The morning sun over Patrain was relentless, casting a golden clarity over the city that felt at odds with the grit and exhaustion clinging to Arthur's skin.
The main thoroughfare was a chaotic river of activity—merchants barking prices, players in mismatched armor sprinting toward the quest boards, and the steady rhythmic clatter of carriage wheels on cobblestone.
But the crowd parted instinctively as Arthur broke into the city gates.
"Isn't that... the Hero player the NPCs talk about?" a player whispered, pausing mid-trade.
"Level 12? What happened to him?"
"He's carrying someone," another noted, pointing.
Arthur didn't hear them. His world had shrunk to the burning sensation in his lungs and the weight of the black haired girl on his back. His Level 12 stats were a cruel cage; his stamina bar was flashing a rhythmic, agonizing red.
Sweat stung his eyes, and every breath felt like inhaling hot sand. Behind him, the boots of Alfia, Meteria, and Nana hammered against the stone, their faces set in grim masks of determination.
"Nana!" Arthur rasped, his voice cracking. "Go... find Sister Anna. Tell her that we found someone injured. She needs an immediate checkup. Go!"
Nana didn't hesitate. She peeled away from the group like a launched arrow, weaving through the crowd toward the alchemy district.
"We're almost there, Cecil," Arthur managed to grunt, shifting her weight. "Just hold on. Ozuna's Inn is right around the corner. Don't you dare close your eyes."
Cecil's head rested heavily against his shoulder. Her breathing was shallow, a faint whistle of exhaustion. "I'm... holding," she whispered, her fingers clutching his tattered tunic with a strength that surprised him.
Arthur didn't just walk into Ozuna's Inn; he burst through the heavy oak doors, the bell ringing a frantic, discordant alarm.
Airgid was behind the counter, mid-pour. He dropped the pitcher. The retired swordsman was across the room in three strides, his eyes instantly assessing the situation.
He didn't ask questions—he saw the blood-red marks on the girl's wrists and the hollow look in Arthur's eyes.
"Upper guest room. Second door on the left," Airgid commanded, his voice a steadying anchor. "Alfia, get hot water. Meteria, clean blankets. Move!"
Ten minutes later, the room was a hive of quiet, focused energy. Sister Anna arrived shortly after Nana, her medical kit clattering onto the bedside table. She was an alchemist and a friend of theirs..
"Move aside, boys," Anna said, gently but firmly nudging Arthur and Airgid toward the door.
Arthur slumped against the hallway wall, sliding down until he hit the floor.
His hands were shaking from the physical overexertion. Alfia and Meteria stood beside him, their expressions a mix of lingering adrenaline and a new, simmering anxiety they couldn't quite name.
Inside the room, the sounds of rustling cloth and the clink of glass vials filled the silence.
"What happened out there, Arthur?" Airgid asked, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his massive chest.
"Yatan Church," Arthur said, rubbing his face. "A sacrificial ritual in the ruins. We disrupted it."
Airgid's eyes darkened. "Yatan. In our backyard? The Earl will need to hear of this. That's not a bandit problem; that's an infection."
The door creaked open. Anna stepped out, wiping her hands on a clean cloth. She looked exhausted but satisfied. "She's dehydrated and physically spent," Anna reported. "The bruises will fade with the ointment I've applied. No permanent magical scarring, thank the gods. She's lucky you found her when you did. A few more hours and the 'Soul Drain' would have been irreversible. Who is she?"
"Her name is Cecil," Arthur said, standing up on shaky legs. "That's all we know."
"She's awake," Anna said, nodding toward the room. "But keep it brief. She needs sleep more than she needs an audience. I have deliveries for the Garrison, so I must go. Keep her hydrated."
Arthur entered the room alone first, the three girls hovering at the threshold. Cecil was lying on the cot, a pale blue blanket tucked around her. Her red eyes—vibrant even in her weakened state—locked onto Arthur the moment he approached.
"Thank you," she said. It wasn't the practiced thanks of an NPC completing a quest. It was raw. "I thought... I thought I was already a ghost."
