Chapter 69: Village Dysfunction Amidst their Grief
Year 0003, IV-VII Month: The Imperium
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A Shocking News
Back in the village, Red had already been administered the antidote to the poison coursing through his veins. His wounded back, torn and bleeding from the earlier confrontation, was carefully sewn together by Theressa's steady hands while the other villagers assisted her with trembling fingers. The metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air, mingling with the herbs and medicinal compounds she used to cleanse his wounds.
Red was now stable, though the significant loss of blood had rendered him unconscious. His breathing was shallow but steady, his face pale as parchment against the makeshift bedding they had prepared for him. The rise and fall of his chest provided the only reassurance that life still flickered within him.
Nearly an hour had passed in tense silence when the [PARTY CHAT], their sole communication system suddenly erupted with frantic sirens and notifications. The sharp, piercing sounds cut through the oppressive quiet like a blade, alerting everyone connected to the group's communication network. Hearts raced as they scrambled to check the incoming messages, their hands shaking as they accessed the information that would forever change their understanding of the day's events.
There, displayed in cold, unforgiving text, they learned the fates of their friends who had ventured beyond the village's protective boundaries. Death had visited them—cruel, sudden, and merciless. The words seemed to blur together as tears welled up in their eyes, the reality of loss hitting them like a physical blow to their cores.
Only tears rolled down their weathered cheeks as the devastating news sank in. The other newer villagers, those who had remained behind to tend to daily tasks and protect their home, were briefly informed of what had befallen their companions in the outside world. They too felt their strength drain away, their legs giving out beneath them as the weight of grief settled upon their shoulders. With news of several more possible deaths looming on the horizon, they found themselves unable to scream or shout their anguish. There was no enemy present to direct their rage toward, no target for their overwhelming anger and frustration.
Only deep, soul-crushing frustration and an ocean of sadness dwelled within the village now. The very air seemed heavier, pressing down upon them like a suffocating blanket. But they had no luxury of time to fully process their grief—the immediate needs of the living demanded their attention. They needed to prepare for emergency treatment of the heavily injured among them, to tend to those who had survived but bore the terrible scars of battle.
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The Harsh Reality
August remained trapped in a state of shock, his body trembling uncontrollably as he attempted to stand and walk toward his fallen friends. Each step was a monumental effort, his legs betraying him time and again as he stumbled and crashed to the unforgiving ground. His knees scraped against rocks and debris, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the anguish tearing through his heart. Only Angeline remained conscious among his immediate companions, her eyes wide with trauma and disbelief.
Seeing his young ward in such a pitiful, broken state shattered the ancient heart of Aetherwing. The majestic creature, who had witnessed countless battles and tragedies throughout his long existence, found himself at a loss for words. What could he possibly say to console someone who had experienced such devastating loss? How could he ease the pain that ran deeper than any physical wound?
"Lad, please rest for now," Aetherwing's voice rumbled with gentle authority, each word carefully chosen. "I will take you all home safely. Do not worry—I will keep them alive and protected. You can rest now; you have all done your absolute best under impossible circumstances." With those words, he slowly channeled a powerful sleeping spell, one infused with his ancient magic and compassion. The spell induced Angeline and August into a deep, healing sleep that would ease their tormented hearts more than any medicine or treatment could.
Overwhelming guilt gripped the heart of the majestic beast like iron talons. He should not have been so compliant with their plans, should not have allowed his respect for their independence to override his protective instincts. He should have swooped in the very moment they encountered those bloodthirsty murderers, he should have used his immense power to end the threat before it could claim an innocent life. But it was far too late for regrets now—the damage had been done, a life had been lost, and he could only do his utmost for those who remained among the living.
One by one, drawing upon his vast reserves of magic and even portions of his precious life force, Aetherwing began the delicate process of forcefully healing the other critically injured survivors. Their external wounds slowly began to close and mend, though he deliberately kept the healing gradual and controlled. If he poured too much of his mana and life force into them at once, the overwhelming surge of energy would kill them instantly—their mortal bodies simply could not withstand such power.
The healing process was made possible through the invaluable assistance of August's SYSTEM, which had made itself a bridge and regulatory medium between Aetherwing's divine power and the fragile human forms of their Prospects' companions. The system carefully modulated the flow of healing energy, ensuring that each person received exactly what they could handle without being overwhelmed.
