Chương 50: Homemade Remedy

I lay on the floor with Mimir's head beside my waist, listening to him complain into the stone. My breathing kept interrupting him. Every time I thought I had enough air to sit up, another breath had to be taken first, and eventually I stopped trying to coordinate the two.

"By the splintered teeth of the first giants, lad, turn me over. I've had a close enough acquaintance with this floor." I moved my elbow. His head rolled slightly, bringing one eye clear.

"A generous improvement. Shall I describe the grain of the stone while ye recover?"

"You could be quiet."

"And leave ye alone with your judgment? Look where that's brought us." I let my head rest again. The palace around me had changed. The debris was gone, along with the fires and the dark stains that had spread between the stones. I could see the floor all the way to the open side of the citadel. Beyond it, sunlight came through a gap between two mountain peaks and struck me directly across the eyes. I turned my face away.

After everything the Sword Saint had done, the ordinary sun was becoming an unnecessary addition. Footsteps hurried toward me. I tried to sit up before they arrived and managed to get one hand beneath my shoulder.

"Are you alright, mister?" Petra stopped close enough that her boots blocked part of the light. She bent forward, catching her breath, with her bow held awkwardly away from her legs. I looked past her at the place she had come from, then back at her face. She was here. She was speaking. One of the possibilities I had kept putting aside was that the Sword Saint's spatial manipulation had taken her with us. I had been occupied with my own survival and had done very little to establish hers.

Now she was looking down at me, waiting for an answer.

"Yes," I said. Mimir gave a short laugh against the floor. Petra glanced at him.

"Can you stand?" I pushed myself upright before she could offer a hand. The movement took longer than it should have, and I stayed sitting for a moment, pretending to adjust the staff beside me. Dawn had reached the far wall. A narrow strip of gold ran across its base, interrupted by the feet of several old shelves. [Floor Collapsing in 10 minutes.] I read the notification, then got to my feet. Petra straightened with me.

"What does that mean?"

"We need to leave."

"When?"

"Within ten minutes." Mimir's rope lay beside my boot. I picked it up and pulled him toward my belt, which caused the back of his head to scrape along the floor before I had him clear.

"Ye dragging me like some nursery toy now?"

"Shut up." He stopped speaking long enough for me to fasten the rope. That was surprisingly effective. Humans used the phrase often, generally after they had exhausted more elaborate attempts at conversation. I had perhaps been giving the elaborate attempts too much time. The shelves were close enough to search before we left. I opened Pathfinder and let its guidance spread through the remaining chamber, looking for accessible spaces while Concoction identified what I could use.

Several containers had survived on the lower shelves. Whether they had been there during the fight, I could not say. I had spent very little of it looking for medicine. [Concoction (Active) Rank 2: Reagent assessment available.] I crouched beside the first shelf and lifted a lid. Dried herbs filled the bottom of the jar. The next container held cloudy mineral fragments, most of them too small to be worth separating, though Material Sense accepted several. A patch of fungus had spread beneath the lowest board.

Petra watched me pull it free.

"I thought we were leaving."

"We are."

"You're collecting mould."

"Useful mould." Mimir cleared his throat.

"An important distinction. Worth remaining inside a collapsing floor to establish." I put the fungus on a piece of cloth with the herbs and the usable fragments. The rest could stay. Even with Concoction, there was a limit to what I was prepared to put into myself, and the contents of the last jar had adhered to its lid. Wormhole required some care. I could open it a maximum of five times, and I still had to account for traversal.

Opening storage for every item separately was an excellent way to find myself carrying everything by hand when movement became urgent. Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators! I gathered the cloth by its corners and opened storage once. [Wormhole: Spatial Storage accessed.] The bundle went through. I waited until the last corner cleared before closing it, then checked underneath the shelf again because a small green fragment had rolled near my foot.

It proved to be glass. I left it where it was.

"Hey," Petra said behind me.

"About earlier…" I turned too quickly. For a moment her face failed to settle into focus. The mirror came back to me, its moving surface, the image of the Sword Saint turning inside it. I put a hand against the shelf and tried to keep the memory separate from the room. Petra took a step closer. My chest tightened around a cough. I bent forward, tasted blood, and had to brace harder against the wood. The staff slipped against my leg. I caught it before it fell.

[RESOURCES] [Health: 1 / 310] The number occupied far too much of my sight. Petra reached toward me, and the end of my staff came up beneath her chin. She stopped. I had moved before considering who stood there. Now I knew, and my hand still refused to lower the weapon. One health point left very little room for reconsideration after the fact.

"Stay there," I said.

"I am." She held both hands where I could see them. Her bow hung at her side, its strap caught against her sleeve. Petra had given me no reason to expect an attack. I knew that. I could remember her standing at the boundary during the fight, and I could remember enough other runs to have lowered the staff immediately. My fingers tightened around it instead. I had died with one health point remaining before. A loose rock had been enough once.

On another run, a small rodent had settled an encounter that a much larger opponent had failed to finish. The system had recorded both without any apparent embarrassment on my behalf.

