Chương 78: Despondent

The strenuous battle was beginning to affect June; the initial adrenaline rushes that enabled his approach and attack on the faction's camp had begun to wear off. The Aspirants had started to coordinate their attacks; the surprise of his sudden attack had petered off. This was never a fair fight. It wasn't a smart decision to fight alone. June fell to a knee and gargled as blood slowly bubbled from his mouth; a streak of blood dripped down his face, leading to an arrow embedded in his eye.

He felt disappointment in himself. He heard of Sidri's and Atish's last stand; they both took down thousands of Aspirants before they met their ends. June had killed and killed continuously; he had marred, torn, and crippled an innumerable number of enemies; at some point, he stopped counting. But, even then, he didn't scratch a thousand. He channeled will into his leg and weakly attempted to lunge out of the way of a falling arrow and fell pathetically onto his side.

Will was something that replenished quickly; it was a nearly inexhaustible resource, and it was also the way June was able to move his muscleless body and talk without vocal cords after his reformation. But June didn't know how to use Will effectively; even though he had more Will than others, and even though his Will was more potent than others, he still failed to achieve the feats of Atish and Sidri.

'This is stupid… Why… why did I do this?' His fight was going well a short while ago, but his quick reaction to the coordination of the enemy Aspirants was flawed; he simply shouted his will one too many times, and his reaction this time was the final nail in his coffin. He pathetically lay on his side; his last SURGE had thrown dirt into the sky once again and successfully prevented a unit of archers from landing a volley on him. June shakily reached for the arrow in his eye and felt the painful protrusion.

He gripped the shaft and tore it out of his eye; he let out a silent scream as his face twisted into agony. His mind was spiraling; there were odd gaps in his recent memory. He did his best to rationalize his reason for attacking the encampment alone; he thought and thought, and new reasons kept appearing in his mind. He wanted to go back to Lilia with a bang. He wanted to throw the enemy attackers into disarray. He wanted to fight and go out as a hero. He wanted to give up.

But eventually, he had a feeling that, despite his rationalizations, he simply had overworked his mind into pushing himself into this scenario. He had a habit, which was occasionally good or bad, where he would rip the band-aid off in situations where a decision was required. He lay on his back and listened to the rumbling dirt meeting the ground and the panicked or focused chatter of his enemies and felt the gentle dirt settle on his face like unpleasant snowflakes.

It took him a brief minute for his eye to reform. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

'Maybe I should run?' June lifted his braceleted hand above his face and looked at his revenants. He clenched his fist and turned invisible.

Silvester quietly sat against a tree with a spare hand twirling a dagger. June appeared next to Silvester suddenly.

"Silvester, time to pack our bags and leave." Silvester jumped up from startlement but played it off by fluidly moving to his feet. June walked up to Martin and crouched down next to him, looking at the prince with dead eyes. June then grabbed Martin's ankle, and his arm began to swell as the line protruded against his skin before bursting out into flesh vines. He then slowly backed up as his forearm rippled, producing more vine to extend the prince's meaty leash.

June began walking down the hill in the opposite direction from the encampment. His eyes looked sullen as he casually pulled the prince behind him. After a while of silent walking, Silvester slowed down to match June's pace and looked at him.

"You look like shit." June glanced at Silvester before making a monotonous backchanneled agreement. June was covered in his own blood, his eyes were sunken and had dark circles under them, his olive skin had become paler, and his only pair of clothing, which was his pants, was now caked in blood and dirt, other than just mud.

His mood was in the dumps; he was loathing his being, he felt pathetic, stupid, and incompetent, his memory had been patchy from sleep loss, and he was barely mustering his strength so as not to collapse into a deep sleep. His body hurt. The vines hurt. He missed Lilia. He just wanted to be hugged. He may have eliminated close to a thousand Aspirants without proper will application and pure physical strength, but he still lost.

He wanted to rationalize his reasoning for why, but then he would be excusing his failure.

Silvester looked at the sleeping figure of June with a pitiful look. June had done something amazing; he had single-handedly eliminated hundreds of enemies, thrown the camp into disarray, destroyed their supplies, and overall had stalled the enemy from pursuing the Brighthaven survivors, but at the same time, Silvester was worried about his state of mind. June kept on having more and more piled onto his back, and every time it happened, June simply sucked it up and carried the burden.

Silvester had noticed a change since June left his prison; he had a tendency to look off into space and emit odd sounds using his will, which Silvester later learned was June communicating with spirits.

'He looked disappointed to learn that he could use spirit magic.'

'… Why didn't he use spirit magic while fighting the enemy?' Silvester looked over at June's peaceful rest and nodded his head.

'I'll ask later.' Silvester continued to recount his memories. June had always kept a positive outlook on things; he had an ever-present slight smile on his face and was the type to do his best to keep the mood light, but he more often than not silently nodded along or remained non-verbal during conversations. He often kept his true thoughts and emotions to himself and often spoke only when someone initiated a conversation with him.

But once June learned of the state of Brighthaven, Silvester began to notice cracks in his persona. The often unbothered look on his face slowly became heavier and heavier; his supernatural voice slowly became more raspy and monotone instead of its normal hymn-like tone.

Silvester understood that 200 Dreamers alone in Brighthaven was an astronomical number, while a cohort of exceptionally coordinated Aspirants had a chance to take out a Dreamer; neither Silvester nor June could comprehend what even a somewhat well-coordinated cohort of Dreamers could look like.

'It's an unwinnable battle.' The enemy encampment was located in a nearby flatland next to a mountain range, and the duo walked for a day without stopping until June keeled over. Silvester had carried the collapsed Dreamer to a nearby natural awning near the mountainside. Silvester quietly listened to the wind rustling tree leaves and howls created when the rushing air gushed into nearby caves and crevices in the mountainside. He rhythmically tapped a finger against his kneecap.

The silence was deafening; no matter how much Silvester racked his brain, he could not find an answer to his problem. 200 Dreamers in a coordinated force was a horrifying concept, but even then, just one Dreamer alone was capable of fighting off hundreds, even thousands of Aspirants if they were skilled enough. At some point in the near or distant future, the two remaining factions would be forced to fight one another. Silvester craned to stare at the ceiling of the crevice the group hid against.

"tsk"'Only 300 people can go into the next round.' He tilted his head to the side to glance at June and then let out a deep sigh before closing his eyes and falling into a slumber.