When all the survivors had been brought to a stable level that was no longer immediately life-threatening, Aetherwing turned his attention to the most challenging task. Using his massive talons with surprising delicacy, he carefully tore down the tree from which Christopher's lifeless body was impaled. The ancient oak creaked and groaned as it fell, its branches rustling one final time. With precision born of centuries of experience, he used his magic to carefully remove Christopher from the branch that had pierced through him, treating the fallen warrior's body with the respect and dignity it deserved. He gently laid the body on the soft forest floor, arranging it with care.
After Aetherwing had secured everyone, both living and dead, he spread his enormous wings and began the solemn flight back to the village, carrying his precious, tragic cargo.
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Of Those Who Remained
Several minutes later, Aetherwing descended gently into the village center, his massive frame finally having enough space to move freely without causing damage to the surrounding structures. His mate had already returned to their nest high in the mountain side to tend to their Peregrine Eagle chicks, though unfortunately, Kirpy was not with them at that critical moment.
The young chick, sensing the distress in the air, rushed immediately to its bonded human, Bren, who was currently lying in an unconscious state among the other wounded. Kirpy's chirps were soft and filled with an almost human-like sadness as it observed the dire condition of its bond. The small creature seemed to understand that something terrible had occurred, its usually bright eyes now dim with worry.
The atmosphere throughout the entire village had turned gloomy and oppressive, a stark contrast to the usual bustle of daily life. The uninjure villagers rushed forward to carefully transport the unconscious people who had just arrived, their faces etched with concern and barely contained grief. Theressa took one look at the extent of their injuries and immediately recognized the incredible feat that the mighty beast had accomplished in healing them. Although they had been healed to a significant degree, she could see that some of them were still in critical condition and in need of immediate care, their bodies bearing wounds that went beyond the physical.
The pressure mounting on her shoulders felt almost unbearable. She had to take care of numerous surviving yet heavily injured people, and the oppressive summer heat was becoming an additional problem they would have to contend with. With the severe lack of available hands to assist her in this crisis, she knew she had to make a difficult decision. Taking upon herself the full weight of her authority as the village's healer, she decided they must release their captive from his bondage and compel him to help them in their desperate time of need.
But the question remained: who would be brave enough to go and fetch him? She thought about it for a long moment, weighing the risks and benefits. Finally, she spoke with firm determination: "Someone fetch me Sandeval immediately. We need every available hand we can possibly use at this moment. Upon his return, all future outside activities in the village will be postponed until further notice. I'm confident that August will figure out the logistics, although he too was heavily injured—thankfully, he appears to be recovering at an incredible rate."
The remaining uninjured villagers exchanged glances filled with apprehension and hesitation. It was because of that man that their current state was so dire, that their friends lay dying or dead. The thought of freeing him, of asking for his help, left a bitter taste in their mouths.
"Please don't hurt him," Theressa continued, her voice carrying both authority and compassion. "It will not improve our current situation if we lose more valuable manpower." She cast a brief glance at the cold, lifeless body of Christopher. Although he had been with them for only a short time, Christopher had quickly become family to all of them—his loss cut deep into their hearts. "Now go! Whichever one of you has the stomach to fetch him, do so immediately. And if he tries anything suspicious or threatens anyone, kill him without hesitation." Her final words carried absolute conviction, unafraid and ready to face whatever consequences her orders might bring.
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Released From Captivity
Several hours had passed, and Sandeval remained in his makeshift cage, trembling as he felt the immense power of the great beast surge through the forest floor like an earthquake. The very earth seemed to vibrate with otherworldly energy, and fear began to creep into his heart like ice water in his veins. His captors—he desperately hoped they were safe, as he could not bear to fathom having to atone for their deaths if such a tragedy had occurred. The weight of responsibility for those who had pursued him into this forest pressed down upon him like a mountain.
Then he heard footsteps approaching the cave's makeshift entrance, each step echoing ominously in the confined space. Andy, a former slave whose eyes had seen too much hardship, approached alongside two children. Their young faces were marred by expressions he had hoped never to see on ones so innocent—glints of malice, deep-seated anger, and palpable apprehension directed entirely at him. He could vaguely piece together the scenario they were all trapped in: someone, perhaps multiple people, must have died, and this was likely his execution.
"I'm terribly sorry for bringing this chaos to your peaceful lives here," Sandeval said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I never meant for any of this to happen. You're all right—I deserve to die for what I've caused."
