Winning was a silent affair, far quieter than the clamor of defeat.
Upon returning to his cell in the Wells, Kaelen felt no intoxication of victory, only a profound, heavy numbness. Rico had poured their winnings—the cut from the bets—onto the stone bench, dancing to the rhythmic jingle of the coins.
One hundred and fifty Cogs! Rico shouted. Can you believe it, Giant? We can live like royalty for two weeks! No more rat meat! Only chicken! Perhaps even wine!
Kaelen did not look at the money. His eyes were locked on GRIEF, leaning in the corner where he had placed it.
The sword was vibrating in its scabbard. But this was not a call to battle; it was a dirge. That final memory absorbed from Scrap-Breaker—the image of the helpless father clutching his children—was trapped within the sword's metal, struggling to leak out. It sought to enter Kaelen's mind, to remind him of what he had done.
But Verrick's blue wall was there.
Kaelen knew the memory, but he did not feel it. It was as distant as if he had read the biography of a stranger in a book. There was no regret. There was only cold data: Target neutralized.
Hey, Rico said, noticing the vacant expression on Kaelen's face. What is wrong? You took that man down with a single blow! You were legendary!
Kaelen looked at his hands.
Do legends not feel, Rico?
Rico paused. He stopped gathering the coins. What?
That man had children, Kaelen said. His voice was flat. I know this. I saw it. But I do not care. Why do I not care?
Before Rico could answer, a shadow fell across the iron bars.
Jarek.
The tournament favorite, the Tower Guard.
Jarek leaned against the bars, peeling an apple with a knife. His grey eyes were fixed on Kaelen. There was neither fear nor hatred in his gaze. Only a cold, deep pity.
Alchemy, Jarek said, taking a bite of his apple. It numbs the soul, doesn't it? It silences the conscience. That way, your hand doesn't tremble when you pull the trigger.
Kaelen stood up. What do you want?
I came to warn you, Specimen, Jarek said, using the name Verrick had given him with an edge of sarcasm. I know that blue poison. In the Silver Tower, it is the first thing they give the Perfect Knights. First, it takes your pain. Then your fear. Finally, it takes your name.
Jarek stabbed his knife into the apple.
Verrick is not healing you, lad. He is hollowing you out. He is emptying you so that he can fill the void with Lord Arthus's commands.
I have no other choice, Kaelen said, clutching the vein in his neck. Without this... I burn.
To burn is to feel, Jarek said. He turned his back. And a warrior who does not feel is merely a butcher. Do not face me in tomorrow's round. If you do, I will break you in a way that even that alchemist won't be able to piece back together.
Jarek vanished into the darkness.
Rico ran to the bars. The man is mad! Do not listen to him, Giant! He is just jealous!
Kaelen did not answer. Because at that moment, he knew Jarek was right.
But then... the crisis arrived.
Verrick had said three days. But he had lied. Or perhaps the Void within Kaelen's body had consumed the medicine faster than anticipated.
Suddenly, it was as if glass shattered inside his ribcage.
Kaelen collapsed to his knees. His breath was cut short. The blue tranquility receded instantly, leaving hellfire in its wake. His right eye began to throb as if it would burst from its socket.
Ahhhrggg!
Kaelen drove his claws into the floor. His fingernails scraped against stone. Black veins climbed from his neck toward his face like a savage vine.
The memory of Scrap-Breaker—the crying of those children—now rushed into his mind with full force. Regret pierced his heart like a red-hot iron.
Rico... he rasped. The medicine... fetch the medicine...
Rico recoiled in terror. But... Verrick said three days! We do not have enough money! The man wants a fortune!
GO! Kaelen roared. His voice was not human. The metallic resonance of GRIEF had bled into his vocal cords.
Rico snatched the coins and bolted.
Kaelen was half-conscious when he was dragged into Verrick's laboratory.
Rico had slung him over his shoulder, but he was being crushed under Kaelen's weight. When the door opened, the sterile white light scorched Kaelen's eyes.
Verrick was waiting for them. He was not surprised. He was sipping tea at his desk.
Four hours earlier than I expected, Verrick said, checking his watch. Your metabolism is using the medicine as fuel to feed the Void. Interesting.
Kaelen slumped onto the stretcher. Stop it... he groaned.
Verrick rose slowly. He took the pouch of coins Rico offered, weighed it, and set it aside.
This money is not enough, child, he said without looking at Rico.
W-what? Rico was trembling. That is everything! Everything we won!
That was for the standard dose, Verrick said. He approached Kaelen and touched the throbbing black vein on Kaelen's face with a gloved finger. But I see your body rejects the standards. You need more. Something purer. Something... more permanent.
Kaelen grabbed Verrick's wrist. Take whatever you want. Just do it.
Verrick smiled. It was the smile of a spider, not a merchant.
Give me a promise, Kaelen, the Alchemist said. You will win the tournament. And when you win, you will bring that sword... GRIEF to me. You will give it to me to study.
In a corner of Kaelen's mind, GRIEF shrieked. NO! DO NOT GIVE ME TO HIM! HE WILL DISMANTLE ME!
But the pain was so immense that Kaelen could not hear the sword's voice.
Fine, he rasped. I promise.
Verrick turned to the cabinet. This time, he pulled out a metal-bodied syringe containing a dark purple fluid.
This, Verrick said, holding the needle's tip to the light, is Memoriam-X. It does not only take your pain. It also... organizes the memories that cause you pain. It erases unnecessary regrets. It focuses you on pure purpose.
Are you going to erase my memory?
Only the ones that weigh you down, Verrick said. You will thank me.
He drove the needle into Kaelen's neck.
The sensation this time was not coolness. It was ice. Absolute, crystallized ice.
Kaelen's body went rigid. His eyes rolled back.
The fire in his mind was extinguished instantly. The crying of Scrap-Breaker's children... the sound grew faint, fainter, and vanished. Only a silent image remained, and then it too was erased.
Groth's daughter Liora... her face blurred. The pain eased.
Kaelen took a deep breath. The air filling his lungs was sterile and clean.
When he stood up, he did not stagger.
Rico looked at him with fear. Giant? Are you okay?
Kaelen looked at Rico. Then at Verrick.
I am fine, he said. His voice was smooth as polished steel. In fact, I have never been better.
He reached for GRIEF. When he gripped the hilt, he did not feel the sword's resistance. The blade was silent. Or perhaps Kaelen had become too deaf to hear it anymore.
When is the next match? he asked Verrick.
Tomorrow, the Alchemist said, taking fresh notes. And this time, I do not want a spectacle. I want an elimination.
Kaelen nodded.
As you wish.
As they left the laboratory, Rico tried to take Kaelen's hand, but Kaelen's hand was cold. As cold as marble.
Kaelen looked at the sky, at the Silver Tower.
He no longer felt a reason to go there. There was only a command.
Ascend. Destroy the obstacle.
And in that moment, Kaelen did not even realize he was truly lost. For the part of him that would have realized he was lost had dissolved away inside that purple fluid.
Would you like me to translate the next chapter as well?