"Lad," Mimir said.

"I know."

"Aye. Your arm seems less informed." Petra moved one hand slowly toward her pouch. I followed it with my eyes.

"I have a potion," she said.

"You can take it yourself." A red vial appeared between her fingers. The system highlighted it, and I stared at the stopper for a moment before reading the identification. [Item Identified: Health Potion.] It had a small button set into the top. I remembered that design from potions I had tried to reproduce. Mine had required a less convenient arrangement of cork and considerably more patience. I lowered the staff enough to take it.

"Thanks." Petra released the vial as soon as my fingers closed around it. She stayed where she was while I pressed the button and drank. The potion was bitter. They generally were. Stamina potions had a better taste, though taste had become an unreliable basis for comparison when I so rarely consumed ordinary food. I swallowed the last of it anyway and checked the vial for anything left. [Health: 31 / 310] The pressure in my chest eased enough that I could straighten. My arm remained difficult to move.

I put the empty vial away and finally brought the staff down to the floor. Petra looked at its tip before looking back at me.

"I was going to help you stand."

"I was standing."

"You were holding a shelf." There was little to gain from correcting her further. I shifted my weight away from it and looked at the bow beside her hip.

"That bow. How many arrows do you have?" She glanced down as though the weapon might have acquired a different owner while we were speaking.

"Well, enough for thirty rounds."

"Thirty arrows?"

"Yes." Keeping track of ammunition was vital. I had learned that during my bow runs and had continued learning it after I should have known better. An empty quiver could turn an otherwise manageable fight into several minutes of striking stone with a weapon designed to send something else toward it. The statues on the flower floors had been particularly unpleasant. I remembered swinging a bow by its lower limb while trying to keep its string clear of a stone hand. There had been petals underfoot.

They made the ground slippery, which I had resented almost as much as the statues. The bow had survived a surprising amount of misuse. System-granted weapons generally did. Perhaps that was part of what the summoning mana paid for. I had never secured a useful answer.

"Count them before we enter the next floor," I told her.

"I already counted."

"Then keep track."

"I will." Her eyes moved down to my arm.

"But your injuries still look deep." I followed her gaze. My sleeve had stuck against several places I would have preferred to leave covered. The damage from the Sword Saint remained obvious, even after the potion. I flexed my hand and regretted the effort before completing it. Mimir made a thoughtful noise.

"I've not forgotten the dragging, by the way. Should ye trip and plant your face in the floor, I reserve the right to mention it."

"That could happen," I said.

"Aye, lad. That was the concern hiding beneath the insult." Petra put her bow down and reached for my wrist. I drew back a little.

"Let me see."

"We have a time limit."

"Then stop moving your hand away." She waited, palm open, while I considered the amount of time an argument would consume. I gave her my hand. Her fingers closed carefully around the uninjured part of my wrist. She turned it only far enough to inspect the arm, then guided me toward the edge of a low stone platform.

"Sit here."

"I can stand."

"I know. You've been very clear about that." I sat. She took a small container from her pouch, opened it with her thumb, and checked the contents before dipping a folded strip of cloth inside. I leaned forward to look.

"What is it?"

"A home remedy."

"That covers a considerable range of substances."

"It's for burns." Mimir chuckled.

"There ye are. A substance for the thing ye have." The first touch stung enough that my hand shifted in hers. Petra paused, then resumed when I kept still. After a few applications, the sensation became manageable. She worked around the fabric caught against my arm and left it alone where moving it would have made matters worse. Someone travelling alone needed to know how to tend a wound. I had remembered to ask about arrows and had somehow failed to give that equal consideration.

The potion had restored a fraction of my health. It had left her with plenty to do.

"Thanks," I said again.

"You can stop holding your arm so stiffly."

"I am trying." She adjusted her grip.

"Try a little less." Mimir had become far too quiet. I looked down at him and immediately regretted drawing his attention.

"No need to be so uptight, lad. Are ye bad with girls?" Petra kept working, though her hand paused at the edge of the cloth.

'Why would I pursue girls?'

"What?" Mimir said. I looked at him.

"That was your answer? By the old gods, I asked whether ye could speak to one."

"I am speaking."

"Aye. She offers medicine, and ye inspect her ammunition."

"It was a relevant question." Petra pressed the lid back onto the container.

"It was better than that... potion you took. Did a witch scam you?" Mimir laughed so hard that his rope shifted against my belt. I watched her put the remedy away. There were several possible responses, none of which would improve the conversation. The countdown returned to the front of my attention when she began when she finished. he tied it while I examined the route out, I checked my grip on the staff, then stood as soon as she released my wrist. It felt adequate. [Floor Collapsing in 2 minutes.]"That is enough," I said. Petra collected her bow. Mimir began saying something about the miracle of following instructions, but I was already opening the other notification. [Archetype Acquired: The Fallen Paladin Minerva] [Status: Knight] The words remained exactly as they had been. I wanted time to examine them