think straight for a moment despite the mind numbing pain and come to realize just how utterly fucked I am. My murder attempt on Allan Southset failed miserably and he escaped. The clock is ticking; I have to get him before he can say anything to the authorities and get medical treatment before I bleed out. There's no way I'm going to be able to do both, I'm dead either way.

I beg every muscle in my body to give me strength to get up and continue making my way towards the camp. The wound is not mortal, so I should still be able to function somewhat normally if I can tolerate the pain.

I continue limping. I'm fucked. I'm completely fucked. What do I do now?

I decide that the best course of action is to focus on not dying right now and getting medical assistance somehow. The problem is that I can't just show up at the infirmary since it's too far away and they probably won't attend me at this hour. Besides, I don't want anyone to raise any concerns.

I have an idea. I must be quick, though. I'm losing too much blood.

After what feels like a damned eternity of limping around, I manage to get back to the camp. At night, this place is really dark, so it's relatively easy to sneak around once you're past the sentries outside. I crawl and limp slowly between all the tents and structures of the camp trying to get to the mage sleeping grounds. I stop multiple times on my way to catch my breath, but I manage to pull myself together for enough time to get there.

Once I've arrived, I look around, there are a bunch of small tents. I believe this is where the support mages sleep. Perfect.

I breath in and out slowly and break in one of them with my staff high up. Inside, a man sleeps very soundly. He's a support mage, I can tell because his uniform and weapons are folded beside his sleeping bag.

I can feel that I'm minutes away from collapsing from blood loss. This better go smoothly...

I am decided to not commit the same stupid mistake, so I take the weapons of the sleeping mage before hitting him on the face with the butt of my staff. He wakes up abruptly.

"Say one fucking word and I swear I'm going to turn your head into paste! Fucking try me!" I threaten him with my staff.

He shows me the palms of his hands, signaling surrender. I cough up some blood.

"Ughh..! So, this is what's gonna happen... You're gonna cast a healing spell on my wound, and you'll do it real silently. If you can do that, I'll let you live another day..."

He agrees, not willing to cause any trouble seeing as there's a heavy-duty artillery staff pointed directly at his face.

I use what little strength I have left in me to kick him out of his own sleeping bag. Then, I deposit myself on it and pull on my shirt and jacket to reveal my wound.

"How did you get this...?"

"I said…not a fucking word!!! Now, hurry up and heal me, or you'll be meeting the gods real soon!"

He crouches beside me. I toss him his wand and make it a point to keep my staff aimed at him the entire time.

"Try anything funny and your head will meet a four thousand aether units strong spell point blank!" I guarantee.

Sweat dripping from his brow, the support mage removes the clothes I used to stuff the wound and slow down the bleeding, and then sticks the wand inside the opening to cast healing spells. It hurts and burns like hell, and I barely manage to keep quiet.

As the healing spell is cast, I feel how my veins get refilled with blood and how my guts rearrange and heal. It's the weirdest feeling.

About five minutes past and the healing is complete. The wound is closed, and my internal organs are functioning well enough to keep me alive. I'm disoriented, sore, pained and nauseous but at least I'm not fucking dying anymore.

I get up, still pointing my weapon at the support mage whose name I don't even know. I then come to the realization that having assaulted him would bring me a shit ton of other problems that I don't need.

Just leaving him as is would be way too problematic. I didn't bother to conceal my identity so he could just report me. I don't have any time to waste either, I'm not sure what I can do with him.

Then, it hits me that the Blind Eye permit I got at the CULT would conveniently prevent them from opening an investigation on any dead bodies they find in a limited period of time, so I act accordingly.

"I'm sorry."

His brains then paint the inside of the tent.

I rob him for anything valuable or useful, and then get the fuck out of there before the noise of the spellcasting alerts anyone.

The healing spell was sloppy and it left a really ugly scar, so I'll have to pay someone to cast a better healing spell. The area around the wound still hurts but is a lot more manageable now. I notice my aether reserves are next to completely depleted, probably as a side effect from all that blood loss. I try to replenish using the batteries I had, but when I try to do it just stings like hell. I think I have magic fatigue, I won't be able to cast a lot of spells until my body has recovered from the shock of the wound.

I hastily leave the area and hide in a different spot to plan my next move. I took too much time to get back to the camp and heal, he must be gone by now and I have no idea where I could find him. I'm starting to get a little anxious. If I can't finish what I started earlier, I'm done for.

After calming myself, I decide that the best course of action is to return to the spot where I attacked him earlier to see if I can track him down from there. Somehow...

So I continue sneaking around the old, lonely and shitty merc camp until I make my way into one of the exits. I'm in a hurry, this needs to be done fast.

I turn a corner inadvertently and bump into someone. I shoulder my staff as a mere reflex movement to kill him, but then I notice who he is.

"Ack! Hey, be mor- HOLY SHIT!" He yells.

It's Paul. I have no idea what he's doing here at this hour. I panic for a split second but then realize this is a great opportunity.

"Paul Crow! My uh.... My dear friend! How are you?" I greet him, trying to be as friendly as I possibly can.

I seem to spook him, he reaches for the dagger on his belt. My clothes are doused in blood and my face has been sprayed by it too. I don't look very presentable right now

"Thorne...?" He says.

"Yeah, it's me. What are you doing here?"

"I just came back from the bar. Actually, I should ask the same thing. What the fuck? What's with all that blood?"

"I was attacked. Nothing big." I nonchalantly speak.

I might be able to get out of this one if I convince Paul to help me track down Allan Southset. I need to play my cards right.

"Holy shit...! Are you okay, Thorne?"

"Yeah, surprisingly."

"Was it the Sulostans?"

"No... I think it's better if you ask no questions, that way I won't tell any lies."

Paul is troubled and confused.

"Listen Crow, I'm in a pinch right now. I need your help. It might be over for me otherwise."

"What is it?" He asks, cautious.

"There's someone out there right now I need you to help me track down and get rid of."

"Ah."

Paul seems to immediately infer what happened.

"I don't know, Thorne. This is all super sketchy, even for someone like you."

I approach him and grab his hands, attempting to get my charming side out to convince him. It doesn't seem to work much.

"Please, I'm begging you. Help me, and I'll let you buy me that drink you asked."

Paul recoils back.

"Hold on. I like you, but there's no way you'll be able to bribe me into it that easily." He says.

"I'll convince the Overseer to raise your wages! I could even gave them doubled!" I desperately attempt to bargain.

"Mmm..."

Paul is not very willing. I really need his help, I'll have no choice but to kill him to if he doesn't agree to help me. Can't afford to leave any witnesses.

"Say, what happens if you fail to 'track down and get rid of' this merc?" He asks.

"I get arrested and then hanged, most likely."

Paul reflects for a moment.

"Goddammit. Fine. I'll do it."

"Thanks!" I throw myself at him and give him a hug to smear him in blood and incriminate him too just in case something were to go wrong.

"You're a dirty bitch, do you know that?"

I smile at him.

"You should be more respectful with your superiors."

"Oh, shove it! And for the record, I'm NOT doing this just for the drink thing, I'm not that cheap of a man! I just don't want you to get fucking hanged, it'd be too much of a hassle."

"It sure would. Now, follow me."

 We go on our way to track down Allan Southset. I'm starting to think Paul might be more useful than I initially thought.