Chương 53: THE FINALITY OF LOSS

T'balt wrote sporadically in his notebook, continuing to plan his moves in his war against Monan. Though he was sure this life wasn't going to be the one where he finally took him down, it was still useful to plot everything out. He had actually learned a lot this iteration. Without Ellie, he had to do a lot more experimenting, especially when it came to his team composition. He didn't have a dedicated healer, and really, he only had Cannon and his band as his confident backup.

Without them realizing it, the wrestlers served as his guinea pigs. T'balt tried to pair strength and speed and made up a healing tank class that turned out just as bad as it sounded. It seemed this time around, Monan was sending out soldiers in small groups to attack T'balt's hunting parties. It was a form of fear-mongering, making people afraid to leave the church. So T'balt started to go out with them, using it as a chance to tighten up some of his loot knowledge.

Monan still never showed himself, and the thugs never attacked when T'balt was heading the party. Bunch of cowards. He really wanted to just find out where Monan was. Then he could actually plan how to fight him. He considered what strategy he'd use when he did find him. Assassination? Poisoning? A surprise attack? He'd only have to catch him off guard once, right, but catching someone like Monan that seemingly already lived through every possibility would be like trying to drown a fish.

They were in his element and not the other way around. It was far more likely that things would come down to a straight fight, and Monan always had the upper hand there. He was a better fighter and knew the right loot stacks to make anyone a thorn in T'balt's side. He remembered how tough it was to fight Chosa. That weird living armor and the scythe. If Monan had enough loot, theoretically, he could make a hundred people as tough as that fight. But so could T'balt, for that matter.

In his mind, he formed the chess board, making a thousand pre-emptive moves before Monan even played his opening.

"T'balt!" T'balt ducked, dodging a blast of flame shooting by his head. He awoke from his thinking state to realize they were in a fight with a pack of flame hounds, and he just got distracted in the middle of it. Cannon and the wrestlers were quick to blast the dogs and clean up the fight.

"What are you trying to get killed?" Cannon said.

"Out here's not the place to get caught daydreaming, kid. You almost got roasted faster than a campfire marshmallow."

"Sorry," T'balt said. He wondered if he was just getting that comfortable around these situations that he could just doze off in the middle of a fight. He supposed the more he died, the more death just became an inconvenience more than anything. He'd just have to start the week over. A setback was still a setback, though, and he was supposed to figure out a way to kill Monan in this iteration. Back at the church, things had slowly shifted into their normal gears.

Everyone was working their stations, the walls were built, the children taken care of, the loot sorted. T'balt eventually realized that he hadn't seen the abbot in days after their last talk. He wondered if he was still mourning. He wouldn't blame him. When he mourned, it usually took weeks alone for him to get over something. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose a wife. Arthur must've been suffering immensely, but enough time had passed that a check-up would be in order. He peeked into his office.

"Arthur?" It was dark. The man was there, but he was despondent. A bottle of alcohol was sitting on his desk, his face flat down in his arms. T'balt flipped on the lights, stirring the abbot to life.

"Ahh… T'balt? What is it?"

"Nothing. It's just been a few days. Wanted to see how you were doing is all." If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"Oh. Well, I'm fine." The old man's pupils dilated with the fresh light blasting him awake.

"Are you sure? What's with the bottle? I thought you quit." Arthur looked at the bottle of wine as if he'd noticed it for the first time. He put it under his desk, pretending like it was never there. T'balt crossed his arms.

"I know it's tough losing people. But we still need you cognizant, Arthur."

"What could someone like you know about loss?" he chastised.

"Everything you lose you can regain with a snap of your finger."

"Or a knife to my throat."

"What's the difference?" T'balt sighed and opened the window to get some air in the stuffy room.

"Maybe you're right… You know I've stopped thinking about how much I hated losing Ellie and started thinking about all the things I want to say to her when I see her again. That's one of those things that makes me different from normal people now. I don't lose anything anymore. Or maybe I've lost so much that I'm getting numb to it. It's one of those things that makes me question if I'm still human. But there was a time when Ellie saved me even though she knew what I was.

She knew death ultimately meant nothing for me, and she still died to save me. That's because no one wants to see people they care about suffer. Even if they know it'll get better. Especially not me." The breeze shifted into the room, fluttering Arthur's greying hair. He took a moment to feel it on his face before saying, "I'm sorry. I'm… I should've told you this but… I got a visit from Ellie's killer."

"Monan? He was here," T'balt started.

"Not here," said Arthur.

"My home. He was looking for something. I'm not quite sure what." T'balt thought a moment.

"Searching for something… And what happened?"

"I found out he is truly the monster that you fear he is. He is a man that must be put down no matter the means."

"Right… but we still haven't been able to find him. I feel like we've checked all over the city by now. But we can't just wait for him to attack us. Did he say anything that might tell us where he is?"

"No…"

"Did he say anything at all?"

"He said I killed my wife…"

"What?" T'balt searched him for meaning, but by the look on his face, he wasn't holding back any truth.

"You shouldn't believe the things he says. He's a manipulator and a liar."

"Don't." Arthur sucked through his teeth.

"He has the same power as you. And you've admitted yourself that he knows far more about us than you do. I can't turn my brain off and simply say that he's lying. Pandora's box has been opened, and I don't know if it's true."

"It can't be… I don't see why you would."

"I also don't see why I would be too afraid to say my wife's name around you when I can say it now so freely. Martha. Martha. Martha. I want to say it because I want you to know her name. It's a beautiful name." His voice started to strain.

"Listen, T'balt, if it's true then… then what do I do? Knowing that I'm capable of… of…"

"But you haven't, Arthur. Not here. Not in this life. You shouldn't worry about what happened to a different version of you. Because at the end of the day, it's not you." T'balt said those words but didn't fully believe them. He knew all too well that what someone was capable of in one life, they were very well capable of doing it in the next. But as opposed to before, he knew that circumstance meant a lot. That's what his choker reminded him of.

"Maybe you're right," Arthur said.

"I've been buying too much into this… divine prophecy. I should stop pretending like I know what it all means."

"You should join everyone for dinner tonight. It'll be good for you."

"Of course, Redeemer."

"Just T'balt is fine."

"Right." T'balt could only scratch his head. He knew that Monan wasn't a liar. When he manipulated people, he usually used some form of the truth. He never needed to outright lie in matters like these. What would his motivation be? But T'balt couldn't believe that there was really a world where Arthur killed his wife with his own hands. It was too curious a thought to let go, but too absurd to accept. But what could he do about it now?

The abbot was clearly not able to let it go based on his sunken expression at dinner that night. The man had an itchy trigger finger when it came to serving himself wine as well. But T'balt was no therapist. He was never good at talking people through those kinds of problems. He couldn't even get through his own.

"T'balt!" he heard Cannon shout. But when he looked up, he saw the red words.

"You died."

"Ahh… whoops." He chuckled.

"I got distracted again. I gotta stop doing that." But he couldn't help but feel that it came at a good time. He was ready to be done with that timeline anyway. So nothing lost, but everything gained. This time, he knew he wanted to do something about the abbot's wife. First, though, he had to make it to Ellie.