Nox hovers near my head, clicking away in his manner of communication, but the only feeling I sense from him is fear. He bites me three times to revitalize me, but the parasite gorges itself on anything Nox offers.
Blistering winds pick up that night, and snow swirls in my face. It takes concerted effort to spit out what covers me so I can breathe. I have never experienced stamina resting at zero for so long.
Voices echo amongst the trees, voices I recognize.
“What kind of fool is the boy, running off into the forest by himself?” Honep’s voice carries on the wind. “If my Brelt even thought of doing something so stupid, I’d beat it out of him.”
“He’s a good lad,” Orlen defends. “Just focus on the tracks, Honep.”
They are close. I try to call out, but my voice won’t work.
“The tracks are all shifted,” Honep says in response to the jibe from Orlen. “I’ll find the boy, but it’ll take all scrapping night.” He must be shivering in the cold, because he announces, “We’re going to freeze out here. By the bones, the boy could be dead for all we know.”
Orlen ignores the comment. “Taren, do you really think Sevorn wandered so far from the village?”
Taren doesn’t respond vocally, but I still get a spark of hope, knowing he’s searching for me. With Nox’s help, I push myself to the side, towards the voices, but I see nothing but darkness and snow.
Silence follows for some time, minutes maybe, though it feels much longer.
“Scrapping waste of time.” Honep’s mutter is close.
I see the party then. Honep takes the lead, scanning the ground as they trudge through the snow. Orlen follows him, but with reserved looks back at Taren, who trails behind. My friend stares out into the darkness on each side, his eyes glowing gold.
They must follow my path toward the Rot Heart deeper in the forest. How long will they spend there before finding where the carrion and I ran off? My vitality’s already low enough.
I grunt out another sound to no effect. Then I feel Nox crawl onto my shoulder.
I need to be careful here, with the two other hunters, but part of me doesn’t care.
I prepare a strong thought for Nox. Don’t be seen, go to Taren. I push the idea to him, twice to be sure. I don’t know if the beetle can even understand people names.
Nox clicks in response, then climbs out of his hiding place and flies toward the hunters. A gust of wind tosses him for a loop, but he persists. Soon I can no longer see him, but he must reach Taren, because my friend stops suddenly.
He turns about, searching with his glowing eyes, but he passes over my prone form. I try to move, try to make a sound, but nothing works.
Orlen notices Taren. He calls out to Honep and the two of them round on my friend.
“Scrap, kid,” Honep says, “we got to move on if we don’t want to freeze.”
“Sevorn’s near,” Taren says, still scanning the trees.
I push a thought to Nox to return to me, but he must be beyond the range of our bond level.
“The tracks lead further east,” Honep says. “What’d you think we’ve been following?”
“He’s close. Just give me a minute.”
“So now you’re a tracker, yeah?” Honep stomps closer to him. “What’ll you get next, Orlen’s trap skills? Scrapping holy magic from Edrine?”
Taren doesn’t respond. He searches in my direction, maybe judging where Nox came from.
Honep might strangle Taren before he finds me, but Orlen grabs his shoulder first. “Control yourself, Honep. He’s still a boy. And he wants to find Sevorn more than we do. He’s not trying to show off.”
Honep shirks the older hunter’s grip and turns back to the tracks leading deeper into the forest. Orlen ignores Honep, who paces with clear agitation, instead turning to watch Taren.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
My friend leans down to his own shoulder.
“What are you muttering, lad?” Orlen asks.
“Nothing.”
Then Taren spins around and faces my direction. His keen eyes search the tree where I lay, but he must not see me. I try to raise my head without success.
Taren steps through the snow, one foot at a time, never straying from the path leading directly towards my tree. His glowing eyes scour the ground, passing over snow and rocks; he even lifts his head to gaze up at tree branches without faltering from his path.
Orlen stands near Honep, unmoving. Both of them stare after Taren. Even Honep is silent.
Come to me, I think to Nox.
[Spirit Bond] has reached Level 5.
Taren curses, probably because Nox leaves him, then chases through the snow, eliciting a call from Orlen. “What do you see?”
Nox reaches me and settles on my head. I feel his sense of pride in saving me. I offer gratitude in return.
Taren sees me then. He stops for a fraction of a second, surprise in his glowing eyes, then sprints full out. “He’s here!” he shouts back to the others.
Orlen and Honep rush towards my tree.
Taren leaps over a beastly bush and lands next to me. He kneels by my side—a handful of moss comes from some pocket of his—and grabs hold of my arm.
My hand rests on the moss, useless.
All I can do is whisper, “No mana.” My throat is raw from the icy air.
