Chương 97: The Price of the Seventh Level

These words knocked Lloyd's breathing out of its steady rhythm, as if some invisible hand had briefly squeezed his chest from the inside, not letting him draw a full breath.

Despite this long, almost heartfelt conversation, stretched out over a good hour beneath that pale, lifeless light of the false sky, he had genuinely managed to forget that everything happening around him was merely part of the Exam, merely another trial along the path, one whose outcome so much depended on — perhaps even more than his own life.

But he kept stubbornly standing his ground, his voice growing louder, breaking into barely restrained irritation, his fingers curling into fists on their own, nails digging into his soft palms. — Money. Really, money. The old man closed his eyes, continuing to listen in silence, and from that single gesture alone, from the way the corners of his broad, weathered lips twitched faintly, from the way he exhaled slowly and heavily through his nose, Lloyd understood: his answer clearly hadn't satisfied the old man.

The silence hanging between them felt almost alive, thick, as if the very air over the meadow had condensed in anticipation of something more. — Only money, I only need money. Hector simply sat there in silence, eyes still closed, his enormous hands resting motionless on his knees, while the tension around them seemed to thicken with every passing second, becoming almost tangible, hanging over the meadow denser even than that heavy, floral sweetness drifting in from somewhere among the thickets.

Lloyd's words gradually rose into an outright shout, echoing among the blooming bushes and making the nearest petals shiver as if from a gust of wind. — Then why don't you believe me at all?! The reason may be pathetic, but you're the one who asked me to be honest with you!

Hector went on sitting motionless, waiting for an answer, his massive frame against the pale sky looking especially heavy now, still, as if carved from stone, but from his gaze, from the way the giant's shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly, brows drawing together, Lloyd understood: his time was running out — a little longer and this conversation would end nothing like he wanted it to, and he himself would go home with nothing, having failed the final, most important stage.

"Just a little more," raced through his mind.

"Come on, say something, anything, just don't stay silent." — Really, money... His voice suddenly broke, cracking somewhere in the middle of the sentence, and the next words came out as barely audible, trembling whisper, as though he were forcing them out of himself, overcoming some invisible, heavy inner resistance that had, it seemed, been building for years. Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. — Mom...

Hector's eyes snapped open at once, and now his gaze became something entirely different — sharp, searching, stripped of all the earlier mockery and that drunken ease that had accompanied their whole conversation up to this very moment. He listened to the young man so intently, as if afraid of missing a single word, a single breath, and even the glowing insects circling among the flowers seemed to freeze somewhere between the petals, not daring to disturb this fragile, taut moment.

— My mother didn't survive the Veil. Or rather... not entirely. Lloyd lowered his eyes to his hands resting on his knees, sifting through his mind for words he could say instead of these, something easier, something that wouldn't tear at his throat each time he tried to finish the sentence, but nothing suitable came to him, and his throat only tightened further, as if some invisible hand were drawing a thin noose around it. — She's sick with the Sapphire Sleep. That's why I need money.

It's the only way I'll be able to buy medicine for that vile disease.

"There. Now you know," raced through his mind — a heavy, almost resigned feeling of relief, mixed with the fear of having just said out loud what he'd kept locked away somewhere deep inside for so long, hidden even from himself. The loud laughter Lloyd had almost involuntarily braced for — that same booming, thunderous laugh with which Hector had generously answered even his most trivial remark all evening — never came.

Instead, the old man looked at him closely, almost mournfully, his brows drawing together, his massive face, usually so lively, growing serious all at once, as if it had aged a good ten years in an instant. Finally he spoke, his voice quieter than usual, without its familiar rough hoarseness, almost gentle. — The Sapphire Sleep. A monstrously severe illness. I'm truly sorry to hear that. He fell silent for a moment, as if searching for the right words, then continued, leaning forward slightly. — But, boy...

Lloyd raised his eyes, looking straight into the giant's, feeling something tighten inside him in tense, almost painful anticipation, his heart pounding somewhere up near his throat. — Do you even have any idea how much money you'd need for a treatment like that? Not even every wealthy man in this world can afford it, and I don't want to disappoint you, but Players don't get paid that much — not even the luckiest of them. You're more likely to find that medicine yourself than to be able to buy it. But...

The old man hesitated for a moment, as if he too were struggling to choose his words, weighing each one with visible effort, though the result was, to put it gently, clumsy — for a man of his size, such careful hesitation looked almost absurd, like a bear trying to tread across thin ice. — You'll need to reach at least the third stage.

Noticing the confusion on Lloyd's face, whose brows had drawn together in incomprehension, his lips parting as if to ask something, Hector quickly added, leaning forward slightly, the flattened grass beneath him sinking a bit further under his weight. — Level seven. So you'd at least be able to set foot in the places where this so-called medicine is found. It wouldn't cost so much if it could be gotten so easily. And here's the thing, boy...

Lloyd went utterly still, all ears, forgetting even about the half-finished glass sitting beside him in the grass, completely focused on every word the old man spoke, afraid of missing even a syllable, even the pause between them. — Do you even understand what you'll have to achieve, what you'll have to go through, to become a level-seven Player?