Adam, who had been holding back his overwhelming anger since they left the village, could no longer contain his rage. His hands clenched into fists as he spoke through gritted teeth: "Be quiet, old man. We just lost someone precious while saving your worthless life, and I don't know if I can stop my hands from stabbing you through your heart a hundred times over. But if any more words escape your mouth, I will personally butcher you like a pig while you're still breathing." It was the first time his sister Isabel had ever seen her brother display such raw, terrifying anger. His voice was eerily calm, but seething rage was interlaced with every syllable.
Andy stepped forward, his own voice heavy with barely controlled emotion: "You know, Sandeval, we came here to free you from your captivity. A precious life has been sacrificed for yours, so you better keep your wits straight and your body in top working condition. We currently lack the manpower to function properly, and we desperately need your filthy hands back in the village. So please, I beg you—do not betray this second chance at life. Because honestly, I would have slit your throat long ago. If not for the kid August's persistent insistence that you remain alive unharmed and treated like a human, you would have been rotting deep beneath the earth by now."
Sandeval was so shocked by this revelation that words completely failed him. Why was he being kept alive? Why was life so cruel to him that he would have to bear the blame for others' suffering? Well, technically, it was indeed his fault—he could not deny that harsh reality. This must be his very own karma coming full circle, the universe demanding payment for his past actions. So he kept his mouth shut while they bound his hands and covered his eyes with thick blinds, accepting his fate with resigned silence.
Outside the cave, Kirpy was waiting for them, having been sent to expedite their return. The great bird grabbed Sandeval with its powerful talons and took flight, soaring back toward the village. Upon arrival, Kirpy dropped him unceremoniously in the village center without much care for his comfort. Sandeval could only manage a pained groan as he hit the hard ground, his body aching from the rough treatment.
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The Following Day
The next day brought no relief from the oppressive weight of tragedy. August had awakened from his magically induced sleep, his wounds—both internal and external—having sufficiently healed thanks to Aetherwing's intervention and his system's regulatory assistance. Although he registered as completely healthy according to his body statistics, showing all green indicators, he felt as though his entire body was made of lead. Each movement was labored and sent waves of excruciating pain throughout his form. He had lingering afflictions that went far deeper than any physical injury—wounds to his very soul that no magic could heal.
Everything came flooding back into his memory with devastating clarity. The face of his fallen friend(s), the sound of Christopher's final breath, the feeling of helplessness as he watched one of his companions suffer and die. His tears swelled up uncontrollably, and a mighty cry of anguish escaped his lips, echoing through the small room and beyond. He was completely overwhelmed by emotions that threatened to drown him in their intensity—grief, guilt, rage, and despair all battling for dominance in his shattered heart.
He blamed himself mercilessly for everything that had happened. If only he had been stronger, more decisive, more ruthless. If only he had asked for help before venturing out, had swallowed his pride and admitted they needed assistance. If only he had simply given those murderers what they wanted instead of trying to fight them. None of this aftermath would have occurred—Christopher would still be alive, his friends would be whole and unbroken.
But the harsh truth was that others were equally to blame, including himself and even Aetherwing, who had grown overconfident and forgotten the vital, unforgiving aspects of this world. It was a realm where only the fittest survived, where strength determined everything, and mercy was a luxury few could afford. This world would show no compassion, no understanding—just like that, in an instant, life could be snuffed out of you like a candle flame in a hurricane.
As the leader of their group, August felt the weight of responsibility crushing down upon him like an avalanche. His decisions had cost them an innocent life, and had shattered the peace and security they had worked so hard to build. The burden of leadership had never felt heavier, more impossible to bear.
This catastrophe could have been avoided if he hadn't been so weak-willed, so naively compassionate. He should have been ruthless from the beginning, should have understood that kindness was often perceived as weakness in this brutal world. The lesson had been written in blood, and the price was far too high.
His tears and heart-wrenching cries could be heard clearly by the people outside his room. They had been awake for most of the night, working tirelessly to stabilize the other injured people who were not blessed with a system like August possessed. Their eyes were red with exhaustion and their own unshed tears, their hands steady despite their breaking hearts as they continued their vital work.
And so ended the first month of the summer season—not with celebration or joy, but with a price paid in blood and sorrow. It served as a grim, unforgettable reminder of their own harsh reality: that in this world, safety was an illusion, peace was temporary, and death could visit them at any moment without warning or mercy. The innocence they had managed to preserve was now forever lost, replaced by the bitter wisdom that survival required sacrifices they had never imagined they would have to make.