Arthur pulled up a stool, his expression gentle. "You don't have to repay me, Cecil. We were in the area. It was the right thing to do."
Cecil pushed herself up, wincing as the movement pulled at her bruised ribs. "No. Most people would have seen the grey robes and run the other way. You risked your life. I saw your face when that priest fell. You were terrified, yet you didn't stop."
"I told you," Arthur sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's over now. Focus on the recovery. Ozuna's Inn is safe. Airgid won't let anyone in who shouldn't be here."
"I want to stay," Cecil said suddenly, her voice gaining a stubborn edge. "I want to be your servant. I'll cook, I'll clean, I'll sharpen your blades. Just give me a purpose."
Arthur blinked, the "Hero" persona momentarily slipping. "My... servant? Cecil, I'm a traveler. I don't stay in one place long enough to need a household staff."
"Then let me travel with you," she countered, her eyes narrowing. "I can fight. I know the wilds. I was lost before you found me, Lord Arthur. If I stay here, I'm just waiting for the next shadow to find me. With you... I have a reason to keep my eyes open."
Arthur felt a massive headache brewing. He looked toward the door, where Alfia, Meteria, and Nana were watching with varying degrees of disbelief and mounting territorial frustration.
"Cecil, listen to me," Arthur said, leaning in. "I'm not like other people. I am... 'blessed by the gods.'"
Cecil tilted her head, confusion flickering in her eyes. "Blessed?"
"It means," Arthur chose his words carefully, trying to bridge the gap between player mechanics and world lore, "That when I die, I don't stay dead. The gods pull me back. I can fall a thousand times and rise again. But you? You have one life. One. The paths I walk are designed for those who can cheat death. I can't ask you to throw your only life away for a debt that doesn't exist."
Cecil didn't flinch. If anything, she leaned closer, her red eyes burning with a fierce, quiet light. "You think I don't understand the risk? I saw the dagger, Lord Arthur. I felt the coldness of the altar. I already died once in that room, in my heart. You were the one who brought me back."
She reached out, her fingers brushing the soot-stained sleeve of his tunic. "I'd rather live one day by your side, doing something that matters, than a hundred years in safety, wondering why I was spared. If your life is infinite and mine is fleeting, then let me spend my brief light helping yours shine brighter."
Outside the door, the atmosphere had shifted from relief to something much more volatile.
Nana gripped the hilt of her sword so hard her knuckles turned white.
"Another one," she hissed under her breath. "We save one girl, and she immediately tries to sign a life-contract."
"She's playing the 'tragic victim' card quite well," Alfia whispered, her eyes narrowed behind her fringe. "A servant? How cliché."
Meteria, usually the most empathetic, looked conflicted. "She is in pain, Alfia. But... her affinity for Arthur is growing at an alarming rate. I can feel the spirits buzzing around her. They like her determination."
"We should have left her with Sister Anna," Nana muttered.
The three girls looked at each other, a silent realization dawning on them. They hadn't just rescued a victim; they had recruited a competitor.
Cecil wasn't like the other NPCs in Patrain who looked at Arthur with distant admiration. She looked at him with the terrifying, absolute loyalty of someone who had nothing left to lose.
Inside the room, Arthur let out a long, weary sigh. He saw the look in Cecil's eyes—it was the same stubborn flame he saw in Nana every morning.
'Great,' he thought, glancing at the doorway where three pairs of eyes were burning holes into the back of his head. 'I'm Level 12, I have the Yatan Church hunting me, and now I'm managing a party that wants to kill each other as much as the monsters.'
"Fine," Arthur said, defeated by her resolve. "We'll talk about it when you can stand without shaking. For now? Sleep."
Cecil smiled then, a small, triumphant thing. "Yes, Master Arthur."
Arthur flinched at the title. From the hallway, he heard Nana let out a small, strangled noise of pure frustration.
The "Hero of Patrain" stood up, feeling every bit the Level 12 weakling he was. He had a kingdom to reclaim and a legendary class to master, but first, he had to survive the walk back to the common room.