Chương 76: Burden Bearer

June haphazardly yanked the flesh vine that was attached to Martin's ankle while unskillfully spinning a dagger with his other hand. It had been a week since Martin was captured, and June's mind was racing for the first time since the day he was buried.

So much had happened so quickly: he escaped his prison, he bonded with a friend, he ran hundreds of kilometers, climbed up the impossible wet cliff behind Brighthaven, witnessed his home's destruction, spent several days skulking around Dreamers with one mistake carrying the potential of instant death, sneaked into the spire, and kidnapped the mad prince to teach him a lesson, and now a week after the pig was captured they were now walking through marshlands tracking down the survivors of Brighthaven.

After all of that happened, his walk in the marshlands felt deafeningly quiet. June's tall elven companion rested on his back from fatigue; not everyone was a Dreamer after all, but even then, June's eyes felt heavy as he dragged the catatonic, nude prince through the marsh. For the first time in his life, he enacted violence for the sake of violence. He didn't try to flee, negotiate, or kill his target with purpose in mind; instead, he senselessly dragged a limp Martin behind him.

Rage was a nebulous emotion to June; there had been many a time in his life when he should have been rightfully angry or seething, but even on the days when someone would maliciously injure him, take their anger out on him, wrong him, or do anything that would turn anyone else into a tomato red with fumes billowing from their ears, June had from an early age felt incapable of anger; he forgave people immediately and often was indifferent to the wrongs dealt to him. He was used to being wronged.

At some point, he accepted it as truth, as his reality, but this time, for the first time, June felt an anger within him; he would have willingly accepted Martin if what he did was in the past, if he had changed for the better. He judged people by their actions. Even the nebulous voice felt so; June and the voice were the same person, but simultaneously they had their own thoughts. These thoughts often aligned, but June could not truly understand the voice.

His understanding came from an innate feeling; he understood the Voice was more experienced than him, more ancient in nature, eldritch even. His understanding came from a sense of attunement; it was as if the Voice's emotions showed themselves in resonant tones instead of expressions, and when the two felt the same about something, their tones harmonized, combined into one. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

So when June learned of Martin's depraved plan of drugging Lilia after the colosseum games concluded, his own new emotion of rage harmonized with the Voice's emotion, and with it, tones of sorrow, longing, and regret were melancholically dancing in a macabre tune. June yanked the flesh vine once more to make sure the foolish prince wasn't feeling comfortable.

When June captured him, he tore the fool's tendons out, and whenever the prince's stomach grumbled in an overzealous hunger, June would feed the princes own tendons down his gullet. The lachrymose prince's weeping sounded like drizzled honey and a banshee's scream to June; he simultaneously hated it and loved it. He knew he was capable of shutting his emotions off; he understood he was unfortunately proficient in doing so. He began having a hard time believing that his wrath was rightful.

A deep part of him wished that the trauma and fear he inflicted on the prince would fix him; he would be open to forgiving him afterwards if he truly changed.

If a steel pipe were bent out of shape, a reasonable person would replace it or dispose of it, but an artisan would repurpose it or fix it back to its true capacity, but June was neither a reasonable man nor an artisan; a steel pipe bent out of shape means nothing to him; it either functions or does not, but if the bent pipe begins to cause issues, he will grab it by both ends and set it right.

June has no problems with bending the bars into place with his own hands, even if the metal is rusted, jagged, or sharp; even if the metal bites into his hands when he bends it into place, disposing of it is a waste, and he neither has the time nor talent to temper the bar into a pristine one. If it causes problems for others, he will bend it into place; if it breaks, then it breaks; if it rights itself, then he succeeded.

June's foot got stuck in the marsh, and he pulled at it and tore his foot out, leaving the shoe behind. He looked at the closing hole of the marsh, staring with heavy eyes. He hadn't slept for several days. He hadn't rested for several weeks. He wanted to break down in tears and give up. He would rather not be the one who had to be callous. He didn't want to be a hero either. He just wanted to be with his dog. He just wanted to be with Lilia.

'It's been months since I've seen them.' His face drooped into a frown. He had done too much for one person. He watched the hole slowly close. The cascading mud and tainted water slopped as thick and oily mud covered his shoe. His hands hurt. His back was sore. He had to create veins and shape them into vines. They chafed against the disgusting mud. June looked behind him and watched the prince behind him. His frown deepened. He turned around and began walking without retrieving his shoe.

Tears bubbled in his eyes and tapped against the tainted mud. He felt dirty. He felt violated. The mud nearly went up to his waist. There was still an unknown distance to the new camp. He just needed to find the enemy Aspirant camp, and he'll know if he's going the right way. He just needed to keep walking.

'I'm coming home.'