“Crit,” Taren curses. “We need to get you somewhere warm.”
He glances at my mana ring. I don’t have the strength to explain. At least, not before Orlen and Honep arrive.
“The boy’s a scrapping mess,” Honep says.
Orlen hovers. “Can’t he…”
“No,” Taren snaps. “Help me carry him.”
Orlen and Taren carry me through the woods. Honep has his bow drawn, watching the darkness left and right as he leads us back to Ashgrove.
“Should probably take the lad to Father Edrine,” Orlen says.
“What good can he do?” Taren replies. “He’ll do nothing more than say a prayer over him and say it's in Mother Life’s hands.”
“I know you aren’t much of a believer and all. Not since—”
“Edrine didn’t save Raimi, did he?” Taren’s grip on my chest hurts. “All that cleric’s good at is blaming the lot of us for any bad that comes to Ashgrove.”
Orlen’s silence drags on for half our walk. Nox attempts to rest under my shirt, though his thoughts bounce between concern for me and worry about the hunters to no end.
Once Ashgrove breaks into view ahead of us, Taren’s grip lightens. “Marlene can tend to him,” he says.
Orlen grunts in disapproval, but does not object further. Honep doesn’t care where we go, so long as it’s quick.
Marlene greets us after a single knock. Her hair lies in a disheveled mess. Even Denet’s still awake.
“Why are you carrying him?” the boy asks. “Is he asleep? Why is he so cold? Why—”
Marlene quiets him and guides us back to her own bed. They lie me down there and drape me in her blankets. Denet skirts to the opposite side of the bed. His eyes stare into mine. I’m too listless to even offer the boy a reassuring smile.
Honep left before we even entered the home. Orlen stays until Marlen tells the man to return to his family. Taren stays. He has no family in the village.
“I’ll get him something warm,” says Marlene. “Put a bit of color in his cheeks.”
Taren waits until Marlene leaves to speak. “What’s blocking your mana?”
Warmth relaxes my body, and my vitality no longer drops, but I find the lack of stamina more disabling than I imagined. Most actions don’t require any noticeable amount of stamina.
“Par-a-site,” I whisper, enunciating each syllable.
Taren hasn’t heard of my affliction before.
Denet waves his hand in front of my eyes. I blink, but cannot react more despite my surprise. Taren shoos the boy away from the bed and off to his own room.
My friend remains silent until Marlene returns with hot soup. She sits on a stool by the bed and spoonfeeds me like some elderly man. The liquid burns my mouth and tongue, but I can’t move. I try to ignore the pain and focus on the relief a hot meal gives me.
Fresh meals or pure spring water can replenish a measure of mana and stamina, but the parasite laps up every point of strength I obtain. Though the food comforts me, nothing about my situation has changed.
By morning, Taren his head rests on the edge of the bed, his eyes closed. Marlene returns at dawn to check on me, only to shake her head in concern.
“You’ve got to face the truth,” Marlene says near noon. She leans on the doorframe. “He’s not getting any better here.”
“Edrine’s the last person I’d expect you to turn to,” Taren responds from the bedside. “He didn’t care for your husband. Not much of a help when he died either.”
“And what will you do, Taren? Leave the boy to rot in my bed? Let him rot in yours?”
“Edrine hates Sevorn. He’s bound to kill him before anything else.”
“You don’t know that.”
Taren stands abruptly, then gestures at me. “Edrine’s been out to get him ever since he came into town. You just aren’t paying enough attention.”
“And you’re too focused on your own past to see Sevorn’s in danger. Give the cleric a chance.” Marlene stomps up to Taren. Though she’s shorter, I don’t doubt there’s intimidation there. I can feel it from the bed. “Edrine’s more likely to know about this ‘parasite’ you keep babbling about. More than you or anyone else you’ve asked about the matter.”
Taren lowers his head.
He must be considering, even I’m considering. Though I’d hate to be under Edrine’s power, I have no appetite for lying in bed for the rest of my life.
Taren must come to the same conclusion, because the next time he faces me there is resignation in his eyes.
LitRPG Cultivation Weak to Strong Isekai
When Death Magic collides with Immortality.
Mo Fan transmigrated to the Cultivation World with a broken body and "Trash Spirit Roots." He has no future in traditional cultivation.
However, he brought a unique cheat: The power to command death. Armed with his System, he will start from zero and shock the world.
What to Expect
Smart MC Ruthless World No Harem Optimistic
- From bottom of the food chain to apex predator
- Unique fusion of Necromancy & Dao
- Modern tactics crushing ancient traditions